Lost City by Jeffrey M. Poole
“So what does that tell us?” Venk asked, turning to look at the others. “It means we are on the right track, right? Lukas, let’s see the mark.”
“I’m willing to wager another clue has revealed itself,” Tristofer guessed.
“Like before?” Athos inquired. “When the picture of the sprite didn’t appear until contact with another Narian piece of junk was made?”
Tristofer bristled with annoyance. “They are called ‘nixies’. And they were NOT pieces of junk. They are treasured, genuine pieces of Narian culture, clearly unfit for a churlish brute such as yourself.”
Athos stared incredulously at the scholar. Had his ears deceived him? Did the scholar really say what he thought he had? Athos turned to his brother to see get his opinion. Venk, however, was trying to disguise his laughter as a series of coughs.
“No one calls me a girlish brute,” Athos growled.
“The word was churlish, not girlish,” Breslin added, doing a remarkable job of maintaining a neutral expression on his face.
“Oh. What does churlish mean?”
Venk hesitated as he tried to think of its definition.
“Uncivilized,” Breslin supplied for him.
Athos marched over to the scholar and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re calling me uncivilized, scholar?”
“Come on, Athos,” Venk chided his brother. “He’s not that far off the mark.”
Athos considered and then shrugged. “I suppose I’ve been called worse.”
Breslin approached Lukas and squatted down low. “Can we see the mark, young sir?”
Lukas pulled his jerkin up to his chin and faced the opposite direction. Tristofer rocked back on his heels and smiled.
“Hah! See? I told you so!”
Athos and Venk simultaneously pushed Tristofer aside and studied the Questor’s Mark. Previously, the top left portion of the mark had been just as smudged and illegible as the rest, but as before, it was starting to come into focus. If they wanted the next part of the mark to be revealed they were going to have to find another Narian object. That had to mean there was something else in the area!
Venk glanced around the secluded glade. There was something hidden here? Where? How were they supposed to find it? Could the nixies, when they were alive, have hidden something in the forest? For all he knew whatever they were looking for was at the bottom of the lake.
“I’m getting a headache,” Venk muttered, more to himself than to anyone.
Tristofer promptly produced several mint leaves from one of his many pockets and slapped them down into Venk’s hand.
“Here, rub these into your hair. It’ll help take care of that headache.”
“Excuse me?”
“You most likely have a tension headache, caused by contracting muscles covering your skull. Mint leaves have long been known to be a remedy.”
Venk sighed and removed his helmet. He ducked behind the closest tree, presumably to give Tristofer’s remedy a try.
“What do we do now?” Athos asked. “Sounds like we’re supposed to find these nixie creatures. How do we do that?”
“We don’t,” Tristofer told him. “Nixies are extinct.”
“How certain are you of that?” Breslin asked. “Am I not addressing the person who tried to convince my father that the mark was a map? By that argument, are we not in the right place? Why would there be a reference to a creature that’s extinct? Are you saying this isn’t a map now?
Tristofer crossed his arms. “It’s a map, I assure you.”
“Excellent. I believe we were led here. As you will see, another corner of Lukas’ back has begun to come into focus, just like before. It must mean we’re on the right track. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
Tristofer sighed. “All I’m saying is if water sprites still exist, don’t you think that someone would have seen them after all these years?”
“If the existence of a species depended upon the ability to conceal themselves, do you not think it’s possible they would have learned to do just that?”
While Breslin and Tristofer debated, Athos stared out at the quiet lake and slowly scanned the area. Aside from a flock of bright red kytes chatting noisily nearby, there wasn’t anything else noteworthy about this lake. Could there be beings hiding in the water? Athos shuddered. He couldn’t think of a more horrid predicament. Water was meant for drinking and bathing. Immersing oneself? Absolutely not.
The incessant arguing suddenly ceased. Athos glanced over to check on his companions. The scholar was now checking various pockets looking for who knows what. A quick glance at his brother confirmed his own suspicions that Tristofer’s welcome in the group was dwindling rapidly. Venk was frowning at the small pile of junk that was growing steadily bigger as Tristofer emptied more and more pockets.
Venk cleared his throat. “Let’s assume these nixie things do exist and are hiding. What do we know about them? How do we find them? Can we set some sort of a trap?”
Breslin looked at Tristofer to answer, but the scholar was oblivious to all as he rifled through his jacket pockets.
“Tristofer, what are you looking for?”
“My map! I’ve lost Shardwyn’s map! It’s gone!”
Venk groaned aloud. Lukas, who had been staring up at the vivid red birds in the trees, dropped his gaze to the ground and started to search for the fallen piece of parchment.
“No, I don’t think it’d be on the ground,” Tristofer told the boy. “I must have lost it on that ghastly ride with the dragons. Confound it!”
Venk and Athos gave the scholar a pitiful look.
Tristofer was taken aback. “What?”
“You used it on the way here, remember? You held it upside down.”
Tristofer paused in his search.
“That’s right. I did.”
Breslin sighed. Now he was starting to get a headache.
“I last saw you holding it at the wrong lake. You must have used it once I gave it back, right?”
Tristofer had resumed his search of his pockets. “Of course.”
“You obviously didn’t want to lose it, right?”
Tristofer nodded. “Absolutely.”
“So knowing you might misplace it, you chose a special place to put it. Where?”
“Up my sleeve, of course.”
Tristofer straightened. He gingerly prodded the left sleeve of his jacket and heard the crinkle of paper. He rolled up his sleeve and smiled sheepishly as the missing map fluttered to the ground. Surprised, Tristofer turned to Breslin.
“How did you do that? How were you able to make me remember?”
“Try having a famous father with a memory ten times worse than yours will ever be.”
Taking another long look at the glade they were in, Breslin came to a decision.
“We’ll make camp here. Lukas, would you see if there’s anything we can use as firewood around? Master Venk, would you help him?”
Venk nodded and tapped Lukas’ shoulder to get his attention. Together the two of them disappeared into the woods.
Breslin lowered his voice to a whisper. “Athos, check the area and be certain nothing is lurking about.”
“How far?”
“Half a league should be plenty. I want no surprises.”
Athos nodded and pulled his black handled axe from its holder on his back. “Agreed.”
“I’m willing to wager another clue has revealed itself,” Tristofer guessed.
“Like before?” Athos inquired. “When the picture of the sprite didn’t appear until contact with another Narian piece of junk was made?”
Tristofer bristled with annoyance. “They are called ‘nixies’. And they were NOT pieces of junk. They are treasured, genuine pieces of Narian culture, clearly unfit for a churlish brute such as yourself.”
Athos stared incredulously at the scholar. Had his ears deceived him? Did the scholar really say what he thought he had? Athos turned to his brother to see get his opinion. Venk, however, was trying to disguise his laughter as a series of coughs.
“No one calls me a girlish brute,” Athos growled.
“The word was churlish, not girlish,” Breslin added, doing a remarkable job of maintaining a neutral expression on his face.
“Oh. What does churlish mean?”
Venk hesitated as he tried to think of its definition.
“Uncivilized,” Breslin supplied for him.
Athos marched over to the scholar and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re calling me uncivilized, scholar?”
“Come on, Athos,” Venk chided his brother. “He’s not that far off the mark.”
Athos considered and then shrugged. “I suppose I’ve been called worse.”
Breslin approached Lukas and squatted down low. “Can we see the mark, young sir?”
Lukas pulled his jerkin up to his chin and faced the opposite direction. Tristofer rocked back on his heels and smiled.
“Hah! See? I told you so!”
Athos and Venk simultaneously pushed Tristofer aside and studied the Questor’s Mark. Previously, the top left portion of the mark had been just as smudged and illegible as the rest, but as before, it was starting to come into focus. If they wanted the next part of the mark to be revealed they were going to have to find another Narian object. That had to mean there was something else in the area!
Venk glanced around the secluded glade. There was something hidden here? Where? How were they supposed to find it? Could the nixies, when they were alive, have hidden something in the forest? For all he knew whatever they were looking for was at the bottom of the lake.
“I’m getting a headache,” Venk muttered, more to himself than to anyone.
Tristofer promptly produced several mint leaves from one of his many pockets and slapped them down into Venk’s hand.
“Here, rub these into your hair. It’ll help take care of that headache.”
“Excuse me?”
“You most likely have a tension headache, caused by contracting muscles covering your skull. Mint leaves have long been known to be a remedy.”
Venk sighed and removed his helmet. He ducked behind the closest tree, presumably to give Tristofer’s remedy a try.
“What do we do now?” Athos asked. “Sounds like we’re supposed to find these nixie creatures. How do we do that?”
“We don’t,” Tristofer told him. “Nixies are extinct.”
“How certain are you of that?” Breslin asked. “Am I not addressing the person who tried to convince my father that the mark was a map? By that argument, are we not in the right place? Why would there be a reference to a creature that’s extinct? Are you saying this isn’t a map now?
Tristofer crossed his arms. “It’s a map, I assure you.”
“Excellent. I believe we were led here. As you will see, another corner of Lukas’ back has begun to come into focus, just like before. It must mean we’re on the right track. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
Tristofer sighed. “All I’m saying is if water sprites still exist, don’t you think that someone would have seen them after all these years?”
“If the existence of a species depended upon the ability to conceal themselves, do you not think it’s possible they would have learned to do just that?”
While Breslin and Tristofer debated, Athos stared out at the quiet lake and slowly scanned the area. Aside from a flock of bright red kytes chatting noisily nearby, there wasn’t anything else noteworthy about this lake. Could there be beings hiding in the water? Athos shuddered. He couldn’t think of a more horrid predicament. Water was meant for drinking and bathing. Immersing oneself? Absolutely not.
The incessant arguing suddenly ceased. Athos glanced over to check on his companions. The scholar was now checking various pockets looking for who knows what. A quick glance at his brother confirmed his own suspicions that Tristofer’s welcome in the group was dwindling rapidly. Venk was frowning at the small pile of junk that was growing steadily bigger as Tristofer emptied more and more pockets.
Venk cleared his throat. “Let’s assume these nixie things do exist and are hiding. What do we know about them? How do we find them? Can we set some sort of a trap?”
Breslin looked at Tristofer to answer, but the scholar was oblivious to all as he rifled through his jacket pockets.
“Tristofer, what are you looking for?”
“My map! I’ve lost Shardwyn’s map! It’s gone!”
Venk groaned aloud. Lukas, who had been staring up at the vivid red birds in the trees, dropped his gaze to the ground and started to search for the fallen piece of parchment.
“No, I don’t think it’d be on the ground,” Tristofer told the boy. “I must have lost it on that ghastly ride with the dragons. Confound it!”
Venk and Athos gave the scholar a pitiful look.
Tristofer was taken aback. “What?”
“You used it on the way here, remember? You held it upside down.”
Tristofer paused in his search.
“That’s right. I did.”
Breslin sighed. Now he was starting to get a headache.
“I last saw you holding it at the wrong lake. You must have used it once I gave it back, right?”
Tristofer had resumed his search of his pockets. “Of course.”
“You obviously didn’t want to lose it, right?”
Tristofer nodded. “Absolutely.”
“So knowing you might misplace it, you chose a special place to put it. Where?”
“Up my sleeve, of course.”
Tristofer straightened. He gingerly prodded the left sleeve of his jacket and heard the crinkle of paper. He rolled up his sleeve and smiled sheepishly as the missing map fluttered to the ground. Surprised, Tristofer turned to Breslin.
“How did you do that? How were you able to make me remember?”
“Try having a famous father with a memory ten times worse than yours will ever be.”
Taking another long look at the glade they were in, Breslin came to a decision.
“We’ll make camp here. Lukas, would you see if there’s anything we can use as firewood around? Master Venk, would you help him?”
Venk nodded and tapped Lukas’ shoulder to get his attention. Together the two of them disappeared into the woods.
Breslin lowered his voice to a whisper. “Athos, check the area and be certain nothing is lurking about.”
“How far?”
“Half a league should be plenty. I want no surprises.”
Athos nodded and pulled his black handled axe from its holder on his back. “Agreed.”