The Lost Colony

Chapter 33

The pilgrims scurried off. In addition to glass merchants, craftsmen sold sculptures wrought from scrap metal of various grades. The most common were replicas of spires, followed closely by models of the airships. A few squat replicas might have been ground vehicles, although Sparr had yet to see any of the real thing. There were also finer works, highly-polished metal, glass, and stone that Sparr found beautiful. An earnest young boy stood before a single, stunning work, both of Kaybe's moons carved from glass spheres, hung with fine wire over the planet itself, a solid sphere of stone.

"Let's go to the other plaza." Lord Toph had joined him. The merchant had traveled the road to Shong many times, and no doubt was already familiar with the souvenirs. "I hear they distill a spirit from a berry which only grows in the valley. Very bitter. Very strong!" Still depressed, Sparr assented. He and Toph followed Kern, who led them from the Overlook and into the crumbling streets of central Shong.

The difference was immediately apparent. Whereas the Overlook plaza was orderly, with tidy stalls, the streets were buzzing with the chaos of everyday life. Carts loaded with scrap trundled by, pulled by men, not beasts. Drying clothes hung from lines, craftsmen hammered or polished scraps of metal, and curses outnumbered greetings. Clusters of children shot by, shrieking.

"The spirit merchant is here," Kern said, leading the two to a shop half in the street, half in the shell of a gutted building. Slender, improbable bottles featured prominently in the street-front displays. They could only have been formed by heating sheets of glass, twisting and folding them until they resembled a bottle. Neither was like its neighbor, and neither seemed to contain the same spirit.

"Do you have the green berry spirit?" Toph asked, grinning. "I hear it makes the ladies, ah... interested."

While Toph shopped, Sparr looked around the little square. The buildings had all been gutted, again with no sign that anything but the fabricated stone walls remained. As Sparr glumly mulled over his misfortune, a pair of children passed, singing.

Here's the story, of a lovely lady,

Who was bringing up three very lovely girls,

All of them had hair of gold, like their mother,

The youngest one in curls...

For a moment, Sparr ignored them, children singing yet another unfamiliar, local song. Then it dawned on him, the lyrics were entirely in English. His breath caught in his throat. English featured prominently in the local language, but so did words and phrases in Spanish, Mandarin, and French. The children had heard the song somewhere. Sparr darted after them.

"Hey," he said, trying not to seem threatening. At well over six feet tall, this was sometimes a challenge. The children, a boy and a girl of around seven or eight years of age, stared at him with wide eyes. "I like that song you were singing."

Still, the two only stared back at Sparr. The boy took half a step back, ready to flee. He was about to lose them. He began to sing, trying to recollect as best he could.

"There is a story, offfff a lady,

Who had three girlssssss to raise,

They all had blonde hair, and,

Some curls"

"That's not it!" the girl shrieked accusingly.

"What?" said Sparr, feigning indignation. "That's it, I'm sure."

"Noooo!" She stamped her foot. "You're dumb."

"Prove it," Sparr taunted.

"No," the girl said. "I'm not taking you there!"

Where, Sparr wondered. He was about to try another approach when the boy spoke up.

"A token."

"No, two!" the girl said. "One each."

Sparr wasn't about to argue. "Okay." He fished two tokens from his pocket, flashing them for the children to see. "One each."

"Okay!" the girl said, suddenly cheerful. She tore off, the boy in tow.

Sparr waved at Kern, who had been observing the exchange with wry interest. "Ten minutes!" he promised, before taking up the chase.

The pair led him back to the lip of the canyon, then down one of the foot paths he had seen from the Overlook. Checking over her shoulder periodically to make sure Sparr was keeping up, the girl went several hundred meters along the path, took a switchback turn, then darted another hundred meters. Here, what had once been the foundation of a tower had been cracked open. The children leapt through the gap, followed by Sparr, for whom the opening was considerably more difficult to navigate.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light. The room was barren, except for one corner which apparently saw routine use as a fireplace. Several heavy stone blocks had been positioned around it in a semi-circle. Circular holes both in the floor and ceiling suggested that ductwork or heavy pipes must once have passed vertically between the levels. The metal had long ago been scavenged.

"This way," the girl said. Dodging the holes, she led him first through an oversized doorway on the far side of the room, then another. Only indirect sunlight peeking its way through from some higher floor prevented the rooms from being completely dark.

"Here, dummy." The girl pointed to a glossy rectangle affixed to the wall. To Sparr it looked like little more than a glass square. The girl touched it near the top in a practiced motion.

From some hidden speaker, music played.

Give us any chance we'll take it

Read us any rule we'll break it

We're going to make our dreams come true

Doing it our way

Sparr was stunned. Though not familiar, the song, like the one he had overheard the children singing, was in English. He was hearing an ancient Earth song, played from a still-functioning machine.

"Not that one!" the boy chided. "Here!" Practically shoving the girl aside, he ran his fingers over the dark panel. Again, music erupted.

Here's the story, of a lovely lady,

Who was bringing up three very lovely girls,

All of them had hair of gold, like their mother,

The youngest one in curls...

"Seeeeee!" the girl said, tossing her hair. Both children held out their hands.

Astounded, Sparr paid each one token. His head was spinning. However bizarre, he had at last found a functioning piece of Earth technology. He ran his own hand over the panel, pressing first at the top.

"Top seventies TV theme songs!" a voice said, swelling with exaggerated enthusiasm. The panel must be a touch screen, Sparr decided, although a damaged one. He pressed his finger farther down the side.

Boy the way Glenn Miller played,

Songs that made the Hit Parade,

Guys like us we had it made,

Those were the days...