by Todd Shryock
“What is your name?” Sands demanded.
“My name, sir, is maggot,” Quinton stammered, his voice still a little raspy.
The man nodded slightly in agreement. “And who am I?”
“You,” said Quinton slowly, “are Master Sands. I serve you.”
The man nodded again. “Good. I talked with Master Fist and you are officially my apprentice. I’ll be honest; I didn’t really want an apprentice, but you have some skills that I think can be a real benefit to our family here and it would be a shame to waste them.” He looked away from the boy and stared off in the distance for a moment at nothing in particular. “I also think you will be very handy to have around at times,” he said softly. His gaze returned to the boy and he spoke again, this time more forcably. “Grubbs tells me you are almost completely healed. It’s time you joined the other maggots and started learning the trade so you can contribute.” Without a further word, the man turned and left the room, leaving the door open behind him. A short time later, Grubbs entered the room with a small piece of bread.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay with me, because it’s time for you to go to the maggot pit,” he said, his lips curled up in a I-know-something-you-don’t-know smile. He tossed him the piece of bread. “This has the last of your medicines in it. Enjoy it, because the food in the pit isn’t as good as it is up here.”
Quinton gnawed on the bread, savoring the bitter flavor of whatever was in it. After months of near starvation and constant hunger, one didn’t complain about taste.
Grubbs watched him eat. “There’s a lot to learn, but as someone who has spent almost his entire life here, I’ll give you some advice,” he paused making sure Quinton was listening. The boy sat up on the edge of his bed as he finished chewing his bread and stared at Grubbs. “Always do exactly what you are told and never question it. It’s not for you or me to question what Fist or anyone else orders. Secondly, never betray the family. A few people have over the years, and they died horrible deaths.” Grubbs walked a little closer to him staring down at him on the edge of the bed. He slapped the boy hard across the cheek with such force it turned his head. Quinton’s cheek stung with pain and he looked at Grubbs increduously.
“And finally, that’s a reminder that no one here is your friend. No one in the guild can be trusted, so learn to rely on yourself. The first time you start to trust someone, you will be hurt, just like you were now. Keep your guard up, watch your back and you’ll be fine. Now come with me.”
Grubbs turned and walked out of the room, ducking through the short doorway and disappeared. He didn’t turn to see if Quinton was following. The boy glanced up at the small window high in his room and wondered if it would be possible to climb up to it and out before Grubbs noticed he wasn’t with him, but even as the thoughts went through his head, his body was already following the older man’s path out the doorway. It was best to size up the situation first, maybe stock up on food then look for a way out. Right not he had no idea where he was or if escape was even possible. For all he knew, the guild might be in the middle of the swamp or on some distant island. Yes, keep quiet for now, he thought. Study everything, and find a way out later.
He caught up to Grubbs in the hallway. The floors were made of wide planks that groaned in protest with each step and were pocked with chips and gouges. The hall was dark except for a single candle that Grubbs now carried to light the way and a bit of light spilling through a doorway further down. The walls were rough stone with mortar slopped between each individual rock. The air smelled of smoke and the greasy smell the tallow candle left behind. Quinton carefully took stock of every detail, searching for clues that would tell him where he was, assuming he was still in the city at all. Grubbs went down a narrow spiral staircase made of more rough-hewn wood. The stairs were so narrow the larger man barely fit down them and used his hand to steady himself as he descended the passage.
Quinton figured they had descended the equivalent of about three floors when they came out in another hallway, this one much darker than the one before. The air was damp and cool. Underground, Quinton thought, but where? He followed Grubbs down the hallway past many closed doors. He stopped at the last door and knocked sharply. A muffled voice from the other side beckoned him in. Grubbs twisted the wrought iron handle and pushed the door open, glancing back momentarily at Quinton before entering.
“Master Red eye?” Grubbs called out. The room was completely black, the light from the single candle casting long shadows across what looked like a few pieces of crude furniture near the entry.
“The candle is on the table,” came a whispered voice. “Light it so that I may see.”
Grubbs took another step in, found the candle on the table and used his own to light it. The flame sputtered at first as it lept to the new wick, but it quickly grew in size and began to cast an unnaturally bright light around the room, dwarfing the small light of Grubb’s candle.
Quinton looked around. The candle was on a table that had two mismatched chairs at either end. A few books and what looked like maps were scattered on the table along with some small metal instruments he didn’t recognize. A short bed with a straw-stuffed mattress was along one wall, occupied by a man with a long drawn face and wide eyes. Even from here it was obvious to Quinton how the man got his name. The whites of his eyes were severely bloodshot and made the man look sickly.
“Master Grubbs,” the man whispered in a strained tone. “So nice to see you.” He continued to lay on his bed, staring blankly in their general direction. “What have you brought me today?”
Grubbs nodded toward Quinton. “New maggot. Sandy – Master Sands – brought him in.”
The man quickly sat upright in the bed, tilting his head slightly up and to the side, a look of surprise on his face. “Master Sands?” He looked at the boy and his look changed to one of acceptance, his head nodding slightly. “Surprising, is it not, Master Grubbs?” Before the other could answer he continued. “Master Sands doesn’t like apprentices – maggots that is – but yet here we are?” Red eye looked to the side of the room, lost in thought. “It just begs with possibilities, doesn’t it?” He continued to stare off into space, ignoring the other two figures in the room.
“Master Sands said he has a lot of potential, especially climbing,” said Grubbs. “He might prove useful if it’s true.”
Red eye, still staring off into space contemplating some mysterious thought, slowly nodded. “Yes, yes indeed.” His gaze returned to Grubbs. “I’m sorry, were you saying something Master Grubbs?”
Quinton looked at the man and then glanced to the side where Red eye had been standing. Who had he been talking to? Himself?
“I was just saying, sir, that Sands thinks the maggot has some real climbing potential and that it could prove useful to the family if it proves true.”
Red eye raised his eyebrows. “Yes, yes indeed. Climbing is a lost art really. Ever since that last promising maggot dropped onto the cobbles and split his head open in front of everyone, we really haven’t had much climbing talent around here.” Red eye turned his gaze to the boy studying him intently, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to penetrate Quinton’s thoughts.
The boy closed his mind, fearful of wizardry or mind tricks. He had never seen or experienced anyone trying to read his mind and wasn’t sure what to do, so he thought about nothing but blank empty space. If Red eye were trying to read his mind, he didn’t show it. He continued to stare at the boy silently. After a few moments, he nodded in understanding.
“Yes. Yes indeed. Very possible,” said Red eye as he looked at Quinton’s eyes.
Grubbs shuffled uncomfortably, then said, “Master Red eye, if ye don’t mind, I’ll be getting back to me chores. The lad is all yours.”
Red eye continued to stare at Quinton, then suddenly snapped his head. “Yes, Master Grubbs, please don’t let me keep you. Come see me again soon. We so seldom get to visit.”
Grubbs nodded in acknowledgement then quickl
y left the room, shutting the door behind him with a heavy thud. Quinton stood alone with Red eye. The man raised himself from the bed. He was much taller than he looked sitting there and commanded quite a presence. His long dark hair hung down on either side of his face, his dark penetrating eyes continuing to stare at him. Black robes in several layers hid all but his head and hands. Long pale fingers with unkempt nails poked out from deep sleeves. He slowly walked towards him until he was standing directly in front of him. One of the pale hands raised up to the side of Quinton’s head and gently stroked his face.
Quinton pulled away from the man’s touch. Red eye frowned.
“There, there, you have nothing to fear from me,” he said, his voice still a whisper. “A life on the streets and now a member of the family. Such a sad tale, really.” He looked to the side of the room again. “Yes, a very sad tale. How can it be some of us are so unfortunate in life while others are so blessed?”
Quinton didn’t hear anyone answer, but Red eye nodded as if someone had responded then turned and paced slowly over to a small chest of drawers along the wall and stared at a small painted portrait hanging above it. There were swirls of dark colors, but no discernable shapes or patterns.
“Master Sands is a good master to have,” he said, still staring at the painting. “He’s one of the best. Maybe the best. You would be wise to learn all you can from him.” Red eye turned from the painting to face him, his eyes closed and he became unsteady. Quinton thought he was going to pass out, but his hand grabbed the chest and his eyes opened again. A slight smile crossed his lips. “Yes, indeed. But your journey is just beginning here. I’m in charge of the maggots when they are not in the service of their masters. It isn’t the best of lives down here, but it isn’t the worst either.” Red eye’s gaze drifted off again before speaking. “No, there are far worse things and places.”
He walked over to the bed and sat down again, his imposing presence diminished to that of a sickly man. “Tell me, why did your parents come here? Debt? Religion?” Red eye stopped after saying the last word. “Ah, religious persecution. They fled here to worship in peace but they must have left their god behind, for what caring god would allow such a fate as that which befell your parents.” He looked at Quinton, but the boy remained quiet. “But maybe your god felt bad for you, or maybe your parents requested a favor from beyond the grave. Take care of our poor brave fellow, they probably said. So your mighty god cast you into our midst.” He rose and silently walked over to the boy, his powerful countenance returning, and air of authority eminanting from his body, his voice rising.
“Now you belong to us!” he shouted. “What is your name?”
Quinton quivered. He had never been around someone who could wield such powerful emotions. His knees wanted to buckle under the pressure, but he stood his ground turning his head away.
“My name is maggot, Master Red eye,” he replied, his voice quaking.
“Look at me!” Red eye’s voice boomed. “Look at me when I am talking to you and never look away again, do you understand!”
Quinton forced himself to look into the man’s wild eyes. “I understand sir.”
Red eye’s lips parted, revealing pale white teeth as his voiced turned angry. “Stop the quivering in your voice. When you speak, speak with authority.” He stared at Quinton, who unsure of what to say, said nothing.
“A broken voice is the voice of a coward,” said Red eye, his voice returning to its more hushed tone. “There are no cowards in the Fly Guild. When your enemies sense a weakness, they will strike. They will pull you apart using that weakness until you scream. You must identify every weakness you have and eliminate it or bury it so deep within you that no one will ever find it.” He turned and walked towards the chest again, the light from his candle flickering slightly, casting a broken shadow across the floor.
“Where did you learn to climb? Who taught you?” Red eye asked in a whisper.
Quinton gathered himself, afraid his voice would crack, before answering. “No one taught me, Master Red eye. Everything I know, I taught myself.”
“What is the highest thing you ever climbed?”
Quinton thought for a moment, his mind racing through everything he had ever climbed. A large building he once scaled popped into his head. “There’s a large warehouse made of stone near the wharf. I once climbed onto the roof.”
Red eye turned to face him. He tilted his head to the side mentally searching for the building Quinton mentioned. “The one that sports a red flag in the summer and has two guards at the front door armed with daggers and clubs, three men around back armed with spiked clubs and a dog inside?”
Quinton thought, then nodded.
Red eye nodded back. “How did you get past the men unnoticed?”
“The men in the back aren’t very alert after lunch. Sometimes they play dice games along the wall, sometimes they take turns sleeping while one stands watch. With only one watching, it’s easy enough to climb the far wall, the one that’s nearest the marsh grass and some small bushes.
“Why were you there?” Red eye said, his voice barely audible.
“In the summer heat, there’s a breeze that blows across the roof of the warehouse. There’s not a cooler place in the city and it’s too strong of a wind for mosquitoes.”
Red eye stared at him for several moments, long enough to make him very uncomfortable, but he was afraid to look away and tried to limit even his blinking. The man looked away, nodded again and went back over to his bed and sat down, sighing deeply.
“Master Sands was right to bring you in. I have a few more questions of you though before I give you to the others.” Red eye snapped his fingers and the light went out.
This concludes Chapter 1 of The Fly Guild, a 76,000-word full-length novel. To purchase it for $2.99, please visit www.theflyguild.com or simply do a search for it at either Amazon, Barnes & Noble or Smashwords. If you prefer a print version, please visit www.drivethrufiction.com and search for it by name.
Tales of the Sword Story notes:
The Indomitable
This piece was written somewhere around 1995. It was inspired by a painting by Frank Frazetta of the same name. The painting shows a barbarian on top of a rocky mound being assailed from various directions. This story explains what’s going on.
Loch St. LeMond
This piece was written sometime in the mid-‘90s, about the same time as The Indomitable. I wanted to write something that had a more tragic ending rather than the fairy-tale endings that so many fantasy stories have.
The Cemetery
This was probably my first short story, written mostly on the bus rides to and from Ohio State from my apartment. It is essentially exaggerated imagery of things I saw every day during a really really hot summer. The cemetery is still there, on the corner of Olentangy River Road and Dodridge in Columbus, Ohio. This is the only “horror” piece I have ever written.
A Stone's Throw
I don’t remember much about this piece. I believe it was written in the late ‘90s. I had the general idea of someone misreading what looked like a simple situation and trying to set things right. I guess it’s sort of a lesson of what happens sometimes when you try to do the right thing.
Jump, Blue Jay, Jump
This is a story about making assumptions. The idea came from a simple exercise I use to generate story ideas. I pick three random words from the dictionary. The three words were blue jay, omega and box (actually I’m not sure about that last one, it might have actually been “jump” which is where the title may have come from. I might have used the jump in the “jumping to conclusions” sense.) This was written in 2002.
The Lurid Chronometer
This is probably my favorite short story. It’s another one that came from the three-word exercise. I remember the words being chronometer, lurid and superhero. So I came up with a story that mixes a superhero into a fantasy setting. I’ve got some ideas for the villain and hero to meet again in a much bigg
er story, but haven’t gotten much past the formative stages.
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