Streets of Blood

by Marc Gascoigne

  Pershinkin was a big-time fixer, a conduit for corporate money stretching out to hire poor street muscle from across the river while his employers sat safe and cozy in their Estates penthouses and boardrooms or some other safe patch. Nobody ever knew how to find Pershinkin. He only appeared when he had to fill the bill for some work.

  Rani had heard Imran mention the little man a few times when in a boastful mood. She’d never seen him, but she had a name and that was a start. At least she could confront Imran and force something out of him now, though she’d need Sanjay’s help if the wretch ever came out of his stupor.

  She was most of the way down a deserted Brick Lane before she realized just how thick the fog was. She coughed into her hands, the sound quickly sucked up by the wet night. The street lights along here were intermittent, and the little light they emanated diffused into a purulent yellow haze at unpredictable intervals along the street. As an ork, her low-light eyes gave her an advantage most nights, but in a fog this thick even she struggled to see more than a few yards ahead of her as she padded along the wet sidewalk.

  Near the junction with Mile End Road the fog began to thin out, a gap in the pea-souper suddenly revealing a circle of figures standing there. Their features were dim, but their intentions were obvious. The curved blades and chains made sure of that.

  "What have we here, boys?" said one.

  There was an answering voice from behind her. "Dear me, a little Indian girl out on her own at night. Bad gopi girlie." There was a nasal snigger.

  The acne-scarred face of the snakeboy advancing slowly toward Rani broke into a grimace of pure hatred. "Well, well, that’s none too smart, huh? Oh and look, it’s an ork, too. The kind of filth we don’t need on the streets of our country. Wouldn’t you say, boys?"

  Rani was dead and she knew it. Her terrified eyes took in the white flash marks on their jackets and on the forehead of their yellow-toothed, crazy leader. His twitching hands said he was high as hell on something, and the motif told her: White Lightning. Anti-metahuman, pure racist, neo-Nazi street scum.

  All that was left to hope was that she could kill or maim as many as possible before they ripped her apart. She drew both knife and pistol, clenching them with trembling hands.

  The leader’s face broke into an insane cackle, staring at her, pupils dilated to the max. "She’s going to make a fight of it, boys! Oh look, a little Ceska pistol! Frag me, it’s going to rip my ballistic so bad I’m never gonna scrag another rakkin’ subhuman again!" He clutched at his chest in mock agony. Head shot for you, you wanker, she promised him silently. One or two of the shadows behind him seemed just a little less eager at the sight of the twin weapons. Take him out and you might just reduce the odds, girl. Maybe only half a million to one.

  Don’t think it.

  Do it.

  She armed the Ceska, drilling him right between the eyes. He dropped like a stone, blood spurting gore over his chest and the pavement. A low growl broke out from the others and they advanced on Rani, moving to flank her on either side. She realized that now they would have to avenge their leader.

  Well, that’s one fascist scumsucker gone, thought Rani. If I knew who to pray to, I’d beg to take out another dozen before I die. She aimed at the closest gangboy, a drooling one-eyed skinhead with a ribbed scar running from forehead to chin. Before she could squeeze the trigger, something heavy hit her in the back and sent her shot flying wide. Running now, the gangers were still coming at her.

  The first creep was four yards away and screaming, his knives ready for action, when his throat suddenly sprayed crimson and his scream turned into a ghastly dying gargle. Something from behind her had hit him, but she hadn’t any time to wonder what was happening. The gangboy staggered backward and half-knocked down the one behind him. Without pausing for thought, Rani kicked him sweetly under the chin, feeling the pleasing crack of a breaking jaw as her steel boot cap connected with his face.

  Spinning to her right, she slammed two pistol shots straight into the stomach of another skinhead just as his weighted throwing knife whirred past her face. A sear of pain told her that she might suddenly have one less ear than before, but what did that matter when she was fighting for her life? Rani was dimly aware that other figures were struggling elsewhere in the fog, and then she heard some rapid cracks of gunshot, but not many. She was looking for the next skinhead to attack when she heard the footfalls in the distance, heading up from Whitechapel Road. She also heard the marching cry, "Light-ning! Light-ning!"

  Sod it all. Reinforcements.

  "This way. NOW!" Standing before her was an ork, a grim-faced brute in filthy leathers and with blood on his knife and hands. She stood shocked for a moment, unable to move. He slapped her hard across the face and screamed, "NOW, you acing git!" He grabbed her arm and began to drag her out of the street and into the shadows.

  Rani no longer had any clear idea of what was happening, but she dimly registered that this was no cretinous White Lightning attacker. He was an ork like her, so she let herself be carried along in the group that coalesced out of the fog. Shadows and forms seemed to flow along the back streets as they hurried along, the chanting behind them become screams of fury. They’ve found the bodies, she thought.

  Then she was being pushed roughly into an abandoned, tumble-down building. All around came the monotonous sound of water dripping steadily from an unseen ceiling. As she looked up, one heavy drop hit her square in the face, and she blinked to regain her vision. Hands pushed her behind a mass of what looked like collapsed brickwork, a wooden door appearing out of nowhere as though by a conjurer’s sleight of hand. A flight of stone steps opened up below it.

  "Down." It was an order.

  "What the f—"

  "Down. Or d’ya want anovver fifteen rounds wiv White Lightning?" A dwarf with a broken nose and a face not even his mother could love gave Rani a push. She stumbled through ork and dwarf bodies, half-falling down the first few steps until the broad back of another ork female stopped her.

  Well, she thought, I may not know where I’m going, but it’s better than being dead. She drew in her breath and hurried down into the gloom and stench. I hope.

  14

  The group was assembling into a marching order as the last ork down pulled the trapdoor shut behind him and fastened the array of huge bolts. Looking around her,

  Rani saw that they were in an old, low-ceilinged brick tunnel with a pair of parallel rails running down the middle. It was too dark here for low-light eyes of any use, and so some of the group were lighting up simple flash-tubes and pointing them down the curving tunnel. It was a tight squeeze for the orks in the group, who ducked their heads low under the brickwork ceiling. As the last dwarfs scuttled down the steps, an ork male at the front of the group yelled them to attention. Aside from his flash tube the ork carried a pistol that made a Ceska look sophisticated.

  "We got an hour to get the stuff back to the Ratskinks. Let’s move it."

  No one said anything to Rani, seemingly unconcerned by her presence. Ducking her head, she followed the single-file column up the tunnel.

  Bang it, she thought, I’m in the Undercity! That realization shouldn’t have been so startling, but perhaps her amazement spilled over from the fact she’d just shot two attackers. The adrenaline still pumping through her blood fueled a string of fantastic thoughts. She’d always dreamed about this city under the streets of London, fantasizing about adventures down here. Tough men and strong women, living wild. No shuttered windows and barred doors. No street Nazis. No Lord Protector, Templars, baggies, no one telling her she was only a girl and had to stay at home. No White Lightning telling her she was a piece of worthless ace that had no right to live.

  Rani was elated, not even registering the throb of pain from her left ear.

  "Where are we?" she said to the figure in front of her. It was the same female ork Rani had plowed into on the stairwell.

  "Shut the rakk up and just keep moving," was all she got. Her head
bowed even further and her spirits sank. Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket, she trudged silently along.

  Just before they reached the old Tube station, Rani realized she was in the company of the birthday group from the Toadslab. That meant they must also know the surface world, and must sometimes walk the streets of Spitalfields and the rest of the East End. Maybe she could talk with them after all, given half a chance.

  As she took her turn stepping through a hole in the wall, Rani joined the others on the platform of a long-abandoned underground station. The rails beyond the crumbling edge of the platform were awash with stinking water, and any identifying station signs had long ago flaked off the walls. Random heaps of bricks and rubble littered the ground. A pair of ragged brown rats dived into the water as the first ork in the group swung a lazy boot at them. It looked like one of those ancient trid scenes of London during the Blitz, whatever that was.

  She joined the group splashing along the new tunnel, relieved to find the water only a few inches deep and her boots high enough to keep her feet just about dry. The line of orks and dwarfs were silent, marching along in silent determination. At one point the bodies ahead obscured the light from the flashtubes, causing Rani to slip and turn an ankle on the hidden metal rail. All that kept her from falling were a pair of great arms grabbing the back of her jacket and hauling her back to a standing position.

  "Move it, girl. We’re already late." For a group that had saved her life, these people didn’t seem to have much sympathy for her now. But she held her tongue, which seemed the best policy at the moment.

  When they reached the next access point, the front marchers were lined up beside another gaping hole in the brickwork and they ushered the middle of the group to the front to lead on. Rani was now near the front, able to see what was ahead of her before she stumbled over it. She began to smell the entrance to the ancient Victorian sewer long before they reached it, her nose crinkling with disgust. Mercifully, the flow didn’t seem very deep. As the group fanned out to double file, the dwarf marching next to her began to speak.

  "Watch Smeng," he growled, pointing to the new leader. "There’re some deeper pools at the junctions. He knows where to put his feet. Follow him exactly or you’ll get a faceful of upper-class drek." He grimaced and held his nose. She looked down at him with a sudden thought: I’ve got a real advantage being an ork here. If I were a dwarf, I’d be two feet closer to kissing the turds. Perversely pleased with possessing that advantage, she followed close behind the hulking ork at the front.

  A dwarf behind her had just muttered the words "Nearly there" to no one in particular when a creature looking like it had dragged itself straight from the depths of hell reared up out of the filth in front of them. As it leaped forward, a slow wave of stinking sewage broke over the leading ork, who reeled to one side as he took a full faceful of muck. As the flashtubes behind her illuminated the monster in garish, underlit neon, as Rani grabbed frantically for her gun.

  The beast looked vaguely like a troll. It was about the same size and shape, and had arms, head and a torso in roughly the right proportions. Its skin was as thick as a troll’s, too. But around its neck suppurating gill fronds heaved and disgorged a foul, reeking acid, and its clawed hands showed fused, knotted fingers tipped with keratinous claws longer than steak knives. A great tooth-ringed sucker slobbered where its mouth should have been, and its eyes were red-raw and pupil-less, pulsing wildly below a forehead whose bony nodules were encrusted with ordure and mucus. Huge muscles stretched across the thing’s body, veins as big as telecom cables bulging out as the creature flung aside the retching ork and extruded a serrated, cartilaginous tongue from its sucker-mouth.

  Not finding her gun, Rani grabbed at the aerosol can of ammonia complex as the people behind began to panic. "Mutaqua!" someone screamed. "We’re goners!"

  It was eight feet away. In a blind panic, Rani pulled out the aerosol can and sprayed wildly before her, looking away from the thing. It was a crazy thing to do, but she was as terrified as everyone else.

  A scream like someone burning alive exploded through the tunnel, half-deafening her, and then she heard a thunderous splash. Peering over the arm she had flung over her face in a vain attempt at protection, Rani saw the creature clutching at its face in horror as skin and membrane peeled away. Dripping folds of blood-soaked flesh hung limply from the mutant’s visage. It opened its mouth and howled in sheer agony. The flesh around its mouth tore like melted cheese, revealing gums and muscle beneath the strings of flesh.

  By the time the mutant turned and began to thrash blindly down the tunnel away from them, bare bone was showing through what remained of its disintegrating face. It staggered a few paces before the massive body collapsed face-down into the churning sewage. The thing convulsed once or twice, tried to raise itself up on its fists, then slumped into the muck. It did not move again.

  Rani held on to the can as if her life still depended upon it. She didn’t move a muscle either.

  The leading ork was getting to his feet now, wiping muck off his face and hands. When he looked at her, it was with a very different expression than before.

  At first he just stared, and Rani stared back. They remained so for a second, ripples of water from the monster’s final spasms lapping against their legs, their breath coming in shallow heaves. Then the ork bowed his head, and bent just a little from the waist.

  "Life saves life saves life," he said simply. A gentle hubbub rose from the others. "You are more than you seem. This I do not forget." He spoke slowly, putting his whole being into the emphasis on the not. "Come now. We can talk later. We have business first. Nearly home."

  Indeed, it was not far. They went a few more yards, past the motionless body of the dead thing that had tried to ambush them, then came to the secret entrance leading to the caverns of the Undercity beyond.

  * * *

  "Where are we?"

  Rani was astonished. After a couple of miles of progressively more disgusting sewer tunnels, and an unwanted soaking in sewer effluent, this cavern was clean, though bare and unmarked. The dusty, dank air was not so good, either, but one could live in such a place. Orks and dwarfs were using buckets of water to clean the filth off their boots.

  "Old Civil Defense underground," the leading ork said without looking up. "Hundred years old, maybe more.

  Abandoned them when they built deeper and bigger bunkers to save the nobles in case of a nuke attack. Good place. Easy to defend. Our home." It was plain that they finally trusted Rani enough to give her some information. "Sometimes we get trouble with the Gleedens from the deeper tunnels, but they’re slim from all the dumpchutes down there, and we do business with the Ratskinks anyway. Keeps our patch safe." She had no idea what Gleedens or Ratskinks were, but she didn’t like the sound of either one. This certainly was another world.

  "The, um, mutaqua? Get many of them down here?" She tried to sound nonchalant.

  The ork handed her a bucket and some rags. "Not many. They usually don’t make it up this far from the deeps. Mutated dzoo-noo-qua—no one knows how they got down here, but they’re motherrubbing dangerous. Don’t know what you have in that can, gopi, but it was tailor-made for the job."

  Rani merely nodded. She didn’t have any idea exactly what it was that had turned the mutaqua’s face to bloody jelly, either. In a sewer, it could hardly have been the ammonia. She wondered whether she’d grabbed a can of something else from the kitchen in her haste. At the back of her mind, a little plan was hatching about the fortune to be made selling the stuff to the population of the Undercity. She was just congratulating herself on her canny presence of mind when she realized these orks were not likely to be what you called rich. Oh well. That’d teach her to start thinking like her brothers.

  A powerfully built dwarf came over and handed a black plastic package to the ork with whom she’d been talking. Whatever was inside slithered and squirmed a little. She knew better than to inquire about the contents.

&
nbsp; "All right, peeps," the ork said. "Kurak’s waiting. Let’s go. Fun-time’s over for the evening."

  She was suddenly aware that it was very late, and after the tension of dealing with Mohinder and the fighting of this night, her muscles were beginning to feel very heavy. Her eyelids drooped and it was a real effort to put one foot in front of the other as she walked along.

  "Sorry, gopi, uh, sorry again. Hey, what’s your name?" The big ork grinned at her. She told him, and he said, "I’m Smeng. Yeah, Rani, we’re going to have to blindfold you now. Should have done it before, really. Make sure you don’t see what you shouldn’t. Nothing personal, you know."

  Without complaint she let them bind a thick, smelly cloth tightly across her eyes. As they marched her along, she was really too tired to try to figure out how far they’d gone, dimly thinking they might be back-tracking at some stage as guttural yells to sentinels got them past blocks and checks.

  By the time they removed the blindfold, Rani was almost dead on her feet. She looked dazedly around at a large chamber with strange faded maps posted on the walls and dim lamps suspended in arrays along the ceiling. She blinked like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car.

  "We take a little juice off the electricity cables. Service ducts aren’t too far away. We do a little freelance rewiring from time to time." Smeng grinned at her again. Maybe it was just the lateness and exhaustion, but she was beginning to like him a little.

  "Rani, I got business to take care of." He held the black package protectively to his chest. "Got to figure out what to do with you, too. Sleep on it, huh?" He unlocked a side door and ushered her into a little four-bunked cell. She’d have slept in a radioactive bomb crater if he’d put a bed in it. She could hardly take another step.

  Maybe it was the excitement of the night, maybe some premonition, maybe just exhaustion that kept her awake an extra few minutes after Smeng had locked her in. She struggled to pull off her befouled clothes, then snuggled under the gray blankets smelling of naphtha. She lay there awhile, her mind racing too fast for sleep. When she heard murmurs and saw the light grow brighter in the crack under the door, she draped the blanket around her and crept through the dark to listen.