by Lucas Thorn
“What’s that?”
“It weren’t our boys. In the end, they were Vor’s. Infiltrated us a few weeks before. I found out from Smiley. He works a jewelers out on Tailbone street. Sometimes buys what I’m selling, if you get me. He said one of the boys, a lad named Haden, was a fucking rat for Vor. It was all a setup, see? We were too big. Sooner or later, Anglek would’ve moved in or made a deal with us. So, Vor killed two of his own to get him mad at us. We were turfed, and Noster’s crew just up and moved in. Weren’t no one to put up a fight. But that bastard’s one of Vor’s, long-ear. I know it. Sure, he pretends to be all independent and all, but he ain’t. He’s Vor’s puppet right down to his strings. Anglek probably knows it now. Not that it’d mean anything to him. Not that it changes anything.”
“He wouldn’t listen, huh?”
“Couldn’t. See, the one who’ll get the throne is gonna be the strongest. Toughest. Smartest. He couldn’t afford to look weak by admitting he fucked up. Jumped to the wrong conclusion and all. Nah, he’s gotta let it go. Cut his losses. Got his own back, in a way. He helped Filth with the Shivs. With the Shivs as big as they are, it stops the Red Claws from sinking deeper into the west side.” The old man’s face looked suddenly cunning. “Well. So he thinks…”
“The tunnels,” the elf said softly. “They cross Shiv turf through tunnels.”
Shock. Which he tried to smother quickly. “You know about those?”
“Ain’t here for a history lesson,” she said. “I’m looking to get into Red Claw turf without them seeing me. Trying to find a feller they’re protecting.”
Something ripened in his old eyes. “Who you looking for? And don’t be shy about it. I ain’t about to scream it out. If you want the truth, I can help. Happy to help. Anything to stick a knife into those bastard Red Claws.”
She twisted her lip, unsure how much to trust him. “Looking for an alchemist. Calls himself Damis.”
“He’s the one making their new potion. Shadow, they call it.”
“Yeah.”
Old Fludd burrowed his brow, thinking hard. Rubbed his temples. “Shit. So much has changed, and I don’t get around like I used to.”
“They’d need to keep him somewhere tight. Somewhere they can get supplies to him real easy. I figure it’s connected to the tunnels.”
He shook his head. “Sure. Why not? If I was them, I’d tuck him up below the volcano. In the tunnels. There’s plenty of rooms underneath. Some of them real big, too. Yeah, that seems more likely to me. They’d boat in supplies up the canal. Duck them into a tunnel. No one would ever know. Also, I don’t know if you’ve been into an alchemist’s workshop, but they stink. No way they could put that where everyone’s sleeping. And word is only the Claws live inside their tower now. And their families. No locals get in. They ain’t even got a market in their atrium.”
It was a stab in the dark, and she knew it.
A longshot. But it sounded right.
There’d be security in the tunnels, and Damis could work without being distracted. Any fumes wouldn’t be noticed in the sewers.
She wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, but she liked it enough to check it out.
“I need to get in,” she said. “I need to know where these rooms are.”
“Sure,” he said, trying sarcasm. “I’ll just whip out my maps. Carry them on me everywhere I go.”
“You got maps?”
Old eyes sucked a cunning breath. “What’s in it for me?”
“Your life.”
“Ain’t much of a life. I’m gonna need more than that.” He leaned back in his chair, pushing his hands together. “Grim’s teeth, I’ve been waiting for this. I knew someone would come one day. Can you do it, though? Yeah. Maybe you can. Maybe. Look, long-ear. It ain’t gold I’m after.”
“What, then?”
“Noster.” Old Fludd snarled the name. “He was one us, you see. Him and Zwack were close. Two of Wisehead’s most trusted. Zwack figured Noster was one of us through and through. But Noster? He sold us out. Left the gang a month before all this shit went down. Just disappeared. We thought he was dead. But then, after it was all over, he showed up again with his Red Claws. Too geared-up to be just a bunch of thugs he’d scrounged from taverns. Had to be backed by real coin. Fucking Vor’s coin, I’ll wager. He walked into what was left of our turf and just swallowed it up. Smug little cunt. He took our turf, long-ear. Took it while it was still wet with our blood. My boys. My beautiful girl. Their blood is on his hands, and I’ll see his on mine before I die.”
The elf rubbed at her shoulder, probing a knot of muscle.
Thinking it through.
So far, she had to kill a rogue alchemist, a kid called Forn, and now maybe the boss of a ruthless gang. A gang which had already almost killed her.
Big order, she thought.
Especially while she was still trying to get her feet in this crazy city.
Fludd said nothing. Watched as she figured it through. Small smile tugging his wrinkled mouth as he expected nothing less than acceptance of his terms. Knew she needed to know how to get in.
How to get through the maze of tunnels.
He sipped his tea. Nodded to Ana-Marie as she came looking to see if he needed a refill.
“Fine,” the elf said at last. Reluctantly. Remembered Hideg saying he wouldn’t mind seeing Noster dead anyway. “Go get your maps.”
“Don’t need to.” He tapped his head. “They’re all right here.”
“I ain’t taking you with me.”
“You ain’t got a choice. No way I could write out a map. It’s too complicated. Not just the way in, but the traps.”
“Fuck.”
“Don’t sweat it, long-ear.” He flexed old crooked fingers. Shadow-boxed playfully. “I know I ain’t good enough to make it through on my own. Never figured I could. But I can still hold my own. I might look old and slow, but watch this. I’m still almost as quick as most youngsters. I’ll go right over them. See? Didn’t even see that one, did you? What d’you think? Huh?”
The elf sighed, putting her in her hand. Drawled quietly; “Feels like you’re real flash, Fludd.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
She thought of returning to Gatson’s forge to get her knife back, but the lightness of her coinpurse made her put that idea aside again.
Instead, she watched Ana-Marie rush a few slices of pie to a broad-shouldered man with short black hair and hands like shovels. He did his best to heap compliments on her plate while accepting pie on his own.
Leaned back in his chair as he ate. A little too exuberant for so early in the morning.
Ana-Marie poured black tea and let him press his cheek almost against hers so he could whisper something in her ear. Whatever it was, turned her cheeks scarlet.
She skipped away, peeling off her apron and hanging it on a hook behind the counter.
Sensing his last few moments of opportunity, he called; “You be around later tonight?”
“For the hundredth time, Dale, I work here. Where else am I gonna be?”
That made his ears red.
“Well, I just wanted to know if there’d be any more pie,” he said. Lame tone as he struggled to figure out where to go next. “It’s good, Ana. Tell your ma, okay? Tell her I said this pie was damn good.”
“That’s Dale,” Fludd said. Warm-eyed. “He’s been trying to make a move on her for about a year now. Reckon if he don’t hurry up, he’ll miss out.”
“He seems to like the pie,” the elf said. Suddenly uncomfortable, though she couldn’t explain why.
“Yeah.” The old man sighed. “They’d make a good couple. Better than most, I’d say. And honest. Doesn’t seem there’s many honest men about these days. But he’s one of them. Apprentice cooper, he is.”
“Figures.”
Watching the young man eat, it suddenly occurred to her that she’d never even tried to cook for Talek.
He’d done it all.
When left to sort
meals, Nysta had simply thrown whatever she could scrounge onto a plate. Raw.
At thought of her husband, the elf looked away from the flirting couple. Back at her fingers drumming on the table. Tried not to sigh as a flicker of his face ghosted through her mind.
Not quite clear. Pieces of his face were missing. Only impressions remained.
How could she forget so many little things?
Smell.
She could still smell him, though. And that thought satisfied. She hadn’t lost everything. She wouldn’t lose that.
The old man got up a few times while he finished his tea. Headed out back to piss.
His bladder, he complained, was aging faster than the rest of him.
“I don’t know what you two are planning, Nysta,” Ana said on her way out. “And I don’t want to know. I can see it’s dangerous, though. So, I just want to say I wish you luck. Be careful.”
“Obliged,” the elf said. Didn’t know what else to say.
When she was gone, Fludd shuffled back inside and looked around. “Where’s Ana, Pops?”
The girl’s father looked up from behind the counter. He was going through tea tins, refilling from supplies packed into a small trolley at his hip. “She’s gone home, Fludd. Girl’s gotta get her beauty sleep.”
“Naw, she don’t,” Dale said. “Probably only needs a blink a day to maintain that.”
Pops smiled politely but said nothing.
“I love it here,” Fludd said, taking his seat.
The elf shrugged. “Don’t get used to it. We’re leaving in a minute.”
“Okay. I’m ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. You sure you don’t want to do it at night?”
“Night or day, tunnels are still dark.”
“True. But don’t you wanna wait until the Red Claws are all sleeping?”
“No one guards them at night?”
“Course they would.”
“Then what’s it matter? Morning’s as good as night. Better. At night, they’re all ready to jump at the slightest sound. But no one’s expecting shit to happen in the morning. Most fellers are either tired from working all night, or they just got there and ain’t woken up yet.”
“I guess so.” Doubtful, but not wanting to argue. Looked around slowly. “Fuck. I could really use a drink, you know?”
The elf grunted, thinking the same.
Rubbed the scar on her cheek and pushed out of her chair.
Walked out without looking back.
Didn’t listen as Fludd made his goodbyes and had to scurry to catch up. Old leg dragging limp and keeping him from moving quickly. Cane tapping with every second step. He still tried, though, and managed to step to her side as she paused at a junction.
The morning spill was heating up.
People scuttled into the street. An army of crabs, motionless faces grey in the morning light. Brains mostly asleep and eyes doing their best to open.
Bubbles of conversation hammered her ears.
A young entertainer was warming up for his first show of the day. Squeezed against a wall. Acrobatic, the boy stretched and began talking loudly, earning the attention of a few not too hurried to push past. Hoping to put on a small show to get himself a few extra coins.
Nysta found his voice aggravating.
She let Fludd point the way and walked brisk down the street. Not too fast that she lost the old man, but not slow enough to keep him comfortable.
A couple of kids ran past, babbling in loose tongue.
Mostly street slang and insults as a guard jogged after them. Sword low, but not looking to use it. Just looking to scare them along.
The guard slowed as he reached the end of the street and wiped a few lines of sweat from his chin. Turned with a grin and shared a laugh with a round-bellied fruitseller.
Cheerfully took an offered apple and moved on.
The elf didn’t watch the guard, but she was aware of him. Since one of Hideg’s men had shown they could wear the uniform, she was feeling a little sore toward them. Couldn’t trust they were what they appeared.
Even less so as she remembered Vikter.
Moving back out of the shadows, she ignored Fludd’s puzzled look. A look which faded with understanding before his own glances became more furtive.
He had no reason to trust guards either.
“It’s not far,” he said. Kept his voice down. Nudged up next to her. “The river cuts through the city just up ahead. Plenty of sewers empty into it. But some of them ain’t sewers, if you get me.”
“It stink like sewers?”
“Did twenty years ago. Ain’t sure about now, though. Maybe Noster don’t like getting his boots stinky and cleaned it out. Carpeted it in roses?” He grinned. “Doubt it, though. Anyways, it won’t kill you. Smell’s just for keeping the curious out.”
“Wonder what that means for two cats like us…”
True to the old man’s word, a stone bridge reached across the thin river and she could see a row of heavy pipes gagging into the water. From the closest, grease snaked like a glittering disease.
The hardest part wasn’t climbing down to the pipe the old man had pointed out. It was getting there without being seen. Plenty of small stairs had been cut into the rocky embankment, but all were open to passing eyes.
Eyes the elf wanted to avoid.
“Told you it’s better at night,” he growled as she waited until she was comfortable before springing down the stairs.
“Just move, old man.”
“Less of the old,” he winced. “Please?”
“Fine, Fludd.”
“You might as well call me Rojer.”
“Rojer.”
The pipe was big enough she could walk without hunching too much, but the sludge was putrid and made her stomach churn. Slick and foul, it slid under her boots like a living blanket of slime.
The walls of the pipe bore the marks of the Red Claw. Gang signs and slogans promising all kinds of murder to keep other gangs from exploring further.
Otherwise, it was just as stained with filth as the ground she struggled to walk through.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in years,” he said. He used the cane more often. Even pressed his hand to the slime-drenched wall to keep balance. Wheezed a little when he spoke. “Never used to be this bad.”
“Reckon that’s a good thing. Means maybe it’s not as watched as others?”
“Maybe.” He looked over his shoulder at retreating light. “I don’t suppose you brought a torch?”
The elf shook her head. She didn’t really need one. Not yet, anyway.
Deeper into the tunnel, it twisted at a sharp right angle before forking. One shaft angling at a gentle incline while the other curved down deeper into Dragonclaw’s stinking bowels.
“Okay, feller. Which way?”
“Down,” he said, pointing. Kept his voice soft so it didn’t carry. “It’s slippery as fuck. So, be real careful where you put your feet. Also, we used to put traps down here.”
Sighed. “Traps.”
“Yeah. Your eyes are better than mine. Look for a sign on the wall. Looks like a triangle with the point up to the sky. Usually that’s where we trapped the ground.” He hesitated. “But maybe they’ve changed that.”
“Exciting.”
She moved forward, steps short and soft. Violet eyes sucking pitiful offerings of light as she sought signs along the walls. Didn’t take long to find one.
Held her hand up, but he walked into her anyway.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “Can’t see shit.”
“Sign right there,” she said.
“Right or left side?”
“Right.”
“Used to mean nothing,” he said. Voice turned grim. “But I reckon they switched it round. I would’ve.”
The elf squatted, drawing Mass of Colour and probing the ground ahead with gentle sliding gestures.
Searching.
It took time, but she found it eventually. A hard
circle of steel buried in the slime.
“Wolf trap,” he said, satisfied to have been right. “Step in that, and you’ll be screaming until someone comes get you. If they come get you.”
Reaching across, she found the other side and was satisfied it was safe to step across. Still, as she moved over the open jaws, she could help feeling a shiver. If she’d come down here on her own, she might not have looked so hard.
Might not have known.
There were two more traps, easily found once she figured out what she was looking for. The third was even easier because it had long since been triggered. Probably from rust. It rose out of the sludge like a skeleton, rusted and draped with rot.
No sign of what had made it snap its jaws.
Probably rats, she decided.
“Told you no one’s been down here for ages,” he said.
And, as they came around another corner, she could see why.
A heavy steel grate blocked the way.
“Shit.”
Eyeing the lock, the elf tried to guess how much of its innards were rusted in place. Most of it, she figured. Looking through the bars, she couldn’t make out anything except gloom. The tunnel seemed to stretch into the distance without end.
Looked over her shoulder.
Nothing.
Fludd fidgeted. “Now what?”
“You good at picking locks?”
“With these fucked up hands? No, not me. Not anymore.”
She lifted the padlock and eyed the keyhole. The mouth was wretched with rust. Metal bubbled and torn.
“There’s other tunnels,” he said.
“I ain’t got time for being patient,” she growled.
Took a step back.
“What’re you-?” Then, as she lifted her knee and grabbed hold of one of the bars with a determined fist; “No! Wait. They’ll hear-”
Her boot smashed into the lock with a thunderous boom of metal. The door, smashed open, gave a forlorn screech and burst from its rotten hinges.
Dull ring of iron as the heavy grated frame dropped into the slime.
The crash raced down the tunnel on shocked wings like a swarm of bats. Echoes bounded like a startled giant.
