The Fly Guild

by Todd Shryock

  “So you’re a survivor after all,” said the man near the door, his face familiar. The sandy brown hair gave him away as the man the boy had tried to escape from earlier. “My name is Sands, and this here is Grubbs,” he said, motioning with his head to the man with the ladle. Grubbs nodded slightly in recognition before Sands continued. “You’ve been given another chance to live, but let me explain a few things. The boy you once were is dead now. We left him back in the crimper – that stone space you were sealed into. What’s left is the part of him that is too hard to kill and is a survivor. You are a maggot. You fed on the flesh and soul of the boy you once were in order to survive. By surviving in the crimper for three days, you have become worthy enough to become an apprentice to the Fly Guild.”

  Quinton searched his memories but couldn’t remember any mention of any such organization. He started to ask a question, but his voice wouldn’t respond, which was well enough because the man started speaking again anyway.

  “You are a maggot and have no name other than maggot. You belong to me the same way a dog belongs to its master. You are identified from the other maggots by your master’s name. You will be known as Sands’ maggot when necessary, otherwise simply as maggot. You are never to mention your old name, for that person is dead and it is improper to speak the names of the dead who died such a horrible death, lest they return to this world to haunt us. Do you understand so far?”

  Quinton nodded and took another sip. As long as the water kept coming, he’d agree to anything. Once he was back on his feet, he could escape if he needed to.

  “And don’t think of escaping,” the man said as if reading his thoughts. The boy almost choked on the water he was sipping. “You do not go anywhere without my leave. We are a family here at the Fly Guild, and no one ever abandons family. To do so is to suffer the penalty of death. We’ve all experienced heartbreak in this world by our real families who left us; as members of the guild, we will guarantee ourselves that we always have someone we can rely on. To break that covenant is an insult to all members of the guild.

  “So, if you decide to try to escape, you will be hunted down and killed. Is that clear.”

  The boy nodded. He was in no condition to try much of anything right now. He desperately wanted some food.

  “As your master, and that’s how you shall address me, as master or Master Sands, I will make sure your basic requirements are met. There are many skills you will be taught so that you may contribute to the overall well-being of the family. You will help me and other family members complete jobs assigned to us by the father, Master Fist. When you are deemed worthy, you will one day be given a name, and you will no longer be known as a maggot. Until then, you will live with the other maggots in the guild unless I have need of your services.”

  The boy began to think this wasn’t such a bad deal. Just getting food and water would be a plus over his previous living situation. And how bad could these jobs actually be?

  “For now, Master Grubbs will take care of you until you have your strength back. At that point you will be sent to live with the other maggots and your training will begin.” The man turned and opened the small door, ducking below the low threshold to exit. The boy noticed his fine cloak and boots and thought him to be the best-dressed person he had ever seen in the city. He hoped that he would get clothes as nice as Sands had.

  His eyes went back to Grubbs who had stood up with the bucket and ladle. “That’s enough for now, maggot,” said Grubbs, emphasizing the last word. “I’ll get some gruel brought up along with some bread; that will help put your stomach back in order. We have to get you up and going as soon as possible, ‘cause the father sure doesn’t like freeloaders.” Grubbs ducked and went through the door, closing it behind him. A dull thump told the boy he had also dropped a locking bar across it.

  The boy really wanted to try to climb up and look out the small high window to see something other than the stone that surrounded him. He wanted to see colors other than gray again, but just simply trying to sit up proved to be too much of a strain and he quickly slumped back down. Fatigue started to overwhelm him. He looked at his hand. Someone had cleaned and bandaged it, and the soreness on the tips of his fingers was beginning to return. He closed his eyes and let sleep overcome him, hoping that when he awoke, he was still in the room and not back in the crimper.

  He slept in fits as dreams came and went. Visions of rats overrunning, him nipping at his body as they passed, kept coming back to him. His dreams faded into vague images of ships and oceans, only to return to the rats running to him. There was no escape from them. They were relentless.

  Quinton spent more than a week recovering with Grubbs; help. Some days he only saw him when he brought bread, gruel and water, while other days he apply salves made from awful-smelling plants to his wounds. The stench was nearly unbearable, but they did dull the ache and his wounds healed quickly. Most of the boy’s time was spent sleeping and he suspected Grubbs was putting some sort of sleeping potion into his water, for he was resting far more than normal. It was all well enough anyway, for there was nothing to do in his small, locked room. Whenever he woke up, Grubbs shortly thereafter entered the room with the next round of food, water and salves, leaving him little time to contemplate his predicament or escape.

  When he was approaching what seemed like two weeks worth of treatments, Sands reappeared. Quinton had just woken up again and was feeling particularly better. He was thinking about trying to walk around the room a bit when he heard the lock bar being withdrawn from his door. The small door swung open, but instead of Grubbs, it was Sands – Master Sands. He wore a cloak of light gray and fine boots made of what looked like deerskin, and there were wool trousers of gray tucked into them. The man’s eyes studied him for a moment. Quinton sat quietly, afraid to ask anything after the series of warnings he had been given the last time he saw him.

  “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 forcibly. “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 an 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. Second, 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 che
ek with such force it turned his head. Quinton’s cheek stung with pain and he looked at Grubbs incredulously.

  “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 leapt 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 Grubbs’ 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 lie 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 quickly 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 toward him until he was standing directly in front of him. One of the pale hands rose 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 that 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 an air of authority emanating 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.