by Todd Shryock
“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 have 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 for you, though, before I give you to the others.” Red eye snapped his fingers, and the light went out.
Chapter 2
Quinton suddenly exhaled as if he had been holding his breath for a long time. He felt disoriented and took half a step forward to keep from falling. Red eye still sat on the bed across from him, his gaze unwavering, studying him carefully.
“Everything is a variable,” he whispered. “So many choices, so many outcomes. Which one is the right one that leads to freedom?” Red eye blinked heavily, then stood up.
“Come with me, maggot,” he commanded, his voice loud. “I’m afraid you’ve missed dinner, but going hungry is probably something you’re used to.”
He brushed past the boy to the door, black robes flowing behind him, grabbing the candle as he went. The door silently opened on old iron hinges as Red eye turned the handle and glided down the hall. Quinton was surprised at the speed and grace of movement of the man. He passed the spiral staircase and stopped at a door just beyond it. The door was slightly larger than the others Quinton had seen, and the frame was worn with nicks and pockmarks. He noticed the floor had a worn path from the door to the stairs. He looked up to see Red eye staring at him.
“Yes, there is a bit of a path, isn’t there? It can be a busy place sometimes.” He grasped the black iron handle and turned it with a loud click. The door swung out into the hallway, blocking Quinton’s view of what lay inside. Red eye took a half step back and held out his arm, motioning the boy inside.
Quinton took a deep breath, stepped toward Red eye and started to peer around the door. The man’s hand grasped his neck, his cold fingers sending chills down his body, and flung him into the room, the door slamming shut behind him. The boy stumbled forward and immediately tripped over something – or someone. He tried to step forward to regain his balance, immediately stepped on someone else and fell face first to the floor, but he landed on yet another person. There were cries of protests and curses as he tried to right himself but managed only to land on more limbs with his feet, hands and knees. A leg lashed out in protest and kicked him painfully in the ribs.
“Watch it!” came an angry warning.
“Who is that?” asked another voice.
“Shut up and go back to sleep,” pleaded another.
Quinton was disoriented. The room was pitch black and smelled of unwashed bodies and urine. He felt desperately for some sort of spot that wasn’t occupied by someone, but everywhere he tried, he either crawled onto someone or was hit with another protesting foot or fist to his body.
“Where can I go?” he finally asked. The restless bodies around him suddenly grew silent, and the protests stopped. There was a brief moment of silence and Quinton thought the other boys had all suddenly died. Then a voice from across the room spoke.
“Looks like we got a new one,” came the voice, one that was deeper than the others. “Send him over for a chat.”
What felt like a dozen hands grabbed him at once. He was partly pushed, partly dragged across the dark room until he was facing what he thought was a wall. A hand grasped him by the throat, and he immediately began wheezing for his breath and grabbing at the arm stretched before him, but the grip wouldn’t relent.
“Let’s get a few things straight here, maggot,” said the voice in front of him. “You’re new here, which puts you at the bottom of the maggot barrel.” He paused for a moment to speak to someone unseen beside him. “Light the flame so the maggot can see who he answers to around here.”
There was some more shuffling and what sounded like a wooden door opening, then a hiss as a red flame appeared on a small candle. The light was brought to Quinton’s captor and provided just enough illumination for Quinton to see his surroundings. The boy took a quick look around. All around him were faces of boys, pressed so tightly in a circle trying to see what was going on that he couldn’t see beyond them. They were of all ages and descriptions. The only commonality among them was filthy clothes and a resentful look. The hand around his throat tightened its grip and brought his attention back to his captor.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” said the boy, his words having a funny accent that he had never heard before. “My name is Lacoris, and I’m in charge of the maggots. I’m the oldest and the next to get out of this pit and be named a master.”
Quinton’s eyes narrowed a bit when the boy told him his name.
Lacoris smiled an evil grin. “That’s right, maggot. We use our names down here. But you better never let them others hear you use our names, because they’ll pull you apart one bone at a time. I’ve seen it ’appen on occasion.”
Quinton stared at Lacoris. The boy was older, maybe in his early or mid-teens, with clear blue eyes that penetrated right through you. His oily black hair was slicked to one side and shone slightly in the light. His face bore several small scars, and Quinton could see what looked like several more on his arm. He was dressed in a simple tunic with a black vest made of material so filthy it was indeterminate what it was. The vest had what looked like many pockets, and sticking out of one of them was a small knife handle.
Lacoris nodded over his shoulder at another older boy standing beside him. “That there is Vergoth. He’s me right-hand man. When I ain’t around, he’s in charge, making sure none of you little turds are bad mouthing me when I’m out working. As for the rest of these urchins, who really cares what their names are?” He gave a snort and shoved the boy into the circle of maggots, who promptly shoved him back. Lacoris grabbed him by the collar as he gasped for air. “Don’t ever cross me.” He stared at Quinton. “Never. Or I’ll split you like a pig at a feast. Vergoth’s seen me do it before, haven’t you, Vee?”
The other boy, who was short and squat but very powerful looking, nodded slightly, his arms crossed before him.
“Now, some of us have to work tomorrow, so we need to get some sleep.” Lacoris lashed out with his right hand with a sharp punch to Quinton’s stomach, knocking all the air out of him. He started to fall, but Lacoris grabbed him and held him up. “That was for waking me up. Now get some sleep – after you meet the others.” Lacoris stood him up and shoved him into the other boys again. The light winked out and Quinton was assailed by a cloud o
f fists and feet, knocking him to the ground, which just seemed to increase their anger. After a few moments, the assault ceased. He could hear the others moving back to their spots around him. Afraid to move, he did nothing. After several minutes, there was no more moving, and he could hear the rhythmic breathing and snores of several of the maggots sleeping around him.
His arms and legs hurt in several spots where the boys had landed clean blows, but for the most part, he was okay. He didn’t know what to do, so he just curled up and closed his eyes, a tear running down his cheek. He had to get out of this madness. Get out of the city and run to the swamps, or stow away on a ship bound for anywhere. This was crazy.
“Don’t be sad,” came a taunting voice from the darkness. “You’re part of our family now,” said Lacoris. “There’s no escaping us. But remember, it’s a choice you made, a choice all of us made.”
Lacoris said no more. Quinton fell asleep and dreamed of dark figures beating him as he tried to run away.
***
Quinton awoke to the sound of movement around him. The maggots were stirring and he was afraid he would get stepped on, so he stood up. He could hear running water in the corner, and everyone seemed to be shuffling that way, so he let the bumping bodies steer him where he was supposed to go. He finally realized that the boys were taking turns relieving themselves in the corner of the room, and everyone was shuffling along waiting for their chance.
When Quinton got up there, the smell was almost unbearable, but he took his turn and moved out of the way for the next boy. The door opened and a candle illuminated the room. Master Red eye was standing in the doorway, a blank stare on his face. The boys quickly turned to face him and their looks were of anticipation.
“Maggots serving masters Hack, Sneak, Monk and Sparrow are ordered upstairs immediately,” said Red eye, using his commanding voice. He silently turned and disappeared from the door. There were several whispers of excitement as the chosen boys, one of whom was Lacoris, made their way to the door and headed for the stairs. The rest of the boys’ faces turned to disappointment and they, too, began filing out the door, but not as quickly. Quinton stood watching for a moment, the boys behind him bumping into him.
“Get moving,” came a voice from behind him. “We have to go eat now before training, then work.”
Quinton glanced behind him at a thin boy about his age. His skin was pallid and his eyes were deeply sunk in his head. Quinton nodded and started forward toward the candlelight that illuminated the hallway outside.
“The name is Teli,” said the boy in a whisper.
“Mine’s Quinton,” he answered.
“Just remember, don’t ever use anyone’s name where the masters can hear you,” the other boy replied.
“Right.”
Quinton and the others filed down the hall and through one of the doors he remembered passing the day before. Inside were several long benches running along the walls that were nothing more than roughly hewn logs and planks set on some large, round pieces of log. The boys were lined up before a table with a small pot and a bunch of crude wooden bowls on it. Each boy took a bowl, had it filled by a boy behind the pot and went and sat down on a bench, where he tipped it up to his mouth to eat. Quinton got his bowl, sat down on a bench near another boy who didn’t even so much as acknowledge he was there, and sniffed the bowl. It didn’t smell like much of anything and didn’t appear to be anything other than greasy water.
“Gruel,” said Teli, who had sat down beside him. “It’s what we usually get in the morning.”
Quinton shrugged and drank his down. The flavor matched the smell, but it was as good as anything he ever had while on the streets. The gruel left a bitter aftertaste, but there was nothing to wash it down with. After a few moments, Master Red eye entered the room finishing the last of a large piece of bread. His eyes scanned the boys. Quinton wondered if he would say anything to him, but his gaze went on past as if he had never seen him before.
Red eye swallowed the last of his bread before starting. “Today we will work on climbing,” he said, his voice just loud enough for everyone to hear, though a few boys at the ends leaned forward to hear better. “It will be a competition.”
The boys broke out in whoops and back slaps, before Red eye raised a hand to immediately silence them.
“The prize will be a slice of freshly baked bread,” he continued. The boys’ eyes went wide as they looked at each other and few whispered conversations broke out. Quinton would like to have the bread, but was unsure of what was going on. “When you are finished, meet me at the old gate.”
There was a rush of boys returning their wooden bowls to the serving table. The bowls clattered together and a few stacks toppled to the floor, but that didn’t stop the stampede out of the room. Quinton slowly walked up to the table and returned his bowl. Teli was beside him.
“We’ll all be climbing the walls,” said Teli. “The one who does the best gets the bread.”
Quinton nodded. The adults had seemed impressed with his climbing skills, so maybe he had a shot at the bread. He and Teli left the room, bringing up the rear of the line of boys headed down the hallway. They went through a door, then through a series of short hallways and small sets of stairs. At last Quinton could see a doorway that had the first vestiges of daylight glowing through it, the door standing open, Red eye beside it. The boys quietly filed out into a narrow alleyway that was blocked on one end by a large building on and the other with what looked like a large narrow wooden gate. The gate appeared to be lifted by some sort of mechanism, much like a portcullis, but the ropes led up into the building above him, which was obscured by a large ledge some thirty feet above the ground. The ledge was wet and covered in some sort of growth.
The wall of the building in front of him was in various degrees of repair and was similar to the one Sands had caught him trying to climb. Directly in front of him the mortar was cracked and missing, stones jutted out and the wall was very rough. As you moved toward the gate, the wall became progressively smoother; there were fewer projections, the mortar was in place and the stones were slick. Closest to the gate, the wall was nearly completely smooth. The stones were very even and some were covered in moss or algae and water dripped down on to them in places. All across the wall was scratched a line that wove up and down and from side to side, starting in front of them and working its way to the gate. At the height of the ledge near the gate, barely visible, Quinton could make out a brass bell.
“No one’s ever made it to the bell before,” said Teli. “The maggot who makes it furthest gets the prize. The maggot who does the worst … ” he let his voice trail off.
“What?” Quinton asked.
“Gets punished,” Teli finished.
Quinton thought for a moment. “How?”
Teli shook his head. “Depends. Just don’t finish last.”
Red eye had already motioned for the first boy to start. A lad of about ten with light brown hair walked up to the wall, found a handhold and pulled himself up. The first several moves were easy, as there were plenty of places to put your hands and feet while still progressing along the line.
“You have to follow the line,” said Teli. “At least one part of you has to be over the line at all times. If you leave the line, then that counts as a fall and your progress is marked at that point.” The boys watched the brown-haired boy slowly move along the first part of the course.
“Move faster, maggot,” urged Red eye. The boy was taking a lot of time feeling for his next handhold.
“There are basically three sections to the course, which you can see on the wall. The easy part,” he pointed to the section the boy was on now, “the middle, and then what we call the slide. Everything over there is so wet, you usually just slide right off of it. Hardly anyone makes it to that section anyway, well, other than Lacoris and a few that have gotten lucky on occasion. In fact, most of us don’t make it much into the middle section before we fall.”
Quinton eyed th
e line that at times ventured very high up on the wall. “Anyone ever get hurt doing this?”
“All the time,” Teli replied, wincing as the boy lost his handhold, hung by one hand for a minute, then dropped ten feet to the ground, landing on his feet and rolling onto his back.
“Next,” motioned Red eye.
“If you’re not hurt bad, Master Grubbs will patch you up. But sometimes maggots have been hurt real bad.”
“What happens to them?”
Teli didn’t say anything. “Failure has a high price here. There are streets full of kids out there who can replace us. Those who can get the job done get to stick around for another day. Those who can’t end up in the river.”
The river, Quinton thought. It must be clogged with bodies. With the disease, the fights, the occasional Orc raid and now this, there were plenty of bodies to feed the fish with.
Quinton watched as each maggot tried the wall. The maggot that went the furthest and the least furthest marked their place by standing along the opposite wall from where they fell. Anyone falling in between went back down the alley away from the gate and watched the others. If someone set a new mark, either shorter or longer, they would replace one of the boys along the wall and send the other one back to the group. As the number of boys grew fewer, the boy with the shortest mark began to look more and more worried, while the boy with the longest mark started dreaming of bread.
Another boy fell in between the two marks after barely making it into the middle section. There were only six boys left. A large older boy stepped up to the wall, turned around to bend over, put some dirt on his hands and stood up. His eyes met Quinton’s and he sneered. Quinton recognized him as one of the boys who had beaten him the day Master Sands had caught him stealing. He didn’t think such a portly boy could climb that well, but he made it almost to the furthest mark before his toehold gave way and sent him crashing to the ground in a heap. He was slow to get up but dusted himself off, sneered at Quinton, then returned to the group.
