The Fly Guild

by Todd Shryock

  Teli stepped up to the wall and sighed. He looked over at Master Red eye, who impatiently nodded for him to start. The boy gingerly placed his hands on some rocks and pulled himself up. Quinton could tell right away he had no idea what he was doing. His balance was all wrong; he was stretching way too far and was placing too much reliance on his feet and not using his hands. He slowly wove along the line but hadn’t yet made it to the short mark when his foot slipped out and he fell off, landing on his heels. He quickly looked behind him to see where he placed. He was several feet short of the short mark. He looked down at the ground dejectedly and took his place along the wall, releasing the other boy to return to the others.

  The remaining boys went, each placing easily between the two marks. Now it was Quinton’s turn, the last boy Red eye motioned for. He carefully studied the wall, noting each place that looked like a possible handhold or foothold. He knew that once you were pressed against the wall, it was harder to find spots, and sometimes your eyes could play tricks on you as you desperately searched for the next spot to grab hold of.

  “Stay on the line and get moving,” snapped Red eye. “If you come off the line, it counts as a fall.”

  Quinton turned to the wall, grabbed two stones and pulled himself up. He followed the line rather easily for a while. There were plenty of handholds and toeholds, but you had to be careful to plot your next several moves in advance, lest you end up nearly off the line. He wondered if you could go backward, but Red eye once again seemingly read his mind. “And you can’t go backward.”

  He continued to plot his movements as far as he could before changing the positions of any of his hands or feet. He moved as quickly as possible, but that didn’t keep Red eye from scolding him every so often. The easy section came and went. As he moved into the middle section, plotting each move became even more crucial. Some of the boys started catcalling and yelling, trying to distract him. How sporting, he thought. He was already past Teli, and felt bad for resigning the poor boy to whatever punishment was handed out, but he had had enough punishment lately and it was someone else’s turn.

  His fingers began to ache from the strain as the handholds became smaller and smaller. He tried to keep his body balanced among the four points. He slipped a few times but was able to quickly recover. The minutes passed, the catcalls faded and he felt water dripping on him from above. He had reached the slide section.

  He paused and did his best to study where to move next. This hesitation was greeted with another threat from Red eye, but he ignored him for another moment. There appeared to be an easy path right along the line, but he noticed that after so far, the handholds disappeared completely, from what he could tell. There was a more difficult path, but he would be precariously close to leaving the line at times. But if he made it, he would be in a position to try the final ascent up the slippery wall.

  “Move it, maggot, or I’ll count your fall as right there,” shouted Red eye.

  Quinton took a deep breath and opted for the more difficult path. He inched from one hold to another. The boys stopped catcalling and began to murmur in excitement. He moved up and across several more feet. At one point, he couldn’t see the line anymore and wondered if he had left it, but Red eye said nothing, so he moved on. He could see the holds below from the alternate path. He was right; had he taken that path, he would have been stuck. But now there were a few narrow cracks to stick his fingers in to and a few stones that stuck out just enough to put a toe on, though they were covered in algae.

  He moved his right hand out, found the crack and locked his fingers into it. His left hand found another crack slightly above that. He carefully placed his toe on a small outcropping and found another one for the other foot. He was pressed against the wall as much as possible. He managed to slide over a few more feet using similar cracks and he found the line again; this time, it went almost straight up.

  Quinton glanced up and could see the bell fifteen feet above him. The climb was now agonizingly slow. Every crack and toehold was damp or slippery. The wall seemed to lean out, as if trying to dump off this climbing parasite.

  Red eye continued to yell curses and threatened to end his climb many times, but he ignored him and pressed on. The other boys began cheering him on. Carefully, he searched out every crack and felt along the wall for every small outcropping on which he could later place a foot to steady himself. His fingers were aching and bleeding in places, and his knees were bruised and sore, but he kept slowly pushing upward.

  The handholds were very tenuous, and his right foot kept slipping off its small perch, threatening to bring him down, but each time, he was able to replace it and keep to the wall. He could see the bell as he kept his face pressed to the stone. He thought he could probably reach it, but to remove one hand to try to ring it was a huge risk. He wasn’t sure what to do.

  “You have ten seconds, maggot,” said Red eye, “And then you are done.”

  Quinton thought about reaching for the bell, then decided instead to try to find one more crack to pull himself up into reach of it. He put most of his weight on his left hand, which had the best grip, then did a quick search with his right hand. He was starting to lose his grip with his left hand when his right hand found a surprisingly big hole that had rough stone in it. He grabbed hold and pulled himself up another foot, finding a similar hole for his left hand. His feet finally slipped out, but his hands held him. The boys were yelling like mad below him, though he wasn’t sure whether they were cursing him or cheering him anymore. Using only his left hand to hold his weight, he reached out and slapped the bell.

  The bell slapped from side to side, ringing out crazily from his blow. The boys were cheering below. He regrabbed with his right hand and began working his way down the slippery wall, which took some time. When he was within five feet of the ground, he kicked out from the wall and landed on his feet, exhausted.

  He was mobbed by the other maggots, all of whom were slapping him on the back and mussing his hair.

  “Silence!” yelled Red eye. The noise immediately subsided. He approached Quinton, the boys parting before him like the waves part for a large ship. “Do you understand what you have just done?” he said, anger in his voice.

  Quinton looked at him for a moment, then replied. “Yes, I have won, Master Red eye.” For a brief moment, Quinton thought he saw a smile start to form in one corner of the man’s mouth, but then it was gone.

  The man’s bloodshot eyes went wild for a moment, his pale hand reaching into his robe. Quinton took a step back as it flashed back out. In it was a large piece of bread. The boy gladly took the bread, and the boys cheered once more. He stuffed a large piece in his mouth and was so elated he began handing out chunks to those around him, which increased the cheering even more. Red eye turned away and walked back down the alley to the door.

  “Enjoy your bread, maggots. Then it’s time for work.”

  The boys lucky enough to get some bread quickly chewed it and turned to follow Red eye back through the door. The sky had lightened, and the first hint of sunshine was beginning to shine. Quinton strolled over to Teli, who was still dejectedly standing in the spot that marked where he had fallen. He held out his hand and handed the boy a piece of bread that he had palmed.

  “Kept a piece for you,” he said.

  A sad smile came to his face that quickly faded. He took the piece of bread, popped it in his mouth, then began walking towards the doorway.

  “I’ll teach you how to climb,” Quinton told him, trying to cheer him up.

  Teli nodded. “If I survive the punishment, I would like that.”

  Quinton wondered again what the boy’s punishment would be. Beating? That seemed to be a popular choice. They strolled back into the building and down a different hallway than they came from. Red eye stood by a door open to the outside. Quinton could see townspeople strolling by and the occasional oxen or horse clattered by pulling a cart. Each boy approached the door and was handed a small bag. Red eye handed him the
bag and pushed him out the door.

  “Fill it up, or don’t bother coming back,” he warned.

  Quinton was puzzled. “Fill it up with what, Master Red eye?” Some other boys nearby laughed as they moved past him.

  “Stolen goods,” he said flatly. “Valuables. Silver. Food. Whatever. Just fill it up.” He slammed the door, and Quinton could hear the bolt lock it in place.

  He turned to look for Teli, but he didn’t see him.

  “Come on, maggot,” said another boy with brown curly hair. “I’ll show you how it’s done. Consider it payment for the bread you gave me.” He started to trot down the street. All the boys were fanning out down several different roads and alleyways.

  Quinton looked at his empty bag, then hurried to catch up. “Hey, wait up.” The boy was moving quickly, his curly hair bouncing with every step.

  “We’ll go down past Turnbull, then head for the area between the docks and the Old Quarter. There’s usually pretty good pickings down there.”

  Quinton wanted to ask a question, but the boy sped up and started weaving through people, carts and animals, most of them headed for the market in the middle of town. Even though it was still early, farmers had left well before sunrise to make sure they got a good spot to sell their wares.

  The boys meandered through narrow streets and an occasional alley. Quinton had never been in this part of town before, so he tried to pay attention to landmarks and unique buildings so that he might find his way back if he were separated. The crowds thinned as they moved further from the center of town, but there were still quite a few people walking around, most of them not very friendly looking. At last the other boy stopped at a corner. Across the street was a woman standing on a small box, preaching to passersby. Her hair was dark and pulled back in a ponytail bound with a small wisp of white ribbon. Her voice carried across the rough cobblestone street.

  “The time to take responsibility for our plight is now,” she said loudly to those passing by, none of whom paid her any attention. “Our children lie destitute in the street while the lords get fat on our work. Will you not lend a helping hand to those in need?”

  The other boy smiled and looked over at Quinton. “Turnbull,” he said. “Lady Turnbull. Runs some sort of church or somethin’. Always yelling at people about their evil lives and the poor condition of us childrens.” He turned to listen to her for a bit more, then added, “We don’t never steal from her. Not sure why, we just don’t. Not that Fist, Master Fist that is, ever said not to, it’s just we kind of decided on our own to not rob her.” He listened for a few more moments, then looked back over at Quinton. “Name’s Huck. I’m Magpie’s maggot. You probably don’t know who that is, but you’ll learn ’em all soon enough. Anyway, here’s our setup. Know what invisible duck is?”

  Quinton shook his head.

  “Right. I approach somebody with my bag and get the person’s attention. While they are lookin’ at me, you grab whatever they have, then run like hell. Got it?”

  Quinton nodded. “Run to where, though?”

  “Wherever they stop chasing you. I’ll find you. I know these streets in this quarter really well. We need to get away from Turnbull first, though, so we’ll move over a couple sections.”

  Huck left the alley and walked across the street past Lady Turnbull, with Quinton close behind.

  “Boys,” she pleaded. “Leave behind your life of street crime. Come to me and let me show you a better way of life.”

  “Sorry, m’lady,” said Huck. “Got work to do. If I don’t fill up me bag, I’ll be in the river tonight.”

  Her eyes moved to Quinton, who didn’t know what to say. Her eyes were soft and green and they pleaded with him. He just shrugged and kept following Huck.

  “You’ll end up in the river eventually if you keep doing what you’re doing,” she yelled after them. “If not by your own people, then by someone who catches you.”

  Huck ignored her and continued down the street. “She means well,” he said to Quinton as they stopped two corners down and started scanning the streets. “She just don’t understand what the Fly Guild is. If we left to live with her, someone would slit our throats in the night the first day we were there.” He looked over at Quinton, the smile gone from his face. “And you can count on that. No one leaves the family. Ever.” He stared at him for a minute then smiled. “Okay, I’m going to cross the street and wait for a smack to come down, then … “

  “What’s a smack?”

  “A person we’re going to steal from. Now listen, once I approach him, you have to sneak up from behind. When he reaches for my bag, that’s when you run by and snag whatever the person is carrying. And don’t forget to keep running.”

  Before Quinton could say anything, Huck bounded off across the street to stand near a building, slightly hidden in the shadow of a recessed doorway. Several people walked by, but Huck let them go. They either weren’t carrying anything, or looked too tough to deal with. Quinton spotted a middle-aged man walking up the street with a small oil-covered cloth covering a lump of something tucked under his arm. Quinton figured it to be a loaf of bread and looked over at Huck, who nodded once in response. Quinton’s heart started to race. He had been doing something similar the day Sands caught him. His ribs ached in response to the memory.

  The man passed by and Huck stepped out from his hiding spot, bag in hand. He held the neck of the bag so that it looked as though it had something in it and he feigned weight.

  “Pardon me, sir,” he said, “would you like to buy a freshly strangled duck? It’s a bit small, but it’s got plenty of meat on it.” He held the bag up and waved it from side to side.

  The man hesitated for a moment, and Quinton used the time to close the distance between him and the man. Huck moved the bag to his other hand and took half a step to the side opposite the bread loaf so as to not be in the way.

  “How much?” the man asked.

  “Two silver,” said Huck.

  “Two silver?” the man said incredulously. “I haven’t even seen it, and you said yourself it was small.”

  “All right then, take a look for yourself.” Huck held out the bag to the man.

  Quinton bolted. As the man reached for the bag, Quinton punched at the package under the man’s arm, popping it loose. In the same motion, he ran by and caught it, never missing a step.

  Huck turned and started yelling, “Thief! Someone stop that thief.”

  The man yelled in protest and began running after Quinton, his few remaining threads of grey hair flapping wildly in the breeze. He took several steps before it occurred to him that Huck was part of the scheme. By the time he turned around, Huck was disappearing down another street.

  Quinton looked behind him. The man took a few more steps in his direction, then realized he would never catch the boy. He threw up his hands in disgust. Quinton kept running, zigzagging through streets until he was out of breath. He was at the top of a small rise. At the end of the street he could see the docks, where a ship was making final preparations to sail. He stopped to catch his breath. As he did so, he peeled back the package which was far too heavy to be just bread. Sure enough, it was a freshly slaughtered piglet, its eyes wide, as if its final moment was one of great surprise. His mouth watered as he thought about the taste of pork, which he hadn’t had since the old lady died, and even that was just scraps. He was holding a small feast and knew it was also worth quite a bit of money.

  The men on the dock were starting to untie the large ropes that kept a ship moored to the dilapidated pier. He wondered where the ship was headed, then looked down at his prize. Could he bargain with the captain for a spot on the ship? Escape the madness of the city? His legs were already moving down the hill toward the ship before his mind had even made a decision. He would have to hurry, because in a few minutes, the gangplank would be withdrawn and the ship would sail out of the harbor. Already he could see the men scurrying up the masts to start work on unfurling the sails.

  Q
uicker and quicker he ran. He thought he heard someone call out to him from a great distance behind, but he didn’t look back. He was fixated on the ship. Most of the men were boarding her now; time was almost out. There were only three men left on the dock. One was untying the final ropes while the others grabbed the last of the provisions being taken aboard. He could see the captain, a tall man in his early forties, his long, dark hair tied behind his head in a neat ponytail with a bright red ribbon. He could make out the letters on the ship’s side. Excappare, it read.

  A large, dark shape suddenly stepped out in front of him, and he collided with it. He would have gone sprawling, but the man had grabbed him.

  “Maggot, what are you doing?” asked the man. The voice was familiar. It was his master. It was Sands.

  Quinton looked past him at the ship, then down at the piglet. Sands looked over his shoulder and shook his head.

  “Don’t you know any better?” he asked. Before Quinton could say anything, his heart pounding and his mind racing to find an excuse, Sands continued. “Doesn’t Master Red eye teach you anything?” He was upset and shaking his head in disgust. “You never steal from the sailors. I know there are a lot of goods down on the dock, but it’s our rule. The Fly Guild has a special agreement with the Sailors’ Guild. Once their goods are distributed to the buyer, they are fair game. Until then, they are off limits. Understand?”

  He grabbed Quinton by the throat and forced him to look him in those deep brown eyes once more. What he saw frightened him. There was an edge to the man that was very dangerous, out of control even. But for just a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a softness, too.

  Quinton tried to tell Sands he understood, but all that came out was some garbled words because of the chokehold he was in. Sands let go and Quinton rubbed the blood back into his neck and gasped for air. He heard footsteps behind him.