by Todd Shryock
Quinton nodded. Without Huck, he had trouble navigating the confusing city streets anyway.
“We’ll head to the gate first and go from there,” said Huck. “Any action will start and end there as the soldiers come and go, and we can probably pick up some information from the guards or the people around the Pink Lady.”
“Sounds good,” Quinton said absently, looking down at his hands as they went out into the daylight, hoping there wasn’t any blood showing.
***
The boys made their way through the maze of streets until they were across from the Pink Lady. There was a small group of soldiers standing just outside the door on the street. Their round helmets with broad rims dully reflected the early morning light. They leaned on their spears and shifted under the weight of their chainmail shirts, looking totally bored. Huck led them up the soldiers.
“Hey fellas, what are you doing out?” he asked. One soldier glared at him, his beaked nose protruding from underneath the brim of the helmet. The others ignored him.
“Run along, you little shit, before I spear you like a piglet.” His eyes said that he meant it, too.
Huck shrugged and peeled off down the street away from the gate with Quinton close behind. He turned down the street alongside the Pink Lady and kept walking.
“Now what?” Quinton asked.
“We look for more soldiers. They’ll lead us to the action.”
They hadn’t walked far when they saw a small military procession making its way up the street toward them. There were several men mounted on horses, their armor glinting in the morning light leading a small mule-drawn cart that had something laid out on the wooden slab making up the bed. Behind the cart were a dozen or so spearmen, dressed like the other men they had seen earlier, and behind them were two men carrying large crossbows. Huck stopped and leaned against a building.
“Let’s see what this parade is about.”
The procession slowly made its way up the street. The lead horses tossed their heads from side to side, impatient with the mule’s pace behind them, their masters fighting to keep the steeds under control. They passed by the boys, leaving behind the sweat and manure smell that makes horses distinct. The mule was being led by a young boy, his hand flipping a small stick against the mule’s rump every now and then to encourage it to keep moving. He whispered words of encouragement and kept glancing up at the mounted men in front of him with fearful eyes.
As the cart rattled by on the cobblestone street, Quinton saw a body laid out on the wooden slab. He held his breath. It was the man he had killed the night before. The man’s face was pallid and looked much different than he remembered. The luxurious clothes were blood stained around the midsection and covered in the dirt from the street. There was some sort of priest hovering over the man as the cart rolled along. He was working feverishly mixing herbs and dabbing strange liquids on the man’s tongue and occasionally into the wounded area. Was it possible the man was still alive?
The spearmen marched silently behind the cart, one of them looking over at the two boys.
“There will be hell to pay for this,” he said flatly. He turned back toward the cart and marched on.
Quinton waited until the two crossbowmen bringing up the rear were out of earshot before saying anything.
“Why did the soldier tell us that?” he asked.
Huck’s eye’s narrowed as he watched the cart trundle around the corner and out of sight. “He knows what we are, or at least suspected it. That man on the cart was the Lord Governor’s eldest son. And he’s right.”
“Who’s right?”
“The soldier. There will be hell to pay for this.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The truce has been broken,” said Huck. “Fist had a deal with Lord Governor Wren. There would be no murder. It was okay to rob the drunken richies when they ventured out from behind their wall, but the royal family was supposed to never be touched. A few incidents here and there never meant much other than a few lost coins. But this … ” He shook his head in disbelief. “Not only has there been murder, it’s the governor’s son.”
“But it looked like he might still be alive.”
Huck shook his head. “He’s got a belly wound. Even if he’s alive, he’ll die soon enough.”
Quinton thought for a moment, looked down the street as the last of the crossbowmen disappeared from view as they turned the corner by the Pink Lady and then asked Huck another question.
“What will the governor do?”
Huck stared blankly across the street. “He’ll take back the streets. He’ll declare war on us and try to exterminate us.” The boy balled his hands into fists and he started taking quicker breaths.
“The guards and the guild used to skirmish all the time, then Fist struck a deal. Part of the profits go to the governor and no one ever crosses the wall. The governor got a safe haven for all his rich friends plus a degree of protection outside the walls when they go out whoring and looking for swamp weed to smoke. With no murder, the citizens are relatively happy. Everyone wins. Until now.”
He paused, staring off into space again. “When Fist finds out who did this, he’ll rip him apart.” Huck looked right at Quinton, who momentarily panicked. “That is, unless the governor gets to Fist first. Come on, we have to warn him.”
Huck turned and ran at a full sprint down the street, with Quinton right on his heels. The two boys dashed through alleys and streets, bumping into people and shoving them out of the way. When they reached the entry to the guild, they stopped to momentarily catch their breath, both of them bending over with hands on their hips, huffing and puffing. “Let me do the talking, okay?”
Quinton nodded, then followed Huck through the door and into the guild. They went down a hall and up some stairs Quinton had never been up before. The guild here was nicer. There were tapestries on the walls – they were worn and faded and of low quality, but at least an attempt had been made to decorate the area. Most of them were of random scenes from random ages. Quinton suspected all of them were stolen. They came to a large oak door at the end of the hall with a large knocker on it. Huck banged the knocker six times, letting the people on the other side know that a maggot was requesting an audience to share urgent news. A deep voice from the other side summoned them to open the door and enter.
“Remember, let me do the talking.”
Quinton nodded, then followed Huck through the large door.
Inside was a large room with the windows covered by heavy curtains that let in no light. There were several groups of lit candles that cast a pale light across a large table with several chairs around it. There were some nicer tapestries on the walls with faded pictures on them and a roughly hewn wooden statue of a man displayed what looked to be a crude breastplate and two metal gloves with spikes on every finger, including a particularly long and barbed one that protruded out of the upper knuckle of the middle finger on each hand. Sitting in a large chair behind the table, his face partially hidden by shadows, was a man that Quinton immediately knew to be Fist.
The man had dirty blonde hair combed straight back from his ridged brow. His deep-set blue eyes penetrated the gloom in the room to sear right through him. His massive frame took up the overly large chair, and muscles bulged from every spot on the man’s arms. Placed in front of him were his hands – hands that were so large they looked like they belonged to an even bigger man, if such a thing were possible. They were broad, and each finger looked like it was the size of Quinton’s arm. If he wanted to, the boy was sure Fist could simply lift his hand and smash the oak table with a simple flick of the wrist.
“What news, maggot,” the man said flatly, his voice deep and stern.
“Forgive the interruption, Lord Fist, but I bring urgent news.”
Fist snarled, revealing yellowed teeth that were broad and straight. “You better have something good maggot, or else. Now speak.”
Huck stammered before regaining the courage to continue.
The man was massive, and his stare told you that with even the slightest misstep, he would murder you on the spot with no remorse.
“My lord, we observed soldiers taking the dead body – or nearly dead body anyway -- of the Lord Governor’s son back to the old city. A soldier said that there would be hell to pay for this.”
Quinton watched as Fist’s jaw tightened and he squeezed his hands into massive fists, swearing under his breath.
“Who would do this? Who would dare defy my orders?” he said in a whisper, his face turning red. “Who!” he suddenly shouted, causing both boys to jump. He stood from his chair, knocking it aside, and leaned forward on both arms, first looking down at the table, then slowly raising his gaze to the maggots, both of who involuntarily took a half step backward. “This will mean war,” he whispered. “The end of things as we know them. All my work over the years, all for nothing.”
He raised his fist and slammed it onto the table, sending a massive boom echoing down the hallway. He looked past the boys and continued, “I can buy time. The Lord Governor is a cautious man. He will accept my negotiations and promises to find the killer all while mustering his forces and sending his agents out to find our holes. But time will help us more than him. We must have time.”
Quinton sensed someone coming up behind him and glanced back at the door to see Master Sands, Red eye and a few other masters he didn’t recognize standing there.
“We must send an emissary at once to our beloved Lord Governor,” said Fist, his voice showing no hint of emotion now. “We must buy ourselves time to prepare for war, and in the meantime, perhaps we can find a sacrificial goat to throw into his fire of anger over the death of his son. Or,” Fist continued, glancing at Quinton, “we can find the killer ourselves and present him to the Governor and preserve our truce.”
“Who shall we send?” asked Sands.
Fist thought for a moment before responding. “Send Glitter. He will be less threatened by a woman, and she has a good eye for reading a person’s intentions.”
Sands bowed his head in acknowledgement. “It shall be done.”
“Now,” Fist called out, “Leave me so that I may think in silence about what needs to be done.”
All of the people in the room bowed their heads and Quinton did the same, then everyone backed out of the room before turning to go down the hallway. Sands walked beside him and pulled him aside while the others continued on.
“A word of advice,” he said. “Never bring bad news to Master Fist if you can help it. More often than not, he smashes the messenger against the wall to vent his frustration. Today, you were lucky.”
Quinton nodded in response. “Thank you, Master Sands, I will be more careful.”
The man turned and walked after the others without responding, and Quinton quickly followed. After meandering through the guild’s mazelike corridors, he turned to follow Huck, but Sands called out to him.
“No, maggot, you will be with me for the rest of the day. I may have need of you.”
Quinton looked down the hall at Huck, who didn’t even turn around as he followed Red eye down the corridor. “Yes, master.”
Sands led him up another set of stairs to a door. “My chamber. Never forget which one it is.”
Quinton quickly glanced around to try to establish some sort of mark that he could remember, but all the doors looked like the others. He noticed a small smudge on one of the pine floorboards in front of the door and hoped that would be enough.
“Entering the wrong master’s chamber is punishable by death.”
“Isn’t everything?” Quinton thought to himself.
The two entered the room. Quinton had expected a luxurious suite but was surprised to find a rather spartan room. There was a fireplace with a small stack of wood next to it on one wall, a cot, a small table and a chair. The furniture took up almost the entire room.
“You’ll sleep over there,” Sands said, pointing to the corner of the room.
“Yes, master,” Quinton replied. “Thank you.” Anything was an improvement over the stale urine smell of the maggot pit.
Sands sat heavily down on the chair, his arms and legs sprawling every which way. He let out a deep breath before speaking.
“This murder greatly complicates things,” Sands said in a soft voice. “Years of negotiations and bribes lost because of this. Someone will pay dearly, and despite Fist’s confidence, I have great fear that it will be us in one way or another.” He stared at the floor and ran one hand through his hair before continuing. “We need to increase the speed of your training if you are to have any hope of surviving.”
Quinton stared quizzically at him, unsure what he was talking about.
Sands looked up at him, his eyes tired and heavy. He broke half a smile and laughed to himself. “After all, you want to survive so that some day you can have all of this,” he waved his arm around the barren room, “for yourself.” The man sighed, the slight smile disappeared and he looked down at the floor. “There’s more to life than this, and some day, I’m going to find it,” he said in a quiet voice, barely audible.
Quinton watched the man’s eyes close as he sat in deep thought. “May I ask a question, master?”
The man didn’t say anything for a moment, then his hand raised up slightly and he said, “What is it?”
Quinton took a moment to muster his courage before continuing. “Mistress Glitter said that one day we would rise up and take our rightful place among the people. Do you believe that, too?”
Sands looked at him for several moments, then burst out laughing. “That is her dream, maggot. Everyone has a dream that keeps them going through the days until death comes and whisks them away to whatever fate lies beyond. That is Glitter’s dream, and may she one day live to see it.”
“What is your dream, master?”
Sands’ tone changed immediately. He stood upright from his chair, knocking it aside in the process. His eyes narrowed. “You will never ask this question of me again,” he hissed. “Do you understand?”
Quinton nodded his head and said, “Yes, master, forgive me.” He looked down at the floor, expecting to be beaten.
Sands turned, walked over to the cot and sat down, regaining his composure. “We must rest now,” he said, his voice returning to its normal tone. “There will be much to do tomorrow.” And with that, he lay on the bed, rolled over, and fell asleep.
Quinton wasn’t sure what time it was but knew it was still daylight, even though there was no window in the room. He stood up and extinguished the three small candles on the table, went to his corner and lay down. The boards were hard on his head, but still softer than the stones of the maggot pit. The stench wasn’t nearly as bad here, and he didn’t have to listen to all the other boys tossing and turning, snoring and crying out in their sleep. It was actually quite peaceful here, and he liked it. He took one more deep breath, thought briefly about his mother, then fell asleep.
***
Quinton awoke with a start to a sharp pain in his ribs. He gasped for air and searched for the source. He could see a shadow standing over him. Whoever it was had just kicked him hard in the ribs.
“You sleep too deeply, maggot,” said a voice. It was Sands. “Sleep deep, and you’ll sleep permanently. The world could have ended, and you would have slept through it.”
“Master Sands, if the world ended, I would be more than happy to sleep through it,” said Quinton, touching his tender ribs.
The man laughed and tossed him something in the faint light that the one candle now burning on the table provided. It was a small chunk of bread.
“Eat up,” he said. “We have much to do.”
Quinton hungrily gobbled down the bread and chased it down with a few swigs of water Sands offered from a small leather flask hanging near the door. Sands led him out of the guild and into the dark streets of the city. Based on the amount of activity, or lack thereof in the various brothels and taverns they passed, Quinton figured it was near dawn. The
y wound their way through the mostly deserted streets, flanked on either side by two- and three-story houses that were fairly well maintained but mostly lost in the deep shadows of the pre-dawn hour. They stopped near a section of wall that ringed the outer part of the city. The stones were partially falling out and covered in moss. Weeds grew here and there in the cracks and as the early light of the day started to spread across the sky, Quinton could even make out shapes that must be small trees growing out of the wall in places.
Sands stopped momentarily, reached up with two hands and began ascending the wall in a rapid fashion. Quinton watched in amazement at the fluidity of Sands’ movements. Most wall climbers were choppy, carefully moving one limb at a time, but Sands was different. Sands moved the way a squirrel moves up a wide old oak tree. His mind had decided where to go long before his limbs ever actually got there. The man disappeared into the darkness above before the boy decided it was time to follow. The wall was an easy climb because of its state of disrepair, but Quinton had to slow himself several times to make sure he wasn’t going to fall. Sands was either a master climber or had scaled that particular section of wall a thousand times.
When he reached the top, Sands wasn’t there. He could see a faint shadow of a figure below on the outside of the wall and felt a cool morning breeze blowing inland off the ocean from the far side of the city. He took a deep breath of the clean air before starting his descent. As he made his way down, he realized he was leaving the confines of the city for the first time since he had arrived what seemed like decades ago. He let go with his hands and dropped the last few feet, landing with a soft thud on the ground below.
Sands grabbed him around the neck and pressed him against the wall. In the cool morning air, he hissed, “Never drop yourself like that on a descent. Finish the climb until you reach the ground. That little jump at the end can be heard for some distance. Stealth is your cloak of invisibility.” The man released him and turned without further comment, disappearing into the darkness. Quinton gathered himself, then scurried to catch up.
