by Todd Shryock
It was oddly quiet. There were no men going in and out like there should have been, and the sounds of partying and drinking were silent. Had everyone been killed? His heart raced. The brothel was just outside the main gate and was owned by the guild. Had Wren’s men started their day of murder there?
Quinton abandoned any remaining caution as he feared for Kate and made a dash for the side door. It was slightly ajar and he burst in, desperate to find her alive.
A few girls who were sitting along the wall whimpered and curled up in a ball away from him, expecting the worst. The place inside was nearly destroyed. Furniture was smashed, painting and tapestries slashed and chairs overturned. There were a few traumatized girls staring blankly, wondering what to do next. That’s when Quinton saw the pale flesh of dead girls near the front door. He pushed his way through the mess to see who it was.
The sight nearly made him gag. The girls, both fairly young, had been tortured and slashed open in various places. The wooden floorboards were stained a dark red, and there were bits of flesh and organs all over the floor. He couldn’t recognize either of the girls, but neither had red hair. He looked to the side where one of the wide-eyed girls sat.
“Where is Kate?” he asked softly. At first the girl didn’t respond, then her eyes slowly crawled up his leg and onto his body until she locked eyes with him. He didn’t know what horror she had witnessed, but that stare told him she would never be the same. It reminded him of the stare Teli had after Red eye took him.
“Kate?” she said in response, her mind combing through possibilities. She looked away as she processed the request. “Kate.” She pointed to one of the small side rooms.
Quinton pushed aside the half-open door and startled four more girls, one of whom was Kate. She looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks, and her clothes, what little of them she wore, were splatted with blood.
She looked up at him and half smiled. “Hey, maggot,” she said, her attempt to humor failing as she started to sob.
Quinton walked over to her and put his arm around her. She embraced him and cried. After she settled down a bit, he asked, “What happened?”
She pulled away and looked to the floor as she relived the story. “It was terrible. The men came, the soldiers, first thing in the morning. They wanted information and started breaking things and tearing the place up. We told them what we knew, which wasn’t much, but they wanted more. So then they started slapping us around and beating us up, threatening to kill all of us. They wanted to know where all the safehouses were. They wanted to know where Fist would run and what he would do. A few of the girls knew where a safehouse was, because sometimes guild members got drunk and talked too much. That was a mistake. They thought it would make the soldiers stop, but it just made them think we were holding out more information. So then they picked two girls,” her eyes went to the doorway to the horror that lay beyond, “and they started torturing them in front of us. They start with small cuts, and then,” her voice trailed off and she started sobbing again.
“It’s okay now. We’re getting out of here. I won’t leave you.”
Kate stared into the distance and stopped crying. “They killed those girls even though we didn’t know anything else. Eventually, they gave up and left. We’ve been sitting here ever since, afraid to move.” She looked up at him. The wind was starting to howl again outside and a light rain began to slap against the building.
“The city is in chaos. There is fighting everywhere. The prince rides again, looking for vengeance. His father will turn the city upside down until he finds Fist and takes control of the entire city. Children are kidnapped, mothers are slain in the streets and you can’t even tell who is fighting whom. People have lost all hope and are clamoring to be the first one to die.”
Kate looked at him, tears running down one cheek. “What do we do?”
“We make our break for it. Do you have the food?”
She glanced away, then down at the floor. “I do, but I can’t get it until tonight, when it’s dark.”
“I’ll go with you,” she cut him off before he could say more.
“No. I must go alone. You would arouse suspicion.”
Quinton nodded. “There’s something I need to get before we leave. I’ll get it and meet you back here. We’ll leave at first light. We can’t risk getting lost in the swamp at night.”
Kate hugged him, a new strength showing in her eyes. “I knew you were a survivor. I knew you had a plan.”
“My plan is we leave,” he said, smiling back at her. “I need to go. I promise I’ll come back for you. If something happens,” she waved her hand and shook her head. She didn’t want to hear the rest.
He left the room and made his way back to the side door. The prince’s dagger was hidden under a rock by the river and he wasn’t about to leave it behind. They would need every weapon they could get in the wild and it was worth a lot of money. Money they would need to make a new life somewhere outside the city walls. He glanced both directions down the dark street, but the wind and rain kept everyone inside that night. He stepped out into the moonless night and headed for the river.
***
The streets were eerily quiet as the rain slackened. Deep puddles formed along the gutters and low spots on the streets. It was as if the world were washing away the blood spilled this day. The wind howled its disapproval at the slaughter as it battered in to the buildings around Quinton before moving on. He made his way to the river and found the rock. He held his breath as he lifted it up. The dagger was still there, its small jewel-encrusted handle shining in the darkness.
Quinton hid the dagger deep in his shirt by tying a small leather cord around himself inside his clothes. He wanted to scout the safest route to the break in the wall. It was the only way out. He hadn’t gone far when he heard a stern voice come from the darkness between two buildings on his right.
“Quinton,” called the voice again. He recognized it as one of the other masters of the guild.
“Who is that?” he said quietly, afraid of who might be listening.
“It’s Ratso. You must come with me. The others are waiting.”
Ratso was a wiry man with a face that resembled his nickname. His nose was long, and he walked quickly. But Quinton knew his looks had nothing to do with his name. The man knew the sewers of the city better than any long-tailed swamp rat. Some people said he spent so much time among the rats that he started to resemble them.
Quinton considered running, but there was no place to run to, and who knew how many others were watching. He entered the alley and followed Ratso down to a narrow door. Ratso knocked lightly in a quick pattern. The door unlocked from the other side and opened a crack. “Hurry,” said a voice from within.
Quinton looked at Ratso, who was waiting for him to enter. He walked through the door and it shut behind him, the latch sliding back into place. Ratso had stayed outside.
Inside the room was a small table covered in candles. The lights flickered and cast long shadows across the small group of men who stood huddled around a large central figure. There could be no doubt who that was. A hand from behind him guided him by the shoulder up to the group.
“Another survivor,” said the guide.
Fist looked up and seemed disappointed it was Quinton. “How did you survive?” he asked.
Quinton wasn’t sure if he was referring to the murder attempt by Lacoris or the chaos in general. He decided to be vague. “I did what I needed to do.”
Fist nodded and waved him to stand next to him. “You have a bigger problem.”
Quinton couldn’t think of anything that could possibly be worse than what had happened today.
The man crossed his muscled arms in front of him. “Sands has disappeared.”
“Dead?” Quinton asked.
“Unfortunately, no,” said Fist. “My informants saw him leaving the city during the fighting. He abandoned me, no, abandoned us, in our hour of need. He has left the guild.” He stared directly
into Quinton’s eyes. Quinton did his best to not look intimidated. He didn’t think it worked. “Where would he go?”
Did Fist think he knew about Sands escape plan? “I don’t know.” Fist stared at him for a long while before continuing. “He never said anything.”
Fist continued to stare but didn’t respond. Quinton stared back as long as he could, then broke eye contact without saying anything.
“You never suspected? You never saw him hoarding anything? He never mentioned leaving to anyone? He never talked about faraway places?”
Quinton wondered if Fist knew he was guilty of all those things. Maybe this was what this was really about, getting him to crack and admit he was leaving. But it wasn’t going to happen. He was too close. He just had to get away from Fist. “He never said anything. I never saw him hoard anything. He hardly spoke to me.”
Fist looked off into the darkness as if pondering something, then continued. “I charge you with finding the renegade and bringing me his head. After tomorrow’s fight, you will leave and go in search of Sands. I will give you 30 days. If you have not brought me his head in 30 days, I will have you killed.” Fist wasn’t threatening, he was just making a statement of fact and said it as such. He talked about killing people the way most would state that the weather was bad.
He pulled a flask out from underneath the table and took a long drink from it. His dark eyes flickered in the candlelight as he looked from man to man. “Listen up, you dregs.” The men crowded slightly closer and leaned forward, all of them afraid of being marked for death unless they appeared to be hanging on his every word. “Tomorrow’s fight is going to be something special. I have it on good authority that Wren will be sallying forth from behind the walls to lead the attack.” He took another swig of wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Before heading out on any sort of official parade or anything else, he always rides down the street where his eighty-two year old mother lives, and she waves to him from her balcony. The street is narrow and is on too roundabout of a route for him to lead all his forces there. He will be escorted, but it won’t be the whole force. He feels overly safe behind his walls, and we will make him pay for that.”
Some of the men gave uneasy glances to each other and they leaned back away from him, shifting uneasily.
“What is it, you imbeciles? Someone speak.”
There was a long pause, then one of the men finally mustered the courage to talk. “My lord, how do you know for sure that Wren will be there?”
“Wren is a creature of habit. He will be there.”
“How will we get inside undetected? The walls are manned and the guards are on alert. You can hear the cavalry patrols trotting on the streets beyond, looking for intruders.”
“I have a way.”
“What way?” dared a man from deep in the shadows. Quinton looked in the direction of the voice, but it was too dark to see.
“Ratso knows the sewers and has found a way in.”
“We’re going in through the sewers?” said one of the men, the disgust obvious in his voice.
“Yes. Once we are there, the fun begins. I will take out Wren, the rest of you will take out his escort and keep them out of the way.” Quinton wasn’t relishing the idea of having to fight soldiers, but Fist quickly relieved him of this duty. “And you,” he said pointing at the boy, “are responsible for Wren’s mother. You will sneak into her residence. When she is on the balcony, you will throw her off it to the street below. Wren will be so distraught, it will give me the opening I need. Once Wren is dead, the soldiers will rally to my side and the city will be ours.”
Quinton didn’t think anyone really believed the plan would work, but they feared Fist more than they feared fighting any soldiers. And most of them were probably already scheming to disappear at the first sign of defeat. But once again, Fist was ahead of them.
“Did everyone have enough wine?” All the men smiled and nodded. “Good. Because it has a slow-acting poison in it. I have an antidote, but I will not tell you where it is until our plan is finished. Anyone who does not take the antidote within two days will die a slow, painful death.” The men who Quinton could see had eyes that were wide enough to reflect the candle flames.
“You don’t trust us?” asked a man.
“No.” Fist didn’t immediately say anything else, and no one asked any more questions. “All right then, let’s get moving.”
“Now?” someone asked.
“Now,” Fist answered.
Quinton was startled when he turned around and found Ratso standing behind him. Where had he come from? The man seemed excited about going into the sewers. He was the only one.
***
The climb down to the sewers wasn’t too bad at first. Ratso had led them through the driving wind to an abandoned building that looked like it had been built before anything else in the city. It was covered in vines, and where you could see stone, moss carpeted the surface. Inside the building was an iron door that swung open to reveal a damp spiral staircase that descended into darkness. The smell that came up was less than pleasant.
Ratso led Fist and the group of men down into the tunnels beneath the city. Whoever had built the sewers had been far more advanced than anyone currently running the place. The fact that most of them were still intact and functioning said a lot about the builders.
For most of the trip, lit only by a few odd torches the men carried, they were able to walk in single file on a small ledge that ran above the worst of the sewage. But after about half an hour, the ledge ended and the men splashed down into the smelly brown water running slowly down the pipe. They twisted and turned through the underground maze. Quinton saw several rats and wondered if any of them recognized him from his prior existence. The rats sniffed and watched the men go with a look that gave Quinton the impression of pity.
They passed through a large portal that was made of different stone and was covered in runes. Quinton was too far away from the nearest torch to be able to make them out, but they looked like some sort of warning. Ratso had dropped back and watched the men file through. When he saw Quinton looking at the runes, he spoke.
“Be careful. Lots of things down here. Awful things.” He smiled his rat-like smile and scurried back to the front through the water, splashing everyone as he passed, much to their chagrin.
Quinton wondered what kind of awful things lived down here and wished he had more time to study the runes for clues, but the line was moving on.
Hours passed, and Quinton was beginning to wonder if they were hopelessly lost. Or worse, Ratso was leading them into a trap and they would be breakfast for one of the awful things that lived down deep. The tunnel narrowed considerably, to the point where you could touch either side with your hand, not that you would want to, and the men had to stoop just a bit to keep from hitting their heads. After a few minutes in this tunnel, the line fanned out as the men stood in a large, round room that appeared to be some sort of intersection of various pipes. Rusty metal rungs ran up one of the walls into the darkness above.
“Listen up,” said Fist, his voice echoing off the stone. The men winced at the volume of the command. “At the top of this ladder is the entrance to a basement adjacent to the old woman’s residence. We will wait there until Wren arrives, which should be in less than an hour. The boy will make his way through a narrow opening that Ratso has found that leads in to her side of the space. We will enter the street to confront Wren. When I look up and give the signal, the boy will throw the old woman off the balcony. At that point, we will strike.
“Boy,” he waved Quinton forward. “When you get to the old woman’s side of the house, keep to the back rooms. She has a few servants, but they should be busy making breakfast in the outbuilding. There is only one guard who tends to drift into the kitchen to pick up some free food and flirt with the girls.” Quinton wondered how Fist knew so much, but guessed that you didn’t stay the head of the Fly Guild without knowing a lot of information. It would be ea
sy enough to bribe a servant into providing details of the daily routine.
His thoughts were interrupted by the men starting to climb the ladder. He went up the ladder second to last, with only Ratso creeping up behind him, still wearing that strange smile.
As the men assembled near the door to the steps that led out of the cellar to the street above, Ratso showed him the hole in the basement wall that stood between the two adjoining houses. It wasn’t much of a hole and looked like someone had just pulled out random stones. The problem was, the wall was about eight feet thick. Quinton looked into the tunnel with apprehension.
“No bad things in there,” Ratso reassured him. “Just little bugs. Tasty ones.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Quinton joked, but then realized Ratso had been serious.
“Boy, get moving, we are almost out of time,” ordered Fist from across the room.
Quinton sighed and crawled head first into the small tunnel. As he wiggled his way a full body length into it, he heard noises behind him. Ratso was replacing the stones. He could see the man’s face in the faint torchlight.
“Sorry, no return this way,” he smiled. “No eat all the bugs? Leave some for me?”
Quinton turned his head back to the tunnel and pulled himself along on his elbows. The air was dank and he could feel little bugs scurrying over his hands in the darkness. The sounds behind him faded as he crawled away and the final stones were put in place.
The hole on the other side came out about waist high and Quinton pushed himself out of the hole as if the earth was giving birth to him. He fell onto the floor and breathed in a sigh of relief. Light from somewhere above shone down through cracks in the floorboards. He could make out dim shapes around him, and based on the smell, he figured them to be some sort of dried foodstuffs. The dark shape of a narrow staircase loomed to his left, so he headed in that direction, being careful to feel his way along so as to not knock anything over.
