“Who, who him?” And that’s when I realize that Janis isn’t just chuckling, but muttering to himself one word over and over.
“Muel, Muel, Muel, Muel.”
The little shits. They already have him.
Chapter 4
The sun has risen a bit more and the three of us — Squints, Janis and myself — are making our way through the Stink, one of the city’s more ramshackle neighborhoods. I can just make out the sharp, salty air from the docks cutting through the ever-present fetid air of the hood. At one time, the Stink was a stockade and butcher grounds. But as the city grew and the cattle pens were moved farther and farther out, the poorest and most destitute claimed the grounds as their new home. Even now, decades after the immense stockyard was abandoned to housing, it still smells of cattle. It is a smell that has been bled right into the ground.
The Stink itself is a warren of shacks, two- and three-story adobe buildings, and few attempts at permanent structures. It’s mostly characterized by ever-changing roads, alleys and thoroughfares that seem to remake themselves on a weekly or even daily basis. What you thought was a permanent road one day might be filled in with houses the next, while your neighbors have up and disappeared in the night, house and all.
It’s here, within the Stink, that the guild headquarters of the Rogues has always existed.
There are four permanent entrances to the headquarters — doors that always exist in the same spot no matter the architecture that surrounds them. The one we are heading to is dockside and last I remember it was the auxiliary door for a small tenement.
Squints has taken the lead, followed by myself. Janis, I assume, is holding up the rear somewhere as I haven’t seen him for the last few minutes. We round the last corner and are at the back of a low warehouse that includes, from the subtle markings carved in the door frame, one of the four entrances to the guild hall.
Squints pauses at the door and raps a quick series of long and short knocks. A moment later the reinforced entrance clicks and opens outward as the guard stationed inside allows us entrance. Following Squints in, the door is closed behind us. The room is just as I remember it. A simple foyer with a single stone stairwell that drops steeply into the warrens below. I grab a torch from the ready-table and light it from the single candle that brightens the entrance. Squints and the guard are already heading below.
That’s when I get jumped.
Chapter 5
As I begin to follow Squints and the guard down the stairs the frame of the door behind me splinters and explodes inward from overwhelming force. Turning at the sound, I watch four cloaked and leather-armored rogues rush the room.
The closest of the four spots me and snaps forward his arm, releasing a dagger that glints in torchlight as it flies towards me, seeking to make its home in my flesh.
Even hungover I move reflexively, the torch swinging out, connecting with the dagger and deflecting it away. This gives me a moment to evaluate what I want in life. It’s an easy, snap decision. Revenge.
Looking up, the new arrivals are organizing to charge me. Below, the guard is on the stairs while Squints has made the landing at the bottom. I focus on the object of my hatred.
“You bastard, Squints!” I leap from the top step and, as I bring my torch hand forward, my right hand unbuckles the latch of my knife’s scabbard and draws the blade up in a long arc. The edge of the knife slices air and then through the guard’s unprotected underarm as I sail by. Instantly, blood covers the stairwell. The major artery I just nicked spews the corridor red with each heartbeat.
I land at the bottom of the stairs while behind me the guard drops his torch and fumbles at the arm now hanging limp at his side. A moment later he staggers to a knee, askew on the stairs, realizing that in few short moments he’s about to bleed out. He lets out a cry of despair and anguish.
That leaves me and Squints. I shove the torch into his face, blinding him and giving me the moment I need to pick the killing stroke. I flip the knife in my right hand, reversing the grip, and strike forward.
Squints backs up, all but collapsing in terror and avoiding the blade. “I surrender! I ask for no terms! Whatever you want!”
“Squints, I’ve always known you as a coward, but seriously, you still outnumber me five to one. I thought there might be a little fight left in you. Here, before I add a matching scar to the other side of your mug, go ahead, draw your sword.”
“What?”
“Draw your sword. Come on. Make this reasonable. It’s no fun if I just cut through you like the guard.” The guard lets out a long, rattling breath and becomes quiet.
“By all the thousand gods, Pinty.” There’s panic, and now something else in Squints’ eyes as he scans back and forth between the torch in his face, the guard on the stairs, and his crew at the top. “Did you just say five to one?”
“Well, it was six, but I made it a little fairer on myself coming down to meet you.” I’ve got my classic, patent-pending, shit-eating grin on my face as I say that. The smile holds for five long seconds until I realize Squints isn’t looking at me anymore.
“Awwwwwww. I think I’m about to be sorry about the guard” is what escapes me as I turn and look up the stairs to the rogues. “They’re not yours, are they?”
“Nope.”
My eyes don’t leave the four. “They’re why I’ve been invited back. You’ve been having trouble with a competing guild. A new guild.”
“There’s some other things you might be interested in, but that’s close.” Squints unbuckles his long blade and holds it ready against their charge down the stairs. “Mostly, I just wanted to burn down your flea-infested inn with you and everyone you know inside it. You know, with all of you alive inside as it burns. Guild Master Tavos said no to that. Talk, he said. Find a truce to Pinty’s murderous rampage against our guild, he said.”
The four stand at the top of the stairs, watching us. “First off Squints, the inn isn’t flea-infested. I pay good money for linen services and a mage to spell off bugs. Second, it’s not my murderous rampage. I don’t know them at all.”
“Yeah, I figured that out given your love to quack instead of just putting a knife in someone. Anything else to add?”
I accept my air of superiority over Squints has just ended with this major screw-up on my part. I misjudged him, it wasn’t an ambush. There are options to hide my failure. I can sacrifice him to these mystery rouges as I make my escape and nobody would be the wiser.
I could.
But this is not that plan. Instead, it is: “Alright, Squints. I’m feeling generous and suicidal at the same time. You run, get help, bring reinforcements. I stand here.” I’m hoping for some debate, some fleshing out of the plan. Instead, Squints runs.
Okay, so I did actually suggest that plan. I wasn’t thinking it was going to be accepted without as much as an “okay” or a “thank you” though. And now I’m standing here, alone. “Hey, up there. You wouldn’t want to call this a draw, would you? You know, go our separate ways?”
The first of the four rogues charges down the stairs.
Chapter 6
There are many things that are great about being a shortkin: stunningly good looks, exceptional charm, and universal appreciation by all the other races on just how freaking awesome we are. Importantly, we have absolutely no sense of self-inflated ego.
Sadly, these great traits that come with being a shortkin are balanced with one minor setback. We have legs that are appropriate for our size. They’re tiny little stumps. Stumpy stump stumperson. It takes us three steps to cover the same distance a human takes with one, which explains why it’s not often that you see a heavyset shortkin. Humans think it’s because we have a higher metabolism. Really it’s just that we have to freaking run all the time just to keep up.
So here I am at the bottom of the stairs, with a fully grown man, the first of four rogues, bloodlust in his eyes, barreling down at me. With my lack of height, his reach, and the advantage of high ground fr
om the stairs, I have absolutely no way to take him out before he flattens me.
Sure, had Squints not abandoned me here at the bottom of the stairwell, with his height and my flourish we could have held the landing.
The recruit hits me straight on and we go down in one big mess; a Pinty sandwich made of the floor, me and the rogue. It would be absolutely delicious except for the sound of my ribs cracking under the weight of him crushing me in into the floor. I’m not one who’s big on pain and the sound that escapes me would make a banshee cower in terror. Every breath is a lightshow of tiny pixies burning red-hot pokers in my chest. I scream a second time as I claw out from under him.
Both my hands are empty; torch and knife left abandoned beneath him. I clamber to my knees and then stagger into a standing position, one hand on the wall and the other on my chest. It’s at this moment I decide to puke. On an empty stomach all I bring up is bile.
Part of my brain is already screaming it’s been too long, that the other three should be on top of me by now, all up in my face with some forged steel.
I wipe my mouth, gather my senses. The rogue I just tangled with, my sandwich buddy, is faring significantly worse than me. Sure, he successfully used my body to cushion his landing, but in doing so my knife did a fine job adding itself to his belly. If I didn’t hurt so badly, I would step forward and yank it back, thanking him profusely for not bending the blade in the tumble. Instead, I watch him hold the hilt and pull weakly at it until he passes out from the pain. His leathers stain quickly with the torrent of blood escaping his gut.
Above, the three are spellbound. Slack-jawed, at the rapid, bloody and decisive violence. The tallest of the recruits, a girl, is mouthing some words. Suddenly she straightens-up, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. Looking at me, she screams “You killed him, you shit. You just killed him.”
“Uh, yeah. I did. Second killing of the day, actually.” The guard I cut a moment ago is now certainly dead as well, his limp body starting to slide down the now well-bloodied steps. “And I haven’t even had breakfast yet. How about the three of you? You have breakfast yet?” I make sure I sound all cool and cocky, even though the cracked ribs trigger a blackout-inducing tidal wave of pain with every breath I take. I think puking a second time might really impress on them how cool I actually am.
At least from a strategic point of view, things have gotten significantly better for me. The bottom half of the stairwell is slippery with blood and the landing now has two bodies. There’s no footing for anybody coming down the stairs.
She considers it a moment, then tells me, “It’s not our place to continue the fight with you, Pinty. We are here for Guild Master Tavos and his crew. And I’d rather not try to take you at the moment. You know, if that’s okay with you, Mr. Puke and Scream.”
I can’t even catch enough breath to say anything back, my chest is alight with so much fire, so I just hold her eyes, nod my head on agreement and wait till they disappear from view. When they do, I close my eyes, sink to the floor and choose to have a nice little nap until Squints returns with help.
I pass out immediately.
Chapter 7
My dreams are filled with me in a giant room, the floor alive with the writhing of thousands of snakes. The sound of their skin, raspy on the stone floor, matches the pounding of my heart in my ears. Not a muscle in my body can move. I am completely immobilized with fear.
One snake, the largest, slowly slithers over and wraps itself around my legs, then up my belly and onto my chest. It curls around me, slowly tightening, slowly squeezing me smaller and smaller.
I am unable to breathe. The snake has me trapped in its coils, wrapped so I can’t expand my chest. My lungs are aflame, seeking oxygen. I cannot breathe. I am surely going to die.
The snake’s head weaves back and forth, looking first into one eye and then the other. The snake’s eyes are the most beautiful emerald green. “No Pinty, you’re not going to die.”
That voice, so familiar. “Mom, is that you? Why do you look like a snake? I love you anyways, Mom. It’s okay to be a snake.”
“Just focus on sitting up here and having some water.”
“Snake Mom, everything hurts. Can you sing me a lullaby and make it all better? Then we can play cat’s cradle. And afterwards we can eat the cat. I know exactly which cat, too. His name is Gloom, and he is mean oh mean, so mean.”
“Pinty! For the fifth time, I’m not your mom!”
“What? For a moment there I thought you said you weren’t my mom. Seriously though, are you sure you’re not my mom? You have her eyes. I need a hug. Let’s hug!” I try to reach out and hold mom, but my chest explodes in pain when I try to lift my arms to wrap them around her.
“I am not going to cuddle the murderous little psychopath. I don’t care what Tavos says. I’m fixing this right now.” And with that somebody dunks my entire body into ice water.
Chapter 8
I’m sitting on a small stool in the middle of what I recognize as the large common room of the rogues guild house, though the term “house” is misleading. The room is about forty feet below the Stink and not too far from the docks. At one point this used to be an illicit underground warehouse that held goods smuggled in from the piers for more, as is said, discreet disbursement. For the last few years though, it’s been the kitchen, flophouse and central chamber of the guild.
In one corner are mats and ad hoc bedding for when members stay low for a few days, hanging out here till things cool. A permanent cookstove resides in another corner, its smoke and steam vented through a series of pipes attached to the chimney stacks of three or four buildings up top. Right in front of me is Tavos’ throne — really just a solid heap of looted goods from over the years — which sits empty. Around the room maybe a score of guild members laze, cook or otherwise keep themselves busy with little tasks. I recognize a lot of them, but people I would expect to be here are not, and there are a good number of new faces here as well.
Squints himself has drawn up a box as a make-do chair and is watching me intently, making sure I don’t hatch any plans for escape. What he doesn’t understand is that it took a lot work to get here and I’m not just going to up and go until I get Muel back. That and I still hurt like hell so I don’t really want to start something right this minute.
“Hey, Squints. Hey! Love how the place has so livened up since I left. Is that a new coat of paint on the privy doors over there? Smashing!”
“Seriously, shut up or I’m going to dump you back in the rainwater collector, and I’ll hold you under this time.”
“Yeah, that was great fun.” I’m wrapped in an old blanket offered as a towel to dry myself off from his dunking. “Weekly bath: check! You should try it too. Seriously, you smell like disappointment and failure. The plunge will do you a world of good.”
“No.”
“That’s why the girls find you hot, Squints. That lack of hygiene.” I’m pretty sure I’m getting to him here. It looks like his left eyeball wants to pop from his skull. I add a really great grin to the conversation and flash him my pearlies.
A much deeper voice interrupts our conversation. “That’s enough, Pinty. It’s hard enough having you back here for a visit as it is. Don’t make it your job to enrage your hosts.”
Looking over, I see Tavos enter the room flanked by six young men in traditional rogue garments. In the middle is Muel, bound in arm and leg chains. With a push from one of the youths, Muel staggers over to me and collapses at my side. “Hey, boss.”
“How are you, Muel? They treat you okay?”
“Food is a little lacking. Not the same as the Bottom Up.” The side of his face is a mass of bruises, his lip is split and splotches of blood seep through his shirt from cuts that aren’t healing well. “I’ll get along. Speaking of which, we getting out of here soon?”
“Working on it, Muel. Let’s see, eh?” I look towards Tavos, who has taken his place on the throne. “Tavos, I haven’t seen her, don’t know
where she is. Can we go now? That is, unless you’re dead set on our continued enjoyment of this fabulous hospitality?”
Tavos’ eyebrows shoot up and he gives a quick look to Squints. Squints holds out his hands, palms up, with a “it’s not me” look. Tavos stares back at me. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Look, I got it all figured out, so let’s stop playing ‘I’m really hurt that you slept with my daughter and I want you killed’ and let’s be more ‘save the day and solve the problem’ kind of people.”
“And what problem would that be? And yes, I still would like you flayed for sleeping with my daughter.” He shifts ever-so-slightly in his seat.
“Three things explain it all,” I say. “One, your people are being killed and you thought I was doing it — Squints pretty much told me that straight-up in the ambush. Two, you took Muel as leverage because he’s basically unharmed, and that means you want trade him for something only I can provide.” Ha! This is going well, Tavos has the bulgy-eye thing going on. “Finally, you disallowed burning down the Bottom Up. I can only infer from that the something you want from me, something very valuable to you, is within.”
I give Tavos time to follow my reasoning. Then I close with “the only thing I can think of being that valuable to you and, sadly, it’s not me.” If it wasn’t for the cracked ribs I would have given him a bit of a bum wiggle, “It’s Amber, your daughter.”
Tavos just looks at me.
“So, am I correct?”
There’s a long silence, then “Yes. You are correct.”
“How many have you lost?”
“Seven.”
“No, seriously. You don’t do this whole kidnappy thing for just seven. It’s got to be more trouble than that before you bring me here. Come on, what’s the number?”
Tavos shifts again in his chair. “Seventeen. Seventeen over the last eight weeks.”
I look at him again. Tavos isn’t a dummy. He’s a fantastic planner and a formidable schemer. In the years I worked for him, he always keeps people alive and happy. The only reason we fell out was because of my sleeping with his daughter. You know, a small thing like that. Anyways, if Tavos lost seventeen people, then this is serious. “I didn’t know.”