Murky candlelight in this particular hole-in-the-wall establishment was hardly better than being out in the open. There at least, for what good it would have done, he could have tried running. Inside provided no outlet of escape, and of course the only open seat was in a small cul-de-sac room, hopefully not living up to its more common name. With a puzzled but hopeful expression on his face, the room’s bartender wandered over to his table. It was a crudely made and small, with knife markers from both bored patrons and those that did not abide with such niceties of posh living, like plates. Still uncertain, he ordered the one drink he could actually recall having down here before. “Bright Eyes,” he called to the barman. The eyebrows could not have been further raised in response, clearly he was not expected to have heard such a name before. He might be wearing passable attire for a denizen of the dark underbelly, but that drink order did much more for his credibility in that room than any manner of outward frippery could have done. Sickly sweet, tar-like and yet bitter at the core, the drink went down not at all smooth. In other company he would have been excused for mistaking the stuff as metal polish. It was just like he remembered it all those years ago, a weird mixture of anise and honey, dredged with ale hops, and on top of all that another assortment of herbs and spices. The damn thing was nearly lumpy, he’d swear. The room’s occupants seemed to be watching him out the corners of their eyes. Or the passing glances would linger for just a moment longer than strictly speaking necessary. Oh well, time to see if he’d go blind, he thought, and taking the small copper mug in his hand he tipped back the contents.
The fiery liquid threatened to make him sputter, but he forced himself to remain expressionless as he gulped down the small drink. He could feel the heat of it, in his mouth, down his throat, in his stomach. It started small, soothing almost, but grew in intensity until it felt like a coal within. A flash of heat pulsed through his body, a heavy sensation of strength and ease. Reuben set the mug back on the counter carefully, wiping the moisture that pricked his forehead with the back of his hand. No one clapped for him, but he got the feeling the room was impressed that the interloper had managed the drink well enough. Confidence returned to Reuben and he walked back over to the counter, laying down another coin, carefully ignoring being shortchanged as a matter of course. Then he left the smiling barman with his small cafe and went back out to the courtyard. He sensed it, as soon as he stepped out into the yard, he was being ignored, carefully so. That meant, to his mind, that someone was paying very careful attention to him indeed. He walked away, figuring it best to find another small market area than to stay in this one. One direction was probably as good as the next, he reasoned, for he was likely about in the middle of the underground city. The glassy eyes watched Reuben walk off into one of the smaller thoroughfares; a few seconds later, another followed after him.
Reuben was just starting to head down another street, barely lit, when he heard the scrape of metal and knew that someone here had drawn a weapon, probably a knife. The abrupt darkness in contrast to the courtyard had left him standing long enough for someone to follow and catch up to him. A new adversary had come on the offensive. Thankfully, Reuben’s eyes adjusted quickly and he could pick out the figure in the murk as it swayed back and forth, closer and closer, seeking an opening. In the small amount of light that leached into the area, he could vaguely make out the shape of the blade. Too small to be a threat at range, it was probably meant for intimidation, Reuben reckoned, though it wouldn’t take more than messy stab or cut to do real damage if the attacker closed. He was clearly dealing with a person that did not aim to just rob, but to kill. If he wasn’t very careful, he could take down the foe and still be struck. This wasn’t quite as cheery as the old-time scuffles that he’d heard of before. Either times were just that bad, or he’d run out of luck this time.
“I mightn’t belong here, sonny,” Reuben said, “But that little toy there isn’t near enough to do the job.” He watched the figure, short and wiry, pause.
A raspy voice answered, “Less talk, more bleeding,” and he lunged forward. The passage could accommodate two men with their arms outstretched, enough room to backpedal away to the side. The attacker snorted, and tried a sweeping sideways jab. That was his mistake, for it was telegraphed, and Reuben had been waiting for the opportunity. Instead of backing away again, he pivoted to one side, ducking as he did so. This allowed him access to grip the wrist of the attacker’s arm to come close but swing by. It also allowed Reuben leverage. He caught the arm, using the momentum of the opponent along with pushing against the rib cage, a rising motion from his lower center of gravity. The attacker was catapulted flat on his back, winded and eyes wide. Reuben took the moment of confusion and bashed the fist that held the knife on the ground until the blade skittered away. Then he took the forearm of his foe, and with one swift violent jerk extended it far beyond the normal range, resulting in a sharp snap and a howl of pain. Reuben released the attacker and he scrambled away, down the passage that Reuben had intended to travel, cursing and sputtering. Reuben collected the knife from the ground and looked at it, a rough blade but better than nothing. Reuben spat on the ground, and turned to go back to the courtyard and try a different way.
* * *
Two patrons of the small cafe had been watching Reuben since he entered the underground plaza. One observer was a well-muscled, tall male. The other, a short female with a belligerent look about her. Both looked every inch a regular of the twilight world, with patched but sturdy clothes and a body posture that radiated complete confidence that they were secure in their surroundings. They had Reuben pegged as a newcomer; in other words, an unknown quantity, a potential target. Or so they first had thought when he had entered their quiet little establishment. Seeing how he had handled himself with the fiery drink, then hearing the encounter with the ruffian had surprised and impressed them. This strange person might not be so easy after all. Now they were watching him back out in the courtyard, unmarred and with a thoughtful look on his face. As they sipped on their drinks, they watched their mark navigate the courtyard area, trying to make sense of the interloper. The female spoke first, “So, Tibs, what do you think?” Her voice was low in pitch, but soft in timbre. She kept her eyes on Reuben outside as she waited for the answer.
She did not have to wait long. After a few seconds her companion shifted his weight, causing the wooden chair to creak. Then Tibs said, with a gentle rumble from his massive frame, “A liability more than likely. Still,” with grudging admiration, “You have to hand it to someone who will slam back a drink like that. Shows some guts, eh?”
His accomplice kept her focus on the stranger, a pensive frown furrowing her brow. Her quarry had lit a cigar, standing in the yard. “Yeah, maybe,” she assented, “Or, he might be a bloody fool.”
Tibs chuckled, “Come on then, Pim, you asking, or you telling? What’s your take?”
She cocked an eyebrow, and let another few seconds pass as she pondered. “Hmm… alright then,” she said. Pim gulped the rest of her drink and set down the empty copper mug. “Let’s introduce ourselves, see if he can handle that as well as his drink.”
“Now you’re talking,” said Tibs, tossing back the dregs of his drink and slamming his cup on the table with a huge smile on his face.
* * *
Looking around carefully, Reuben was wary of two approaching figures. He still had a hold on the knife he’d picked up. They did not have any weapons drawn, but he had no doubt they were armed. No one walked like that without having the force to back it up. He wasn’t eager for another scuffle, having had two encounters so far in such a short time. These looked to be much harder specimens. He couldn’t suppress a small grin, however, at least he was getting their attention. The tall one was muscular and confident, it would be a close call and Reuben supposed they might be evenly matched, if it was a one-on-one fight. He was taller and broader than Reuben, but he suspected that his training might give him the edge. Things got complicated with the addi
tional figure, female, with a scowl on her face and general stance that suggested she was ready for anything. She looked like a chore to deal with, too, but backing down wouldn’t get him anywhere. He kept his grip on the knife, though he did not raise it. He decided to wait to see what their move would be. It was the female that came forward first while the other held back a few paces.
“Well then, stranger, you seem to be having a busy day,” she said, hands hanging loosely at her side. “Maybe you could use some friendly advice.” Her tone was calm, neither friendly nor menacing.
Reuben took this in, not entirely sure if it was the overture to another scuffle or sarcastically sincere observation. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” he said, trying to sound relaxed. The woman faintly smiled at this, and Reuben heard a suppressed chuckle from the towering man behind her.
The female spoke again, “You hear that, Tibs? This one is a real cocky sort, ain’t ya.” She slowly circled Reuben, who did not turn for his back would be exposed either way. Despite the danger, he felt somehow that these two were not actually seeking to harm him. It was only a hunch, but he decided to risk that rather than attack first. Maybe this was a test, Reuben thought.
Pim returned to her original spot after circling around Reuben, looking him up and down again she said, “So, stranger, what’s someone like you doing down here?”
Reuben took a slow pull of the cigar, holding back the urge to cough, “Down on my luck. Looking for a place to stay, maybe where the neighbors aren’t so particular about the company they keep.”
Tibs walked over now too, not too near, but close enough to inspect Reuben. He spoke up, his gravelly voice a low rumble, “No place ’round here for troublemakers.”
Pim looked back at Reuben with a firm glance. “Yeah, we don’t need trouble with them from above, and you are one of them, cigar or not,” she said, finally shifting the lingering smoke with a wave of her hand.
Reuben felt his hope of these two being useful was dashed. “Was I that obvious?” he asked.
“Yeah, pretty much,” grumbled Tibs.
Frustrated, but keeping calm Reuben slowly made his way back towards a slightly sloping tunnel that would likely return him to the world of light above, toward the city that did not want him anymore. He did not fancy another fight anyway. He got a few feet into the tunnel when he heard the woman’s voice, “Hey.” He turned around, readying himself for a potential attack.
But she had a crooked smile that played around her face, “You really need a place to go?”
He shrugged, “Yeah.”
She walked back up to him and handed him a piece of folded paper. “Here,” she said, “Go here. They might have a opening.”
Stunned by the sudden change in fortune, “Thanks,” he mumbled.
“You do know how to get there, right?” Tibs asked.
Reuben unfolded the paper. There was an address, of a sort. Locales in Subria tended to use approximations of the streets on the surface. He glanced at the name, Thirsty Grotto. “I think so,” Reuben answered, “Guess it’s been awhile, but I think I can find it.”
“All right then, off you go,” said Pim. “Tell Gavin that you’ve got Tibs’s recommendation.” The aforementioned Tibs snorted, but didn’t gainsay the woman. “Go on then,” she said.
Realizing he’d be turning his back to the two, but knowing that if he didn’t they would be sure to notice, he nodded and headed off into the gloom, away from the tunnel upwards.
When they were sure he was out of hearing, Tibs leaned down to Pim, “You sure about that? Ol’ man might not like the look of him.”
She punched his arm with a laugh, “You mother hen, let Gavin sort it out. Can’t be too choosy these days. Besides,” she looked back down the path that Reuben had taken, “I think this one could amount to something.”
* * *
The crude piece of paper was greasy, if he had to guess it might have been a napkin with hastily scrawled signs that would point him towards a place of rest. If he was lucky it wouldn’t be his final resting place either. He suspected that he was being watched; if Pim and Tibs were accurate, and he did not doubt that, his disguise was only taking him so far. Fortunately he had, long ago as a cadet, actually passed by the inn in question. He was rather curious to see what the last almost two decades or so had done to the place. Would it still have the small windows carved into the rock, letting in the acrid air from the street? It had been quite the experience walking past, he had known right away from the perfumed air that filtered out of the inn that it was home to some of the more potent forms of recreational substances. He stepped through the portal, one polite inquiry to the barman inside leading him down a hallway and through to another room.
“Fancy a smoke?” The question came at him from a dim quarter of the large space. The source of the question was a wizened man with a greasy, grey beard waggling from his chin. He was seated on a mound of cushions like a Sultan, candles in bowls strewn about without pattern. The room was full of comfort and the exotic.
“No, thank you,” Reuben said. Who knows what type of experience he would have if he were to sample some of the stuff that this man was smoking. It was unlike anything he had ever smelled before, sweet almost in the air, and yet nearly spicy enough to make his eyes water. The old man smiled, his bushy eyebrows waggling as he puffed appreciatively on his afternoon pipe. With a sweeping gesture, he motioned for Reuben to sit next to him on the cushions which were strewn about in a semicircle around the corner of the room. Reuben obliged, dislodging a couple of tins in the process. The magnanimous smile only deepened on the face of the old one.
“I gather that you impressed some of my crew with your boldness,” the man said. Reuben nodded carefully, not sure of where the conversation was going. Another cloud of smoke emanated from the old man’s nostrils, making him look like a dragon. “And yet here you sit, as meek as a church mouse,” he said. Noticing the stiffness in his guest’s posture, the old one continued, “Don’t take that as an insult, it’s wise to temper one’s anger. If you came in here roaring and bellowing you’d be out there on the street right now, counting the teeth you hadn’t got,” he said matter-of-factly, without anything other than friendly candor. Reuben didn’t doubt it, he had seen the bulk of the guards that stood on the outside of the room, ghastly slabs of muscle and gristle, they had the stance of the untrained fighter. Whatever decorum they dealt out wouldn’t be fancy, there would not be technique, just pain quickly delivered without any fuss.
From the grubby streets, to this man’s abode, to the perfumed and cushioned existence within was jarring, but Reuben was beginning to get a feel for the place. “If you think I’m wise, Sir,” Reuben said, “Then I’d like to try some of that stuff that you’re smoking there.”
“Oh good,” said the old man, “There is some vinegar left in you.” Reuben relaxed as the old man chuckled at his joke and the tension was released in the air. “Come, come, we must drink and talk, my name is Gavin.” He clapped his hands and there was a clanking of beads from the wraps that he wore around his wrists. One of the hulking monstrosities popped his head in and the old one ordered for them.
Gavin seemed a talkative sort. Reuben figured this was because he could afford to show off, clearly he was an important figure in Subria. Through his subtle boasting, Gavin had revealed that they had the capability to portal down here. It really was amazing, how crafty some of the folk down in the under city could be. But be that as it may, the problem of how to fund his getaway was gnawing at him. The old man looked at Reuben and grinned, as if guessing the plight of his visitor. It was not lost on Reuben, and he was ready for the statement when it came.
“Money can be tight to come by for a man on the run.” It was not a question. Glancing at the old man, sitting in his pile of cushions, Reuben tried to gauge the mellow tone; was it prodding him, or just a friendly observation? “Yes, transport is expensive. Come now, tell Gavin where you want to go, maybe we can work out an arrangement, yes?”
Reuben decided to play the game, roll the dice, and see how far his luck would take him. Nodding his assent, “I need to get out of the city, as far as can be managed.”
“So then,” he said between regular puffs of his pipe and sip of his drink. “I take it that you might be needing my help.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Reuben said. “Either from you or to point me in the right direction of someone who can do what I need.”
A thin smile played around the lips of the old man. “Ah yes, such is the way of things. One can hardly expect to be visited for one’s own merit, no matter how much they do for the community.” He chuckled softly. “And here I don’t even know your name.”
Reuben highly doubted that but said to the old man, “Reuben.”
“A good name,” said the old one. “And surely a name of someone who knows that very few things in this world are truly free.”
The man had kept the same light and airy tone, but Reuben’s heart sank in his chest. “About that,” he said, “I am a little short of funds currently.”
“Yes, I imagine so,” said the man, “recently escaped prisoners tend to not have much money. They would have never been put in prison to begin with if they did.” The man chuckled to himself, “And so I imagine,” he continued, “such a person might be looking to start anew, perhaps find a place where his face isn’t sought after.”
“For someone who didn’t know my name, you certainly seem to be able to guess a lot of my situation.”
“Oh, it comes with time and intuition, my good friend. That and an ability to recognize patterns in my patrons.” He paused in his smug pronouncement to path an elegant smoke ring towards the center of the ceiling. “Well, then,” he said, clapping his hands together. “It just so happens that I might be able to help you. You’re in luck, you might say. For a man of moderate strength and the inclination, there happens to be a number of openings in the small mining town of Tekuda.”
Litany of Wrath Page 8