"Who, or what, in the name of whoever, is Dickie Bricks?" Gill was rubbing his eyes.
"You've met him." Vincent argued. "I bought him lunch a few weeks ago."
"Oh lord, that guy?" Gill groaned. "Why the hell do you keep... Vincent, it's great that you care so much about the homeless, but you keep going out of your way to look after every stray cat, you're going to get clawed sooner or later."
Vincent grit his teeth. "It's not like I can pick and choose which people to help..."
"I know that, but... Look, somebody asks for change, you give him some; he sees your wallet and decides he doesn't need to rely on charity and you get stabbed. Vincent, you hear about it happening all the time."
Vincent didn't have an answer to that. He knew it was true; he'd read the news stories himself. "Gill, it's illegal to loiter around parks banks, supermarkets, businesses, hotels... anywhere with people who might be concerned about seeing things they don't like to think about. You can be arrested for sleeping on the streets because you have nowhere else to go. This is the richest city in the richest country in the world, and it's illegal to be living on the street?"
"I agree, but you're not going to end poverty in this country. You're not going to end homelessness. In fact, you're not going to put the slightest dent in it. And I am trying very hard to remember when it became your job to try."
Vincent bit his tongue. His experience with the Lostkind had turned him around overnight, and Gill wasn't the first person in his life to comment on it. And he couldn't tell them, obviously.
"Gill, you're right." Vincent said finally. "I'm not going to save them all. In fact, I'm not going to save any of them. It's not like these guys are a few dollars away from becoming regular citizens again. And if they want to spend it on booze instead of food, I don't blame them. But I can't pick and choose which ones I'm going to give a damn about."
Gill sighed. "Pizza huh?"
Vincent nodded. "Three Pizza Deal."
Gill pulled his wallet. "Get two deals. Five pizzas go further."
"Five?" Vincent took the money with a smile.
"Hey, I gotta eat too, right?" Gill shrugged.
~oo00oo~
The Triumvirate met every week in the Underground. At the highest point of the dome on Level Twelve, at the apex of all the living spaces, was the Throne Room.
The chamber was circular, with three entrances, one to the intersecting Tunnels, one to the Labyrinth, one to the Twelfth Level below it. The Throne Room was large by the standard of rooms carved out of the earth. In the centre of the room was a glass circle twenty feet across, set into the floor, giving everyone who looked into it a clear view of the city Below. It was symbolic of their world being Beneath everything. In the Above, you looked up to see the sprawling city, here you looked down.
The window in the floor was circled by a wooden table, surrounding the whole view like a guard rail. There were over a dozen seats at the table, most of them facing the Big Three.
The meeting began with the Lostkind shuffling around talking to each other, until keeper, Archivist, and Yasi all came in, and took their seats at the forward part of the table. Without a word, the rest of those assembled took positions at the opposite end.
"So." Archivist spoke; his deep bass voice rumbling across the room. "What kind of day has it been?"
"We've been having problems with the Riverfolk." Smithy reported.
"So what else is new?"
"No, I mean they've been sneaking around Twelfth Level."
Yasi sat up straighter in her seat. "The Riverfolk haven't caused trouble at the Twelfth Level in almost seven years." She snarled, more fierce than she should have been.
"Easy Shinobi. Nobody has forgotten your first mission." Archivist chided her gently. "But we all knew they'd reorganize themselves one day. What kind of trouble have they been causing?"
"We're losing convoy's into the Market. So far they've been after food. Nothing we can't replace, but…"
"But it means their numbers have increased." Keeper agreed. "Yasi?"
"I can take a team down to the Lower Levels, clear them out." The younger woman agreed. "My Shinobi haven't had an honest fight for a while. It just seems strange to be coming from Riverfolk. How can they even come up to Twelfth Level?"
"Odds are they can't. They could easily be making themselves sick coming to us." Keeper said. "Which means they're desperate."
"Yasi, don't take that team just yet." Archivist raised a hand. "If there is something happening down there to make them desperate for food or for attention, then we had best find out what it is before we start another battle."
"Do we need to put it to a vote?" Keeper asked.
Yasi shook her head. "No. I'll investigate before we act."
Keeper nodded and moved on. "Surface Reports?"
Silence.
Archivist looked around. "Wotcha? Your report?"
Silence. In the back of the room, a small boy raised his hand. He looked quietly terrified.
Yasi's sharp eyes picked him out in the dark. "Tecca?"
The kid looked terrified of speaking in front of the three Leaders of the New York Underside, but he stepped forward. "She's not… She's not here." He whispered. "There was something… She's not here."
Archivist sent Yasi a look, and the younger woman shrugged. She didn't know what Wotcha was doing either.
"Well." Archivist rumbled. "It'll keep. Security?"
Yasi leaned forward in her seat. "It looks like the Urban Explorers are back in business again. We've had to shoo a few interlopers away from our entrances. The one leading into the Museum of Natural History Subway station may have to be closed for a while."
"Better safe than sorry." Keeper agreed. "Seal it up for now. Gopher, what's the word on Power and Water?"
"New York has raised the cost of electricity, yet again. Our taps on the grid are starting to draw attention. I've had to reroute the secondary electricity feed twice now as a result."
"We've had two brownouts this week. People are starting to worry." Keeper grated. "Wotcha, find out who-no, she's not here. Yasi, next time you see Wotcha, let her know that Papa Edison will be having a ‘clerical error' soon; misplacing a few more cables."
Yasi nodded. "Anyone else have anything to say that involves me?"
Loud silence.
Yasi rose fluidly from her seat and headed for the rope ladders. "I'll be back later."
~oo00oo~
Wotcha was as still as she could get. Pretending to sleep hadn't worked. They'd sought her out deliberately.
"Come out and play old woman." The gang leader cackled. He was the eldest, and had a Mohawk. He was enjoying his moment of power. Wotcha pressed back against the wall and tried to take stock of them from where she was, hidden at the end of a dumpster. Four of them, plus the leader. Mohawk was crowing from behind all four of them. Three were pushing the youngest one forward.
"I… I don't know." The kid was whispering. Wotcha almost felt sorry for him. He was barely sixteen, and in way over his head.
"Kid, who are you gonna go back to? Your idiot stepfather? Who looks after you? Who keeps you fed? Who gives you a place to sleep?"
The kid looked down. "You do Bi-"
"No names." Barked Mohawk. "These are the rules. Nobody's gonna know it's you. Nobody's even gonna notice."
Wotcha slipped one hand under her dirty jacket. A gang initiation. She thought. Kill a homeless person to be part of the gang. She had heard of such things, but never had it happened to her until now.
"You leave me alone." She croaked at them. Inwardly, she knew they were right. In this neighborhood, nobody would see anything. Nobody would even be surprised.
The five of them closed in on her. She moved swiftly, drawing the small crossbow from under her jacket. A bolt was already notched.
Mohawk's jaw dropped. "Is that a-"
Thwapp!
One of them howled as the crossbow bolt speared into his kneecap. Wotcha came up with a can of mace, no longer as h
elpless and weak as she'd seemed a moment ago.
The gang fell back in shock as she sprayed, missing her target. She may have been cunning, but she was outnumbered five to one, and they were all younger than her by decades.
She felt a hand grasp her wrist, hard and painful, and she pulled, trying to get leverage, the can went flying. Pain exploded in her fingers as the thug twisted. She swung her other hand around. The crossbow hadn't been reloaded, but the bow was made of metal, and it served to get her some room.
For a moment there was a break in the battle. What was meant as an easy gang initiation had turned into an actual fight. They were angry, they were cautious, and they were embarrassed. They were ready to kill now.
Wotcha's eyes flicked to the can of mace. Too far to get to before they got her. She gripped the crossbow. Too close to get it loaded and aimed. She was in trouble.
And then from above came a dark shape. Quick as a rattlesnake, it dropped from the rooftop above and hit the one closest to Wotcha, landing on him between the shoulder blades. He went down instantly and didn't move as Yasi balanced on him.
The four of them quickly fanned out as best they could in the alley, reacting to this new menace.
"Walk away." Yasi snarled, cold and deadly. "Do it now and you may keep your limbs."
They attacked. She was more than willing to meet them halfway.
They attacked her roughly, trying to simply overpower her. The warrior woman moved like quicksilver, her slender body folding into impossible dodges and evasions. They kept thrashing, trying to make contact with her somehow, but she simply kept moving. In the darkened corners of the alley, nobody could say for sure where she really was, getting tangled in each other.
And then she struck back.
They couldn't believe how much power she packed in her blows, getting in too close for them to muster any kind of serious punches. She struck tactically, using her elbows and knees to deliver one short sharp body blow to each opponent, smacking out at joints and eyes and throats, knowing every weakness, moving too fast for them to evade or block.
The Gangs of New York were tough as any young people could get, but Yasi had five of them completely outdone.
They rushed her, all at once, trying to keep her from getting around them through mass of bodies. She dashed backward two feet and planted her foot on the wall, flipping over them like an acrobat, sending the biggest of them sprawling down the alley, the smallest of them running into the brick itself.
Mohawk got to his feet first, and pulled out a switchblade.
The click of steel springing open drew Yasi's attention instantly. All of a sudden there was a break in the combat, leaving Yasi and Mohawk staring at each other, with four bodies writhing at their feet.
There was another switchblade click, and Mohawk suddenly had two blades, one in each hand. He flashed the switchblades back and forth over his knuckles, clearly experienced with them. It was a show meant to frighten the opponent, showing off the blades in elaborate ways.
Yasi sized him up as the Gang Leader settled into a combat crouch. Her eyes blazed at him demonically, and she reached over her shoulder. An instant later the streetlights flashed off a samurai sword, gleaming wickedly in the night.
Mohawk took in the blade and quickly realized he was outclassed. Putting his knives away, he drew back two feet and held his hands out, palms up. Yasi lowered the tip of her sword, and made no move to stop the five of them as they rolled to their feet and retreated. They all stayed well away as she moved to stand between them and Wotcha. Message sent, Message received.
Yasi kept her sword low, the shining blade covering the entire width of the alley, gleaming against her shadowy silhouette, as they retreated with as much dignity as they could muster.
Once they were gone, Yasi sheathed her blade and turned on the elderly Watcher. "You missed the meeting." She said lightly. "I wondered what was going on, but now I understand you were doing this!"
Wotcha ducked her head, nervous before the younger woman. "I am… sorry Shinobi."
"What the hell were you doing here?" Yasi demanded, waving at the deepest end of the alley. "The entrance is right there. Why didn't you take it?"
"Solving a mystery." Wotcha defended. "By now you'll have heard that there's trouble on the lower levels, on the way into Market."
"The Riverfolk? What about them?"
"They aren't coming from the lower levels." Wotcha cracked. "They're coming from up here."
"From the Above?" Yasi repeated, shocked. "How is that possible?"
"There are bodies… At the Hudson." Wotcha reported. "They're Riverfolk."
Yasi reacted. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. I let myself in to look at the reports. They died of nitrogen narcosis."
"They got the bends?"
"Result of pressure change. Nobody can figure out how they died, so they're writing it off as amateur scuba divers being stupid, but the one thing they can't explain is why the three bodies are so pale. Three corpses that never saw sunlight before."
"Riverfolk." Yasi agreed. "How did those monsters get to the surface?"
"I don't know. They don't even come up four levels in the Underside, let alone to the Hudson River. Someone had to drag them up. Which means someone had to get to them." Wotcha waved to the entrance. "And as you say, the entrance is right there."
"Someone found an entrance to the Underground?" Yasi got to the point. "Vincent?"
"No, I can't believe that."
"He may have been starstruck, but he's not one of us." Yasi countered. "It's been a year. A lot of things can change in a year."
"More than you know." Wotcha said. "Vincent… he's different."
"Different how?"
"Well, back before you went and kidnapped him, I was the one watching. I can tell you, seeing our world changed his whole view."
Yasi was more interested in that than she should have been. "Oh?"
~oo00oo~
The cold snap that year was very harsh. More than a few who were caught out in it did not survive. Vincent felt awful for ordering pizza that night, forcing the delivery boy out onto the street during such a night. The ice was getting thick on the roads and the radio was reporting fatal accidents all over New York. The City was hunkering down to wait it out, and Vincent fully intended to do the same once he collected the Pizzas at the door.
The building Super had handed over the key when Vincent asked to lock up the Laundry himself that night. Vincent knew the reason he gave wasn't convincing anyone. The last year had seen a swift change in Vincent's method, and everyone saw it. The building Super was not unsympathetic, and as long as nobody complained and nobody caused trouble he would turn a blind eye.
Vincent had promised his temporary charges would behave themselves for one night, and took the stack of warm pizza boxes downstairs himself to make sure of it. The biting cold seemed to suck the warmth right out of the food, but it was far worse outside in the wind.
He left the laundry door unlocked. They would have to let themselves out early. It wasn't likely anyone would be near the laundry room until well after dawn, but better safe than sorry.
"We know your neighbors wouldn't like it." Checkov had promised him immediately. "We won't let you down. Besides, Wotcha vouched for you, and her friends are scary as hell."
The comment caught Vincent short. He didn't know what the connection between the regular homeless and the Lostkind was, but apparently some of them knew more than the general population. It reminded him of when Wotcha had screamed out the truth for all to hear and been avoided because of who was saying it.
Such thoughts chased him all the way back to his apartment, and he let himself in. The second he opened the door, his nose twitched as he picked up the smell of food. He was surprised to find cardboard take-out boxes on the coffee table in front of him. Someone had brought over Chinese food in the three minutes he'd been downstairs.
"Hi."
Vincent spun. Yasi was sitting on his
windowsill, pressed up tight against the glass, looking out at the slush. Somehow she managed to do so sitting cross-legged on his windowsill. "Something we don't have a lot of… is windows." She admitted quietly. "You've seen our living spaces. We have huge openings in the walls. Our view is our window and door. I've never looked out over a space and had something in the way. If I want to see the city while it rains, I have to get wet. I want to see the city on a winter's night, I'll get cold. Never had a window before."
Vincent stared. She hadn't changed a bit. Her slender silhouette was as intimidating as he remembered it. She had simply appeared out of his memory like the last year had never happened. Her teeth shone palely in the darkness as she smiled over her shoulder at him. "I came up to find some friends of our Watchers, see if they had somewhere to ride out the cold. Apparently, they're all here now."
Vincent flushed for a reason he couldn't really define. "Are you going to get in trouble for coming here?"
"Maybe." Yasi admitted. "You're not going to tell anyone though, are you?"
"Of course not, but I meant..." Vincent waved out his window. "I meant, are you going to get in trouble for coming up?"
"Up Above?" Yasi blinked. "It's... it's uncommon for Shinobi, but it's not forbidden. People from my world come and go all the time. Look at it this way. You live in New York. How often do you go into Jersey City?"
"Not often." Vincent admitted.
"It's only a bridge away; there's nothing stopping you. It's just unusual, because you don't usually have anything there to draw your attention for long." Yasi explained. "In the Underground, on the lowest levels, there are people who can never come up to the surface. They've lived too deep too long, they get the bends. On the higher levels, like me? We try to move as much as we can, so that we can come and go as we will. But we stay invisible."
"Go places without windows?" Vincent smirked.
"Oh no, plenty of windows, but we're usually on the other side of them." Yasi shrugged, answering the question honestly. Vincent suddenly realized that she wasn't wearing an overcoat. The cold didn't seem to touch her at all. Yasi looked back to the window. "Sometimes on clear nights, I walk out by the river. When the air is still, the water reflects the city like a mirror. The reflection turns the city lights upside down, like the towers are reaching down instead of up."
The Lostkind Page 6