by DB King
The words of Jen Jackletooth came back to him. The ratmen had allied with the Sewer Slayers, and they were gathering strength. Gathering strength for what? It could only be for a move against the Gutter Gang. Marcus’s gang were the only other human gang who lived in this particular section of the Underway, as far as he knew. An alliance could only be against them.
The Gutter Gang had long known that their well-defended base was attractive to the Sewer Slayers. There was only one way in, and a well-defended storage area with many strong chambers was always going to be attractive to other Underway-dwellers. And now there was the extra attraction of the dungeons. Ella had said that the dungeon chambers could not be destroyed. What was stopping an enemy from killing him, stealing his dungeon chambers, and even killing Ella in a blood-sacrifice to steal her power?
Could the Sewer Slayers and the ratmen know about that? Surely not… but then Marcus thought of Xeron. The powerful Diremage might well have contacts in the Sewer Slayers, and he would be on the lookout for any rumors of dungeons. If he knew—as Marcus suspected he did—that the dungeons could only be deployed underground, then it would not be too big a leap for an intelligent man like Xeron to guess that the Underway would be the ideal place for a new dungeon master to set up.
In that case, he thought, perhaps I should scout out the lair of the ratmen and see if I can get an idea of their strength? The idea appealed to him, despite the obvious risks. He had never been down here before, but if he took care, he should be able to find his way back.
And I’m well-armed now, he thought. Yes, I’ll do it. It would be worth the risk if I can find information that will help us prepare.
First, he would clear up the remnants of the battle. It struck him that the spoils of the battle would make for an interesting dungeon. He would use them as ingredients! Since his last dungeon fight, he had saved his new dungeon, waiting for a good opportunity for interesting ingredients.
This was it.
He moved fast, first placing and opening the fresh dungeon chamber, then hauling the carcasses of the ratmen and all their gear into the corridor. The flamethrower in particular, he thought, would be likely to create an interesting element to the evolutions.
Everything went in—flamethrower, nets, trident, axe, and of course the corpses of the fallen ratmen themselves. Then Marcus closed the door, began the Gestation Phase, and lifted the chamber again. When the chamber had become a glass sphere again, he slipped it into his pocket, enjoying its reassuring weight.
He sheathed his sword and drew his dagger, then, with a last glance up and down the corridor, he plunged into the blackness of the narrow entrance to the ratmen’s lair.
Chapter 14
From the doorway, a long flight of steep, narrow steps plunged downward. Marcus cast his stealth spell and crept steadily down the steps, straining his ears for stealthy noises but hearing nothing. After what seemed like forever, the steps ended at a narrow, curving corridor. Again, Marcus followed this silently, until he came to a division in the corridor.
The corridor split in three, with one way plunging downward, one climbing steeply up, and one going straight ahead. He was just about to try the straight ahead corridor when he heard a voice from the one on the right, the one that plunged downward.
“…good to have got that settled,” the voice said. “It took long enough. Those damned rats are too sneaky for my liking.”
“Ah, you’re too suspicious,” said a second voice. “The Boss wanted us to nail the deal, and we did. The rats agreed to our terms. That’s all that we need to concern ourselves with.”
These were not the voices of ratmen, but of humans. And they were coming this way.
Quick as a shadow, Marcus leaped upward into the middle corridor. The corridor was very narrow, and with a bit of effort, he was able to jam himself up at the ceiling of the corridor. His feet were braced against the right wall, and his shoulders against the left. He pulled his new black cloak up and wrapped it around him, so that even if someone passing below were to look up, they’d be unlikely to see him in the darkness.
Thank goodness for my enhanced strength, he thought as he wedged himself there. This was an old trick of the thieves guild, but it was hard on the legs. But with his new strength—and even without casting Hero’s Might to supplement it—Marcus felt that he would be able to sustain the position for as long as needed.
The voices came closer, and it was apparent that they were discussing some concession made by the Sewer Slayers to the ratmen. Evidently, these two were envoys sent by the Sewer Slayers to strike some deal with the ratmen, and they were making their way back, their business concluded.
Was that why there had been a scouting party at the top of the corridor? To ensure their safety out of the ratmen’s domain? Or was it more sinister? Had the group at the top been intended to kill the envoys? Marcus suspected he would never know.
As he listened to the approaching voices, he heard a name that made him leave his own thoughts and pay attention to the conversation.
“Yeah, Xeron will pay well for the information,” said the deeper of the two voices. “The Boss doesn’t want us to know that it’s Xeron who’s paying, but the ratmen know well enough, and they’ll pay even more.”
“But what is it they’re paying for? That’s what I’d like to know,” said the second voice, a thin, reedy voice with a cringing edge to it. “Xeron will pay this much, and the Boss will pay that much, and, oh, now the ratmen will pay even more, but what could possibly be worth all that money?”
“You heard the King Rat, didn’t you?” said the deep voice. “It’s some special weapon, some magic that those Gutter Gang scum stole from the Diremage. Now everyone wants it, but the Sewer Slayers should be the ones to get it. You mark my words, whatever happens with these negotiations, it’ll be whoever lays hands on it first that gets it, deals be damned…”
“Hah!” snapped the high voice. “You’ve got that right. Diplomacy of the fist, that’s the Boss’s way. And what about these battle spiders? Gives me the creeps, the thought of them being anywhere near our part of the underway. But the Boss has sent envoys to them with tribute too, and taken gold.”
Battle spiders, he thought. That doesn’t sound good. If they are paying the battle spiders to come fight, they really do mean business. Those monstrosities don’t come cheap.
The battle spiders that lived out on a rocky, inaccessible part of the coast near the cliffs were notoriously vicious, and known to kill envoys as soon as listen to them. They had an almost dragon-like lust for gold, however, and could be paid to fight as mercenaries. They were said to be unstoppable in battle, as much because of their horrific appearance as their fighting ability. Marcus had never seen a battle spider, but he figured that before all this was over, he might have that dubious privilege.
“Right, keep your mouth shut,” said the stocky man with the deep voice. Our escort will be waiting at the top of this next stair. Let’s not let anything slip until we’re well and truly home.”
As the two men spoke, they came up to the corner and then turned up the narrow corridor toward the steps, heading for the main tunnel. Marcus, holding his breath, counted to twenty before slipping down and crouching in the shadows, listening to the silence.
It was clear they were talking about the dungeons. So Diremage Xeron was exerting his influence upon the Underway gangs. But it sounded like the Sewer Slayers and the ratmen were both making a play to get the dungeons for themselves. They were playing Xeron, taking his information and probably his pay as well, but planning to betray him and take the loot for themselves.
Marcus felt pretty confident that neither the Sewer Slayers nor the ratmen had any idea what the dungeon was, or what it was capable of. Some magic weapon, the messenger had said. Marcus wondered who “the Boss” was. Presumably the leader of the Sewer Slayers, but who was that? No one knew. The Sewer Slayers were organized and fairly effective at managing their smuggling enterprise, but no one ever heard a
bout their having a single leader. Marcus didn’t doubt that they had one, but who it could be was another question.
He slipped from his hiding place once he’d figured that enough time had passed. The temptation to go deeper into the ratmen’s domain tugged at him, but he had heard enough to know what was going on. Chancing on those two messengers had been a valuable stroke of luck. Delving deeper into the lower levels might mean more fighting, and creating more of a stir, which he wanted to avoid for now. More than anything, he was now eager to get back to the Gutter Gang’s base and warn them of the impending attack.
I’ll have to hurry old Rance along, as well, he thought as he made his way stealthily up the stairs. Rance was the armorer in the docklands who Marcus had commissioned to make armor and weapons for the Gutter Gang. He was good at his trade and didn’t ask questions, but Marcus wondered if he could be relied upon to work quickly enough for his needs. There were other armorer dealers in the Merchants’ Town, however, and Marcus could go to them if he needed to buy gear quickly.
From the way those envoys spoke, the attack could be coming any day, Marcus thought uneasily. It might be tomorrow, or it might be a week from now, or two. There was no way of knowing for sure, unless…
“Where’s the scouts then?” came the nasal voice from up at the end of the corridor.
Marcus froze.
“I don’t like this one bit,” said the deep voice in reply. “I know my way back all right, but we was supposed to have an escort. Don’t like it at all, no…”
“Look, look here!”
“What?”
“Blood. It’s blood on the stones, and fresh, too.”
Marcus heard the sound of footsteps and scuffling as the deep-voiced man crouched to examine the bloodstains. Then he spoke. “Ah,” he said. “This is no good. Change of plan—we go back the way we came and tell the King Rat about this. He’ll want to know, and he’d not thank us for going on without telling him.”
“Aye,” said the nasal voice, “but who could have done this? Killed four of them, no less?”
“It’s got to be the Gutter Gang,” said the deep voice. He sounded nervous. “Come on, draw your blade. Let’s get back to safety.”
From where he crouched on the stairs, Marcus could see the outline of the entrance to the main tunnel up above him. Suddenly, the tunnel was filled by the shape of a squat, fat man, with a tall, thin man behind him. Deep voice and nasal voice, no doubt.
Marcus could not let them get back down to the King Rat and deliver their message. Better that they never got back at all. Marcus steeled himself to the task. He would have to kill them both and dispose of their bodies in the dungeon. But he didn’t like it one bit. It was one thing to kill a few ratmen up above—they had attacked him, after all, and they were monsters, not humans. And they were sworn enemies of the Gutter Gang.
But these two were just pawns caught up in a larger game, men not unlike himself or his colleagues in the Gutter Gang, more than likely. They must be trusted messengers, but however it went it would not be a fair fight.
What option did he have?
Marcus balanced his dagger in his hand, silently cast Ultimate Stealth, and then moved snake-like up the corridor toward the two men. They didn’t see him coming, but the tall one sensed something.
“What’s that? Tom, stop, I think I heard something…”
“You’re imagining things, you fool. Come on, let’s get this o—”
The squat man’s words were cut off as Marcus stepped up and drove his knife up under the man’s ribs. His other hand went over the man’s face to muffle his gasp. The thin man, a wizened old fellow with gray whiskers, seemed about to pass out with fright.
As his companion slumped to the ground, dead, the tall man dropped to his knees, letting his blade fall to the ground.
“Mercy!” he cried.
“Silence!” Marcus hissed at him, and the other man shut up.
Marcus clenched his teeth and lowered his blade. He could not kill the man on his knees.
The wretched fellow was in pieces. “Please,” he whispered, “spare my life, master, I will tell you whatever you—”
“Be quiet,” Marcus said. “There’s nothing you can tell me that’s worth hearing.”
He looked at the man carefully, then dug into his belt pouch and drew out one of his small bags of golden tower coins. He slipped the drawstring bag open and slid the fat golden disks out onto his leather-gloved palm. He held out his hands to the man, dagger in the right, coins in the left.
“This is your choice,” Marcus said quietly. “You can have one, or you can have the other. If you pick the dagger, and your loyalty to the Sewer Slayers, you can die, right here. If you pick the coins, you can take this whole pouch, on condition that you leave Kraken City, right now, this very night. A few of these gold coins would be enough to pay for a berth on a ship. Make your way to Kingsport on the Doran coast, use the gold to set yourself up in a new life. It’s your choice, life or death.”
“Life,” said the skinny man without hesitation. He nodded at the gold, his eyes fixed on Marcus’s face. “I choose the gold, and life.”
Marcus smiled, slipped the coins back into the bag, and pulled the drawstring tight. He held it up. The man lifted a shaking hand, and Marcus placed the heavy bag on his calloused palm.
“What’s your name?” Marcus asked.
“T… T… Tailor,” the man stammered. “For my trade. My father was a tailor, and me too, but I fell on hard times, and, well, you know how it goes.”
“Yes,” said Marcus. “I know how it goes. Well, Tailor, I need you to swear to me now, that you’ll do as I’ve told you, and not take your gold back to the Sewer Slayers, all right?”
The man nodded eagerly. Without hesitation, he reached to his belt and pulled a short, blunt work knife, which he dug into the meat of his left thumb. He reached out his bleeding finger and smeared his blood across the palm of Marcus’s glove.
“I swear it, master,” Tailor said.
Marcus nodded, wearily. “Go on, then,” he said, gesturing up the tunnel back toward the Docklands exit.
Tailor nodded, clutching his gold. Then he flashed Marcus a delighted grin and fled.
The blood-oath was the most sacred bond a man could swear. That Tailor had done it with so little hesitation made Marcus confident that he could be trusted to keep his word. Even the lowest thug or the most heartless villain would think twice before breaking a blood-oath. And Marcus knew a liar when he saw one. Tailor was not one.
Just another man fallen on hard times, Marcus thought. He dragged the squat man’s corpse up to the main corridor and looked him over. He looked a much nastier piece of work than Tailor had. A blurred facial tattoo marked him as one of the trusted lieutenants of the Sewer Slayers. Tailor had been just an old man sent on a job, but this one… not so much.
Marcus considered opening the dungeon and flinging the man in, but he decided against it. It was up to him what went in the dungeon, and he didn’t want this man in there. He didn’t want to see what a body like this would evolve into. No, he would let this one go.
Not far from the entrance to the ratmen’s lair, a deep shaft opened up in the wall of the tunnel. Far below, water trickled by. Marcus manhandled the squat man’s body to the edge of the shaft and tipped him in. He counted slowly to five before he heard the distant splash, then he turned and began making his way back through the Underway.
Marcus was thoughtful as he returned to the Gutter Gang’s base. He had a lot to tell them when he got back. It was all very well to be confident about the Gang’s ability to fight—they were magically enhanced, after all—but it seemed to Marcus that he had brought about big changes, just by existing. For a long time, the Gutter Gang had co-existed relatively peacefully with the other Underway dwellers. Now, it seemed there was no avoiding a major showdown.
It was not entirely his fault, of course. The Diremage’s plan to kill the faerie and steal her powers had been the t
rigger for this entire course of events. If that had not happened, Marcus would not be in the position now of having to put his Gang through a fight with the ratmen and the Sewer Slayers.
Anyway, there would be the opportunity for advancement here, too. The Gutter Gang were not in the Underway by choice, but by necessity. He would be the one to raise them up to a new level this way. Given the opportunity, he knew that most—if not all—of his gang’s members would choose to fight and get themselves into a better situation.
He shook himself out of it. There was no point dwelling on what might have been. This was the situation now, and he would have to make the best of it. He put some pace on, his new boots snapping smartly against the stones of the tunnels as he made his way back.
When he came to the entrance to the Gutter Gang’s base, he was greeted by a cheerful “Woof!” as Hammer came bounding down to meet him. As he scratched the dog’s ears, he looked up and saw a familiar figure sitting on the barricades. It was Ella.
Her odd, green-skinned face grinned mischievously at him, and her big, oversized eyes twinkled merrily under her stack of wild hair.
“Hello, Marcus,” she said, flying down the corridor to meet him. “Come up, quickly. We have something to show you.”
Marcus smiled. Apparently his news about the impending attack would have to wait a little while. Well, he could wait for a bit. Ella was obviously excited to show him whatever it was.
“Where are we going?” he asked as the faerie whizzed excitedly around his head.
“The Grove chamber,” she answered. “Old Jay is there.”
“Jay?” asked Marcus in surprise. The old, blind leader of the Gutter Gang rarely left his own quarters, and Marcus found it hard to believe that he was actually in the Grove chamber. “How on earth did that happen?”
“Humph,” said Hammer. “I made friends with him. He has good dried pork strips, you see. I told Ella about him, and she came and told him about the chamber, and so he decided he wanted to visit.”