Still, Talaos considered Palaeon's statement, and answered, "He had a long time to accumulate it, and a lot of room in his vaults to stash it away."
"I don't have to tell you, of all people, how wildly he used to spend it," replied Palaeon.
"Not so wildly in the last couple of years," answered Talaos.
"True, but I've also done a lot more damage to his paying operations than most people are aware," said Palaeon. "By the way, remember Firius and Milo, and their smuggling ring?"
"Before Cratus killed them all, yes," replied Talaos.
"I had a mole there, before it happened," Palaeon added, voice coldly thoughtful. "Cratus had been putting a lot of money into buying old art objects, artifacts even."
"That doesn't sound like the Cratus I knew," said Talaos with mirthless sarcasm. "He might have liked making an impression or putting on a show, but I never recalled him caring about the historical value of anything he owned."
"Exactly," continued Palaeon. "It would be interesting to know why, because I don't see crazy as a sufficient answer by itself. Still, more directly important is that although not on the old scale, he was still spending plenty of gold on things useless for a gang war. A gang war he started, and largely funded, at the very time a lot of his old income started drying up."
Talaos considered that, then added something more. "He's also been a lot more openly violent that he used to be. As if he needs to make an example every single time."
"He could be feeling desperate. I have been winning, after all," replied Palaeon.
"Maybe, but it started before that, and he used to be a lot more willing to cut deals. It was no accident he used to seem sane, to the outside world."
"No doubt, Talaos. I'm glad I was never one of his higher ups," said Palaeon. "And no doubt he's gotten stranger. He's been hiring men from places very far afield. He has a pair of new bodyguards that are supposed to be giants from the far north. They call them The Twins, though I haven't seen them yet myself."
Talaos pondered that with some curiosity, but knew if all went well, they'd find out the truth of a great many things about Cratus.
"Now," said Palaeon quickly, in fact almost suddenly, "let's get ourselves ready."
Palaeon rose and threw on his fighting gear, with additional weapons, and a chain shirt over the light hidden armor he always wore. Talaos was already equipped, but he checked buckles and fastenings to be sure all his gear and weapons were secure and ready for a fight.
Around them were a few of Palaeon's crew captains and more trusted guards. They readied for battle with cold eyes and hard faces.
Talaos kept alert, and noticed that Palaeon had his trapdoor to the sewers unlocked
There were noises of some sort of scuffle, fighting, and then the doors above smashing in.
Talaos drew his swords. Palaeon's men, with slower reaction speeds, did so a half moment later. Palaeon himself already had a sword drawn.
There were crashes, and the heavy steps of many feet. Palaeon's men showed varying degrees of surprise as they moved into position with bows and blades, but their leader did not.
Armed men came charging around the corner from the base of the stairs. One dropped immediately with an arrow in his forehead. Another took an arrow in the collar, but ripped it out with a snarl. A third arrow missed. More men poured into the basement with grim scowling faces and a motley variety of weapons and gear. Then many more.
They advanced across the basement towards Palaeon's position. A few fired bows from the back, and arrows stuck in the wall of barrels or smashed against the stone wall behind.
"Time to go," Palaeon hissed quietly, as he kicked up the trapdoor with a foot.
Without hesitation or question, Palaeon's men darted down the ladder in the dark hole beneath. As they went, Palaeon pulled a large vial, almost a bottle, from a hidden pouch under his chair. It swirled with blackish liquid or mist inside. He tossed it over the barrels.
The advancing men paused, and some of them stared stupidly at the flying vial.
It shattered against the rusty steel helmet of an ill-favored man with a scraggly beard and a scar-slit nose. The man scowled in surprise. Black smoke poured out from the fragments.
"Now you," said Palaeon to Talaos. The latter spun, leapt, and gracefully darted down the shaft to the sewers. Immediately behind him came Palaeon. As the gang boss shut and locked the trapdoor above them, Talaos could hear shouts and choking gasps from the basement beyond.
They climbed down swiftly, more than thirty feet, and Palaeon did not explain anything as they went. At the bottom, two of Palaeon's men had already lit one of two small lanterns hanging on hooks on the wall. Talaos found himself in a foul, filth-smeared corridor with a narrow ledge running along a gutter of waste water. The stench was formidable.
"Nice place you've got, Palaeon," said Talaos.
The gang boss made no reply. He motioned in the direction they should go, and with Talaos immediately behind him, they followed in single file. A man took the lit lamp. After a short while, they came to the intersection of a larger, but no better smelling passage. Here it was possible to walk two abreast.
There was also, hanging upside down by a chain from the ceiling, a man, bound with rope at wrists and ankles. His shoulders and head were submerged in the filthy, dung-strewn water. He was not moving.
"Friend of yours?" asked Talaos.
"The man who gave my location to Cratus," replied Palaeon in cool, matter-of-fact tones.
After a short while more, they came to another smaller passage, and then a niche with a ladder up. They climbed and emerged at a sewer grate in a dark junk-strewn alley. Talaos knew the place. There were sounds of fighting. Palaeon pulled a little flute from his tunic and made a low quiet whistle. Men appeared from hidden positions.
Then, together, they raced down the alley, a side street, and onto the street with the entrance to Palaeon's headquarters. There, Palaeon's men had rolled a wagon in front of the door and smashed the wheels. The door was shaking as men inside tried to smash their way out. Talaos could hear coughing, wheezing, agonized gurgling noises, and desperate yells.
In front of the door, a bloody battle was taking place as a small number of Palaeon's men defended the wreck of the wagon from a larger number of Cratus's. With the arrival of Palaeon, Talaos, and the men with them, those odds quickly reversed.
Palaeon moved with deadly catlike grace, killing men with single swift strikes through their throats or faces, and just as swiftly slipping away from attempts by the enemy to strike at him. Talaos whirled to the attack alongside him, and the rest of the men mobbed around the enemy. It was over quickly.
Behind the door, the knocking and the coughing stopped. The faintest tendril of black smoke curled up, and even at a distance, Talaos could smell something acrid.
"That cuts down greatly on Cratus's advantage in numbers," said Palaeon, with a cold dangerous smile, "Now Talaos, do you have your crew together?"
"I have Sorya, Katara, and twenty others ready in my gang," answered Talaos.
Palaeon seemed to notice the contrary choice of words, but did not directly react to it. He continued, "And Daxar's people?"
"His brother stepped in to organize the ones ready to fight, and his cousins got a lot of angry relatives and friends together. They had thirty or so in total, when I last checked in," answered Talaos with a faint, black smile. "They are looking for blood, but I don't think you have to worry about them becoming a gang."
Palaeon did not seem amused. He replied coolly. "Then as per plan, my people will surround the place and come over the walls, while Daxar's mourners share their sadness with Cratus's guards at the front gate, and you..."
"I'll see if the back way still works," replied Talaos.
4. A Better World
Talaos stalked down the midnight street in a mood of cold, wrathful, purpose. With him were Sorya and Katara, and behind them twenty armed men.. They moved with swift precision, for they all knew where the
y were going.
"Weapons up and eyes open," said Talaos.
They were in a district that was said to have once been dominated by wealthy homes, but for a long time the grittier sort of businesses and seedy apartment blocks had encroached on them, until only one was left. Talaos knew it well. Many years ago, Cratus had bought the place and turned it into his headquarters.
Wealthy homes in Carai were usually either townhomes opening on the street, or manors with low decorative walls around them. Cratus had turned this one into a fortress compound with a ten foot stone wall topped by a parapet. Now Palaeon's little army was going to try to take that fortress. However, Talaos and his gang had a task apart from the main fight. Just out of sight and earshot of the place, Talaos gestured for them to halt.
There was a nondescript warehouse nearby. One Cratus had long used as part of a reasonably legitimate front operation. It also had another purpose that few even of Cratus's own men knew. Talaos had been high ranking in both trust and power once, and he had learned that purpose.
He turned, drew his friends close, and whispered, "From here, fan out and stay out of sight. Cratus will have lookouts around. Try to kill them without being seen. We're going to a warehouse two blocks away with faded red paint along the eaves. I'll point it out. We'll need to get inside quietly. There's a very well hidden entrance in there, and a passage under the streets to a room inside Cratus's house."
Sorya looked quizzical, "I have a hard time picturing Cratus using the sewers like Palaeon, or even physically fitting in them,"
"Not the sewers. With his fixed base, he knew multiple ways out were also multiple ways in. This passage goes only one place. Few know of it, and Cratus uses it sparingly."
"I'm really surprised he let you live, after you quit," replied Sorya in a whisper.
Talaos replied with grim seriousness. "In his way, he trusted me and hoped I'd come back around, at least until he started the war. I took an oath to keep this, and one other thing secret. He broke his side of that oath when he tried to kill me. Still, until now, I kept my side."
With that, he said no more, and motioned them into action.
They moved through the shadows, divided among three narrow alleys. Ahead, deep in the blackness amid a pile of old boards against a wall, Talaos could see a crouching shape. Sorya, quieter than a cat, crept up the wall to their side, moved along a narrow little brick ledge overhead, and then dropped with ghostly silence onto the sentry. More quickly than that sentry could react, her knife cut his throat.
Off to the right, in the next alley, a gurgling sound told him another sentry was being dispatched less quietly. He paused, and waited. There was no reaction. He motioned, and they continued on in the darkness.
They reached the place, filtering silently onto the narrow street outside the entrance. Sorya crept to the door, listened and brought out a set of little tools. She checked the lock for unwelcome surprises, seemed satisfied, then picked it. Talaos stepped forward. He motioned the others to step aside out of the way, and silently opened the door. Nothing.
He stalked inside and looked around. The warehouse had bulk trade goods of various kinds in stacks on a sturdy wooden floor over brick foundation. There were three smaller back rooms, and Talaos knew that the crates in the one on the left were usually empty, and acted as a cover for a hidden spot where there wasn't actually brick underneath.
They went there. The door was ajar. Inside were heavy sacks of grain.
"Cratus wasn't planning on running tonight," he whispered. "That likely means more problems. Let's get these moved."
With twenty-three to do the work, it didn't take long. Talaos found the familiar hidden mechanism, and opened the big trap door in the floor. There was a very large, sturdy ladder going down about fifteen feet. They descended and found the dry, dusty stone passageway. It had been carved tall and wide enough to fit Cratus, and was thus fairly roomy for them.
It went on a long way in the dark. One of his friends lit a small, dim lamp, and they advanced. At the far end were stairs up, then a landing and a door. Talaos crept quietly up and listened. On the other side there were multiple voices. There was a storeroom there, and Cratus had generally used it for mundane items. The voices were likely guards, posted in case someone came through, and Cratus being Cratus, they likely had no idea what they were guarding.
He knew on the other side, this door looked like just another section of cheap wood paneling. It had a lock that was operated by a little hidden mechanism on the other side, and so far as he knew, couldn't be operated on this side.
With those guards in place, the time for stealth was about to end anyway.
He had his long blade in his right hand, and a dagger in his left.
He stepped back, whirled, and aimed a flying kick at the door. It jarred forward in its frame, and there were roars of surprise in the room beyond. He cursed under his breath and gave it another kick. The door went flinging aside on its hidden hinges. It cracked into the face of a guard standing nearby. He threw his dagger into the throat of the next closest guard and leapt through, drawing his short blade in his left hand as he went.
There were ten more guards on the other side, largely unarmored and carrying a variety of weapons. Talaos spun low and ran his long blade through the stomach of a guard with a club. Behind him, Katara charged through with a roar. The man directly in front of her stared in momentary surprise, with eyes foolishly on her chest and her flying golden braids. It cost the man his life as she brought her heavy sword down through his shoulder and ribs. Then the rest poured through, fighting the outnumbered guards. The man who'd had the door cracked in his face wiped blood away and raised his axe to fight. Sorya interrupted his plans with a dagger to the kidney. Katara kicked a man and sent him toppling, then cleaved another's head in half.
As they fought, Talaos could hear sounds of alarm. He ducked a blow from a mace, twisted, and slashed the wielder along the arm with his long blade. More of Cratus's men would be charging their way, he thought grimly. The mace wielder spun, trying to shatter Talaos's arm. Talaos dodged and brought his short blade between the man's ribs. Then, as the other fell, he realized more alarms were being shouted all around Cratus's compound.
Palaeon must have the main assault under way.
Around him, the guards were dead. Several of his were hurt, but thankfully none dead.
He'd always guessed that in this room there should be another hidden panel, with a short passage to Cratus's main office. However, Talaos had not been shown that particular secret.
It was possible that Cratus would be out in the compound leading the defense, but he had never been quiet in fights, and his massive bellowing voice carried a long way. Talaos couldn't hear him. Then he had a suspicion where Cratus would be.
They'd have to take a chance.
He motioned for the others to follow him, and raced out into the hall. He could hear sounds of fighting and many voices. They turned left. Two men, Cratus's, came racing their way. One had an axe, the other, bigger, a heavy club. They came to a skittering stop on seeing the large group before them. The man with the axe ran, and then fell with one of Sorya's daggers in his back. The bigger man charged. Talaos dodged the club, turned, and ran his short blade into the man's ribs. Katara, close behind, finished the enemy with a sword thrust through the collar.
Ahead on the left was the brass-paneled door to Cratus's office. There was a good chance of a trap there, but no time to deal with it. He grabbed a heavy bronze urn nearby, and with help from Arax and two others, smashed it through the door like a battering ram. A little metal needle shot from the lock, but clanged harmlessly into the urn.
Beyond was the richly, even gaudily decorated office, but not Cratus.
But then, Talaos hadn't expected him to be there.
He checked the inlayed wood panels on the wall behind the gang bosses' desk and felt for what he thought was the right spot. Talaos had only ever seen Cratus use it once, back when the latter had tried to c
onvince him to at last join formally as one of his captains, to take the full oaths, and see the secrets.
He found it. Pressed a little wooden tile, and there was a click at a section of floor under the rug. He motioned to the others, and two hurried over to move the rug.
"This looks like my area," said Sorya, as she walked over to the trap door, drew out her lock picks, and put them to work on the lock.
"Without the push of that panel, you'd be getting a half a dozen poison needles springing at you about now," Talaos added helpfully.
"Lovely," she replied, finishing her work with a satisfying click.
"Stand back," Talaos said, motioning her and the others away.
Sorya and Katara flanked him, but the rest made some distance.
There would almost certainly be at least one more trick. He wedged a pick of his own, of particular design, with a loop at the end, in the lock. He put a little cord through it, and stepped around behind the trap door. He pulled, lifting the door up from behind. There was a sound of springing steel. Six crossbow bolts flew out from the stairs under the trapdoor, and into the far wall.
"He's clever," said Sorya with black humor as she eyed the bolts.
"Whatever else he is, Cratus is no fool," replied Talaos. With that, he stepped watchfully around the trap door. There at the base of the stairs, as he expected, was a ballista with places for six shots and a complex triggering device rigged to the trapdoor.
Down the stairs he went, to a place he'd never wanted to see again.
Behind him were Katara, Sorya, and twenty armed men. Before him was the short hallway that opened onto a sort of foyer. There was neither sign nor sound of opposition. The bare stone walls of the hallway had niches carved in them. In each niche were a few bones, and sometimes teeth or little personal trinkets.
Katara looked at them with a grim curiosity, but many of the others seemed disturbed. Talaos silenced them with a gesture. This was not a time to talk, and the explanation would not help. He knew that this was where Cratus liked to keep mementos of slain enemies. At least he used to. Last time the bones had been clean and tidy, and some niches had held little candles for light. Now they were covered in dust and the hallway was dark.
The Storm's Own Son (Book 1) Page 6