“Gord-O!” Every child in the place turned at the sound of Time’s voice, breaking through the new silence and echoing to every corner of the theater. The merchant stood center-stage, like the master of a circus show. He removed his top hat abruptly, rested it upon his heart, and bowed theatrically. “Glad you could make it in time.”
Once the children were clued in, they eagerly welcomed Fen with open arms, hardy pats on the back, and from some of the girls, quick pecks on the cheek; and even one to the lips that came in a flash of hair colored like the rainbow. It happened so suddenly that Fen nearly passed out, and when he tried to find the girl she’d vanished in the melee. The reception was so dizzying and intoxicating that it was better than any tank ale Fen had ever swilled down, and the smile on his face was so wide it hurt. When he’d finally made it onto the stage next to the extravagant Conrad Time, Fen’s head felt four times its normal size and ready to float off into the clouds somewhere over Junction.
“Welcome to my little Sanctuary for Wayward Children,” he panted Fen on the back and waved a theatrical arm out over the stands. The children responded with a cheer that rocked the roof, and had Fen wondering how a place like this could ever be secret.
Once the commotion had died down a bit, Conrad bellowed for silence and the chamber went eerily still. “Today we welcome a new brother to the Syndicate’s fold, my little pups. He’s a special boy so make sure he’s well looked after.” Then he turned and whispered into Fen’s ears. “Alright, Gord-O, go ahead and introduce yourself.”
The theater went deathly quiet in anticipation, and Fen felt his face flush hot and red with embarrassment. He’d never had to talk to so many people at once. “Hmm,” he stammered into a sea of eyes.
“Go on,” encouraged Time.
“Ah…hi,” said Fen, “I’m…ah, my name’s Fe…ah, Gordon.”
“Hi, Gordon!” The whole assembly hollered in unison. The sound echoed and set the ceiling to quaking.
Meanwhile, Time wrapped his gloved hands around Fen’s shoulders and ushered Fen towards the stairs. “Great job, kid,” he said, “now off with you, front and center while I give my pups here the old lecture. Now you pay special-close attention, Gord-O, after all, this is for your benefit not theirs. They’ve all heard it time and time again, but it doesn’t hurt to reiterate it, so’t goes.”
Once Fen was settled into the crowd all his fear and trepidation vanished, even thoughts of the secret stash fell to the wayside, there was only this place, filled with children, and Time standing over them in his striped long-coat and perfectly swept hair. As he talked, the ends of his curled mustache bounced in time to the words.
“Now listen closely, my little rat pups, as I tell you a tale. You see, I’ve lived the Rat Warrens all my life, born and raised in the dark spaces just like you, between utilities pipes and waste disposal shoots. And, like you, I shared it with a bunch of other families, all a’huddle within a few sparse meters. It was so cramped, in fact, we had to take turns sleeping, and that’s all we could hope for. It was all we could hope for ‘cause my dad was one of those ‘rule-followers’ who’d decided early on that he just wanted to get by—play it safe. And what could I do as a kid; as just another ghost in these slums.”
Ghost, he said, and Fen leaned forward, hanging on every word. Here’s an adult who understands what it’s like to be a pup.
“If only I’d known then what I’m about to share with you now… You ghosts out there have a hidden power. You ain’t afraid of risk; are you?”
“No,” the kids yelled as one, and Fen struggled to repeat it in time.
“And it’s risk,” Time thrust a finger out, pointing into the crowd, “and only risk that’ll lead you from this life of squalor.” Then he redirected his animated finger towards the roof. “See, if you want to reach the sky, you’re going to have to climb—it’s the only way out of these cesspools of Junction—and the only way to do that is by stepping on the backs of those stupid enough to play by the rules. Do you think our own dear rat lord and his men—do you think any of them got to where they are by following the rules?”
“No!” The walls rumbled.
“Point me to a legitimate opportunity that exists down here in the Warrens, and I’ll encourage you to follow that route.” Conrad Time observed his children with a feral look, and when not a word was uttered he continued. “That’s what I thought, there’s nothing…? You’re in the mud down here; no schools but the school of hard-knocks, and jobs? Forget it! Now listen well, my lads and lasses, I’ve chosen the lot of you from your various mischief gangs and your scam-running and your petty scrounging because you’ve shown the aptitude needed to rise up. Each of you inherently realizes that if you play by the rules you’re doomed from the get-go; deep down you know it’s because the rules are designed to keep you on the ground like the rats you are. Opportunity…” he paused to scoff, “is the real divide down here.
“‘So how do I get to the sky-level, Mr. Time?’ you ask. Well, there’s two ways, my little mud-grubs, by hook or by crook. You either latch onto someone powerful and ride your way up, or you steal it. Any other way… and you’re just fooling yourself, and that’s why I’m here with you right now. I’m your ticket; you and me working together. Now, I ain’t gonna lie to you like your dear ol’ mums and pops; we’re all too close for that. Simply put, most of you aren’t going to make it to the sky—that’s the sad truth—but some of you are, and those that don’t… well, they’ll still have a special place down here in the Syndicate. And them’s better odds than you’re going to find anywhere else, I guarantee?
“So don’t get all cry-baby to me about breaking some rule I tell you to break. Hell, if the avian rats followed the rules, they wouldn’t be flying, you understand my meaning? Your journey to the sky starts right here and right now. So what do you say, my little climbers, you ready to get to work?”
The crowd went absolutely wild, and Fen went wild with them, howling and slapping hands with anyone he could find. At that moment, he became one of Time’s Syndicate kids.
Chapter 8
In the beginning, being in Time’s Syndicate seemed no different than being in Fen’s own mischief gang, Fen just had a better place to hangout other than the Pipeyards; that, and the food came at a constant rate of three meals of slop-pudding a day. Otherwise he spent his days doing nothing really, other than talking up the girls (trying to get them to giggle and flirt), or playing games of chance with shifty-eyed pre-adults. It seemed a paradise, and the light from the torches mimicked at being the sun. Fen could almost imagine sitting back on tier two in his hiding place in the light, and for the first time in ages he felt he belonged. He felt a kind of contentment that not even his stolen bag of cash could match, and he began to think about it less and less. His only trepidation was in continually lying to Lydia about where he was going day in and day out, and on day three he nearly told her about Time’s organization, except Time had expressly forbidden anyone of talking of it; and bringing someone in without an invite was the highest crime imaginable, at least according to the younger pups anyway.
And so day after day Fen snuck off through the Shambles to the Sanctuary, listening as Conrad Time continued to give his speeches, every day sending off various bands of children into the slums to do his work, but other than that, Fen felt lost in the shuffle and forgotten, that is until on the fifth day. On day five Conrad Time sought him out, finding Fen as he sat on the balcony with his legs dangling out over the hectic activity below.
“Gord-O,” he called out in a jovial mood, kicking and stomping his way through the litter of a thousand children, “my friend, I see you’ve acclimated to your new environment with gusto. I’ve even seen you chasin’ the skirts and wastin’ time gaming, so I’m assuming you’re enjoying yourself.”
“That I am, Time,” said Fen as he hopped to.
The benefactor stopped to the balcony’s edge “Good, good,” Conrad leaned over and glanced to the stands below. His face turn
ed reticent and he backed away. “I knew you would, kid. A loner like you, Gord-O, needs a place to belong.”
“Oh, I’m not a loner,” offered Fen, careless in his honesty, “got a sister at home, and an old mischief gang—” but he went silent when he realized the slip.
Time snapped to attention and rested a hand on Fen’s shoulder in surprise. “You don’t say,” he turned the boy around to talk face to face. There was a glint to Conrad’s washed-out eyes that hadn’t been there before. “You’re a family man, Gord-O, now that’s not something I’d have guessed at. Nope, you got that classic bravado of a man without attachments.” Time pushed away and strolled with an ease towards a rotted banister further down. Once there he placed his gloved hands firmly on the rail and gave it a rock before resting his weight against it. There, he set his narrow gaze down on the frothing motions of his Syndicate; down where hundreds of children played. “No matter. Perhaps in time you can introduce your sister into the fold.” Time’s tone was soft and dreamy, as though his mind were off somewhere far, like on a distant isle in some foreign cluster. “I know you must be getting pretty bored by now, Gord-O—”
“No. Not at all,” Fen lied, but Time stopped him with a gesture.
“It’s alright, kid. An entrepreneur like you needs to keep moving, keep chasing that next deal, and you got all them notes just lying around useless. You must be chomping at the bit to get them traded in by now.”
“Actually, I haven’t really thought about them since coming here. Everything I could ever want’s in the Sanctuary from what I’ve seen.”
“Everything,” Time scoffed, and turned to his young protégée. In the light from a distant lamp the older man’s face became a mask of highlights and shadows. “Kid, even this is nothing,” he waved a hand over the theater and its occupants, derisive. “This is nothing but a halfway house between utter obscurity and the climb to the sky-level, kid.”
“The sky-level?” Hearing of it spoken of was like a daydream; like looking at a pieced together poster from his room and imagining what the shows they advertised might have been like. Sure, he’d lived on tier two, but that was almost as far from the plate gardens and soaring plazas of tier five as the Warrens.
“Gordon,” Time tilted his head and his tone turned serious. “I assume you’re listening to me when I give my speeches.”
Fen shifted in discomfort. “Well…yeah.”
“Then you should realize this place is only a means to an end, not an ultimate goal. Don’t disappoint me now with a narrow scope of vision, Gord-O. I like you too much to realize you’re just another schlub, like ninety-nine percent of those little rascals down here playing in the seats—Enox Unon bless their little hearts—they’re here ‘cause it’s a social club, not ‘cause they got real ambition. Now don’t get me wrong, there ain’t a lad or lass down here that won’t come scampering at my call, but they ain’t exactly filled with the sort of initiative I’ve seen displayed in you.” Time resumed his stroll and Fen scrambled to keep up. “So you ready to make the deal?”
Fen skidded to a stop in the ancient debris piled on the slanted floor, but Time took a few more steps before he realized the kid had stopped. He turned in confusion. “What is it, Gord-O?”
“It’s just…I’m not sure—”
“You don’t trust me,” Time threw his hands out in a show of pleading, yet his face remained set with a sly, sideways smirk. “I’ve opened up your eyes and mind, kid, and you’re still reluctant…?”
“It’s not that, it’s just…all those tokens haven’t helped me out one bit, and I can’t even share them with my sister because she might get mad. She told me to throw all those notes into the Old Big River and let the Maw have ‘em.”
“She said what?” Time roared, sending his voice bouncing off the ruined walls and dripping ceiling. Those kids gathered on the balcony, playing or schmoozing nearby, went still and locked their wide-eyes on Conrad. But within a second the merchant had composed himself, smoothing his riffled mustache and rearranging his hair into a perfect wave. He then barked out a laugh. “This sister of yours is something alright: ‘throw it into the Maw’, that’s A-one crazy right there. So, I’m guessing she don’t know you still have it then?”
“Nope.”
“Hmm, and you love this sister of yours?”
“I guess.”
“Hmm… Listen, Gord-O. I got a meeting with a special friend of mine and I think I want you to come along with me. She’s got a knack at cutting to the heart of things, and I’m thinking she could help you out with this dilemma of yours; might even help clear things up between us; then, maybe…maybe I can let you in on a little secret.”
When Time said he had a meeting, Fen didn’t think he meant right away, but that’s exactly what the merchant meant, and in no time at all they were walking through the Shambles. Time took the lead as they crept down passages cut even deeper into the Barrows. These narrow lines were old, older still than anything Fen had yet experienced, and in places the ancient brick used to construct them had turned to chalk and crumbled away. Cobwebs, dense as wool blankets hung from the ceiling, and the smell that permeated this place was like the dirt their father used to track in after working hard for Hanns Company.
Besides their footsteps and their breathing, only the distant sound of falling water broke the eerie silence, and something familiar about this place haunted Fen’s thoughts. He tried not to dwell on it however, least it set fear crashing over him. The last thing he wanted was for Time to see how scared he was, not when the merchant seemed like an unflappable rock. If the man was as nervous and scared as Fen was it certainly didn’t show. Rather, he walked with a deliberate gait, and with his head held high and his broad shoulders set in confidence. It served to help Fen with his own reluctance. After all, he wasn’t alone anymore, and for the first time in years he had an adult watching over him.
As they walked on, the falling water took to roaring, and the air turned damp. The cobwebs overhead glistened with dewy drops, and below them the floor slowly turned rife with fungus and lichen. Up ahead a light could be seen beyond the one Time carried, and the merchant spoke for the first time since they began their trek. “We’re nearly there, so mind your manners, Gord-O.”
At the end of the line, a tattered curtain had been strung up across the tunnel like a door. Here, the floor was so thick with fungus as to be completely buried, and the walls were lost to tuberous vines. Just on the other side of the curtain water roared, and the moisture in the air was so thick it saturated Fen’s clothing and dripped off his hair, making him feel clammy and gross. He didn’t realize it at first, but he was hiding behind Time’s shadow as the man held his lantern aloft, and when he stepped aside to do something, it left Fen out in the open and quaking with dread.
A noise rang out: Clack, clack, clack, and Fen jumped with fright as the curtains sprang open, as though pulled back by invisible hands. Time just laughed at him. “Madam,” He then called ahead into the room, while Fen shrank at the sight of the gruesome doorknocker; a skull stuck to the top of a pole. “Madam,” repeated the merchant, louder still. “I’ve come for a reading as arranged. I’m feeling the moment’s approach, and am in need of the Taleweaver’s guidance.”
When the Gutter Lady appeared it was as if by magic, materializing from the cascading waters that dominated the back of the room, and yet she hadn’t a drop of water on her. Fen’s heart nearly leapt from his throat and he staggered back in terror of her. She was just as he remembered all those weeks back; thin and skeletal beneath an off-white tunic, skin like ancient parchment paper, and tattoos from toe to neck. She still wore the veil, and Fen still thought he could see her glass mask and the terror it held beneath it. Every ephemeral step she took, set the boy closer to passing out. The fear throbbed in his head and warbled in his ears. And when she tiled her head, in a way as though looking around Time and directly at him, that was it.
Chapter 9
When Fen woke he was in a bed surr
ounded by draped cloth colored red, much like the Sin’s Devil Cat, only the room turned out to be much bigger, and he was up in a loft that overlooked a work area of mismatched arm chairs and couches. At the center were a series of tables arranged in a horseshoe, and on the middle one lay a map as big as a blanket, with a dagger stuck in its center.
Fen felt like he was alone, and he crawled from the comfortable bed, reluctant because it was real, like the one he’d had in the worker tenements of his youth, and it even smelled of soap; like his mother every day when she came back from the scullery…until she didn’t. But his curiosity got the better of him. He climbed down the loft’s stairs onto the lower level and approached the tables, on course for the map and the dagger. Once he was within a meter, he realized it was a map of the Pinprick Slum, with the names of the locations coming slowly to his pseudo-literate mind. As for the map itself, it looked to be fashioned out of black cloth, with the various locations embroidered in gold thread, and where the dagger stuck firm, beneath it lay the Node.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Gord-O,” said Conrad, sleepily, and when Fen turned he found the Sanctuary’s master sitting up on one of the couches. He stretched and yawned and made a show of climbing laboriously to his feet. “Slept as snug as a bedbug did you?”
Fen shrugged and nodded.
“Good.” Time planted his hands into his spine and pushed out a kink. “Glad to hear one of us did anyway. Remind me to burn this couch for the uncomfortable deathtrap it is.”
“Where am I?” asked Fen as he swept his gaze around the room. Beyond the red fabric of the walls and ceiling, and the piecemeal furniture, there wasn’t anything to suggest where he might be. He wasn’t even sure if he was in the Sanctuary, or back in the Exchange somewhere; though something told him Time wouldn’t have carried him that far.
Aethosphere Chronicles: The Rat Warrens Page 7