Aethosphere Chronicles: The Rat Warrens

by Jeremiah D. Schmidt

  “You’ve the privilege of my abode, kid. After you went ahead and pulled a ‘damsel in distress’ I had nowhere else to put you…much to my chagrin, so’t goes.”

  Fen rubbed the back of his head in an attempt to remember the last thing that happened, which for him seemed to stop at the threshold to some tunnel. When he tried to pry further he felt dizzy to the point of vomiting. “What happened?”

  “What happened…? What happened is you passed out, and right before the reading, Gord-O.”

  It all seemed to come back in a flash; the chamber with its wall of water, the dread eating him from the inside out, and then the appearance of a nightmare. “The Gutter Lady…” Fen managed before he shuddered.

  Time swiped a bottle off one of the tables and took a haul. “She prefers Madam Coven, truth be told,” he explained, wiping his lips off on his shirt sleeve when he was done, “but Gutter Lady’s as good a nickname as any, I suppose.” The merchant offered him the bottle, but Fen turned away out of shame and focused his sights on the knife’s edge. It twinkled back at him with the room’s lamplight.

  “No need to get all mopey,” Time went on talking as he walked around the table opposite the boy. “Things happen,” he then planted his gloved palms on the table and looked up to Fen. “She’s a sight to be sure, and the stories I’ve heard paint a gruesome picture. But once you get past all that she’s not a bad broad. Helped me out, she did, with some medical issues I had some years back, and from there on…we’ve had an equitable arrangement. Readings in exchange for my services and such. Anyway, there’s a lot I learned through the Madam’s cards last night, and I got to tell you, she had quite a few things to say about you, alright…and not all of them good I’m afraid.”

  “Me?”

  In one fluid motion, Time hopped up on the center table, folded his legs, and seating himself down cross-legged. The edge of the map touched his knees and the knife stood close at hand. “I do think it’s time we got on the level, Fen Tunk.”

  At first, Fen didn’t even realize what had happened, and he lifted his eyes to the merchant innocently enough, but as the ramification of Time using his real name sunk in, Fen’s face flushed into open shock. He’d been discovered.

  But Time didn’t look mad, not at all, if anything he looked amused. “Told you first we met we were kindred spirits, kid-O. You don’t think Time’s my real name do you? Kind of pretentious don’t you think? I took it a few years back when I needed a new identity. The name kind of suited me though, helped remind me that Time can be a friend, but also an enemy if you don’t give it the respect it deserves. And now I know your secret, and you know mine.”

  The merchant leapt to his feet and looked down at the boy from nearly three meters up. The man looked gigantic, larger than life, like a cloudscraper over the Warrens, and Fen stood in both wonder and fear of him. “So here’s the thing,” Time paced around the map, cat-like in his bravado, “you, my little friend, have something that belongs to me. I’ve been patient about it…had to be, you’re a hard lad to track, and I admire your spirit. I’ve enjoyed our time together, and hell, half a thousand tokens is hardly a bother between friends like us. But here’s the thing…”

  Conrad turned and dropped to a knee, so he and Fen were face to face. The smell of gutter gin drifted heavily from the merchant’s breath, and his eyes glinted with a wild inhibition. “I can’t mess around with you anymore, just can’t, Gord-O—do you mind if I keep calling you that? It’s got a better ring to it and I have a hard time thinking of you as…Fen.” Time sneered sour. “Anyway, let’s get down to the brass-tacks, so to speak. That sack of notes you pilfered was mine, boy, and it was bound to the constabulary of this little slice of Junction.” Time waved a hand in vague reference to the map under his knee. “You see, I got plans for this slum—always have—though I’ve had to modify it a bit after the citizens down here turned on me once, back a ways; I had to change tactics…when the carrot don’t work, you use the rod, so’t goes.”

  Fen stared down at the knife next to Time’s leg; at how it was deliberately stuck into the Node, several other stab marks solidified his assumption. “You plan on taking down the rat lord?”

  Time appeared genuinely please, and he sprang to his feet, crying aloud, “Bingo, kid-O! I knew you was whip-smart. It’s why I’ve been so lenient with you up till now…been patient. Pops would’ve been proud, the ol’ firebrand!”

  “But how? How can you take down the rat lord?”

  “How old are you, Gord-O, eight…nine?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Close enough…guess you might get it. I’m going take down Trask by first taking down his Exchange; by freeing the people from his token sham. I’ve already pulled the rug out from under him by seizing the children’s loyalty. Something he never had the smarts to do—”

  “Token sham,” Fen blurted in interruption, “I don’t understand.”

  “Course you don’t, so let me explain. Tokens, kid-O, tokens are what’s keeping you and everyone in this slum down. You trade out a Ludwig ‘cause it ain’t worth anything down here, and for it you get a couple tokens, seems real dandy, right? Wrong. What you don’t get, until you try and climb out of the Rat Warrens, is that tokens ain’t worth a spit-in-the-drain. You know they’re nothing but pieces used in up-level gaming halls; used to play strike-rack and tables, and such. You can buy at least a hundred tokens for a Ludwig; even more. But you can’t trade in a hundred, or even a thousand—ten thousand—tokens for a single note, anywhere.”

  “Anywhere…hundreds of tokens…” Fen’s mind whirled at these concepts, and it suddenly occurred to him that his rucksack of cash was worth far more than he could have ever imagined.

  Time climbed off the table and wrapped his hands around the boy’s biceps, holding him rigid at arms’ length. “I see you’re having a hard time with this concept,” he said craning his neck to probe Fen’s eyes, “but that’s the truth. You’re all tied up in the rat lord’s scheme, Gord-O, and all his bartermen are in on it too; to the point it’s become the norm. It’s been like this so long most don’t remember; ‘specially since this War’s taking everyone except the women and children—and not a one of them’s schooled in economics.

  “Now I’m given you the truth here, Gord-O, and I’m giving you an honest opportunity to come clean and bring back my money…help me do some good down here in the slums. Madam Coven hinted that you might be important for something to come—”

  For all Time’s altruistic talk of helping out the people of the slums at present, Fen couldn’t help but think back to all those speeches he gave to his children about climbing and ‘taking what’s yours’. ‘By hook or by crook’ he’d said, and these two versions of Time seemed to clash. Was this just the merchant’s way of tricking him out of the rucksack of cash by crook, or was the cash really going to be used as Time said, to lift them out of the rat lords clutches, by the hook?

  “This big score,” he asked the man, probingly, “you were actually going to do it for me?”

  Time tucked his gloved thumbs into his suspenders and rocked back on his heels, nodding. “Sure was.”

  Fen’s muscles wound tight. His father used to make promises like that, promises that he ultimately broke. “What was I going to get?”

  “I would have given you a flood of tokens, Gord-O.” Time thrust out a hand as if pointing to the pile.

  And there in lay the rub. “But you said they were worthless.” Fen’s head felt close to bursting with having unraveled Time’s scheme.

  “To an extent.” Time shrugged as though it didn’t matter in the least. Given the merchant’s carefree display, Fen thought maybe he was wrong. Or did the merchant’s bravado extended to all situations, even to ones he was losing? “You’d still enjoy some perks down here, Gord-O. A few thousand tokens will leave you living in relative comfort for…a long while; and anyway, there’s this place to consider. I invited you in.”

  “But all those Ludwigs…” Fen rea
soned, “I could have just bought my way out of the slums…for me and my sister.”

  “Could have, but that’s hypothetical now.”

  “Hypo-what?” Fen scratched at his head, and the merchant chuckled at his ignorance.

  “Nothing,” said Conrad, “Now I’ve run out of time, Gord-O, The Madam’s said my opportunity will manifest itself here shortly, so we’re just going to have to skip all this courtship and jump right into it. But don’t look so glum, you’ve still a place here in the Syndicate—always will—and with that spirit of yours, you should go far. Some accumulate more time, my friend, and that could be you.”

  “And what if I don’t get you the money?”

  Time chuckled in a way that suggested he was far from amused. Suddenly he turned quick; quick as lightning; and yanked the dagger from the map. Then thumbing the tip with his gloved finger, he observed Fen coolly. “Let’s not even entertain that notion, kid. This is a thing you’re going to do. Money, after all, is just a thing we trade, Gord-O, but people, people is where the real power lays. As I’ve demonstrated, I’d take one of you for a few bundles of Ludwigs any day, but your price is starting to get steep now, even at token rates; and the rest of that cash is bound for bigger fish; fish that’ll look the other way when I send ol’ Boss Trask on a one way trip to the afterlife. Don’t make that a trip for two…or three should I have cause to include that sister of yours.”

  Chapter 10

  Threatening his sister was as low as Time could have struck him, and Fen’s affinity for the merchant went up in smoke, like a strike-match in an exhale vent. In his anger he could have taken the rucksack and dropped it into the Drain Line, just to spite the man and his overwrought scheme. Take out the rat lord, Fen scoffed internally. The idea of it was absurd. Boss Trask had been boss longer than most had been alive. He never, ever left his lair, and he had more dangermen and bruisers then any dozen ratties combined had teeth. Time thought he could take out that, and by what…taking down the Exchange? Fen didn’t pretend to understand the intricacies of what Time had planned, but it seemed a pipe dream at best.

  Only the fear of testing Conrad Time’s sincerity concerning his sister kept Fen in line; that, and Time sending a handful of his oldest boys to make sure the deed was done right. One he recognized from weeks back, when he’d come into the shop while Fen sat bloodied and bruised. Turned out his name was Sam Time, and when Fen uttered aloud, “I didn’t know Time had a son,” the boys sniggered and laughed while Sam mockingly chided him, “Take a good look at me, you sot, do I look like I could be his son?”

  Sure, the thickset adolescent had black skin, while Conrad’s was as white as a corpse grub, but Fen never considered skin color any sort of barrier when it came to chasing skirt, and besides, there was no rule against it. Edrika’s grandparents had been opposite ends of the spectrum, and that didn’t stop them from having five kids, spanning dark to light. Still, given the response he’d received, Fen began doubting that Sam was actually Time’s son, though the boy clearly had the merchant’s trust and the other boys looked to his guidance in all things as they made their way towards Fen’s stash.

  On the climb through the Bednest Fen contemplated on more than one occasion giving the brutes the slip. He knew these pipes through and through; knew the places he could squeeze along; knew the “nests” he could lose himself in; knew the vertical pipes he could climb without them buckling under his weight. All he needed was the opportunity, because the more he thought on it, the more he come to realize the ticket for him and his sister to escape the Warrens was stuffed in that bag. Time said it himself, the only way out was to climb, and Fen had no intention of being one of those trapped down here, not now that he knew what he had.

  By crook, that’s how he was going to get out of here, because if there was one thing he’d learned in his short life, it was that adults couldn’t be trusted to care. Companymen from Hanns had sent him and his sister to the slums, his mother had run off leaving them to fend for themselves, and his father had drank himself dead leaving them completely alone. Even Time, for all his warm smiles and flashy promises, had turned out to be a charlatan, intending to leave him in the lurch with that ‘big score’ of his.

  No, Fen’s mind was made up, he’d ditch the boys, make for the stash, and disappear with it into the light; taking the only other person that mattered to him, his sister.

  Fortune had it that today was Wednesday…at least he thought, which meant his sister was home.

  All he needed was the opportunity, which came just as Fen and his escort passed by the Three Little Brothers. “Sunshine!” He heard yelled, and he’d never been so happy to hear that stupid nickname in all his life.

  “Boys,” he hollered back in warm response.

  “Who’s that you got with you,” asked Nickle predictably. “You got yourself a new gang or something, Sunshine…?”

  “Bogies,” yelled Fen, using the gangs’ code for rivals, as he turned suddenly right, vaulted over a pipe, and broke into a run towards their direction. Time’s thugs were bigger and older, but with the Bednest Boys Fen had numbers on his side, and a familiarity of the terrain. So when he saw Eddy, Shoat, Beaut, Durreem, Nickle, and even Ratter forming up for a brawl, he felt a flush of relief. Seven on three would be enough to turn the tide.

  While ducking and hopping his way through the pipework, one of the Fat Sisters’ horns bellowed a long and throaty tone and the complex rocked and shimmied. Fen couldn’t hear the Syndicate boys grunting in pursuit anymore, but he could feel them swinging for his heels. He pumped his legs harder, careened between two pipes, and then slid beneath another, right into the waiting line of his mates. They cheered and welcomed him with encouragement as he lay there on his back huffing and puffing. But Time’s goons were there before he knew it and he’d only managed to roll onto his stomach when they thundered in around him.

  Fen braced for a fight; a fight that never came. Instead Time’s boys strolled up to the Bednest gang and Nickle and Sam clasped hands as if they were old-time mates reunited.

  Fen’s jaw nearly struck the cold hard ground.

  “Time sends his greetings,” Sam declared to Fen’s allies-turned-traitors.

  “Guess our covers blown,” replied Nickle offhand, and when he looked down at Fen with his red-rimmed eyes glistening wetly he shrugged. “Sorry, mate.”

  “Time was right to be suspicious of you,” Sam accused Fen, just before he turned and directed the other two boys to grab him. Fen tried for the switchblade hidden in a pouch in his jacket, but they seized him roughly first, one grabbing him by the arm and the other grabbing a fistful of his jacket at the lower back. Together they hauled the helpless boy up to his feet. “Time thought you might try pulling something, given the opportunity. So he set up this little meeting to test your sincerity, and commitment. And gotta say, you failed it big time.”

  “Fen’s always been a lone-wolf,” explained Nickle. “Ain’t you? You should’a come clean to us about that haul of yours. We were all supposed to be mates after all there, Sunshine, but you’ve never been one to share, you up-level snob.”

  Fen gritted his teeth and struggled to free himself. “What’re you on about, Nickle, I ain’t—”

  “Yes you are, Fen,” interrupted Eddy. “You’ve always been detached, like you were better than us; even as a wee nip; talking on about tenements this, and secret sunspot that. Why do you think everyone calls you Sunshine?” The garishly-dressed girl turned her eyes on Fen, and he thought maybe she looked upset, though it was hard to tell through the layers of makeup.

  This proved too much for Fen to handle, he’d been betrayed on every front, and the sting of it fueled his outrage. How can they turn on me? I’ve been with them practically forever, and all these things they’re saying don’t make a lick of sense; even Eddy isn’t defending me anymore. Fen would have throttled every one of them if he could free himself, but struggling against Time’s brutes proved useless, and he went limp in defeat. They dragg
ed him along afterwards, barking orders in his ear as to which direction to go to reach his secret hiding place, while his former gang mates eagerly skipped alongside him.

  “Time’s going be happy with us,” chattered Ratty as they climbed higher and higher towards the first Big Sister. “You think he’ll make us Sam’s too.”

  “There’s only ever one Sam, and that’s me,” said Sam, though Fen wasn’t sure what they were on about, nor did he care. Nothing mattered anymore. He just shuffled along, pinned between two pillars of muscle, until eventually the Fat Sister’s broken pipe showed a few meters above them, sticking out over the drain like a pimple, and only accessible by a trim of ductwork and a stanchion made of pipe.

  “Up there,” muttered Fen, finding it difficult to lift his finger and give up all his hopes and dreams for a future.

  “I’ll go,” volunteered Eddy, and for some reason that stung worse than his gang’s betrayal at the Brothers. How could Eddy of all people turn on him. They joined the gang together when they were just little pups…it was them first.

  With an agile grace she scampered up the pipework, making it look easy despite her impractically high-heels. With each meter she went up, Fen felt his dejection mount, and when she reached the broken pipe and stuck a hand in it his heart stopped. But when she pulled it back out, with her fist empty and her face filled with puzzlement, Fen breathed a soundless gasp. Gone? From high up the girl shrugged and shook her head before climbing back down as easily as she went up.

  Dropping down amongst the boys she confessed, “It’s not there,” and they shuffled and looked dumbly to one another in puzzlement.

  “What you mean it’s not there,” growled Sam, and he turned to Fen and pulled him away from the other boys by the collar. In his anger he swung his captive about until Fen was teetering at the edge overlooking the Drain Line. “If you think lying to me about where it is is going to fly, you’ve another thing coming.”