There's No Such Thing as Monsters

by Ren Ryder

  Bell hovered around the rim of the mug of ale, took a whiff, then made a disgusted face. “I’ve been thinking this for awhile, but you’re not a stellar barterer, are you Kal?”

  I dutifully ignored the sylph’s prodding.

  The barkeep returned with a chipped bowl, half-full with meat and potato stew— your guess is as good as mine as to what meat— that he plopped a hunk of bread inside.

  “Here ya go, one warm meal and an advance on the silence. Me son tells me we got a guest ‘round back looking for a white-haired kid with amber eyes. You happen know anything about that? I can’t quite say I do, but something tells me if I think real hard, I might remember a thing or two about the man Ouroboros wants so bad they’ll take ‘im dead or alive. After all, even for a city like New London, those looks ain’t common.”

  “I guess it was pretty stupid to hide in plain sight. You’re too recognizable for your own good~” Bell said.

  I raised my arms in surrender and shrugged my shoulders. “Seems you’ve got me over a barrel.”

  The barkeep rubbed his index and thumb together, a twinkle in his eye. “Might find it in me heart to send the bastard packing, that is, if you can find it in yours to make a donation to keep this place o’ mine running.”

  For now my palms were facedown on the table, and I made out to be as nonthreatening as can be. “Just how big a donation are you looking for?” I asked warily.

  “I heard the guy they’re after messed up their operation good. Seein’ as there’s no love lost between me and Ouroboros, I’m not against lettin’ sleepin dogs lie.”

  Bell’s tinkling laughter sounded in my left ear. “This guy’s hilarious! You could learn a thing or two from the big fella!”

  I wanted to swat the sylph.

  Instead I reached into a specially sewn pocket made in the seam of my cloak’s collar and pinched out four gold pieces. It was more money than I would have collected from a lifetime of odd jobs. And I was delivering it into the barkeep’s grubby hands with little to no reason to believe he wouldn’t rat me out the second I turned my back on him.

  Apparently the barkeep could sense my hesitation. “That’s right, you’ve got no reason to trust me word. Trust is a commodity bought and sold every day in the Lower Quarter. Best remember that next time you put yourself in a piss-poor position like this one.”

  The big man scooped the coins from my trembling fingers. “Don’t worry, the advice is free of charge. Now that that’s taken care of, you better enjoy your meal while it’s hot, ya hear?”

  I stared forlornly at my soup and ale until my stomach rumbled, reminding me that I was starving. I slurped down the hot soup without a care for how it burned my tongue or what it was made from, then wiped the last dregs off the inside of the bowl with the heel of bread.

  I followed the meal up with the stale, putrid ale without pausing for a breath. Once I was done, I wiped the foam from my chin and heaved a sigh full of frustration for myself.

  “What’s your name and affiliation, kid?”

  Without waiting for an invitation, an unfamiliar young man sat down on the opposite side of the table from me. I felt the acid in my stomach rise and was certain this meal would give me indigestion.

  Bell clapped. “Ooh, we’ve a visitor! Lucky for the old guy, I was getting bored.”

  What mischief had she been planning to get up to otherwise?

  The man chuckled and waved for two mugs of ale. “Wait, the name’s Kal, innit? The stunt you pulled cost me three lives in the two weeks since you poked the hornets nest.” He spoke in a conversational tone, but there was an undercurrent of menace in his words.

  The barkeep grinned drily as he plopped the mugs down and cleared the table.

  The man opposite me nodded to the barkeep. “Old man Rex.”

  “Thorn,” the barkeep returned.

  Apparently the two know each other. Is Thorn the barkeep’s son?

  After their exchange, the barkeep, who I now knew as Rex, retreated back into his dark, musty lair to polish mugs that no doubt dearly needed the attention. I didn’t much care to drink another mug of piss-ale without anything to wash it down, but it was safer than drinking water. That, and I doubted I could decline.

  I raised my mug to the barkeep and my new acquaintance, drank deeply from it, then set it down and pushed it aside. “Name’s Kal. I’m not… affiliated, that is. They caught my little sister and I happened to stumble on Ouroboros’s trafficking pens when I rescued her, that’s all.”

  “That’s all, he says!” Thorn crowed, slapping the tabletop. “You know, they think us street rats aren’t worth jack shit, but that showed them, didn’t it?”

  Thorn made a show of looking me up and down. “Oh yeah, I can tell we’re cut from the same cloth, you and I, easy as pie— don’t matter how you dress it up.”

  “Do you know this worthless piece of human refuse?” Bell eyed Thorn, who cut quite the figure clad in dirty rags with his shock of red hair. “Can’t say I want to see a resemblance.”

  I drummed my fingers on the table. “You have me at your mercy tonight, so can we get to the part where you tell me what it is you want, exactly?”

  “You hear that, old man? The balls on this kid! He knocks over a Ouroboros controlled slave pen for taking his cute little sister hostage and doesn’t bat an eye when he jumps from the frying pan into the fire!”

  “I think he likes you~” Bell singsonged.

  “Stupider than sin, is more like,” Rex grumbled from behind the bar. “Grow old ‘round these parts, ya learn to leave well enough alone.”

  “Oh come on, you big bag of bones, you’ve gotta admit the kid’s got flair!”

  Rex spat, thoroughly disapproving. “You two deserve each other.”

  The rage in Thorn’s eyes boiled over, and that was when I realized the anger he had bottled up inside him wasn’t for me. “You know, it was ten years ago I was dragged into that hell-pit myself and sold into slavery.”

  Thorn rubbed the scars that adorned his wrists with a maniacal grin. “I eventually escaped the fat bastard they sold me to, of course, otherwise you wouldn’t be talkin’ to me right now. So you see, I hate those Ouroboros bastards with every fiber of my being. Anyone who knocks them down a peg is good as gold to me, and that’s the creed me and my band of rejects live by.

  “Letting you scurry around beneath their nose is more than enough compensation, so don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours about what it’ll cost you to keep this quiet. I’ll keep my gang in line.” Thorn swigged down the remains of his ale, then belched.

  “Tastes like dog piss— consistent as always, barkeep!” Thorn raised his mug in mock salute.

  Rex gave him the finger.

  Bell’s mouth was a perfect “O” of surprise. “Woooah, this guy has some serious anger issues.”

  Thorn looked to be in his late twenties, at best, early thirties. Beneath his patchwork clothes, ratty cloak, and all the grime I could see his chocolate-colored skin was crisscrossed with scars. Thanks to the self-styled story he offered, I didn’t have to guess where most of them had come from. I shivered as Thorn’s story brought me up against the very real possibility that Sammie would have met the same fate had I not succeeded in rescuing her.

  I gulped. “So… we’re good then?”

  “Yeah, we’re good,” Thorn said.

  We sat in silence, and it began to drag on. Rex whistled and wiped the bar down with mechanical precision.

  Thorn slapped the table and stood. He left a stack of coppers on the table, payment for the ale I assumed.

  “Well, that’s about all I had to say. Best of luck stickin’ it to Ouroboros. Try not to die!” Thorn cackled.

  Thorn’s conduct broke the Lower Quarter’s unwritten rule of law: only look out for yourself— unless there’s coin to be made.

  On top of that, I had the inkling of an idea that I was standing in the middle of his gang’s territory. It just didn’t make any sense, not to me, and
it wouldn’t have to any random onlooker from these parts, either.

  “That’s it? You don’t want anything from me, nothing at all?”

  Thorn gave me a funny look. “From you? You think I wanna shake down some pale-faced swamp rat like you? You’re likely to be face-up in a river before the sun is up, and whatever player is backing you is someone I don’t care to mess with straight up. Rex got his money. Me and my pals in the Yellow Scarves have other, more important tasks to see to.”

  A smile broke out on my face, and I rose from my chair. I stretched out my arm to clasp, and we shook before parting like ships in the night. Thorn pulled up a yellowish-gold bandana hung around his neck and settled it onto his face over his mouth. He winked, then left through the kitchen.

  I glanced at Rex. The big man was wiping down the counter with a filthy rag, still whistling off-key. He flashed me a broad grin.

  “You set that up?” I asked.

  “Not all of us are so afraid of Ouroboros that we cower in fear and wait in hopes they’ll pass us by. Some even hold a grudge,” Rex said, nodding over his shoulder.

  Bell nodded. “I like him.”

  Apparently Bell approved, for whatever that was worth.

  “You take care of yourself, Kal, and don’t be stupid, you’ll not get a bloodless welcome from anyone else in the underground. Like it or not, blood is running in the streets because of you. You’ve gone and started a war.”

  “Thanks, Rex.”

  I stood from my seat at the table and shouldered my pack. With renewed vigor, I made my way out the door and onto the predawn streets of New London.

  I’d regained my strength and had an unexpected run-in with good fortune, despite my expenditure of one. It was about time I gave Ouroboros a good one-two to the ribs. But first, I needed to find a hidey-hole to stuff myself away in until the heat died down.

  Chapter Nine

  So why, why in God’s name did I end up back here? Traitorous feet, taking me places without consulting me.

  “You, I know who you are!” A trembling, accusatory finger was stuffed in my face, so it was nearly all I could see. “What are you doing here?! Haven’t you done enough?!”

  I’d expected the predawn city to shield me from confrontations, but I was wrong to have such lofty expectations. A cocktail of emotions warred inside me. Shame, grief, frustration, and self-hate topped my list.

  “Who’s the withered old grumpy lady?” Bell asked.

  The woman with black hair, streaks of gray, and wrinkled features atop a well-defined nose was currently managing to look down on me in spite of my height advantage.

  Freda, I think her name was. Alongside the Father, she had often spearheaded community events and charity food drives to feed the homeless. No doubt Father Gregory’s death had hit her hard.

  Did she blame me, too? I did.

  I let the accusation stab me in the chest as I shuffled by and slotted a gold coin into the donation box. With both hands and all my attention I carefully lifted a long, burning candle and transferred its flame to a thicker, unlit candle amongst the rows upon rows present. Many, I saw, were already burning. I idly wondered how many of those burning wicks mourned the Father’s death.

  “I came to mourn the death of a man I respected and cared for, and to celebrate his life.”

  I walked to the front row of pews and stared at the lectern, envisioning a stately figure behind the oaken mass. It made me smile, if only weakly. The old wood creaked beneath my weight as I sat.

  The Father’s face, his beatific smile, flashed through my mind’s eye. I felt responsible for Father Gregory’s death, but the decisions he made were his own. That didn’t change how I felt personally or do anything at all to help lift the pall of black emotions, but logic made it easier to live with.

  Freda was irate. “You— you shouldn’t be here!”

  “Yes, I know. All the same, here I am.”

  Freda had followed me deeper inside the chapel and now stood looming over me. “Who’s to say I don’t turn you into The Watch here and now? For all I know, you were the one who killed the Father!”

  I shook my head. “I won’t be long, but I want to pay my respects.”

  What I really needed was some sleep, a few hours to let my head rest.

  “You have no right!” Freda screamed.

  “I know.”

  “Then why?! Why?! TELL ME WHY!” Freda demanded.

  I bowed my head and closed my eyes, accepting Freda’s anger and accusations as the grief-filled lament it was.

  Unconsciously, I fingered the cross hung on a thick silver chain around my neck. It was heavy, but the weight was comforting. I sensed I would lose something important if I cast it aside.

  I lingered beneath Freda’s withering gaze, my eyes rooted on the spot where Father Gregory had been murdered. Discolored stains clung stubbornly to odd surfaces and planes, like the walls and ceiling. Surprisingly, the spot where the corpse had laid was clean and unblemished, as if it was never sullied by the Father’s death in the first place.

  That felt wrong to me, somehow.

  Once I exited the chapel, the first rays of dawn had filtered into the starry sky. I took a deep, shuddering breath and let loose some of the emotions I had been stubbornly holding onto. I didn’t feel better, not exactly, but the change was in no way a bad one.

  I didn’t get far.

  I hadn’t made it twenty paces from the doors before I stopped and pivoted on my back foot to confirm my field of view. A trio of hunting dogs crawled out of the woodwork. The Ouroboros members surrounded me in textbook fashion, ensuring there was no way for me to escape without bloodshed.

  “Aren’t you tired of running and hiding and running already?” Bell taunted.

  I was, actually.

  I pondered on how unavoidable this situation had been. Stationing a few of their members at my last known residence was simple logic. Freda had nothing to do with it.

  Thoughtlessly, I had delivered myself into the hands of my enemy. I hadn’t been making the most well thought out decisions of late. I’d have to rectify that if I made it out of this pickle alive.

  I promised myself then and there that I wouldn’t make contact with people I used to know or visit any of more old haunts until this Ouroboros business blew over. It was just too dangerous for all involved.

  Since I had more light to see by and my new friends didn’t seem to be in a hurry, this time I at least had the opportunity to examine the opposition.

  Their garb was mainly black with a bit of red trim, with special masks to cover their faces. From what I could see each carried more than one main weapon, and unidentifiable odds and ends were strapped to their waists. Every inch of exposed skin on their arms was covered with black-and-red teardrop tattoos. They also bore Ouroboros’s mark, the serpent eating its own tail.

  Are these hunters a special unit, or what I should expect from all my pursuers?

  I placed a hand on my hip and stuffed the other into the front pocket of my trousers to hide their trembling. “Morning fellas. Fancy meeting you here. Sorry to say, if you’ve got business with the Father, he’s indisposed, you know, seeing as you lot murdered him in cold blood and all.”

  “…”

  “…”

  “…”

  Besides the shuffling of feet as the three hunters closed in on me, still retaining their combat stances, there was silence.

  One man fingered the hilt of a short sword strapped to his side, while another grasped the broadsword slung over his back. The man in my blind spot was adorned with a bandolier of throwing knives. He’d be trouble. I was woefully underprepared for this fight.

  I slithered out of my pack’s straps and let it crash to the ground. The extra weight and bulk would only slow me down. Shifting my feet, I lowered myself into a loose fighting stance. Throwing knife guy kept shifting into the blind spots of my peripheral vision.

  It was maddening.

  “Tough crowd~” Bell wove throug
h the three men, kicking up fallen leaves and detritus as she went.

  “That all the outside help I’ll be getting?”

  “Maaaaybe~”

  Bell’s actions gave me inspiration.

  “…”

  “…”

  “…”

  “Sure we can’t talk this out guys?”

  “…”

  “…”

  “…”

  I was at the end of my rope, and my patience. “Right…”

  It was time to see if my aural manipulation work back in Ouroboros’s storehouse paid dividends. I shrugged my shoulders and flexed my aural cloak like a second skin. The space around me warped and tendrils of raw power cracked around me like whips. Bits of stone and grit moved away from my body in a ring pattern.

  “Hehehe!” Bell’s tinkling laughter fluttered through the clearing.

  Unfortunately for me, the encircling enemies were all equally unsurprised by my show of magical force. They didn’t even stop inching closer. I must’ve actually struck a nerve, because the two hunters I could see unlimbered their respective weapons and leveled them at me. I imagined my flinging friend on my six doing the same.

  “So much for shock and awe.” My heart thudded in my chest. “Bell, give one of the guys in front of me a flyby.”

  “Wha— why? I don’t wanna!”

  “How about, do it or I’ll squash you if it’s the last thing I do!”

  “When you put it that way, ugh, fine— but you really need some lessons in how to talk to girls!”

  I waved her off. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll get right on it.”

  Bell swerved by the face of the short sword wielding goon.

  I rolled behind and to my left, narrowly avoiding a thrown projectile that grazed my side as it flew past and cartwheeled into a dirt embankment. As fast as I could regain my footing, I burst into man’s guard and threw a palm strike into his solar plexus. I was rewarded with a satisfying crack that I both heard and felt radiate up my arm from the point of impact.

  “Hey! Let. Me. Go! You stupid sack of flesh!”