The Fly Guild (14 page)

“Adopt the shape of what’s around you so
that your form does not stand out. Take notice.” Sands moved his arms in
opposite directions and bent his hands slightly to mimic the small sapling he
was standing near. “The mind also searches for familiar forms. If you assume a
nonhuman shape, you are harder to find.”

Quinton made a mental note about the
things Sands was saying and nodded in agreement.

“The last thing is, to me, the most
important. Not everyone agrees with this next step, but it’s the difference
between life and death. When you are hiding, think like your surroundings. If
you are in rocks, then think like a rock. When you are in trees, think like a
tree.”

   Sands looked at him and
realized the boy had no idea what he was talking about. “What I mean is, think
only about your surroundings. For instance, when I was standing here not
wanting to be seen, I thought only of trees. I thought of bark, of limbs and of
leaves. I allowed no emotion to enter my mind or myself to think any thoughts
other than about the texture of trees. Become what you hide in. It’s my belief
that the brain broadcasts subtle thoughts out into the open, a sort of magic
sending, if you will. Others are sometimes able to pick up on these thoughts.
It’s why sometimes when you are someplace, you get the feeling you are being
watched. It’s because the person watching you is concentrating on you and is subtly
sending those signals to you telepathically. You get the idea you are being
watched because you are sort of seeing what that person is seeing. If you are
thinking like a tree, the other person won’t pick up on your thoughts, because
the brain, like the eyes, is subtly scanning for threats.

“You see, everyone has a little magic in
them. Wizards are those who have learned to harness that inner power and shape
it to their will. For the rest of us, it sometimes leaks out unintentionally
and gets picked up by others unintentionally. The more you can learn to control
it, the better off you will be. Understand?”

Quinton nodded, trying to figure out how
he could think like a tree. What do trees think about?

“Come, the day is getting late and we
have far to go. Do not forget the lessons I have taught you, for they will help
keep you alive.”

“What about when I’m in the city?”
Quinton asked.

Sands laughed but didn’t look back. “Then
think like a building.”

Quinton thought for a moment before
following after him. What do buildings think about?

Chapter 4

Weeks had passed since his training, he
had been returned to the maggot pit and the days became a blur of stealing,
robbing and running. The fear that he once felt slowly ebbed away, even when
being pursued. A number of maggots had been caught and killed, while a few new
faces made their appearance into the pit to replace them. There seemed to be a
never-ending supply of hard-luck orphans to fill the ranks, and no tears were
shed for those who passed. Such was life as a maggot.

The twisted city streets became second
nature to him. The back alleys were his father, the deep shadows his mother. In
their protective custody he carried out his trade. If there was hurt dispensed
because of his actions, it paled in comparison to the pain he carried with him
every day.

Quinton sighed as he worked the far part
of the city nearest the wall, hoping to pick off a richie who had come slumming
on his side of town. It wasn’t long before he spotted a potential target making
his way down the street. His nonpatched clothes, clean face and smile gave him
away as someone who had too much money in his pocket. Quinton worked his way up
behind him, dodging the laborers and servants who made their way to and fro in
the busy morning streets. He was working right up next to the wall, which was
frowned upon, but still within the territory of the guild. The richies liked to
think they were safe as long as they could see their precious wall, but Quinton
was hungry and hoped to snag a biscuit or two in addition to the money he would
turn in to Red eye later on. The man was walking at a brisk pace and seemed
very confident, something Quinton was careful to note. Most richies were
nervous on this side of the wall and tended to glance around. The boy was
careful to avoid the appearance of tailing the man, keeping someone or
something between them whenever possible, but the man never bothered to look
back.

“Probably armed,” Quinton muttered to
himself as he passed a couple of female servants escorted by a large burly man
carrying a sack over his shoulder. He considered breaking off the pursuit, but
the promise of some food or money was too tempting. A big score in the morning
meant he could possibly take the rest of the day off and maybe even sneak a
visit to Kate at the Pink Lady before heading back to the hellhole.

The man turned down a narrow side street
that Quinton knew well. There were plenty of spots to hit the man and run, with
little chance of being caught. It was a tough neighborhood made up primarily of
the laborers used to harvest the swamp weed shipped east. They didn’t have much
and didn’t care much for the affairs of others. If someone were robbed in front
of their house, they didn’t really care, because no one really cared about
them.

Quinton picked up his pace to close the
distance between him and his mark. He gave a cursory glance over his shoulder
and noticed there were two men walking quickly behind him some distance back.
They weren’t guild members, and they didn’t have the look of security forces,
either. They were far enough back that Quinton didn’t worry too much about
them, because he knew he could easily escape them. He moved to one side of the
street next to the shadows of the building and broke into a trot. The man’s
purse was swinging freely from one side of his belt, just asking to be taken.
He had a big floppy pocket that he’d try to get a hand into on his way by to
grab any food that might be in there.

He gave one more glance over his shoulder
and saw that the men he had spotted were in a full run now, trying to close the
distance. Not wanting to miss his chance, Quinton sprinted toward the richie,
ripping the purse and probing the pocket as he ran by.

“Hey!” the man yelled as his purse was
snatched away.

Unfortunately the man’s pocket was devoid
of food, but Quinton sprinted on toward the end of the street, where he knew
there was a series of narrow streets where he could easily lose any pursuit.
But that’s when he saw them.

Two more men stepped out of the shadows
at the end of the street and started walking toward him. Quinton slowed to a
trot, wanting to keep putting distance between him and the richie but not
wanting to give his new pursuers any advantage. He slipped the stolen purse
into one of his deep pockets and crossed the street to an older building
covered in cracks. Pausing momentarily to reassess his situation, he didn’t
like what he saw. The two men ahead of him were walking rapidly toward him. The
mark had stopped and stood in the middle of the street with a big smirk on his
face.

“Setup,” Quinton said to himself as he
felt out the rough texture of the building behind him. The two men he had
spotted first were passing the richie at a dead run. Quinton spun quickly,
found a grip and began climbing the building. In a matter of a few seconds, he
was half way up the three-story building, leaving his pursuers to shout curses
at him and each other. By the time the four men converged on his location, he
was already pulling himself onto the peaked roof to calculate his next move. He
looked down and saw the men sprinting in opposite directions to start to try to
head him off. The richie was still standing in the middle of the street, his
smirk gone, but it was replaced with a smug look of confidence. He had a lot of
boys working for him, and Quinton knew he didn’t have much time.

He turned and started climbing the peak,
only pausing long enough at the top to take a quick look at his surroundings.
The block was fairly isolated three-story dwellings with fairly steep pitched
roofs sticking up in front of him like a row of giant dragon teeth. If he could
get to the end of the row, he might be able to get to another block and escape.
He lurched forward, running down the steep slope and leaping onto the next roof
as soon as it was feasible to do so. He skidded slightly downward, the rotten
shoes he had stolen a few weeks ago not helping his cause, before starting up
the next peak. With each roof, he started jumping sooner, nearly twisting his
ankle on the last jump in an effort to get to the end as quickly as possible.
When he got to the final peak, he didn’t like what he saw. The next block was
higher and too far away to jump onto the roof. He could hear men shouting below
him, probably setting up a cordon to make sure he didn’t get away. He turned
and looked back the way he had come and spotted two men climbing up the first
peak heading toward him.

What was going on? These weren’t guild
members or security forces. They were certainly street toughs, no doubt about that,
but who dared go against a guild member? Had he done something wrong? Had Fist
discovered that he gave his name to Kate and was going to make an example of
him? He figured the last idea was improbable, only because Fist wouldn’t waste
this much effort on a maggot. He’d simply have Red eye kill him off or have a
maggot stab him in his sleep.

He dared peer over the edge and saw three
men peering up at him, wide smiles on their faces. One even gave him a
desultory wave. The two men behind him were making rapid progress and time was
running out. Quinton looked across the street and saw the building had large
windows that were open to the morning breeze to try to squeeze out the
insufferable heat. He gauged the distance and didn’t like the odds, but it was
the only choice he had. The boy moved a few feet to his left to line himself up
with the opening, took a deep breath, ran down the peaked roof until he was at
the edge and leapt as hard as he could.

His arms and legs flailed as he tried to
increase his distance, and he glimpsed the men shouting in anger as he sailed
over their heads. The window opening came rapidly as he plummeted downward. He
raised his arms to brace himself for the impact and sailed right through the
second-floor opening and crashed to the floor, rolling along the room only to
crash against the far wall. His arm and side began aching immediately, but
there was no time. He pulled himself up, limped out the door past a surprised
wet nurse and found the door out to the main hallway. There was no sign of his
pursuers yet, but it wouldn’t take them long to find him. The long hall was
lined with nondescript doors, and he could see the top of a stairwell at the
far end. At the same time, he could hear voices coming from the first floor. He
ran to the next door on the left and tried it, but it wouldn’t budge. He tried
the one across the hall to the same effect. The voices were getting louder and
the steady thuds of men running up stairs were coming fast. Time was running
out.

He ran to the next set of doors and tried
the one on his right, but it, too, was locked. The voices had grown so loud
that he knew they were about to spill into the hallway. He tried the one on the
left, and it opened. He swung into the room, slamming the door behind him. He threw
the crude wooden bolt on the door and turned around. Sitting in the spartan
room was a woman with white hair, narrow eyes and wrinkled skin. She gave him a
small smile as she rocked in a rocking chair that looked to have had several
coats of paint rocked right off of it.

 Quinton tipped his head in a show
of respect and ran past the woman to the window beyond. A few men ran below
toward the entrance to reinforce those already there. Voices in the hallway
were growing louder and he could hear them banging on doors, kicking some in by
the sound of it.

“Climb to the stars, boy,” the old woman
rasped, a laughing grin on her face. “It’s the only way.” She never stopped
rocking. Quinton stared at her for a moment. She looked strangely familiar,
like someone he knew from a long time ago. She shook her head. “Move, boy,
move.”

Quinton nodded, took one last glance, and
jumped up into the window. There was no one directly below him, but he could
see men standing near the corner of the building. Going down was not an option.
He turned inward and jumped up to grab the lintel above the window. Finding a
strong grip, he pulled himself up and started climbing back up the side of the
building. As soon as he was up on the wall, he heard the door burst open in the
old woman’s room. With a fury that startled him, he heard her say, “What
business have ye in my house?”

He heard the men hesitate, mumble an
apology and slam the door behind them. The room had only a few items of
furniture and no obvious hiding places, so they moved on. Quinton continued to
climb, quickly gaining the roof. This time the roof was mostly flat, and the
building abutted many others, allowing him access to the maze of buildings that
made up most of the city. He made his way across several blocks’ worth of roofs
before daring to climb back down to street level again. When he finally got his
feet back on the cobblestones, he took a moment to catch his breath. It was at
this point that he realized he was shaking and couldn’t stop. The passing city
folk paid him no attention. He was just another street child to them and was
better off being left alone.

When he regained his composure a bit, he
started down the street. He needed to get back to the guild to tell Sands what
had happened. The area of the city he had been working was well within bounds,
even if it was rarely worked by anyone in the guild, mainly because there
wasn’t much to steal there, not because it was close to the walled enclave of
the inner city. Who were those men?

He had gone a block when he suddenly
froze. “I’m being watched,” he said to himself. He thought to what Sands had
told him about people’s thoughts leaking from their heads. He bent over as if
adjusting his shoes and pants, leaning up against the wall of the building,
pretending to be slightly injured. He concentrated on where the thoughts were
coming from and felt like it was from over his left shoulder. Without warning,
he spun around and looked up. There was a large window several stories above
the street with one shutter closed, casting the room behind it deep in shadows.
He thought he saw the shadow of someone in that window when he first turned,
but it had quickly pulled back. Whether it was a man or not, the feeling of
being watched was gone, and Quinton didn’t waste any time making his way back
through the city to the guild.

About a block from the guild, Quinton
spotted Sands walking briskly down the street. He quickly closed the distance
to catch up to his master. As he approached, Sands quickly spun around to face
him. He shook his head in disapproval.

“Heavy steps, maggot, heavy steps.”

Quinton frowned and nodded. “Sorry,
master. I have news that may be of interest.”

Sands looked around, and once satisfied
no one was watching, waved the boy to the side of the street. “So, maggot, what
is this urgent news you bear?”

 Quinton told him the story of
following the man and the setup. The longer the story went, the more concerned
Sands looked. When he was finished, his master let out a deep sigh.

“It sounds as though there is another
gang on the loose, or maybe more than one,” he said more to himself than
Quinton. “And I’m sure they are working with the blessing of Lord Wren. This is
not going to end pretty.” He stood lost in thought for a few more moments, then
started walking toward the guild. “Come, boy, we have to talk to Master Fist.
It appears our time has run out.”

***

Quinton stood in Fist’s office and was
just as nervous the second time around as he was the first. Sands stood to his
right, but he didn’t feel any safer. Fist’s piercing eyes and massive frame
dominated the room, the way a whale would dominate a fish pond. There was no
doubt who was in charge in the room and who held everyone’s life in the
balance.

“Maggot, you swear upon your life that
this story that Master Sands just told me is true?”

“I do, Master Fist.”

The scowl that came across Fist’s face
almost made him take a step back. Fist looked at Sands. “You know what this
means?”