The Fly Guild (25 page)

Ratso led Fist and the group of men down
into the tunnels beneath the city. Whoever had built the sewers had been far
more advanced than anyone currently running the place. The fact that most of
them were still intact and functioning said a lot about the builders.

For most of the trip, lit only by a few
odd torches the men carried, they were able to walk in single file on a small
ledge that ran above the worst of the sewage. But after about half an hour, the
ledge ended and the men splashed down into the smelly brown water running
slowly down the pipe. They twisted and turned through the underground maze.
Quinton saw several rats and wondered if any of them recognized him from his
prior existence. The rats sniffed and watched the men go with a look that gave
Quinton the impression of pity.

They passed through a large portal that
was made of different stone and was covered in runes. Quinton was too far away
from the nearest torch to be able to make them out, but they looked like some
sort of warning. Ratso had dropped back and watched the men file through. When
he saw Quinton looking at the runes, he spoke.

“Be careful. Lots of things down here.
Awful things.” He smiled his rat-like smile and scurried back to the front
through the water, splashing everyone as he passed, much to their chagrin.

Quinton wondered what kind of awful
things lived down here and wished he had more time to study the runes for
clues, but the line was moving on.

Hours passed, and Quinton was beginning
to wonder if they were hopelessly lost. Or worse, Ratso was leading them into a
trap and they would be breakfast for one of the awful things that lived down
deep. The tunnel narrowed considerably, to the point where you could touch
either side with your hand, not that you would want to, and the men had to
stoop just a bit to keep from hitting their heads. After a few minutes in this
tunnel, the line fanned out as the men stood in a large, round room that
appeared to be some sort of intersection of various pipes. Rusty metal rungs
ran up one of the walls into the darkness above.

“Listen up,” said Fist, his voice echoing
off the stone. The men winced at the volume of the command. “At the top of this
ladder is the entrance to a basement adjacent to the old woman’s residence. We
will wait there until Wren arrives, which should be in less than an hour. The
boy will make his way through a narrow opening that Ratso has found that leads
in to her side of the space. We will enter the street to confront Wren. When I
look up and give the signal, the boy will throw the old woman off the balcony.
At that point, we will strike.

“Boy,” he waved Quinton forward. “When
you get to the old woman’s side of the house, keep to the back rooms. She has a
few servants, but they should be busy making breakfast in the outbuilding.
There is only one guard who tends to drift into the kitchen to pick up some
free food and flirt with the girls.” Quinton wondered how Fist knew so much,
but guessed that you didn’t stay the head of the Fly Guild without knowing a
lot of information. It would be easy enough to bribe a servant into providing
details of the daily routine.

His thoughts were interrupted by the men
starting to climb the ladder. He went up the ladder second to last, with only
Ratso creeping up behind him, still wearing that strange smile.

As the men assembled near the door to the
steps that led out of the cellar to the street above, Ratso showed him the hole
in the basement wall that stood between the two adjoining houses. It wasn’t
much of a hole and looked like someone had just pulled out random stones. The
problem was, the wall was about eight feet thick. Quinton looked into the
tunnel with apprehension.

“No bad things in there,” Ratso reassured
him. “Just little bugs. Tasty ones.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Quinton joked, but
then realized Ratso had been serious.

“Boy, get moving, we are almost out of
time,” ordered Fist from across the room.

Quinton sighed and crawled head first
into the small tunnel. As he wiggled his way a full body length into it, he
heard noises behind him. Ratso was replacing the stones. He could see the man’s
face in the faint torchlight.

“Sorry, no return this way,” he smiled.
“No eat all the bugs? Leave some for me?”

Quinton turned his head back to the
tunnel and pulled himself along on his elbows. The air was dank and he could
feel little bugs scurrying over his hands in the darkness. The sounds behind
him faded as he crawled away and the final stones were put in place.

The hole on the other side came out about
waist high and Quinton pushed himself out of the hole as if the earth was
giving birth to him. He fell onto the floor and breathed in a sigh of relief.
Light from somewhere above shone down through cracks in the floorboards. He could
make out dim shapes around him, and based on the smell, he figured them to be
some sort of dried foodstuffs. The dark shape of a narrow staircase loomed to
his left, so he headed in that direction, being careful to feel his way along
so as to not knock anything over.

The steps emerged into a small back room
that appeared to be a storage area. Boxes and barrels were neatly stacked
around the walls. A small lantern burned brightly and the door stood ajar.
Quinton wasn’t sure if someone had just been in the room looking for something
to add to breakfast, or if this was set up by Fist in advance, but either way,
he made his way through the doorway and into the hall. 

The large house reminded him of the place
he stayed in years ago when he took care of the old woman until she died. There
were thick carpets on the floors and decorative tapestries and paintings on the
walls. The walls themselves were painted various colors, and there was plenty
of furniture, with the tables all having candles in fancy holders. He found the
main hall and the wide steps that led upstairs. He knew he would find the old
woman’s room up there. He had seen no sign of either servants or the guard, but
a large, fuzzy, white cat sat on the steps licking its right paw. When it saw
him, it kept licking, but never took its bright blue eyes off of him. As he
approached, the cat put its paw down and started flicking his tail.

“Shhh,” said Quinton. “Don’t tell anyone
I’m here.”

The cat tipped its head slightly to one
side, then turned and bounded up the stairs to the first landing. Quinton
followed. When he reached the landing, the cat bounded up the next flight and
trotted down a hallway. Quinton followed it again. Neither he nor the cat made
a sound as they went down the deep red carpet that ran the length of the hall.
The cat stopped at a large white door with a rose carved on it. Quinton figured
the room beyond would be the bedroom that fronted the house, the one with the
balcony that he would toss the old lady off of. 

He stepped up to the door and reached for
the knob, but the door opened to reveal the old lady. She looked at him and
smiled. “How nice, Snow, you brought me a visitor.” The old lady turned around
and walked back into the room. She didn’t appear threatened by his intrusion. She
also didn’t seem phased by his completely filthy appearance. “My son is in a
parade today. I’m going to wave to him.”

A voice cried out from somewhere down the
hall. “Are you okay, my lady?”

“I’m fine, Nanette, I’m just talking to
Snow.”

There was no response. Apparently whoever
Nanette was was happy with the response. Quinton figured the old lady talked to
herself a lot, and probably talked to teapots and furniture, too. He pulled the
door shut behind him and checked out the room. Like the rest of the mansion,
there were thick carpets on the floor and paintings and tapestries on the
walls. There was a bed that looked like it was big enough for six people,
covered by a canopy with insect mesh around it. Gold candelabras were on the
mantle and the tables. A small fortune in candles dotted the room, and large
glass windows with diamond-shaped panes faced the street. In the middle of the
room were two large doors that opened up to a balcony beyond. 

The old woman hobbled over to the doors
and undid the latch. The wind snapped the doors open, sending them slamming
into the walls, where they continued to clatter back and forth. “Oh my,” she
said absently. “I don’t think it’s a very nice day for a parade.” She walked
out onto the balcony and her long silver hair began to blow all about her.
Snow, the cat, looked at Quinton, trotted out behind the woman, then sat down
and faced him, its eyes never leaving him. 

“Maybe I’ll throw the cat off first,” he
said quietly. The cat’s ears twitched. He moved out to the balcony and stood
next to the woman. The wind was howling through the streets and the occasional
gust almost knocked him down. This was one of the worst windstorms Quinton had
ever seen. The sky was grey and ominous, the rain falling in fits and starts. It
was almost as if the wind was simply blowing too hard for it to rain.

Below him, a storm of another type was
brewing. Lord Wren sat upon his horse, his heavy plate armor glistening with
rain. Behind him, a dozen foot soldiers with silver helms decorated with red
feathers stood in two perfect rows. At first, Wren was casually looking down
the street, waiting for his mother to appear. When he looked up, he saw not
only his mother but also Quinton. He had the faceplate on his helmet up, and
Quinton could see the man squinting as he tried to make out who he was. He
probably assumed he was a servant of some type.

“Who is that with you, mother?” he called
up.

“It’s Snow, my cat.”

Wren frowned. “Not the cat, the other
one.” The woman smiled in response.

She looked at Quinton, beaming. “That’s
my son, he’s very important.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Quinton, wondering
what was going to happen next.

A voice called out from one of the
doorways below them. “Are you here to see my whore?” asked the all too familiar
voice of Fist. He stepped from the doorway out into the street. His armor was
dull and made up of pieces of plate and chain mail, stolen no doubt from
various wearers and then pieced together.

Wren scowled. “How dare you. You insult
my mother, you break our treaty and you dirty up my home with your presence.”
He drew his sword. “But now you have saved me the trouble of finding you and
removing your head.”

Fist motioned for him to stop. “If you
take one step toward me, my faithful servant up there will toss your mother to
the ground.” 

The men behind Wren had started to fan
out and drew their own swords, all of them staring intently at Fist and his
huge presence. From Quinton’s viewpoint, he could see movement in doorways and
alleys as the guild members started creeping up behind the distracted soldiers.
With the howling wind, it wasn’t hard to creep up on them.

Wren looked up at his mother, then back
to Fist. “That’s why I never liked you, Fist. You have no honor.”

“Honor is something rich people hide
behind when they do something bad.” Fist looked up at Quinton and gave him an
exaggerated nod. It was time.

Wren looked up at his mother, his eyes
wide. He understood what was about to happen. He grabbed something from around
his neck and threw it to the ground. When it hit, there was a loud pop and a
small puff of smoke.

The guild members attacked at the same
moment. Some soldiers went down, others were protected by their armor and
managed to spin around and start defending themselves against their more numerous,
if less well-armed opponents. The street below turned into a series of metal
clangs and screams of pain as men moved for the kill.

But Quinton had his own problems to worry
about. As soon as whatever Wren threw hit the ground, Snow let out a horrible
snarl. The cat expanded in size and form until it was six feet tall and shaped
roughly like a man. It was covered in white fur, but its head was elongated and
had no eyes. There was no room, because most of the head was taken up by a
large mouth filled with teeth. A small, black nose was the only other feature.
It growled and sniffed the air.

Quinton had the old lady between him and
the cat, or whatever it was now. It launched itself onto the wall, grasping the
stones with four limbs filled with long arcing claws. It perched there for a
moment, sniffed again, then dove at Quinton. The boy was expecting the move and
rolled to the other side of the old woman. The creature crashed into the
railing, smashing through a big chunk of it, sending wood fragments and
splinters flying. It slid over the edge, but caught itself with its front
claws. It brought its rear claws up and began flailing away, leaving deep
gouges in the wood as it tried to regain the balcony. Quinton drew his sword
and took a step toward it to try to help it on its way, but it finally got
enough of a hold and pulled itself back up.

The monster sniffed again. Somewhere in
the distance, thunder boomed, echoing off the stone walls of the city. Quinton
was now downwind of it. The creature moved right up to the old woman, who
mindlessly watched the carnage below, oblivious to both Quinton and the beast.
It sniffed her several times until it was satisfied that wasn’t him. It dropped
down to all fours and stalked around the old woman, its nose constantly
sniffing the air and then the ground. It drifted toward the wall of the
mansion, so Quinton moved as close to the old woman as he could, pushing her
back a bit so he could slip between her and the remaining balcony. Snow moved
on by until it was standing in his old spot. It seemed confused for a moment.

Quinton glanced down. Fist had killed
Wren’s horse, which lay in the street. Most of the soldiers were dead, but
those who survived the initial attack had taken a heavy toll on the guild
members. Wren and Fist were sparring, Fist’s knuckle spikes knocking Wren’s
sword jabs aside with ease. Neither man appeared to have any advantage.