Post by Sire Halfblack on Aug 4, 2014 19:54:52 GMT
Orgrus IM 1003
At night the street would be crowded but at the height of the sun the two walkers were almost alone as they wandered its length. It wasn’t much of a street, none of them were in Cheapside and it was only defined by the shape of the buildings that rose, fell and rose again on a nearly monthly basis. They stepped around the jutting edge of a hovel that had not been there the week before and hardly noted the piled rocks and dry timbers that made up its rough form. Inside a baby was crying.
At the corner was one of Fade’s recent constructions. The Councillor had become obsessed with having buildings converted to useful businesses in his name and the pair chuckled as they joked about that, and other things, as they picked out the narrow alleyway that lead after much winding to the small square that they sought. It was dark there, despite the hour, for the buildings here hung over one another until their roofs nearly touched three low storeys up. Washing hung a few feet above their heads and so wretched were the rags that it was a risk to have subjected them to water at all since there was a fair chance that it was only the filth holding them together at all.
“There it is.” The taller of the two pointed and his companion turned to see the small shop front. The shop front bulged into the square, its windows darkened such that only the promise of what it sold could be seen and delighted the youths entered to the sound of a soft bell. They had heard about the ‘Curious Shoppe’ the night before and how you could buy anything there. Price negotiable. The gangs were being far to quiet at the moment and it was high time things got stirred up some more. Both of the youths were rich for their parents were some of the highest in the city and boys will play.
All about the city of Deci it was hard to escape the sounds of hammering and sawing. Not a day seemed to go past without some old building being restored and in places the smell of fresh paint threatened to overwhelm the stink of vomit and piss that so characterised the settlement. Mostly this went well and even the odd fire hardly stopped the advance of progress. Whilst this was good it did not quite balance the cities horror at the steps the Watch were taking. They were arresting people!
“Don’t they get it?” Drinkers asked one another before getting back to the serious work of losing their minds to ale for the evening. “This is Deci.”
“I blame Anath.” Was the typical answer. Law and order was hardly Anath’s responsibility but of all the Council he was pretty much the softest target. Blame Argoth and you might end up minus your knees. Blame Jander and he might come to see you and business would have to stop for the day. Blame Fade and his Secret Militia would tell on you. No one had ever seen a member of the Secret Militia but that just proved they existed.
This was Deci and if you could physically show someone that something had a good, hard edge to its reality then they didn’t want to know. They liked shadow and rumour. Shadow and rumour were good. There were of course a lot of ordinary people in the city but then what they thought didn’t really matter. Seemingly. Troy ran down the street. It was an hour into the night already and as he ran one way, citizens ran the other. They were like rats as they carried valuables upon their backs (probably some were even their own) for the city was old and dry after the brief summer and the end of the street was well lit by the fire that roared there. As he skidded to a halt he saw that it was one of the buildings the Council had recently ordered built and gratefully he saw that there were still some people gawping at the flames.
“Form a line!” He commanded and pushed those nearest to him towards where buckets stood by immense tubs of covered water.
“Why?” Protested the citizen.
“The building’s on fire you moron!”
“It’s a tax office – good riddance I say!”
“And the houses next to it? And the streets beyond?”
“I’ll get a bucket…”
To one side a man stood in very unfashionable charred clothing. He held the iron loop of a scuttle about one forearm and beamed at the conflagration. He only looked away when his nuts exploded from the force of the blunt end of Troy’s boot. Quickly the Mennihaft tied the man up and went back to organising the fight to stop the spread of the fire.
He had sent messages to House Clough, organised protection for a Lady friend of his and assured the Nobles that he would be there for them. Being of the same class as he, and knowing him from when he was a lad – the Nobles had stopped moving out of the City and instead agreed to wait since Troy promised them he would be there for them. But they did not like being stabbed by snotty nosed little evil people and if Troy hadn’t visited them then…
“Fire!” Troy yelled again. “No, buckets you idiot! You can’t fight fire with a chicken!”
“It’s very nice chicken!”
“Is it your chicken?”
“Is now!”
“BUCKETS!”
“Yes sir.”
~
“It’s gang slang.” The information broker answered. “Doubt many of your mob will be up on the current patois. Your Troy knows his way around but this is fairly recent – words change monthly round here. ‘Scuttler’s are arsonists of renown, just as a ‘Poach’ is a pickpocket, a ‘Bawdy Boy’ is a young assassin and a ‘Trembler’ is a lock breaker.”
“Oh.”
“But the thing is, slang doesn’t just get invented. The kids don’t just sit around with the cider and come up with silly names. Nah, Scuttler comes from a group of malignant people who’ve gotten together. They don’t like the city so they’ll try and burn it down. From what I hear, they follow the example of various heroes. This lot seek to follow the example of Shaderos Del Dets, formerly of Eartholme.”
“Did he burn things down.”
“No.”
“Then why..?”
“Because they think he’s Nessphos. It’s a bit confusing. Look, there’s this rising tide amongst the young to emulate some of the heroes of the land. Started in Sellaville where lots of kids run into walls and call themselves ‘Vayle’. In Alguz, some others beat up funny looking kids and say that God made them do it. In the south the girls all mope about and cry about dead babies before destroying the world. Utterly.”
“Really?” Malice frowned.
“Apart from the last one. I made that up. You don’t wanna go to Trollsville friend, there the girls are made of wood. That on is true. The thing is, the more gets burnt down the more kids will join in. You wanna stop them then get them thinking about something else or look for men who get a stiffy about a brazier.”
Malice nodded and paid up ten centuries from for the information. Skinner watched him go and chuckled to himself. “Who’ll they try and be next?” He thought on this and then laughed as three drow came to his table.
“Tell us how to get ultimate power!” They demanded. In the street outside, Malice walked quietly away. The Rooftails had refused to explain to him what wanted the chamber for and he had sensed that pushing the point would have gotten him nowhere. Either he would need to grab one or watch them when they did what they did. They had been most insistent though.
He almost collided with a bulky girl as he rested deep in thought. Hardly glancing up he patted himself down subconsciously to make sure nothing was missing then stopped dead in his stride, one leg still raised. A faint scent of oil and embers tingled his nose as she passed by.
By Alan Morgan (CI5V9)