Post by Sire Halfblack on Aug 5, 2014 15:25:46 GMT
Deeber IM 1004
The Don raised one foot and placed it nonchalantly over the corpse that lay against the main doors of the Poison Club. Finding more ahead he stared at the night sky, waved an idle hand before him and settled more easily on the dim darkness. Thereafter he was able to walk more easily and without the inconvenience of having to so much as notice the half frozen meat that lay all about the city streets.
With dirty snow still drifting down the streets seemed to be clad in uneven lumps and even still he could hear the odd scream as the city vented its religion upon one another. His own good opinion he kept to himself until he spied a pair of youngsters, armed with chisels and bricks, who were rifling the bodies for all they were worth. It did the Don’ heart good to see such enterprise and he beckoned them over with a small smile.
The second clutch of scabby children he approached were unable to run like the blazes as the Don ensured he had them against a very firm wall before revealing himself. Quite why the first pair had legged it he could not say but the current crop fell to their knees in desperate prayer to damn near anyone who might be listening. In response Argoth waited for the more enterprising pair amongst the clutch to stab the others before handing each the princely sum of five thousand grulls apiece.
“Now, now boys.” He chided. “Spread the word that we’ve all had our fun but it’s time to grow again.”
They looked at one another. One raised his hand slowly but kept his bloody knife still handy in case the other judged fifty centuries a more than fair price for a bit of friendly murder.
“Yes, you, the wary child?” The Don beamed.
“Yer don’t wants us ter kill people?”
“Fun is fun, boys. Time to breed a bit, eh?”
“Yer wants murder to stop?”
Argoth clipped the youngster about the ear then sent both on their way.
It was the same the city over. Terribly quiet, bodies were left where they had fallen, or been taken and the Nightsoil Guild had not a hope of dealing with them all. It was good that there was a Guild at all but it was only a very simple affair and the cities nightworkers were already bloated. Their carts had a hard time getting through the streets and realistically when the thaw came pestilence would be rife. It all came down to murder since murder was the act of one person killing another without thought to profit or personal gain. It had been so prevalent at the end of the previous year that a lot of people had been killed. Possibly more irritating for those that worried about such things at all was that at least four times as many people were just injured. And there weren’t a lot of healers in Deci.
There were doubtless plenty in Keys though and more than one citizens suggested that come the pestilence season they should all just move there, kill the fat, greasy populace and settle in for a few years by the sea. What would Keys do? Throw grulls at them?
Deci was in a mess. Murder… well, murder was the act of people killing one another. It might be religious but that didn’t make people any the less dead. The city still functioned but for how long was anyone’s guess. It was no great secret that Deci was now massively in debt to the Guilds, that the treasury contained not even so much as a single dead mouse.
Not that it really impacted on the people as, for once, there was actually enough food to be had. The markets still functioned but only with the Watch’s entire efforts being focussed on them. Every man who carried a bell and lantern moved nowhere but the markets, and every day more food and wool was released from the cities stores.
Strangely, with the people better fed and warmer than they any could remember (ever) in the cold and deathly season they were vaguely content. No one was ever going to be happy at this time of year and it was too bastard cold to really get motivated to work hard. People still did, but really, really warily. Frankly, the people weren’t particularly unhappy and food and warmth were a novelty they could get used to. There no hint of civil disobedience, indeed, the people were no worldly nowadays that they actually stood in rough lines when the food was being handed out. By ‘lines’ of course these were Deci lines, rows where somehow no one actually had their back to anyone else.
The city’s financial problems weren’t their concern. If things didn’t improve they’d just hang Anath. The hundred Guilds could doubtless see to their own upkeep and if the city wanted anything built or tended to after that then it could go to the Guilds to seek their help. Each and every time.
In the depths of rather secure Citadel Anath coughed. He had developed an irritating itch all about his neck since waking from his normal two hour sleep of a day and surrounding himself with scrolls, scribes and tallies he worked hard to raise a mass of caravans. He was personally concerned that rather than a whole mess of traders coming to the city many were now avoiding the city. No one liked having fishwifes coming at them with cutting shears or youngsters playfully tipping blocks of stone at their carts. Now the more powerful had caught up the threads of others and whilst such people did not bear the Cerus Marque they also did not have care for propriety. The big traders were cornering the markets for incoming goods and there wasn’t a lot the city could do about it. It was possible they could be killed but then… who’d keep the trade coming in and out of the city?
Shuffling his personal scrolls Anath tied his own funds in with the wagoneers. He had a lot of contacts of course and some of them came up with the names of two of the big traders, Salias Duffsson and Sly Tharanan. Both were only too happy to help the Deci Craftenguilder, guaranteeing that they could organise the city’s wagoneers such that they’d reach Gothiel the very next month.
Anath coughed again. Scratched his throat but otherwise ignored the slight burning sensation. With his scrolls, scribes and tallies he pressed on with matter personal to his needs. He scribes were surprised that their master wasn’t doing something impressive to stop the city sinking into penury. Obviously he probably was. But they had at least expected a decent tax hike, what with the Governor having left the city within weeks of his appointment and all…
*
“What can we do for you?” The ghoul looked outraged. The scruffy creature wore the sort of salvaged clothing that might be acquired if ones wardrobe was made up from the cities funereal best. This was in fact entirely the case. The Day of the Dead had seen the citizens celebrate in the smartest garments they could muster and to a greater or lesser extent a substantial proportion of such now lay in a big, frozen heap in the corner of the Guild.
“I am not a man with whom to mock. Pray remember, friend ghoul who that it is before you.”
“We don’t get paid by weight you know. Look, we’ve put on triple shifts for six weeks now and hardly made a dent! It was all very clever of you to Guild us up, knowing as you did that you were going to put half the city to the knife. What about my kids?”
“You have children?”
“I have a zombie! He’s bloody murder on the chains an’ all. What’s he going to say, eh? That’s what I want to know. He’ll forget what I look like! What’s he going to say, eh? Eh? You answer me that!”
Fade gave the matter a flicker of thought. “Wuurrrrgh, braaaainnnns?” He ventured.
“Right! And where’s he going to get brains from? You?”
“There’s a great big bin two rooms over marked ‘brains’. Can’t you just dig into that?”
“What?” The ghoul howled. “Take work home with me? Bloody slave driver.”
“Enough!” Fade snapped. He had had an otherwise successful day already having found the help he would require from Mr. Barkle. The once-tribals had not fared too badly in the Final Dawn as though the citizens had plenty of very sharp knifes, the tribes had quite a lot of spears. When it came right down to it of course one thing that the people of Deci really feared was reach. A whole clutter of Mr. Barkle’s associates thought that keeping away from the dark eyed scum that passed as tax-payers in this city was a pretty good idea. They weren’t exactly millers but they knew land and all had a pretty good idea of its relationship to plants. Which of course put them several notches up from their neighbours who all knew for a fact that food came from the market.
“I did not come here to argue.” Fade pointed out. The Nightsoil were making him feel all testy again and he had been in such a good mood before coming here. To be fair there was not a chance of them clearing the city but that didn’t mean that Fade was prepared to take lip from someone who had been living in a cave, eating anything that it could keep down three times out of four, before he had come on the scene. “This is a social call. I feel sure that there is something I can do for you..?”
“More lads? Bigger bins? A by-law that states that the killing of corporeal undead in the city is a crime?”
“I will think on it. Until then… get back to work.” Fade said. He glared at the ghoul until the scruffy figure looked away then before it could look up again fade nodded, twirled and stalked back onto the streets again.
Two others came to join the first ghoul, both dipped to the armpits in the half-frozen entrails of the dead. “He didn’t go for charge-by-weight then?” The first whispered.
“Nah. It’d be like taking a contract out on ‘imself wouldn’t it?”
“You heard about the Treasury? No one’s seen that Anath about much recently… funny that.”
“Think Fade ‘et ‘im.”
*
Cheapside was quite literally deathly quiet. The Day of the Dead had seen a shift in power amongst the gangs but going by the principle that the scum always rises to the top new faces and gangs had come into more focussed prominence. Apart from slapping down the Straw Dogs the Council had never really done much about the gangs, rightly theorising that whilst there were a lot of them then they’d always be too busy fighting one another to make much trouble elsewhere. Indeed, if the gangs began to unite then the Council would have to go out and get them all fighting again. This was of course an extremely unlikely thing to have to do.
Making up a good chunk of the city, Cheapside was old. It had once been a lot more important and the frames of the old buildings still made up the slums of the Quarter. It was at least pretty level, unlike the Heights which as a Quarter had more area vertical than horizontal.
It was too cold for ardent conflict though and of course gangs were hardly full time occupations. Some of them went back centuries, even if the name, membership and allegiance had changed a dozen times it was still the same gang, and everyone had at least a nodding relationship to one or another. Even amongst those that moved up and out of the Quarter gang membership lingered, forming quiet little societies in Guild or street.
The Don strolled through Cheapside. He knew the way well of course since at least once a month he would take himself to the little alchemists shop to found within. No one messed with the Don, but then, the gangs rarely messed with anyone anyway, their scraps took place amongst themselves and were often more piss than blood.
Still…
“Morning Mister Don Argoth!” A woman called from where she scrubbed the best part of a dead body from her steps.
It was still dark. In fact it was a long way to go till it was even the middle of the night but in Deci it was ‘morning’. “And to you too, hag.” The Don deigned to respond.
“Morning Mister Don Argoth!” Called two young men on their way to fetch up work from the Conveyers for the night. Fit lads they were typical of the cities wastrel citizens, doing whatever work there was going but not having the skills for more Guilded membership. A lot of them had died without the clannish Guilds to protect them but the citizens of Deci had a remarkably neutral attitude towards other people dying.
“Morning normal-people.” The Don nodded. Argoth bought some dried and poisoned fruit from a nearby stall and ate it briskly, just to show that he could. He paused for a moment when a couple of big lads barrelled out from a nearby alley, beating hell out of an orc whom had done likewise to their old dad. One of the hefty youths raised his hat to the Don even as he kicked the orcs stomach out through his arse.
“Boss!” The orc wailed but the Don had other things on his mind. Already at Mr. Tamary’s door he licked his palms, smoothed his hair into place and made sure his belt was straight. He wondered if Ulis was in one of his black moods. He sort of hoped he was.
Behind him the orc kicked out at the nearest man’s leg, cracking him under the kneecap and tumbling him down to his level. The second got a knife in the leg and whilst he limped off Blackjack bit the first youth’s nose clean off. Standing, he spat it out and kicked his screaming assailant in the butt to send him on his way.
Cheapside was dangerous.
Blackjack had known this of course but somehow he hadn’t quite latched on to the thought until, after kicking a few heads in, he had suffered much the same in return. He was a hard bastard of course but so were a lot of people in the city. The weak, the outsider and the careless had been pruned down at the Final Dawn and a lot of the people in Cheapside were as tough or experienced as Blackjack.
Nonetheless, he had made a mark for himself. The smallest gang he had found were the Hoopers and the four members he had dealt with publically. Not a few young men and women had thought that pretty well done and Blackjack had spoken to the nearest, a grubby woman called Elvy. It seemed she and her friends hung about at a place in Stracher Row called Whistler’s Pud. Worth knowing he had thought before butting a wiry old fellow for looking at him disapprovingly.
Perhaps most importantly he knew that there were now three gangs that really had some renown in Cheapside. There were probably a hundred more but Blackjack didn’t hold much with numbers. The three were the Rooftails, the Sunk Street Skinners, the Stepsons, Lady Laydown and the Oxen.
Retrieving his cudgel from the alleyway, Blackjack chased after the man he had stabbed and boffed him on the head just enough to render the lad senseless. It was expected amongst the gangs to do some damage but killing anyone was pretty rare. Indeed, as a relatively new arrival without gang membership Blackjack would probably be chased out of town if he actually killed anyone. Maiming of course was entirely different.
*
Both the Watchmen had been at the market for three days straight. Tired but still wary they picked their way through along the raised platforms that were regarded as streets in the Heights and refrained from looking over the edge. There, beneath the crisscrossing stone walkways that had once been proper streets, wooden alleys, bulwarks, crumbing stone and ever descending buildings lay the depths of the city.
The Heights was the oddest Quarter in the city and, some said, the Empire. Not that the citizens had much truck with the Empire of course but all were clever enough to know that without grulls would be worthless. No one wanted to realistically go back to pure barter as grulls could be hidden in the smallest of spaces whilst ingots, chickens and bedroom dressers were more obvious as wealth went. It wasn’t as if Deci could have its own currency scribed up of course as that way madness lay. Forging the things properly would be more costly than just owning them for a start and the council would just print more if it got short, and then next thing anyone knew a bottle of ale would cost two thousand Drulls and you’d need a handcart to buy a good lunch.
The Quarter extended far into the ground and rose above the city about it. The cities drow lived in the old stone of the undercity and kept much to themselves, above and the finer structures were to be found. There the Heights were more commonly called Hightown and the great and powerful could look down on the rest of the settlement about them.
Despite the dank air and the dirty snow that fell passed them, the Watchmen stopped when they heard the screams from the doorway nearest. They debated for several minutes as to what to do, the Deci watch after all had no specific orders to follow after all but finally the first took the matter out of discussion by pushing at the door. It was open.
The house was part of the middling structures. Formed out of the old city crust and just about above ground it was still below the richer buildings above. The sounds of screams now louder the Watchmen raised their lanterns, tested to the heft of their cudgels, and stepped in.
Armand stared at the pair. They were big men and judging by their bells, lanterns and clubs were probably some sort of law here. They looked at him. He looked right back. Pinned to the ground below him were the people whose house he had invaded. He had found lots of empty ones of course but Armand had not liked any of them.
“Well?” The priest asked. Hunched on the chest of a fearful man he waved the dead heart of his latest victims brother at the Watchmen. “Yes, can I help you?” He muttered a summonation to the spirits that hung about his life like so many hungry shadows.
“What are you doing?” The first Watchman demanded.
The second rolled his eyes. “Sorry about him,” he explained and tapped the markings that his lantern had revealed crabbing about the door, “Bhaal?”
“Yes! I do not deny it. Foolish men that think the power of-“ Armand’s words trailed away as the Watch put their weapons away and raised a finger each to the brim of their old helmets.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir. Keep the noise down, eh? Nobles up there, don’t want them disturbed.”
“Pah! I’ll disturb whom I like. Will their sleep be bothered by the evil of the night?”
“No, sir. Look, you don’t want to… draw attention to yourself. Not from the Nobles. You new here, sir?”
“I might be.” Armand admitted.
“Yes, see. The Nobles here… well, they aren’t exactly the same as elsewhere. Anyway, we’ll be bidding you a good night.”
Then Armand was alone with the family whose house he had taken over. It was actually rather a good property, twelve rooms all told. Back in Scarlene the city was so overcrowded that such a house would have been considered a tenement.
“Where were we?” The priest asked the brother beneath him.
“Please, look, don’t kill me!”
“Why ever not?”
“We worship Bhaal too!”
Armand considered this. “Well,” he answered, “be sure to pass on my best wishes when you see him later on.”
By Alan Morgan (CI7V2)