Chapter 7: Chapter 7: Bigger Fish

Chapter 7: Bigger Fish

Philus was not having a very good night.

It wasn’t the worst night of his life or even in the bottom ten, but the night was still young. Constant aching throbs radiated from his nose and eyes. The bleeding stopped finally, but now his brain felt like it was stuffed up and would leak out his eyes and ears. Every source of light he passed made it worse, but not half as bad as his friends did.

“‘Get dem’,” Gregor mocked under his breath, several feet behind him, where he thought Philus wouldn’t hear him.

Philus whirled around on Gregor and Markus, hand on his knife. “You think that’s funny? He suckerpunched me. He got a lucky hit in, that’s it. What about you, maggot? All you had to do was chase after a cloaked man and a bald whore. Where are they, Gregor? What’s your excuse?”

Markus stepped forward, raising his hands placatingly. “It wasn’t our fault. They gave us the slip near the Boulevard. We got bit up by some fucking dunewallas chasing after them!” He held up an arm covered in tiny red marks, where needle-like teeth had latched on and tore at him.

“You think we should’ve gone there and made a fuss? We saw two coppers. It was either turn back, or take our chances.”

“Yeah,” Gregor chimed in. “You want we should get sent to the Mirage for hard labor, or get skewered by the Butcher? I love you brother, but I don’t love you that much.”

Philus took a deep, long suffering breath. This wasn’t anything new. They’d been rehashing this for the past hour or so, a little different every time. They wanted to just go back to their neighborhood and see if they could scare up a few shards for enough booze to make up for the embarrassment. Just turn back and forget it ever happened.

That’s why Philus was the leader, and not them. They had no vision, and no awareness outside their own miniscule territory. Orchrisus was a huge, sprawling city. No one was going to fight them for the outskirts, but they weren’t going to get very far that way either. This was their chance to make a splash, to grow and be somebodies.

“Just...Shut up and follow me. We’re almost at the bridge.” Philus turned around and led them south. Gregor and Markus obediently followed, thankfully silent.

They mostly stuck to the side streets and back alleys, as was their way. It wasn’t unusual to walk around Orchrisus in just trousers and shoes, but their matching tattoos and curved blades made it clear to anyone who saw them that they weren’t out for a pleasant midnight stroll. They were proud street scum, and their tattoos proclaimed their stories.

One for their country. Philus and Markus both proudly displayed the Orchrisus flower on their backs, while Gregor had the fiery Finsk sun on his. One for their neighborhood on their dominant arm, a string of letters and numbers showing who they represented and what territory they would fight to the death for. One day, those tattoos would expand and spread over all of their arms and onto their backs. The mark of their chosen god lay on the center of their chest. Markus and Gregor wore the Warcaller’s lightning wreathed fist, surrounded by little diamonds for each important battle they’d won. Philus had the Wanderer’s segmented coin. Each diamond of his own was another score, a job well done that earned them the money to keep going, to keep growing.

Any other night, Philus and his boys would be proud to show who they were and dare anyone to challenge them. A good scrap would cheer them up, and they could always use more diamonds on their chest and shards in their pockets. Tonight they didn’t want any attention from the Watch, and they certainly couldn’t afford a scrap with even a couple of wannabe toughs. No, heading to the south side was already dangerous for men like them.

They exited the last alley on the north side of the river and stepped onto the near blinding light of North River Row. While not as busy or populated as the Boulevard of Saint Trassius, it was nevertheless one of the few parts of Orchrisus that truly never slept. Inns and shops huddled together and stayed brightly lit, regardless of the hour. Their light was a beacon for anyone crossing the wide river.

“How are we doing this, Phil?” Markus asked. “We’re taking a ferry, right?” He stepped past his leader and stared out over the river. A mile away, he could barely see the lights of South River Row twinkling off the river. Everything in between was an inky void, save for the mirror image of the moon on the moving water below.

“You got the money for that?” Philus scoffed. “No, we’re going to have to walk it. Stick together, and keep your heads down, boys. We don’t want any trouble when we’re on the other side. Seriously. If someone gives you shit, ignore them. Under no circumstances are we to get in any fights.”

Gregor scowled. His scowls were the type that got people to hand over bags of shards and get as far away from him as possible. “Why are we even doing this? Why walk to the ass-end of town over this shit? Let’s just go home. We won’t tell anyone that you got stomped down. We can pretend this never happened.”

Markus put his hand on Gregor’s shoulder. “Don’t.” He shot a pleading look to Philus, but it was too late.

Philus closed the distance and shoved the larger man hard enough to force him back a step. “This isn’t about my pride, you beetle-brained sack of shit. This is about shards. Do you have any idea who that was? Oh no, you wouldn’t, would you? You’re happy being a scavenger.” He shoved again. Gregor stumbled back into a stack of crates.

“Guys…” Markus warned, looking around. North River Row was never empty, and they had several people watching them from a distance.

“You better stop pushing me,” Gregor growled. His hand went to his knife, but he didn’t draw it. Not yet. There were some things you couldn’t undo, and even a thick bastard like Gregor knew that.

“Then get your head out your ass and listen to me, brother,” Philus hissed. “That was Razia Rashid.”

Gregor blinked. He looked to Markus, who shrugged. “And?”

“And,” Philus sighed, “she’s wanted. One of the bigger gang heads down south is pissed at her. I was seeing that Mooran woman a couple months ago and she got me into a private party. One filled with distinguished bosses and their men, you understand? People who hold more than just one street.”

He looked meaningfully at his boys. Markus was, as usual, intrigued and would wait until he was done before he gave Philus any trouble. Gregor was listening now, though the gods only knew how long that would last before his focus vanished and he went right back to complaining. Philus continued.

“These were the real deal, lads. Big enough to see each other as equals and not fight over scraps. Can you picture that? Fountains of booze flowing, and there was only one fight that night. And that one fight involved that bald whore.

“I dunno why it happened or what she did, but one of the bigger gang bosses had it out with her in front of everyone and she left. My woman told me that a week later, she robbed him and ran, and people were looking for her. Now, think about it. If she robbed any of us, would we let her live?”

“No,” Gregor muttered sullenly.

“If some dumb bitch thought she could cross us, what would we do about it?” Philus asked.

It was Markus who answered. “We’d work her over,” he said, giving a crooked smile. He knew the score. “By the time we were done, she’d be begging for death. And if we couldn’t find her, we’d pay for the privilege.”

Philus nodded at him. “Exactly right, brother. And this boss, this Piro Pentius? He can pay, Gregor. He can pay well. So we’re not gonna go home and forget about it. We’re going to find him, tell him we saw her, and see how much that’s worth. Any questions?”

Gregor shook his head. Markus signaled that he did.

“Yeah. Why the hell were you going ‘round with a woman on the south side?” Markus asked, making a face. “That’s like a six hour round trip.”

“You ever had Mooran pussy?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Feels like she’s trying to break it off. Worth the commute. If you can walk after.”

Markus snickered. Gregor chortled. A second later, they were all laughing and the tension was forgotten. Philus could always count on his boys when it mattered.

They made their way to the bridge. People moved out of their way as they passed, often looking away. Orchrisus at night belonged to the predators, and the prey knew to keep well out of the way. Gregor leered at a pretty young woman as they passed, but didn’t follow through. Any trouble would slow them down.

The bridge was a good 30 feet wide and just over a mile long. Not counting the couple of scattered islands in the middle of the river, it was the narrowest part. Thousands of people crossed it every day without issue. It was their bad luck that three copper-badged Watchmen stood at the base of it, talking with one another and occasionally scrutinizing the people passing by. Philus stopped short.

“Aw hell,” Markus groaned. “You sure we can’t take a ferry, Phil?”

Philus shook his head. “At this hour, if any are still running they’ll bleed us dry. And we still gotta get back.”

Gregor tapped him on the shoulder. Philus followed his finger over to where a beetle cart was stopped. “Good thinking,” he said.

“How much to get the three of us across the bridge and near Guilderlane?” Philus asked the driver, leaning against the cart.

The driver was a shriveled, stooped man chewing tobacco. He looked over the three of them appraisingly. He spat to the side. “Three qala.”

“Are you crazy?” Gregor gaped. “You’d be lucky to get that much for a full cart. There’s only three of us!”

“Nng.” The driver grunted. His eyes flickered between the three of them, lingering on their tattoos. “Four qala.”

Markus slapped his hand over Gregor’s mouth just in time to block a string of profanities and threats. Philus took a deep breath.

“You drive a hard bargain sir,” he said through clenched teeth. “We happily accept.”

The coppers didn’t spare them more than half a glance as the cart drove by. Half of their earnings for the night were gone. Philus’ nose throbbed with a dull ache. It would be worth it, he decided. It had to be.

Traveling by beetle wasn’t any faster than if they were walking themselves, but it was constant. The lumbering beast didn’t stop, didn’t jerk around or misbehave. The worst it did was occasionally let out a series of loud clicks, to which the driver would respond with affectionate shushes and the occasional pat on its carapace. The cart got them off their feet for twenty minutes, and gave Philus time to think.

Despite being ostensibly the same city, south Orchrisus felt different. The buildings on the south side were crammed against each other, and they tended to be taller. Most buildings remained two stories, but it wasn’t out of the question to see massive, sturdy stone structures that towered over everything at a whopping five floors.

The people were a bit richer on average this close to the temple district, the palace, and Guilderlane itself. Down here, the people prided themselves on how far back their families and money went. Philus and his boys, they were adept at picking out those who didn’t belong and were easy targets. The people here didn’t have to look to know.

When the old driver let them off a block away from Guilerlane, it took all of ten seconds for Philus to remember why he didn’t come down here too often. Down here, the gangs didn’t walk around shirtless and go looking for fights. For the first time in months, Philus was struck with a desire to cover up.

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“So, now what?” Gregor asked, looking around. Far fewer people walked the streets this late here. The ones who did met his gaze and didn’t look away. He turned back to Philus.

“Well,” their fearless leader started, “we uh...I guess we ask for directions. Maybe hit up a pub and see if we can find someone who can introduce us. This should be Piro’s territory.”

“What about that girl of yours?” said Markus. “Is she anywhere close?”

Philus winced. “Things...ended shortly after that party. Probably best we don’t look for her,” he said. “C’mon. Let’s take a walk and see what we find.”

That walk didn’t take long. They hadn’t even made it all the way down the street to Guilderlane when four men emerged from the shadows and blocked their path. They were dressed casually, in dark tunics that blended in with their surroundings and offered easy movement. They wore proper metal knives openly.

Philus held back his boys and cleared his throat. “Evenin’. We’re not here to cause any trouble, we’re looking for --”

“You found trouble anyhow,” said a grizzled man with silver in his shaggy beard. He stared down the trio with his arms crossed over his chest. “Guilderlane is off limits. Why don’t you turn around? You‘re already looking a bit rough. Let’s not make it worse.”

“Phil…” Markus whispered, tugging at his belt. Philus shrugged him off.

“We’re here to speak with Piro Pentius,” he said, slowly and evenly. “We’ve got info he’d want to know.”

For a second, none of the four men said a word. They waited for their leader to handle it, it seemed. Were the situations reversed, Philus was sure that Gregor or Markus would’ve opened their mouths and spat something stupid and insulting. Silverbeard had them trained. He let out a low, humorless chuckle.

“He’s not in the habit of seeing gutter trash. Turn around and go back to wherever you came from. This is your last warning. Leave Guilderlane or we’ll dump your bodies in the river.”

Gregor stepped past Philus. “Look ass-jackal, we’re here to do him a favor, why don’t you just…” He trailed off as all four of them drew their knives. From above, a man peeked over the rooftop and aimed a bolter at them.

“On second thought,” said Philus, “I think we’ll be going. Thank you for your time.”

He grabbed Gregor by the arm and dragged him away, taking long, quick strides to put as much distance between them as possible. Markus had to jog to keep up.

“What the hell?” Gregor demanded. “You just going to let them scare us off? We going home, then?”

“Shut up, Gregor,” Markus warned. “We’re not here to pick fights. There are other places we can go. Right Philus?”

Philus didn’t answer immediately. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe they were in over their head and should just go back and call the night a wash. But if he did, Gregor would never let him hear the end of it. It might take some time, but eventually Markus would give him shit for it too. No, this was the right thing to do. He just needed to start with smaller fish.

“Right,” Philus said. “Follow me, and keep quiet. If anyone tries to start shit, ignore them. We’ll get our satisfaction later.”

They traveled parallel to Guilderlane, heading east, where the prosperity faded to a more familiar, comfortable kind of run down. Long, winding streets led them away from the towering buildings with their rooftop gardens and painted murals.As they walked, Philus was haunted by the feeling of being watched and followed. Every so often he could see a shadow on the rooftops, but they weren’t bothered again until they found another pack of fellow predators, loitering in a dark doorway.

“Do you know where we can find Piro Pentius?” Philus asked.

“Fuck off,” this group said.

They continued on to a run down little inn, bereft of people in the common room. The man at the front eyed them balefully, giving every impression that they weren’t welcome.

“We’ve got important info for Piro Pentius,” Philus tried.

The man at the front scoffed. “Then why are you here? He’s got a shop over on Guilderlane.”

After an hour of walking and trying every possible lead, their feet were sore, the cool spring night had turned downright chilly, and Gregor and Markus were conversing silently via a series of looks Philus disliked and distrusted. He knew what was coming when Markus opened his mouth.

“Phil,” he started, wetting his lips nervously.

“Don’t start,” Philus growled. “We’ve come too far. We’re not going home until we get this info to Piro and see what he’s willing to pay for this.”

“Fat lot of good that’s done us so far, yeah?” Markus shot back. “I’m tired, I’m hungry, and you already got fucked up once. We gonna keep going until one of these bastards decides we’re worth the trouble? Just accept it. We’re not talking to Piro.”

“He’s right,” a high pitched, youthful voice said.

They whirled around, knives out, to see a boy of maybe 12 sitting against a house. He had a mess of unruly, dusty hair and scrapes on his knees and cheeks. He didn’t look too alarmed at the threat of impending stabbing. “Not running around like this. You’re new to this, aren’t you?”

Gregor growled and took a step forward. Philus shoved him back. He sized the kid up. “You got anything for us, or do you want a beating that badly?”

The kid stood up slowly. “That depends. I can’t get you to see Piro, but if you’ve got the shards, I can hook you up with the next best thing.”

Philus and Markus shared a look, silently conferring. “How much?” Philus asked.

Ten minutes more of walking through increasingly rough neighborhoods later, Philus was ready to call it all off and go crawling back home. No one bothered them as the scrawny street urchin led them around. As they moved deeper into the dark heart of the southern slums, an oppressive silence filled the night. No one was laughing, joking, or even fighting with each other. They seemed ever vigilant, watching and waiting. Philus was beginning to believe that the kid was the only thing keeping the cold, hungry creatures from descending on them. He shuddered.

“Here,” the kid said, leading them around the corner to a dead end. In that nook in the darkest part of Orchrisus was the ruined remains of a house. The roof was in shambles and looked like one decent storm away from caving in entirely. The windows were broken, shutters barely hanging on. The door was open and hanging on its hinges, but it was black inside.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Markus gaped. “Is this where you take gullible idiots to kill them after you get their shards? Phil, if we die, I want you to know that I told you so.”

The kid threw up his hands placatingly. “Easy, easy. I’m no rat. You paid for a connection, you get one. Gimme a sec.” He ran up to the door and called into it. “I got three northern lads here to see Christophe. They say they got info to pass on to Piro.”

There was a moment of silence before the kid nodded. He gestured to the open door.

Gregor and Markus looked at Philus. He sighed and took the lead. It was only right. They were his boys, and of them should risk dying first, it should be him. He gave the kid one last look on his way in. The kid’s shit eating grin made his blood run cold. This was a mistake.

Nothing happened. Philus passed the threshold and nothing happened, save that he could see that the house was in much better condition on the inside. A wall had been constructed near the door to block off any sign of life inside. Two armed men ushered them in further, not allowing them to turn back or hesitate. On the other side of the wall was a table, the remains of an interrupted game of cards, and the largest man Philus had ever seen.

Hunched over the splintery wooden table, he was still taller than Markus and nearly as tall as Philus. He was over two feet wide, and solid. He looked up from the cards he was holding and got a look at the people interrupting his game. His head was too small, Philus thought to himself, stifling a nervous, frantic laugh. The rest of him was so astoundingly huge that his head seemed too small, even with the bushy, unkempt beard and wild hair.

“Holy shit,” Gregor whispered. “I know you. You’re the leader of the Warlords. You’re wanted! There’s a huge bounty on your head.”

Philus’ head whipped around towards him, eyes widening. Behind them, the armed guards pulled out swords. Not knives like theirs, but full-on swords, pointed right at them.

“Gregor,” he groaned. “You idiot.”

The massive man, Christophe, got to his feet. If he were half a foot taller, his head would’ve scraped the ceiling. “I’m not sure how it works up in your neighborhood,” he said, in a voice that was equally amused and menacing, “but I somehow don’t think it involves coming to a man’s home and asking to be stabbed to death. If that’s what you want, we’re happy to oblige. If not, might I recommend starting over?”

Philus jumped on his chance. “My apologies. My friend has a case of the stupids. He opens his mouth, and dumb shit falls out. I’ve been meaning to take him to get help for it.”

Christophe’s small, dark eyes bored a hole into him. He smiled, or at least Philus hoped that his beard twitching where his mouth should have been was a smile. “A terminal case, potentially. Everyone gets one. Trevor said that you have info?” He gestured towards the rickety table with an arm the size of a keg.

Philus and Markus sat down. Gregor stayed standing behind them, trying his best to ignore the two men with weapons still drawn on them. Philus took a deep breath and began.

“Tonight, me and my boys were working near the Colosseum. Watching people, finding good marks and --”

“Yes, yes, you’re petty muggers and you were skipping ahead to the part that’s relevant to me.” Christophe took a drink from his mug, motioning for Philus to get on with it.

“We saw Razia Rashid,” Markus interjected. “Just south of the Colosseum.”

Christophe froze mid-drink. He set the mug down and swallowed hard. “Is that so?”

Philus nodded.

“And where is she now?”

“She’s...She gave us the slip,” Philus admitted. “I hadn’t heard anything about her in a couple weeks, but if she’s out walking around, Piro probably still wants her. I figured that info’s gotta be worth something, yeah?” He looked around to his boys, nodding. Gregor nodded back, but Markus shrank in his seat. “Maybe you can pass the info along to Piro, and we can get a finder’s fee.”

Christophe took a long suffering deep breath. He leaned forward. The table groaned in distress. “What a fantastic idea. You come in, insult me twice, and then want me to pay you for the privilege.”

His tone was friendly, but the way Christophe smiled at him made Philus’ testicles want to climb up inside his body. “We insulted you twice?” he asked.

“Oh yes, twice. The first one was forgiven immediately. That’s just the kind of man I am, you know. Gracious to a fault.” Christophe’s fingers twitched.

The next thing Philus knew, Christophe slapped the table to the side of the room like it was nothing. His hand shot forward and closed around Philus’ throat. Christophe lifted him into the air while Philus grabbed at his hand, trying to pry the fingers off.

“I am not Piro’s fucking errand boy!” Christophe snarled.

Gregor reached for his boss. Christophe’s men raised their swords and he backed up into the corner.

“You come into my part of town, my house, and you treat me like a stepping stone? You bring me nothing and you want me to pay you for the privilege of bringing this to the attention of my business partner?”

Christophe squeezed. Philus’ eyes bulged. He twisted and flailed in Christophe’s iron grip, but it got harder by the second.

“We can find her for you,” Markus cried out. “We can bring her here for you!”

Philus dropped to the ground. He sucked in a breath and choked on it, coughing and hacking as his body continued panicking. Markus dropped to a knee beside him. Philus waved him off.

Christophe motioned for Markus to continue.

“We know that part of town, sir. If she’s still around, then she thinks no one’s after her, right?” Markus looked around frantically, desperate for someone to acknowledge his logic. “So we find her for you, we bring her here. That’s gotta be worth a good payday, right?”

That was worth his consideration, it seemed. Christophe snapped and pointed. One of his men sheathed his sword and put the table back into position. The other got a bottle and a fresh mug and poured it for him. Christophe sat back down on his two stools.

“Yes, that sounds reasonable,” Christophe said, pausing to take a drink. “Bring her to me, alive, and I’ll pay forty aquilos. Twenty if she’s dead, but I would really prefer it if she was alive. That would go a long way as an apology, don’t you think?”

“Y-yeah,” Philus choked out. “We can do that, sir. No problem.”

“That’s much better.” Christophe’s hand shot forward once more. Philus and his boys flinched before realizing it was open. Philus took it and clenched his teeth to avoid yelping at the tight grip. “Do yourselves a favor, gentlemen. Don’t come back to my side of town without her.”

Two minutes later, they were out the door and all but running with their heads down. The boy, Trevor, led them back to the main road and left them there.

“Are we really going to just let him push us around and threaten us like that?” Gregor said as soon as he was confident they were out of earshot.

“I really didn’t see you doing anything about it at the time,” Markus shot back. “You still have the chance. If you want to go back and pick a fight with a deranged giant. I’ll be right behind you. I promise.”

Philus raised a hand, and they shut up. “We got out alive, and we have a job to do. Forget...All of this, and just focus on the shards.”

“It is a lot,” Markus admitted. 40 aquilos was more than any of them saw in a year. It was enough to get them properly outfitted, get some fresh blood, let them make a move and expand their neighborhood, and still have enough to throw one hell of a party, celebrating their victory.

“There we go. We do something this big, we’ll get noticed. We’ll build up and…” Philus looked around. None of the dark, half-hidden faces were watching them that he could see. “We’ll pay him back for this, brothers. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” they echoed.

This really wasn’t his night, Philus thought as they walked away from that neighborhood and back towards a safer, more hospitable hunting ground. He wouldn’t ever admit it to Markus or Gregor, but maybe they were in over their heads on this one.