8th Trial, Ymiden, Arc 718
South Ezos, Outer Perimeter
21st break
Continued from hereSouth Ezos, Outer Perimeter
21st break
"Where the fuck is Rhames?"
"Fucked if I know, Stacks."
"The fuck was that?!"
"S-Sorry, boss."
He wasn't a big man, but even Julie knew better than to get it wrong twice. In fact, Julie towered over the other man, topping him by a good half a foot, broader by a good twenty pounds at least... but the other slab of muscle watching the back door? He wasn't his friend. Baz was his name and he'd come up with Stacks, who hated being called that and had a reputation for taking the eyes and ears of people who used it. Usually Julie wouldn't be working for such a fucking loon, a bamhead who liked spilling blood as mich because it got his cock hard as because it paid, but... well, it was a lot of money.
For for only a few trials' work. So know the words, know your job, keep quiet otherwise, and then never even look twice at the little cunt ever again.
"Baz," Stacks growled, rubbing under his nose again, clearly in need of anothr pick-me-up. His long-time partner immediately stiffened to attention. "You hear shite from him?"
"Shoulda' been here, boss. I told him the when and where. Fuck knows where he is."
"Fuck's sake..."
Stacks didn't like unexpected shite like this. Not right before business, and the damned profitable kind, at that. But the suns had vanished, the moons were high, and the revelers were starting to carouse down the streets. Not for any particular ceremony or festival, although those days were always good for a pusher like him. But just... in general. Ymiden was here, the Hot Cycle had arrived! Cold and darkness was banished for another season or two, and the denizens of Etzos were celebrating heat and light and life.
Whatever the fuck ever, Stacks thought, managing to growl even in the confines of his shaved skull. Good a reason as any to get off yer face.
He cursed again, under his breath. Put his hands on his hips and drummed his fingers against his belt, the sword and dirk on display. Down the alley, he could see the street... or a microsm of it. A keyhole snap, a crack through a fence, dozens and hundreds of people going back and forth. Laughter and singing and cursing and all the heady, heaving sounds of a crowd looking to enjoy the night. He'd spent most of the last season putting the word around that come Ymiden, there'd be good product on sale from him. Less cuts, fatter packs, lower prices. Two of those were a flat out fucking lie of course, but they'd come anyway. They'd hear the word, take the bait, and come like good little fishies.
Because he had the Kat, the Score, the Ambie. Fresh from Ne'haer and Fucking Fates, he's sampled them himself. He knew how good the new product was, and how much he would make from the load.
Even more than usual, now he wasn't paying that old cunt Vorund.
Fuck him, he thought for the thousandth time, smirking at the notion of the wrinkled wanker going apeshit over his precious lost "taxes". He's getting old and slow and he's getting squeezed by those cunts in the north. Time to move on, lad. Greener pastures.
"Fuck it," he said, words final and foul at once. He spun back to the big lad he'd got minding the door and jabbed a finger under his chin. "Youse do yer job. Remember the knock, aye?"
"Twice, then once, then four times."
"Good. Check 'em all before they come in." Stacks spat to one side, barely missing Julie's boot. "Rhames don't wanna be on time, then he don't wanna get paid. Fuck him..."
Julies nodded like a broken toy and kept doing so until Stacks and his twice-as-large friend were back through the door. Then he relaxed and shook his head, tipping it back briefly to stare at the stars. Bright and sharp to his eyes, even with all the fetid foulness of Etzos spewed up into the sky, trying to choke them away.
"Five bloody trials," he whispered to himself, hearing the first footsteps coming. "Five trials, five hundred nels, and you're done."
He sighed, wishing he'd learned to go math or some shit, rather than just big a big, strong, dumb sod, and puffed himself up a little as the first furtive customer arrived. Had to look the part, after all.
++++++++++
Rhames hadn't forgotten. He had't been sidetracked or distracted or, as Stacks thought for a brief moment, got himself perished by Vorund or some other big fish for the crime of a little free enterprise. Quite the opposite, in fact. If that had been the worry, he wouldn't have been standing in an alleyway a few streets from where Julie was doing his job, sucking on a cheap, chopped-up Euphoria taper, half-coughing the blue smoke into the air.
Something moved behind him. But before his ears caught the scrape and shuffle, his nostrils flared and his face crumpled.
What the fuck is-
The little man behind him smelled like shit. His clothes did, at any rate. Cat piss and dog droppings, enough to make Rhames back up a step and cover his face. Cold, calm, watchful eyes surveyed him from under a nest of hair that would have looked fitting on a baboon. He wasn't drunk, or swaying, nor did he have that bowl in his left hand extended for alms. He was just there.
"Fucking hells, mate, the fuck did you-"
"Silver for snow."
"Wh... What was that?"
The little man repeated it, eyebrows kicked up just a touch. Whether or not Rhames got the gesture, he probably got the way he dragged out the words a second time, as if talking to a child. "Silver. For. Snow."
Rhames licked his lips and nodded. That was the code. He wasn't told who would be meeting him, just that they would be meeting him. Someone that Vorund would send to handle Stacks and his stupid fucking idea. Handle everyone around him, too. The threat of which had motivated Rhames to drastically weigh his loyalties to a shiv-happy little cunt like Stacks against his own survival. It didn't take long. He'd walked into the right bar, told them that someone was being a cheeky cunt, and he was told, eventually, to be there, and waiting.
And not leave any fucking thing out, or they'd have his balls in a bag along with Stacks'.
"Y-Y'know the Ne'haer place just around the corner? Smiling Sam owns it?" A nod, and he continued. "S-Stacks is runnin' outta there. Got a couple of lads watching the back door, making sure people have coin and no weapons. Then-Then him an' a couple of others'll be downstairs, in the basement. Doling out the goods."
"How do you get in?"
Rhames blinked. That... That didn't sound like a drunk, or a junkie, or any vagrant he'd ever met. Sounded more like a teacher, or even a nob. Words clipped, accent precise, like he respected words enough to say them properly. Confusion swam in his eyes for long enough that the little man frowned, and he shook the thought away.
"Er-Er, yeah, sorry, er, it's a knock. Big man, Julie, he frisks ya, then he gives a two-one-four knock on the door. That's when they let you in."
"Why not just pay through the door?"
"Er... there ain't a slot in it. It's... just a door."
Kasoria blinked. Very slowly, and very catlike. Some days, he understood why the furry little buggers seemed to wear such contempt for his species. All this intelligence and ability and mastery of both creation and destruction, and they were still so fucking dumb sometimes. All the care that Stacks had taken, spreading word of his new business to just the right people; so well that Vorund had only just learned of it. Then staying underground for half a season, all to ensure he couldn't be tracked by all the eyes Vorund had on the street. And then, when it came to a perfect, secure locale for his business... he couldn't even find one that had a proper fucking slot on the door.
You get the money and the order, you knock, relay both through the slot, they give you the goods, you pass it on, customer leaves. Door never needs to be opened, place stays secure. And the little twat didn't even have the wit to do that.
"So... ah... that's... that's it, right?"
Kasoria turned his gaze back to the young, twitchy man. The traitor. The betrayer. Who'd handed his old pal to Bangun Vorund for a purse of gold and a promise of safety. Remembering the former, Kasoria pulled a purse from his pocket and held it out. His own payment from his master would be forthcoming, under the same conditions: do the job first, then you get paid. Rhames had done the job, but as he reached for the purse-
There was a blur, a slap, and a cry of coins shaken in a purse. Rhames nearly jumped in the air as the beggar's other hand snapped out like a snake's tongue, and grabbed his hand, pressing it around his reward. He swallowed and looked into Kasoria's eyes, sweat trickling down his face. Face going paler, paler, until it was like the moon dragged low and given the face of a man.
One not far from pissing himself. Good. Message sent.
"Good work."
He let go and Rhames took off. Kasoria could see the logic in killing the man - a traitor once will be thus twice, after all - but Vorund was still seeing further ahead than simple street mentality. It went deeper than that. If people knew of treachery or sedition against Bangun Vorund, he wanted them encouraged to come forward. Coin pressed into their hands, safety guaranteed to them and theirs, and bloody vengeance visited upon only the guilty. Now Rhames would spread the word, the message, the warning... and the generosity, the mercy, of Bangun Vorund.
Kasoria started walking, sliding into his shabby shuffle as he broke into the street. Shouldered and shoved and ridiculed by the crowds, hand flapping weakly in front of him with his little bowl.
Making his way towards the smell of Ne'haer food.
