The Fly Guild (4 page)

When he was approaching what seemed
like two weeks worth of treatments, Sands reappeared. Quinton had just woken up
again and was feeling particularly better. He was thinking about trying to walk
around the room a bit when he heard the lock bar being withdrawn from his door.
The small door swung open, but instead of Grubbs, it was Sands – Master Sands.
He wore a cloak of light gray and fine boots made of what looked like deerskin,
and there were wool trousers of gray tucked into them. The man’s eyes studied
him for a moment. Quinton sat quietly, afraid to ask anything after the series
of warnings he had been given the last time he saw him.

“What is your name?” Sands
demanded.

“My name, sir, is maggot,” Quinton
stammered, his voice still a little raspy.

The man nodded slightly in
agreement. “And who am I?”

“You,” said Quinton slowly, “are
Master Sands. I serve you.”

The man nodded again. “Good. I
talked with Master Fist and you are officially my apprentice. I’ll be honest; I
didn’t really want an apprentice, but you have some skills that I think can be
a real benefit to our family here, and it would be a shame to waste them.” He
looked away from the boy and stared off in the distance for a moment at nothing
in particular. “I also think you will be very handy to have around at times,”
he said softly. His gaze returned to the boy and he spoke again, this time more
forcibly. “Grubbs tells me you are almost completely healed. It’s time you
joined the other maggots and started learning the trade so you can contribute.”
Without a further word, the man turned and left the room, leaving the door open
behind him. A short time later, Grubbs entered the room with a small piece of
bread.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay
with me, because it’s time for you to go to the maggot pit,” he said, his lips
curled up in an I-know-something-you-don’t-know smile. He tossed him the piece
of bread. “This has the last of your medicines in it. Enjoy it, because the
food in the pit isn’t as good as it is up here.”

Quinton gnawed on the bread,
savoring the bitter flavor of whatever was in it. After months of near
starvation and constant hunger, one didn’t complain about taste.

Grubbs watched him eat. “There’s a
lot to learn, but as someone who has spent almost his entire life here, I’ll
give you some advice,” he paused, making sure Quinton was listening. The boy
sat up on the edge of his bed as he finished chewing his bread and stared at
Grubbs. “Always do exactly what you are told and never question it. It’s not
for you or me to question what Fist or anyone else orders. Second, never betray
the family. A few people have over the years, and they died horrible deaths.”
Grubbs walked a little closer to him, staring down at him on the edge of the
bed. He slapped the boy hard across the cheek with such force it turned his
head. Quinton’s cheek stung with pain and he looked at Grubbs incredulously.

“And finally, that’s a reminder
that no one here is your friend. No one in the guild can be trusted, so learn
to rely on yourself. The first time you start to trust someone, you will be
hurt, just like you were now. Keep your guard up, watch your back and you’ll be
fine. Now come with me.”

Grubbs turned and walked out of the
room, ducking through the short doorway and disappeared. He didn’t turn to see
if Quinton was following. The boy glanced up at the small window high in his
room and wondered if it would be possible to climb up to it and out before
Grubbs noticed he wasn’t with him, but even as the thoughts went through his
head, his body was already following the older man’s path out the doorway. It
was best to size up the situation first, maybe stock up on food then look for a
way out. Right not he had no idea where he was or if escape was even possible.
For all he knew, the guild might be in the middle of the swamp or on some
distant island. Yes, keep quiet for now, he thought. Study everything, and find
a way out later.

He caught up to Grubbs in the
hallway. The floors were made of wide planks that groaned in protest with each
step and were pocked with chips and gouges. The hall was dark except for a
single candle that Grubbs now carried to light the way and a bit of light
spilling through a doorway further down. The walls were rough stone, with
mortar slopped between each individual rock. The air smelled of smoke and the
greasy smell the tallow candle left behind. Quinton carefully took stock of
every detail, searching for clues that would tell him where he was, assuming he
was still in the city at all. Grubbs went down a narrow spiral staircase made
of more rough-hewn wood. The stairs were so narrow the larger man barely fit
down them and used his hand to steady himself as he descended the passage.

Quinton figured they had descended
the equivalent of about three floors when they came out in another hallway,
this one much darker than the one before. The air was damp and cool.
Underground, Quinton thought, but where? He followed Grubbs down the hallway
past many closed doors. He stopped at the last door and knocked sharply. A
muffled voice from the other side beckoned him in. Grubbs twisted the wrought
iron handle and pushed the door open, glancing back momentarily at Quinton
before entering.

“Master Red eye?” Grubbs called
out. The room was completely black, the light from the single candle casting
long shadows across what looked like a few pieces of crude furniture near the
entry.

“The candle is on the table,” came
a whispered voice. “Light it so that I may see.”

Grubbs took another step in, found
the candle on the table and used his own to light it. The flame sputtered at
first as it leapt to the new wick, but it quickly grew in size and began to
cast an unnaturally bright light around the room, dwarfing the small light of
Grubbs’ candle.

Quinton looked around. The candle
was on a table that had two mismatched chairs at either end. A few books and
what looked like maps were scattered on the table along with some small metal
instruments he didn’t recognize. A short bed with a straw-stuffed mattress was
along one wall, occupied by a man with a long, drawn face and wide eyes. Even
from here it was obvious to Quinton how the man got his name. The whites of his
eyes were severely bloodshot and made the man look sickly.

“Master Grubbs,” the man whispered
in a strained tone. “So nice to see you.” He continued to lie on his bed,
staring blankly in their general direction. “What have you brought me today?”

Grubbs nodded toward Quinton. “New
maggot. Sandy – Master Sands – brought him in.”

The man quickly sat upright in the
bed, tilting his head slightly up and to the side, a look of surprise on his
face. “Master Sands?” He looked at the boy and his look changed to one of
acceptance, his head nodding slightly. “Surprising, is it not, Master Grubbs?”
Before the other could answer, he continued. “Master Sands doesn’t like
apprentices – maggots that is – but yet here we are?” Red eye looked to the
side of the room, lost in thought. “It just begs with possibilities, doesn’t
it?” He continued to stare off into space, ignoring the other two figures in
the room.

“Master Sands said he has a lot of
potential, especially climbing,” said Grubbs. “He might prove useful if it’s
true.”

Red eye, still staring off into
space contemplating some mysterious thought, slowly nodded. “Yes, yes indeed.”
His gaze returned to Grubbs. “I’m sorry, were you saying something Master
Grubbs?”

Quinton looked at the man and then
glanced to the side where Red eye had been standing. Who had he been talking
to? Himself?

“I was just saying, sir, that Sands
thinks the maggot has some real climbing potential and that it could prove
useful to the family if it proves true.”

Red eye raised his eyebrows. “Yes,
yes indeed. Climbing is a lost art, really. Ever since that last promising
maggot dropped onto the cobbles and split his head open in front of everyone,
we really haven’t had much climbing talent around here.” Red eye turned his
gaze to the boy studying him intently, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying
to penetrate Quinton’s thoughts.

The boy closed his mind, fearful of
wizardry or mind tricks. He had never seen or experienced anyone trying to read
his mind and wasn’t sure what to do, so he thought about nothing but blank
empty space. If Red eye were trying to read his mind, he didn’t show it. He
continued to stare at the boy silently. After a few moments, he nodded in
understanding.

“Yes. Yes indeed. Very possible,”
said Red eye as he looked at Quinton’s eyes.

Grubbs shuffled uncomfortably, then
said, “Master Red eye, if ye don’t mind, I’ll be getting back to me chores. The
lad is all yours.”

Red eye continued to stare at
Quinton, then suddenly snapped his head. “Yes, Master Grubbs, please don’t let
me keep you. Come see me again soon. We so seldom get to visit.”

Grubbs nodded in acknowledgement,
then quickly left the room, shutting the door behind him with a heavy thud.
Quinton stood alone with Red eye. The man raised himself from the bed. He was
much taller than he looked sitting there and commanded quite a presence. His
long, dark hair hung down on either side of his face, his dark penetrating eyes
continuing to stare at him. Black robes in several layers hid all but his head
and hands. Long pale fingers with unkempt nails poked out from deep sleeves. He
slowly walked toward him until he was standing directly in front of him. One of
the pale hands rose up to the side of Quinton’s head and gently stroked his
face.

Quinton pulled away from the man’s
touch. Red eye frowned.

“There, there, you have nothing to
fear from me,” he said, his voice still a whisper. “A life on the streets and
now a member of the family. Such a sad tale, really.” He looked to the side of
the room again. “Yes, a very sad tale. How can it be that some of us are so
unfortunate in life while others are so blessed?”

Quinton didn’t hear anyone answer,
but Red eye nodded as if someone had responded, then turned and paced slowly
over to a small chest of drawers along the wall and stared at a small painted
portrait hanging above it. There were swirls of dark colors but no discernable
shapes or patterns.

“Master Sands is a good master to
have,” he said, still staring at the painting. “He’s one of the best. Maybe the
best. You would be wise to learn all you can from him.” Red eye turned from the
painting to face him, his eyes closed and he became unsteady. Quinton thought
he was going to pass out, but his hand grabbed the chest and his eyes opened
again. A slight smile crossed his lips. “Yes, indeed. But your journey is just
beginning here. I’m in charge of the maggots when they are not in the service
of their masters. It isn’t the best of lives down here, but it isn’t the worst,
either.” Red eye’s gaze drifted off again before speaking. “No, there are far
worse things and places.”

He walked over to the bed and sat
down again, his imposing presence diminished to that of a sickly man. “Tell me,
why did your parents come here? Debt? Religion?” Red eye stopped after saying
the last word. “Ah, religious persecution. They fled here to worship in peace,
but they must have left their god behind, for what caring god would allow such
a fate as that which befell your parents?” He looked at Quinton, but the boy
remained quiet. “But maybe your god felt bad for you, or maybe your parents
requested a favor from beyond the grave. Take care of our poor brave fellow,
they probably said. So your mighty god cast you into our midst.” He rose and
silently walked over to the boy, his powerful countenance returning, and an air
of authority emanating from his body, his voice rising.

“Now you belong to us!” he shouted.
“What is your name?”

Quinton quivered. He had never been
around someone who could wield such powerful emotions. His knees wanted to
buckle under the pressure, but he stood his ground, turning his head away.

“My name is maggot, Master Red
eye,” he replied, his voice quaking.

“Look at me!” Red eye’s voice
boomed. “Look at me when I am talking to you and never look away again, do you
understand!”

Quinton forced himself to look into
the man’s wild eyes. “I understand, sir.”

Red eye’s lips parted, revealing
pale white teeth as his voiced turned angry. “Stop the quivering in your voice.
When you speak, speak with authority.” He stared at Quinton, who, unsure of
what to say, said nothing.

“A broken voice is the voice of a
coward,” said Red eye, his voice returning to its more hushed tone. “There are
no cowards in the Fly Guild. When your enemies sense a weakness, they will
strike. They will pull you apart using that weakness until you scream. You must
identify every weakness you have and eliminate it, or bury it so deep within
you that no one will ever find it.” He turned and walked towards the chest
again, the light from his candle flickering slightly, casting a broken shadow
across the floor.

“Where did you learn to climb? Who
taught you?” Red eye asked in a whisper.

Quinton gathered himself, afraid
his voice would crack, before answering. “No one taught me, Master Red eye.
Everything I know, I taught myself.”

“What is the highest thing you have
ever climbed?”

Quinton thought for a moment, his
mind racing through everything he had ever climbed. A large building he once
scaled popped into his head. “There’s a large warehouse made of stone near the
wharf. I once climbed onto the roof.”

Red eye turned to face him. He
tilted his head to the side, mentally searching for the building Quinton
mentioned. “The one that sports a red flag in the summer and has two guards at
the front door armed with daggers and clubs, three men around back armed with
spiked clubs and a dog inside?”

Quinton thought, then nodded.

Red eye nodded back. “How did you
get past the men unnoticed?”