The Fly Guild (5 page)

“The men in the back aren’t very
alert after lunch. Sometimes they play dice games along the wall, sometimes
they take turns sleeping while one stands watch. With only one watching, it’s
easy enough to climb the far wall, the one that’s nearest the marsh grass and
some small bushes.”

“Why were you there?” Red eye said,
his voice barely audible.

“In the summer heat, there’s a
breeze that blows across the roof of the warehouse. There’s not a cooler place
in the city and it’s too strong of a wind for mosquitoes.”

Red eye stared at him for several
moments, long enough to make him very uncomfortable, but he was afraid to look
away and tried to limit even his blinking. The man looked away, nodded again,
and went back over to his bed and sat down, sighing deeply.

“Master Sands was right to bring
you in. I have a few more questions for you, though, before I give you to the
others.” Red eye snapped his fingers, and the light went out.

Chapter 2

Quinton suddenly exhaled as if he
had been holding his breath for a long time. He felt disoriented and took half
a step forward to keep from falling. Red eye still sat on the bed across from
him, his gaze unwavering, studying him carefully.
“Everything is a variable,” he whispered. “So many choices, so many outcomes.
Which one is the right one that leads to freedom?” Red eye blinked heavily,
then stood up.
“Come with me, maggot,” he commanded, his voice loud. “I’m afraid you’ve missed
dinner, but going hungry is probably something you’re used to.”

He brushed past the boy to the
door, black robes flowing behind him, grabbing the candle as he went. The door
silently opened on old iron hinges as Red eye turned the handle and glided down
the hall. Quinton was surprised at the speed and grace of movement of the man.
He passed the spiral staircase and stopped at a door just beyond it. The door
was slightly larger than the others Quinton had seen, and the frame was worn
with nicks and pockmarks. He noticed the floor had a worn path from the door to
the stairs. He looked up to see Red eye staring at him.

“Yes, there is a bit of a path,
isn’t there? It can be a busy place sometimes.” He grasped the black iron
handle and turned it with a loud click. The door swung out into the hallway,
blocking Quinton’s view of what lay inside. Red eye took a half step back and
held out his arm, motioning the boy inside.

Quinton took a deep breath, stepped
toward Red eye and started to peer around the door. The man’s hand grasped his
neck, his cold fingers sending chills down his body, and flung him into the
room, the door slamming shut behind him. The boy stumbled forward and
immediately tripped over something – or someone. He tried to step forward to
regain his balance, immediately stepped on someone else and fell face first to
the floor, but he landed on yet another person. There were cries of protests
and curses as he tried to right himself but managed only to land on more limbs
with his feet, hands and knees. A leg lashed out in protest and kicked him
painfully in the ribs.

“Watch it!” came an angry warning.

“Who is that?” asked another voice.

“Shut up and go back to sleep,”
pleaded another.

Quinton was disoriented. The room
was pitch black and smelled of unwashed bodies and urine. He felt desperately
for some sort of spot that wasn’t occupied by someone, but everywhere he tried,
he either crawled onto someone or was hit with another protesting foot or fist
to his body.

“Where can I go?” he finally asked.
The restless bodies around him suddenly grew silent, and the protests stopped.
There was a brief moment of silence and Quinton thought the other boys had all
suddenly died. Then a voice from across the room spoke.

“Looks like we got a new one,” came
the voice, one that was deeper than the others. “Send him over for a chat.”

What felt like a dozen hands
grabbed him at once. He was partly pushed, partly dragged across the dark room
until he was facing what he thought was a wall. A hand grasped him by the
throat, and he immediately began wheezing for his breath and grabbing at the
arm stretched before him, but the grip wouldn’t relent.

“Let’s get a few things straight
here, maggot,” said the voice in front of him. “You’re new here, which puts you
at the bottom of the maggot barrel.” He paused for a moment to speak to someone
unseen beside him. “Light the flame so the maggot can see who he answers to
around here.”

There was some more shuffling and
what sounded like a wooden door opening, then a hiss as a red flame appeared on
a small candle. The light was brought to Quinton’s captor and provided just
enough illumination for Quinton to see his surroundings. The boy took a quick
look around. All around him were faces of boys, pressed so tightly in a circle
trying to see what was going on that he couldn’t see beyond them. They were of
all ages and descriptions. The only commonality among them was filthy clothes
and a resentful look. The hand around his throat tightened its grip and brought
his attention back to his captor.

“Look at me when I’m talking to
you,” said the boy, his words having a funny accent that he had never heard
before. “My name is Lacoris, and I’m in charge of the maggots. I’m the oldest
and the next to get out of this pit and be named a master.”

Quinton’s eyes narrowed a bit when
the boy told him his name.

Lacoris smiled an evil grin.
“That’s right, maggot. We use our names down here. But you better never let
them others hear you use our names, because they’ll pull you apart one bone at
a time. I’ve seen it ’appen on occasion.”

Quinton stared at Lacoris. The boy
was older, maybe in his early or mid-teens, with clear blue eyes that
penetrated right through you. His oily black hair was slicked to one side and
shone slightly in the light. His face bore several small scars, and Quinton
could see what looked like several more on his arm. He was dressed in a simple
tunic with a black vest made of material so filthy it was indeterminate what it
was. The vest had what looked like many pockets, and sticking out of one of
them was a small knife handle.

Lacoris nodded over his shoulder at
another older boy standing beside him. “That there is Vergoth. He’s me
right-hand man. When I ain’t around, he’s in charge, making sure none of you
little turds are bad mouthing me when I’m out working. As for the rest of these
urchins, who really cares what their names are?” He gave a snort and shoved the
boy into the circle of maggots, who promptly shoved him back. Lacoris grabbed
him by the collar as he gasped for air. “Don’t ever cross me.” He stared at
Quinton. “Never. Or I’ll split you like a pig at a feast. Vergoth’s seen me do
it before, haven’t you, Vee?”

The other boy, who was short and
squat but very powerful looking, nodded slightly, his arms crossed before him.

“Now, some of us have to work
tomorrow, so we need to get some sleep.” Lacoris lashed out with his right hand
with a sharp punch to Quinton’s stomach, knocking all the air out of him. He
started to fall, but Lacoris grabbed him and held him up. “That was for waking
me up. Now get some sleep – after you meet the others.” Lacoris stood him up
and shoved him into the other boys again. The light winked out and Quinton was
assailed by a cloud of fists and feet, knocking him to the ground, which just
seemed to increase their anger. After a few moments, the assault ceased. He
could hear the others moving back to their spots around him. Afraid to move, he
did nothing. After several minutes, there was no more moving, and he could hear
the rhythmic breathing and snores of several of the maggots sleeping around
him.

His arms and legs hurt in several
spots where the boys had landed clean blows, but for the most part, he was
okay. He didn’t know what to do, so he just curled up and closed his eyes, a
tear running down his cheek. He had to get out of this madness. Get out of the
city and run to the swamps, or stow away on a ship bound for anywhere. This was
crazy.

“Don’t be sad,” came a taunting
voice from the darkness. “You’re part of our family now,” said Lacoris.
“There’s no escaping us. But remember, it’s a choice you made, a choice all of
us made.”

Lacoris said no more. Quinton fell
asleep and dreamed of dark figures beating him as he tried to run away.

***

Quinton awoke to the sound of
movement around him. The maggots were stirring and he was afraid he would get
stepped on, so he stood up. He could hear running water in the corner, and
everyone seemed to be shuffling that way, so he let the bumping bodies steer
him where he was supposed to go. He finally realized that the boys were taking
turns relieving themselves in the corner of the room, and everyone was
shuffling along waiting for their chance.

When Quinton got up there, the
smell was almost unbearable, but he took his turn and moved out of the way for
the next boy. The door opened and a candle illuminated the room. Master Red eye
was standing in the doorway, a blank stare on his face. The boys quickly turned
to face him and their looks were of anticipation.

“Maggots serving masters Hack,
Sneak, Monk and Sparrow are ordered upstairs immediately,” said Red eye, using
his commanding voice. He silently turned and disappeared from the door. There
were several whispers of excitement as the chosen boys, one of whom was
Lacoris, made their way to the door and headed for the stairs. The rest of the
boys’ faces turned to disappointment and they, too, began filing out the door,
but not as quickly. Quinton stood watching for a moment, the boys behind him
bumping into him.

“Get moving,” came a voice from
behind him. “We have to go eat now before training, then work.”

Quinton glanced behind him at a
thin boy about his age. His skin was pallid and his eyes were deeply sunk in
his head. Quinton nodded and started forward toward the candlelight that
illuminated the hallway outside.

“The name is Teli,” said the boy in
a whisper.

“Mine’s Quinton,” he answered.

“Just remember, don’t ever use
anyone’s name where the masters can hear you,” the other boy replied.

“Right.”

Quinton and the others filed down
the hall and through one of the doors he remembered passing the day before.
Inside were several long benches running along the walls that were nothing more
than roughly hewn logs and planks set on some large, round pieces of log. The
boys were lined up before a table with a small pot and a bunch of crude wooden
bowls on it. Each boy took a bowl, had it filled by a boy behind the pot and
went and sat down on a bench, where he tipped it up to his mouth to eat.
Quinton got his bowl, sat down on a bench near another boy who didn’t even so
much as acknowledge he was there, and sniffed the bowl. It didn’t smell like
much of anything and didn’t appear to be anything other than greasy water.

“Gruel,” said Teli, who had sat
down beside him. “It’s what we usually get in the morning.”

Quinton shrugged and drank his
down. The flavor matched the smell, but it was as good as anything he ever had
while on the streets. The gruel left a bitter aftertaste, but there was nothing
to wash it down with. After a few moments, Master Red eye entered the room finishing
the last of a large piece of bread. His eyes scanned the boys. Quinton wondered
if he would say anything to him, but his gaze went on past as if he had never
seen him before.

Red eye swallowed the last of his
bread before starting. “Today we will work on climbing,” he said, his voice
just loud enough for everyone to hear, though a few boys at the ends leaned
forward to hear better. “It will be a competition.”

The boys broke out in whoops and
back slaps, before Red eye raised a hand to immediately silence them.

“The prize will be a slice of
freshly baked bread,” he continued. The boys’ eyes went wide as they looked at
each other and few whispered conversations broke out. Quinton would like to
have the bread, but was unsure of what was going on. “When you are finished,
meet me at the old gate.”

There was a rush of boys returning
their wooden bowls to the serving table. The bowls clattered together and a few
stacks toppled to the floor, but that didn’t stop the stampede out of the room.
Quinton slowly walked up to the table and returned his bowl. Teli was beside
him.

“We’ll all be climbing the walls,”
said Teli. “The one who does the best gets the bread.”

Quinton nodded. The adults had
seemed impressed with his climbing skills, so maybe he had a shot at the bread.
He and Teli left the room, bringing up the rear of the line of boys headed down
the hallway. They went through a door, then through a series of short hallways
and small sets of stairs. At last Quinton could see a doorway that had the first
vestiges of daylight glowing through it, the door standing open, Red eye beside
it. The boys quietly filed out into a narrow alleyway that was blocked on one
end by a large building on and the other with what looked like a large narrow
wooden gate. The gate appeared to be lifted by some sort of mechanism, much
like a portcullis, but the ropes led up into the building above him, which was
obscured by a large ledge some thirty feet above the ground. The ledge was wet
and covered in some sort of growth. 

The wall of the building in front
of him was in various degrees of repair and was similar to the one Sands had
caught him trying to climb. Directly in front of him the mortar was cracked and
missing, stones jutted out and the wall was very rough. As you moved toward the
gate, the wall became progressively smoother; there were fewer projections, the
mortar was in place and the stones were slick. Closest to the gate, the wall
was nearly completely smooth. The stones were very even and some were covered
in moss or algae and water dripped down on to them in places. All across the
wall was scratched a line that wove up and down and from side to side, starting
in front of them and working its way to the gate. At the height of the ledge
near the gate, barely visible, Quinton could make out a brass bell.

“No one’s ever made it to the bell
before,” said Teli. “The maggot who makes it furthest gets the prize. The
maggot who does the worst … ” he let his voice trail off.

“What?” Quinton asked.

“Gets punished,” Teli finished.

Quinton thought for a moment.
“How?”

Teli shook his head. “Depends. Just
don’t finish last.”

Red eye had already motioned for
the first boy to start. A lad of about ten with light brown hair walked up to
the wall, found a handhold and pulled himself up. The first several moves were
easy, as there were plenty of places to put your hands and feet while still
progressing along the line.

“You have to follow the line,” said
Teli. “At least one part of you has to be over the line at all times. If you leave
the line, then that counts as a fall and your progress is marked at that
point.” The boys watched the brown-haired boy slowly move along the first part
of the course.