Aethosphere Chronicles: The Rat Warrens (5 page)

Most of them looked away, Eddy looking
especially guilty, but when he locked eyes with Nickle, the boy
just laughed. “Ain’t you a soft-hearted Joe, Sunshine. You act like
they was your family, or some crap. They were just a bunch of
rats.” Nickle turned and strolled to the platform’s edge, to where
a nest of pipes ran parallel to the guardrail. Leaning over, the
gang’s leader dug around in the pipes. “But here, if it makes you
feel better,” he finished at his task, and then tossed a charred
rodent into Fen’s hands, “eat up and it won’t be a waste. Ol’ Gibbs
had his run anyway. Time for him to retire proper in the Drain Line
and free up that hoard of his. Ain’t proper for the old to linger
‘round, holding out on the rest of us. Right, fellas?”

“Right,” the boy’s said in unison, though
Eddy stood silent.

“Thanks, chum,” said Fen, holding up the rat
corpse and examining it. “But I already ate today, and this things
ruptured and the meats gone tainted.” He tossed it to Nickle’s
feet.

“Yeah,” the albino shrugged, “unfortunately
that’s the case with most of them…but hell, it was a wicked sight
to see them go, right Ratty?”

“Real neat.” The boy nodded eagerly. His head
looked like some valve cover let loose and flapping uncontrollably
in the escaping steam.

Fen began to walk away.

“Where you goin’, Sunshine?” shouted
Nickle.

“Got errands to run in the Node…for my
sister.”

“Errands for your sister…?” Beaut crudely
adjusting his pants, “Oh, I can help your sister out for you,
alright.”

Fen turned on the pompous ass in a flash and
clocked him square in the nose. A torrent of blood came pouring
down the boy’s acne-riddled face while he howled and clutched at
the wound.

“Where will you all be later,” Fen asked as
he rubbed out his bruised knuckle and turned towards the stairs,
eager to be gone.

“Around,” replied Nickle indifferent to it
all, but as Fen walked away, Edrika grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t
go away mad, Fen,” she said knowingly. Of all the mates, she was
the one who seemed to possess a keen insight into his mood, but
then of course she would. She’d known him since he was six.

“I ain’t mad,” he lied, but the girl just
smirked back at him through a face painted grim with makeup. Though
her watery eyes betrayed her tough façade by glistening with
genuine concern. “You and the art of lying just don’t see eye to
eye. Stick with what you’re good at.”

Walking away after that, Fen made a show of
nonchalance for the sake of appearances, but once he hit Skitter
Road he was off at a bound, dashing up the crowded byways, and then
shoving his way across the Axillary Line’s bridge towards the Node,
happy to leave his mischief gang behind. Nickle creeped him out,
and the rest of the boys were steadily becoming more irksome than
entertaining. It suddenly occurred to him that if his fortunes
played out, he might never have to see them again, and that didn’t
upset him in the least. Of course, there was still Eddy to think
about, but then would he really miss her either? They’d been pals
since six, sure enough, after she’d found him crying lost in Maze
Town and grabbed him by the hand and lead him to her shanty on
South Scumside, but the years since had changed her. A year back,
when Edrika became Eddy, she turned too edgy, and seemed to take
keen interests in the vices of men, even beyond a snifter of gutter
gin or a mug of tank ale, and her devilish looks were only the
newest hurdle thrown down between their friendship. Fen found it
hard talking to a face painted up to look like death’s bride, or to
even take her seriously for that matter.

Hooking left onto the Chimes Way, Fen shook the girl
and the gang from his mind, then fell in line with the rest of the
shuffling traffic, glancing up as he did so at the hundreds of
chains that swayed and jingled in what little breeze moved through
the Pinprick. It was like walking into a storybook jungle; into one
of those far-off places in the Hamal or Procyon Clusters where the
isles grew thick with trees big as the Sentinel, and plant-ropes
called vines hung down all over the place. At an earlier age, Fen
might have imagined himself as the Wilderman, a pulp fiction hero
who grew up in the wild after his parent’s airship crashed in one
of those distant jungles. Swinging from vine to vine with the
native gargoruls, fighting barbarian Glutborn tribes, Elwyn
witch-weavers, and Candaran patrols (usually to save his love), the
Wilderman was a force to be reckoned with. But Fen wasn’t that age
anymore, and Eddy wasn’t there to pretend at being Elaine; and the
chains…those were just leftovers from some earlier utility lost
over the decades…or centuries.

Fen really wasn’t sure how old Junction was,
nor did he particularly care. The city had always been, and so had
the Rat Warrens as far as he cared. And he just kept shuffling with
the line towards the Skylight without saying a word; without
pretending he was the Wilderman. It took all his concentration at
that point just to choke back the fear setting him to quaking.

Up until then, Fen hadn’t dared approached
the Skylight by day, not since the scamp lost his thumbs. Even
regular adult ratties weren’t allowed to loiter beneath the
Skylight, let alone rat pups. It was said Boss Trask hated children
with a passion, and sometimes went sport hunting in the Chimes Way
with his dangermen and bruisers; something Fen had heard called
pup punting
. Enough of his mischief mates told
horror-stories about it that he’d never pressed his luck by
trespassing in the rat lord’s domain…not alone anyway…not until
now.

It was Lydia who typically dealt with the
Exchange when it came to some of their goods; being on the cusp of
adulthood as she was, and being a girl to boot. Fen had accompanied
her enough times to know the rat lord’s men took a shining to her,
and he’d had to grit his teeth and bear the catcalls and wandering
hands thrust her way. As for Lydia, however, she seemed to deftly
slip through their dirty old groping hands with an ease, and with
not much grumbling. But today, today was different. Today Fen was a
man, well…at least sort of. Mostly, he had to do this himself
because Lydia would probably scalp him for not following through
with disposing of the money.

Taking a deep calming breath, the boy-rogue
stepped past the chalk line and into the Pinprick’s wash; though
the light wasn’t direct this afternoon, and the Node hung in gray
twilight as a result. He’d hoped for some sun, like the sort from
the trial all those years ago, but today wasn’t the day.

“Whoa! Stop right there,” hollered a
sunkeeper as Fen came strolling towards the Sentinel. Beneath the
Skylight, the tree’s scraggily up-turned leaves looked like the
sparse hairs of an old man. Fen had been about to round his way
left towards the stairs to the Bartermen’s Exchange when the rat
lord’s Node enforcer came swooping out of nowhere to cut him off.
“Now you rat pups know there’s no lollygagging ‘neath the Pinprick,
so off with you.”

But Fen stood his ground and looked up to the
man coolly. “I’m on course for the Bartermen’s,” he replied,
confident, but the thickset keeper just gave him a dark look of
skepticism, and folded his arms over his chest. With jet-black eyes
he glared down, adding a scowl to scare off the pipsqueak caught
beneath his broad shadow.

But Fen didn’t back down, and instead
narrowed his eyes and stepped up like he’d seen his sister do time
and time again. “I got business.” He realized he could have avoided
the whole rigmarole had he just come during the dark hours, but his
eagerness to cash-out for some tokens overrode any
sensibilities.

“Business? A little rat pup like you? What
for? Need some baby’s milk for you tummy-wummy?”

“Only if it’s coming straight from the
source,” Fen stated, straight-faced and bold.

The man took a moment to ponder the meaning
of this comment, and then broke into uproarious laughter when he
got it. “You got chops, kid, and a wit to match,” he admitted,
wiping a mirthful tear from the corner of his eyes. “So alright,
off with you… you and your
business
.” The amused keeper
stepped aside and motioned for Fen to move along. “But if I see you
linger a half-second longer than need be, I’ll flay the skin off
your ass, boy. Remember, there be ratties ‘neath the Skylight
that’ve paid a well bench-rent to be enjoying the light, and
dangermen and bruisers’ll do worse to you then I for disturbing the
peace, so mind the line and bee it straight to the stairs.”

“I got’cha, chum,” grumbled Fen, “It’s not my
first go-about in the Node. I know the deal.”

Passing by rough-cut benches chocked-full of
loungers, Fen glanced right, towards the nearby bay windows of the
Claw’s Cradle
, and found a host of smartly dressed dangermen
sitting just on the other side of the greasy glass. They seemed to
be enjoying the tavern’s vices, and Fen tried to imagine his father
doing likewise, but then Art never could hope to afford a window
seat. He’d had probably done all his drinking in the subbasements
with the rest of lowly ratties. So Fen turned his attention back to
the benches lining the stairwell and instantly spotted the one him
and his family had stood on that day, years back. Now, it held two
fat traders, a haggard consort, and a block of muscle that must
have been a bruiser owing to his square jaw, mashed-up face, and
the cauliflower ears. With his arms around the consort, the violent
look the brute flashed Fen all but cried his profession aloud, and
it was with relief when Fen mounted the stairs and sprang past the
other scroungers, trollers, and trudgers all heading down on route
for the Bartermen’s.

The Exchange existed in what must have been
an old brick cistern at one time; a deep and cylindrical borehole
from which a broader, but low-ceilinged arcade ran off to the north
once you hit bottom. For the sake of the bartermen, and the
hundreds of traders who conducted business down there, some rat
lord ages ago had swallowed the expense of running electricity.
Around the perimeter he’d strung globe-arcs that came spiraling
down from the ceiling, and then took to stretching back and forth
across what the regulars called the Boulevard.

Beneath the arc-lights’ jaundiced glow, the
Bartermen’s Exchange grew into a hodgepodge of stalls, booths, and
tents all crowded together into one giant, elongated market, and
all of it officially ‘licensed’ under the rat lord. Beyond the fact
the bruisers tanned the hide of any thief caught stealing from the
Exchange, Fen didn’t much know what the difference was between
trading down there and, say, trading with mongers and flea-peddlers
in the various slum boroughs. Though the fact Fen was here braving
the Exchange said it all. No one outside had much to trade when it
came to notes (except scamps, and Fen still liked to believe he
wasn’t in danger of losing his thumbs).

Down in the crowded market, Fen floundered
through the crowds looking for some inconspicuous stall to trade
his goods at. In the beginning he wanted to find the best rate of
exchange, but the hustle and bustle made his head spin and soon he
was just looking to get it over with. Though the rest of the
Warrens were crowded through and through, the byways and corridors
were seldom this noisy. After all, the poor hadn’t much to say to
one another beyond a few simple pleasantries…or insults depending
on the circumstances, and when they moved about it was usually with
purpose, and in one direction. But down in the Exchange, the person
walking in front of Fen was liable to suddenly cut right or left or
stop altogether when something bright and shiny caught their eye.
People were constantly bumping into him, and then would yell at
him
for being in the way.

Eventually Fen happened upon a stall with an
older gent who had a wrinkled face and a kind smile, but then he’d
undercut him on the exchange and gave Fen just two tokens for one
note. He’d seen others, even at the stall next-door, hawking at
three per, and yet in the end he’d only gotten the two with that
deceptive old scoundrel. So then he tried a middle-aged woman,
thinking her maternal instincts (or whatever), would work to his
advantage, but she went ahead and robbed him even worse. The old
cow only gave him only one for one, and when he complained, and
asked for the note back, she just cackled at him.

“Litt’l Rat scat like you’s even lucky to
find a Ludwig,” she bellowed, red-faced and jowls all a-shaking,
“so just take your token and piss off, ‘for I call down the
bruisers. Tell’um you robbed me, and haul you off to the sweaty… o’
better yet, been scampin’, that I wills. Oh, and they’ll teach you
a measure of what be fair and not, alright—take your thumbs—so just
get!”

Fen might have gone ahead and decked the fat
broad in her flapping mouth, but he didn’t want to bring down the
bruisers, and besides, he knew he still had a whole ruck full of
notes stashed away. In the end, the joke was on her really, and he
tossed the token right back at her face, then slipped into the
crowd while she bayed and bellowed like a cow. After that he
stopped trusting in appearances.

From then on out Fen counted on younger men
and women, especially those who looked desperate or worn-down. Most
gave him a close on three for one rate, while one vacant looking
button merchant (near about Lydia’s age), gave him a full-on four.
By the time Fen had pawned the last of his notes, he could barely
keep his pants up anymore, and the pockets were near bursting with
close on twenty score in tokens. The clatter was unbelievable. He’d
enough to buy bench-rent for two days plus, and that had him
grinning from ear to ear and whistling a tune as he went jangling
back up the stairs to the Node.

Fen shouldn’t have been surprised at all when
he got jumped halfway up. It happened in a flash, and the first
punch broke his nose and put a flood of tears in his eyes. After
that, he was basically blind to the beating he received, but he
heard what must have been half his tokens scatter and bounce down
the stairs in a hellish jangle, while people cried and fought one
another to gather them up. As for the other half, he felt hands
plunging in and out of his pockets grabbing loot by the fistfuls,
and when it was all gone they left him lying torn and bleeding on
the stairs.