Aethosphere Chronicles: The Rat Warrens (9 page)

A series of turns and a break in the crypt,
where a sewer line flowed, reminded Fen he was on the right track
and nearly there, but that didn’t help. He kept seeing flashes of
things moving outside his light and hearing whispering that
couldn’t be passed off as tricks of the wind.

Could it be crypt keepers?
He asked
himself once, not sure if that made him feel better or worse. It
was said crypt keepers had been priests sent into the Barrows as
punishment, and that they were as vile as any dangerman or looter.
But then it was also said that all the crypt keepers had been
driven off from the Pinprick’s barrow once the Gutter Lady came
moving in, and now she haunted the passages exclusively.

Knowing he’d already run into her once,
though, didn’t make the prospect of a second encounter any less
terrifying, and he thought to turn around immediately and run back
to his hovel after the concrete passages gave way to yellow brick
arcades, thick with cobwebs and lined in shelves. On those ancient
shelves were stacked bodies. Skulls had been one thing, but full
bodies were another, and the ones which were shrouded were worst of
all. He couldn’t help his mind from believing these unseen horrors
were going rise up and come for him.

Fen stopped and turned, unwilling to go any
deeper, but as he did he heard children’s laughter not far down the
way. According to Time’s instructions he’d only a single passage
left, and the sounds he heard were less terrifying and did more to
arouse his curiosity than sending him fleeing; mostly because he
detected the giggling of numerous girls.

Fen swept back his shaggy hair and arranged
it into a passable style before straightening his jacket and
braving what was supposed to be the last stretch. A kilometer in,
and a few twists and turns later, and he stepped into a cavernous
space lit-up in torchlight. It must have been an old theater or
stadium (maybe from the original city that existed back more
centuries than Fen could count), and from where he stood at the
main entrance, it swept down into a bowl that ended at a stage. The
whole thing looked be cut from yellow stone, but it had somehow
melted into dripping formations that hardened to leave caves and
cut-ins from which harrowing catwalks had been strung from wall to
wall. It looked like a multilevel gymnasium, and all of it lined
with kids at play. They ran across the walks, sending them shaking
and swaying, all the while screaming in glee. They climbed up and
down the walls and chased one another between the rotted seats.
They gathered in numerous circles to talk or play games…there had
to be a thousand rat pups, maybe more. It had to be every child
that had gone missing as of late, all happily enjoying life in this
secret oasis surrounded in death.

Fen stood for a while dumbfounded until first
one child took note of him and then another and another. It was
like an infection of silence that went rippling out, and where
silence fell, eyes followed. The children were aware a stranger had
entered their midst and some looked scared, others curious, and
some angry.

“Gord-O!” Every child in the place turned at
the sound of Time’s voice, breaking through the new silence and
echoing to every corner of the theater. The merchant stood
center-stage, like the master of a circus show. He removed his top
hat abruptly, rested it upon his heart, and bowed theatrically.
“Glad you could make it in time.”

Once the children were clued in, they eagerly
welcomed Fen with open arms, hardy pats on the back, and from some
of the girls, quick pecks on the cheek; and even one to the lips
that came in a flash of hair colored like the rainbow. It happened
so suddenly that Fen nearly passed out, and when he tried to find
the girl she’d vanished in the melee. The reception was so dizzying
and intoxicating that it was better than any tank ale Fen had ever
swilled down, and the smile on his face was so wide it hurt. When
he’d finally made it onto the stage next to the extravagant Conrad
Time, Fen’s head felt four times its normal size and ready to float
off into the clouds somewhere over Junction.

“Welcome to my little Sanctuary for Wayward
Children,” he panted Fen on the back and waved a theatrical arm out
over the stands. The children responded with a cheer that rocked
the roof, and had Fen wondering how a place like this could ever be
secret.

Once the commotion had died down a bit,
Conrad bellowed for silence and the chamber went eerily still.
“Today we welcome a new brother to the Syndicate’s fold, my little
pups. He’s a special boy so make sure he’s well looked after.” Then
he turned and whispered into Fen’s ears. “Alright, Gord-O, go ahead
and introduce yourself.”

The theater went deathly quiet in
anticipation, and Fen felt his face flush hot and red with
embarrassment. He’d never had to talk to so many people at once.
“Hmm,” he stammered into a sea of eyes.

“Go on,” encouraged Time.

“
Ah
…hi,” said Fen, “I’m…
ah
, my
name’s Fe…
ah
, Gordon.”

“Hi, Gordon!” The whole assembly hollered in
unison. The sound echoed and set the ceiling to quaking.

Meanwhile, Time wrapped his gloved hands
around Fen’s shoulders and ushered Fen towards the stairs. “Great
job, kid,” he said, “now off with you, front and center while I
give my pups here the old lecture. Now you pay special-close
attention, Gord-O, after all, this is for your benefit not theirs.
They’ve all heard it time and time again, but it doesn’t hurt to
reiterate it, so’t goes.”

Once Fen was settled into the crowd all his
fear and trepidation vanished, even thoughts of the secret stash
fell to the wayside, there was only this place, filled with
children, and Time standing over them in his striped long-coat and
perfectly swept hair. As he talked, the ends of his curled mustache
bounced in time to the words.

“Now listen closely, my little rat pups, as I
tell you a tale. You see, I’ve lived the Rat Warrens all my life,
born and raised in the dark spaces just like you, between utilities
pipes and waste disposal shoots. And, like you, I shared it with a
bunch of other families, all a’huddle within a few sparse meters.
It was so cramped, in fact, we had to take turns sleeping, and
that’s all we could hope for. It was all we could hope for ‘cause
my dad was one of those ‘rule-followers’ who’d decided early on
that he just wanted to get by—play it safe. And what could I do as
a kid; as just another ghost in these slums.”

Ghost, he said,
and Fen leaned
forward, hanging on every word.
Here’s an adult who understands
what it’s like to be a pup.

“If only I’d known then what I’m about to
share with you now… You ghosts out there have a hidden power. You
ain’t afraid of risk; are you?”

“No,” the kids yelled as one, and Fen
struggled to repeat it in time.

“And it’s risk,” Time thrust a finger out,
pointing into the crowd, “and only risk that’ll lead you from this
life of squalor.” Then he redirected his animated finger towards
the roof. “See, if you want to reach the sky, you’re going to have
to climb—it’s the only way out of these cesspools of Junction—and
the only way to do that is by stepping on the backs of those stupid
enough to play by the rules. Do you think our own dear rat lord and
his men—do you think any of them got to where they are by following
the rules?”

“No!” The walls rumbled.

“Point me to a legitimate opportunity that
exists down here in the Warrens, and I’ll encourage you to follow
that route.” Conrad Time observed his children with a feral look,
and when not a word was uttered he continued. “That’s what I
thought, there’s nothing…? You’re in the mud down here; no schools
but the school of
hard-knocks
, and jobs? Forget it! Now
listen well, my lads and lasses, I’ve chosen the lot of you from
your various mischief gangs and your scam-running and your petty
scrounging because you’ve shown the aptitude needed to rise up.
Each of you inherently realizes that if you play by the rules
you’re doomed from the get-go; deep down you know it’s because the
rules are designed to keep you on the ground like the rats you are.
Opportunity
…” he paused to scoff, “is the real divide down
here.

“‘So how do I get to the sky-level, Mr.
Time?’ you ask. Well, there’s two ways, my little mud-grubs, by
hook or by crook. You either latch onto someone powerful and ride
your way up, or you steal it. Any other way… and you’re just
fooling yourself, and that’s why I’m here with you right now. I’m
your ticket; you and me working together. Now, I ain’t gonna lie to
you like your dear ol’ mums and pops; we’re all too close for that.
Simply put, most of you
aren’t
going to make it to the
sky—that’s the sad truth—but some of you are, and those that don’t…
well, they’ll still have a special place down here in the
Syndicate. And them’s better odds than you’re going to find
anywhere else, I guarantee?

“So don’t get all cry-baby to me about
breaking some rule I tell you to break. Hell, if the avian rats
followed the rules, they wouldn’t be flying, you understand my
meaning? Your journey to the sky starts right here and right now.
So what do you say, my little climbers, you ready to get to
work?”

The crowd went absolutely wild, and Fen went
wild with them, howling and slapping hands with anyone he could
find. At that moment, he became one of Time’s Syndicate kids.

In the beginning, being in Time’s Syndicate seemed no
different than being in Fen’s own mischief gang, Fen just had a
better place to hangout other than the Pipeyards; that, and the
food came at a constant rate of three meals of slop-pudding a day.
Otherwise he spent his days doing nothing really, other than
talking up the girls (trying to get them to giggle and flirt), or
playing games of chance with shifty-eyed pre-adults. It seemed a
paradise, and the light from the torches mimicked at being the sun.
Fen could almost imagine sitting back on tier two in his hiding
place in the light, and for the first time in ages he felt he
belonged. He felt a kind of contentment that not even his stolen
bag of cash could match, and he began to think about it less and
less. His only trepidation was in continually lying to Lydia about
where he was going day in and day out, and on day three he nearly
told her about Time’s organization, except Time had expressly
forbidden anyone of talking of it; and bringing someone in without
an invite was the highest crime imaginable, at least according to
the younger pups anyway.

And so day after day Fen snuck off through
the Shambles to the Sanctuary, listening as Conrad Time continued
to give his speeches, every day sending off various bands of
children into the slums to do his work, but other than that, Fen
felt lost in the shuffle and forgotten, that is until on the fifth
day. On day five Conrad Time sought him out, finding Fen as he sat
on the balcony with his legs dangling out over the hectic activity
below.

“Gord-O,” he called out in a jovial mood,
kicking and stomping his way through the litter of a thousand
children, “my friend, I see you’ve acclimated to your new
environment with gusto. I’ve even seen you chasin’ the skirts and
wastin’ time gaming, so I’m assuming you’re enjoying yourself.”

“That I am, Time,” said Fen as he hopped
to.

The benefactor stopped to the balcony’s edge
“Good, good,” Conrad leaned over and glanced to the stands below.
His face turned reticent and he backed away. “I knew you would,
kid. A loner like you, Gord-O, needs a place to belong.”

“Oh, I’m not a loner,” offered Fen, careless
in his honesty, “got a sister at home, and an old mischief gang—”
but he went silent when he realized the slip.

Time snapped to attention and rested a hand
on Fen’s shoulder in surprise. “You don’t say,” he turned the boy
around to talk face to face. There was a glint to Conrad’s
washed-out eyes that hadn’t been there before. “You’re a family
man, Gord-O, now that’s not something I’d have guessed at. Nope,
you got that classic bravado of a man without attachments.” Time
pushed away and strolled with an ease towards a rotted banister
further down. Once there he placed his gloved hands firmly on the
rail and gave it a rock before resting his weight against it.
There, he set his narrow gaze down on the frothing motions of his
Syndicate; down where hundreds of children played. “No matter.
Perhaps in time you can introduce your sister into the fold.”
Time’s tone was soft and dreamy, as though his mind were off
somewhere far, like on a distant isle in some foreign cluster. “I
know you must be getting pretty bored by now, Gord-O—”

“No. Not at all,” Fen lied, but Time stopped
him with a gesture.

“It’s alright, kid. An entrepreneur like you
needs to keep moving, keep chasing that next deal, and you got all
them notes just lying around useless. You must be chomping at the
bit to get them traded in by now.”

“Actually, I haven’t really thought about
them since coming here. Everything I could ever want’s in the
Sanctuary from what I’ve seen.”

“
Everything
,” Time scoffed, and turned
to his young protégée. In the light from a distant lamp the older
man’s face became a mask of highlights and shadows. “Kid, even
this
is nothing,” he waved a hand over the theater and its
occupants, derisive. “This is nothing but a halfway house between
utter obscurity and the climb to the sky-level, kid.”

“The sky-level?” Hearing of it spoken of was
like a daydream; like looking at a pieced together poster from his
room and imagining what the shows they advertised might have been
like. Sure, he’d lived on tier two, but that was almost as far from
the plate gardens and soaring plazas of tier five as the
Warrens.

“Gordon,” Time tilted his head and his tone
turned serious. “I assume you’re listening to me when I give my
speeches.”