Chapter Three: Part Five

Continued from Chapter Three: Part Four

“I think I’m sticking with these lads,” Wexerly said.

Jarvela managed to keep his face neutral. “Oh?” he said. “What about world significance and all that rotted gibbering we’ve been fed for all these months.” He spoke of the things that the Runagates had been spreading among their coverts and whispered communities, things that Wexerly corroborated.

Wexerly often agreed with the inner party of Runagates, who communicated secretly to Jarvela.

Jarvela looked peeved with Wexerly. Wexerly, though, smiled. He knew that Jarvela, world-weary as he was, had hoped Wexerly would be along for the strange adventures Jarvela feared lay before him. The prospect of moving on without Wexerly frightened Jarvela. Wexerly could tell that, though Jarvela would never admit to it. Jarvela didn’t actually know what to do next. He knew what he was supposed to do next, but he didn’t understand it. He thought that Wexerly would understand it.

Wexerly might. He smiled. “Buck up, old man,” he said. “You’ve got to live your own life.”

“If you must,” Jarvela said, looking away from Wexerly.

“You’ll be all right, Jarvela,” Wexerly said. He smiled still. He genuinely liked Jarvela and wished him all the best. It seemed inevitable that Jarvela would do great things. Wexerly felt it in his bones. Turning to Ned and Stodge, Wexerly grinned. “Come on lads.” He ran out of Hole in the Wall. The gang followed him.

Halfway down the cold street, Stodge asked Wexerly where they were going.

“South,” Wexerly said. “South to make waves.”

Sorry for the brevity. Thus ends the chapter. Chapter Four commences on December 21...

Chapter Three: Part Four

Continued from December 15, Chapter Three: Part Three

They waited for a moment. Ned looked out of the alley, down the way that Silk and Digger had run. Determining that they had gone far enough away, leaving the street quiet, he looked back and winked at Wexerly. The three boys hustled across the street into the alley that Silk and Digger had emerged from before. They pattered down the alley, took a left at a fork, and ran on through the shady, breezy passage. Noise grew ahead of them. Past the end of the alley people loitered and shouted.

“Look alive, the mob’s caught up,” Ned said.

“Should we wait or go around or such like, eh?” Stodge asked, slowing down as they got closer.

“We can squirm through,” Ned said before Wexerly could. Wexerly had opened his mouth to say something like it, though. He smiled to hear Ned taking the initiative. “Come on, boys.”

Ned darted out of the alley. They went into the crowd. Mostly, the angry people in the mob ignored the boys. Their attention stayed on Silk and Digger. Silk and Digger had been cornered against a store front, with angry mob on every side, brandishing crossbows and staves. It really bespoke to the brilliance of Engelkind’s governance that a group of people who hours earlier had been happy to host Silk as the visiting war legend and Digger as their sheriff would turn so completely against them both so quickly. Engelkind had released a decree that Silk had passed out of favor. Without questioning the validity or the wisdom, the population itself reacted to quell this danger, without even calling out the guard. Things like this showed how on-edge people were these days.

Digger and Silk had gained their horses. They sat above the milling, shouting mob. Pinned in, they had nowhere to go. That would never do. Wexerly and his gang pushed through the crowd to the far side of the street. A three storey scaffold with bricks and mortar stacked on it stood in front of a building on this side of the street.

“I want to give Digger and Silk a bit of a hand,” Wexerly said to Ned.

“Eh?” Ned said, intent on getting through the mob intact.

“Keep going—I’ll meet you on the way,” Wexerly said.

“We’re with you, Wexerly,” Ned said. Stodge nodded. They were crowded together by the press of people. It was becoming breaking point. Someone threw a brick at Silk. It missed, but Silk’s hand still went to one of the swords on his saddle. Reluctance slowed him—bless his little heart.

“All right,” Wexerly said. “Shove through.” He took the lead and pushed through the hot crowd toward the scaffold. He reached the base of the solid scaffold. There, Wexerly found an iron bar for levering rocks. Sticking it through the base supports, Wexerly plied pressure and broke one of the legs.

“The scaffold is going,” he shouted to the crowd. Not many heard him. Those that did looked around, shouted, and shoved the others out of their way. The scaffold came down onto the cobbled street, the wood of it exploding to splinters, the mortar dust and bricks heaving into the air and out on every side. It gave a great break of a noise, and a screaming call from the mob accompanied it. A shocked pause waved the crowd. The rubble from the scaffold stretched all the way across the street. The collapse distracted the crowd enough to give Silk and Digger space to escape.

“Victory,” Wexerly muttered, smiling. He turned to his gang, who looked on, trying not to look as awestruck as they were. “Let’s get going.”

“Aye,” Ned said. He turned down another alley. Wexerly and Stodge followed.

Quietly, Stodge fell a bit back and walked close to Wexerly. Stodge was a bit older and more aware than Ned. Stodge had already guessed Wexerly had more to him than an urchin ought to have. It never bothered Stodge knowing it. Rather the contrary, it gave Stodge something to think on. He often asked questions. Wexerly welcomed them.

“What was that for then, eh?” Stodge asked. “What do you care about them out of towners?”

Wexerly smiled. He wanted to give Stodge the true and complicated answer: Silk’s mission, Digger’s partly associated quest, shook the foundations of behind-the-scenes wars that always happened, between men like Engelkind who had too much power, and people like Wexerly and his friends who had been consorts to the gods since ancient times. Things moved that no one ever suspected. And today, Wexerly and his friends supported Digger and Silk—today, Wexerly’s goals and Silk’s complemented each other. Wexerly wanted to tell thoughtful Stodge that changes in the world approached like a tide. Stodge might even understand the news.

Instead, Wexerly patted Stodge on the shoulder and said, “It was the right thing, mate.”

“In the long run?” Stodge said with a questioning tone. Wexerly often said “in the long run.”

“Yes,” Wexerly nodded, smiling.

Stodge gave a quick jerk of his head, satisfied.

“Nearly there, then,” Ned said from ahead. “Streets are clear through here.”

They ducked out of an alley into a street clear of traffic. Wexerly heard the crowd moving to the west. Pausing for a moment, he judged the distance. Digger and Silk rode through an intersection several hundred yards along. The mob had fallen behind. They’d be getting out their own horses and organizing a chase soon. For now, Digger and Silk had enough head start to escape. Wexerly was satisfied.

Ned led the way into Hole in the Wall. The room inside had a litter of couches, pillows. It smelled of hookah and coffee and shelves of books lined the walls. It did almost no business, not in these little towns. That was all right, though, because it was a front for another organization. The other organization had no name yet, but it had funding at the top. Wexerly liked to think of it as the Runagates.

Two Runagates manned Hole in the Wall. The older of the two, Jarvela Gunnar, stood at the wooden counter, his long, blonde dreadlocks flowing over his tattooed hands as he bent over a page of music spread in front of him. He glanced up at Wexerly with his big, blue eyes, and he smiled.

“Hey ho, little cherub,” he said. “I’ve been hearing shouts from the street. Tag went to see what’s happening.”

“Digger’s skipping town,” Wexerly said. Jarvela chuckled. They’d been watching Digger, waiting to see what would happen for weeks.

“Is that so?” Jarvela said.

“He’s headed north with Silk Golinvaux.”

“Why such a ruckus?” Jarvela asked. He straightened up and folded the music in front of him.

“You recall that rumors have been circling about Silk planning something?” Wexerly asked. It had been a rumor for a long time. Silk never stayed still for long. When he’d been seen in the company of Van Vleidt, talk circulated that change was eminent. And when Van Vleidt turned up dead—the rumor was, assassinated, and the rumor among Wexerly’s friends, assassinated by Holy Assassins—it seemed inevitable that Silk would do something. What he would do could not be predicted by anyone. Wexerly still didn’t know what Silk had done—only how Engelkind had already retaliated.

“Of course,” Jarvela said.

“Whatever plan he had, he done it,” Wexerly said. “Engelkind declared him enemy of the state.”

“Things are happening, mate,” Jarvela said.

“Best be getting along north, then. I’ll get set—we’ll leave as soon as Tag gets back. Are you coming with us?”

That had been the original plan when Wexerly showed up in town. He and Jonne Jarvela and Tag Tegren arrived at the same time, just after Digger. They kept an eye on him, integrating with the workings of the town. When Digger moved along, Jarvela and Tag would mobilize . They would head north to spread the word to other Runagates: Digger was on the move . The Runagates believed, accurately or not, that Digger’s movements influenced the coming of a war. Wexerly only cared about the ride. And back when he had arrived in Süthende with Jarvela and Tag, the plan had been to watch Digger till Digger left and then Wexerly would go with Jarvela and Tag on the next leg of the adventure.

Now Wexerly had the option. Time had come to make a move. Jarvela looked with his sharp eyes close at Wexerly. “Well?” Jarvela said. Wexerly looked at Ned and Stodge. Ned squinted, unsure exactly what about the events around him affected him. Stodge knew, though. Stodge—tall, gangly Stodge—made every effort not to look Wexerly in the eye. Stodge feared that Wexerly and the gang had reached a parting.

Continued on December 19...

Chapter Three: Part Three

Continued from Chapter Three: Part Two

“Wait…” Digger said. He turned back to Silk. Silk had already turned back on his walk to his inn. He sang an old marching song as he went. It felt good to be getting on with his life. He’d been feeling far too decadent of late. Moving forward excited him.

“Come along, Wiggend Lordling,” Digger said, using an old title for the son of the Wiga. “I believe that your tenure as an employee of the state has ended.”

*

Wexerly, the bright-eyed leader of urchins, looked from under his too-big hat and too-big coat at Silk Golinvaux and the one they called Digger McGrath, the Wiggend Lordling, as they had their conversation. He watched from behind some dustbins with the young lads who followed him, smiling as the man, whose name was Collin, put up the poster proclaiming Silk enemy of the state. Collin, when he saw the poster, did a double-take on it. He looked with fear around at Silk, who grinned as he walked away with Digger McGrath. When he finished securing the poster Collin hurried to whisper in Digger’s ear, to tell him that Silk was an outlawed criminal—as if Digger had not seen the sign. Collin spoke urgently in Digger’s ear, making it clear by his posture and frenzied pointing at Silk’s back, that it was a big-ass deal. Digger paused to listen. In his profile, Wexerly saw subdued pain. Digger had already committed to go with Silk. He had also agreed to protect Súthende from danger. Collin perceived a threat: Silk the Beast stood not ten feet away, and the state had declared him an enemy.

Digger’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. This was not how he had wanted to tell the good people of Súthende his life outgrew them. It made Wexerly smile. Sometimes the will of the gods manifested itself, knocking lazy asses into action for them. Wexerly liked Silk because he had embraced that—somewhat atheistically, perhaps, but with joy nonetheless.

Digger finished explaining to Collin that he would no longer be sheriff. Collin, with horror on his face, shoved Digger. The shove hardly did anything—Digger swayed. After it, Collin ran away, shouting, “Police! Police!” which, according to the urban legend—never tested—would rouse Engelkind’s Secret Police.

“Old Collin’s gone and done it now,” Ned said.

“Garn,” Stodge said with a little awe. “He’s got bigger balls than you’d guess looking at him.”

Wexerly ducked behind the dustbins. Crouching, he pivoted to look at his gang. Due to recent mortalities, and some of them going off to better lives, and several being at home with their families, Wexerly’s staunch companions amounted to only two today: round Ned and tall Stodge. All covered in grime, they squatted with him among the garbage in the alley, his loyal followers—the most recent in a long line of gangs he had led. They looked up to him, the urchins, because he was a bit wittier, a bit scheminger, and a bit older—in fact, more than a hundred years older, but he looked like a boy. It was partly his gravitas that allowed him to lead; the searching lads saw in Wexerly a seriousness that they lacked. At the same time, he always smiled and joked, and they liked that. If ever asked, the boys never quite knew why they followed Wexerly. They would invariably give the reason, “He took our last leader in a fight.”

“We’ll have to keep our heads low,” Wexerly said with a smile. “Things are about to be exciting.”

“Why?” Ned asked. “What’s happening?”

“You know who Engelkind is?” Wexerly asked.

“Not really,” Stodge said, scratching his greasy head under his hat.

“He’s the king,” Ned said.

“Close enough. You scared of him?”

“Of course—he’s the fucking king, isn’t he?”

“Sort of,” Wexerly said, smiling.

“And he made the Secret Police,” Ned said, he said it quickly. No one wanted to be caught talking about the Secret Police.

“You ever met anyone who’s in the Secret Police?” Wexerly asked. Ned and Stodge looked at Wexerly like he was stupid.

“It’s secret, isn’t it?” Ned said.

“That’s why,” Stodge said.

“Oh—right,” Wexerly said. He smiled. “Come on, lads—there’ll be a riot.”

Already, men from the town had begun rushing toward the shouts of “Police—police” raised by Collin. They called out to others to join the chase. Soon a crowd ran after Silk and Digger, brandishing cudgels and staves, some with crossbows. They shouted that the Secret Police would soon show themselves. It was the duty of men to give the Secret Police a hand until they could gather.

Wexerly led his lads through the alleys, avoiding the massing mob. The truth of it was—and Wexerly knew—no Secret Police existed. Some semi-intelligent citizens were frequently tapped by lieutenants of Engelkind. The lieutenants told men in secret that they had been recruited to the junior level of the Secret Police—if they performed well, they would be promoted to the inner circle. But no inner circle existed . As a result, those few instigators who thought that they would any day be included in the secrets of the Secret Police did everything they could to please the “real” inner circle agents, no doubt watching from every dark alley. They knew full well that if they misbehaved then they were likely to meet an accident; that part at least had a good deal of truth in it. The system worked well to police itself, and it reacted quickly to perceived threats like Silk, enemy of state. Wexerly found the whole equation funny—though he sometimes reflected that it was, in fact, tragic. The frightening part to Wexerly came in the form of the few men he’d seen who he could explain as nothing but actual Secret Policemen. No one had ever believed him about that, though.

He ran through an alley and paused at the end. The wind rushed past—the cobbles felt cold on his bare feet. Ned and Stodge asked what had happened. They heard a second later what Wexerly had: the crowd incited by Secret Police hopefuls rushed past, shouting and waving clubs. In an alley across from Wexerly he saw a bit of red and gold, and Wexerly ducked behind Stodge. Silk emerged from the far alley with Digger. They ran the opposite way of the crowd.

“What’s up?” Stodge asked Wexerly.

“Silk over there knows me,” Wexerly said.

“You don’t want him knowing you’re around?” Ned said, looking wise and serious. Wexerly nodded.

“We need to get to Hole in the Wall, though,” Wexerly said, mentioning the café and reading room where he and the gang occasionally went to get warm. Hole in the Wall was run by friends of Wexerly’s, some friends who would be interested to know what caused the ruckus.

“Aye,” Stodge said.

“We’ll get you there,” Ned nodded, pulling the brim of his cap down.

"Thanks, lads," Wexerly said.

Continued on December 17...