Chapter 30. Chaff

  The day of his initiation, Jeremiah’s cell mates forbade him from working. “You’ll have plenty of opportunity, don’t worry,” said Shugga. “What you gotta do now is rest up so you’re ready for tonight.”

  He sat in the living room with them instead, deeply enjoying being indoors while it poured rain outside. Sweet Melissa looped a cord around Jeremiah’s wrists, rapidly securing and releasing him. He watched with wonder as his freedom was summarily granted and snatched away again.

  Dronkal and Shugga were practicing with their new greatswords, integrating the two-handed weapons with their cooperative fighting style. Jeremiah wished he could show Allison.

  “Anyway, I heard there’s a red dragon living there now,” said Sweet Melissa, concluding a story about a distant trading post. She tossed a loop over Jeremiah’s head, and in two quick motions trapped one of his hands as well. With a flick of her wrist, the knot collapsed around his throat.

  Sweet Melissa rested her head on her hand and looked at him wistfully. “Just say when.”

  Jeremiah tried to speak. He instinctively tried to reach to loosen the rope around his neck, but was barely able to graze it with a fingertip. Meanwhile, the movement cinched the noose even tighter.

  Darkness threatened before Sweet Melissa sighed, and tugged a loose strand, undoing the entire setup.

  “How’d you learn so much about rope?” Jeremiah gasped. The cord practically came alive in her hands.

  “My dad was a sailor, a real mean one,” said Sweet Melissa. “But he had all the patience in the world to teach someone knots, so I made sure I was always interested. Made him keep his hands to himself at least.”

  “How’d you end up out here, Jay?” Shugga asked. The greatsword blades touched, and their practice started over.

  Jeremiah decided on a version of his history that was vague but true. “Dad didn’t like what I was getting up to. Kicked me out. Mom didn’t say anything as I was headed out the door.”

  “Bad home?” asked Shugga.

  “Nah, they were good to me. Just didn’t want what I wanted,” said Jeremiah. He could still remember the ‘last straw’ during an argument at the dinner table, when he had implied his father would die forgotten. His father, small as he was, had raged like a hurricane.

  There was an awkward silence.

  “What?” asked Jeremiah.

  “Tough to imagine walking away from that,” said Dronkal.

  Jeremiah cringed inwardly. He cast around for a subject to change to. “Hey, I was wondering, what’s up with that house in the Pit? The one with a gold roof? Anyone live there?”

  Shugga chuckled. “Already planning your first heist? You wouldn’t be the first to be taken in.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Jeremiah.

  “The Gilded Vault is one big shiny trap,” said Sweet Melissa. “A guy named Cassidy Korrvas built it, just to kill dumb slips.”

  “Dumb anybody, really,” said Dronkal. “He used to be a gangster like us, but he was one of those who made it out. One of the very, very few. As soon as he built it, he issued an open invitation to any thief or crew who thinks they're good enough to try for the personal horde of one of the greatest crime lords there’s ever been.”

  “It’s been decades now,” said Shugga. “Hundreds have gone in, not a soul has walked out.”

  “He was a genius,” said Sweet Melissa. “The stories I’ve heard about some of the traps in there…”

  “How did you hear stories if no one’s ever escaped?” asked Jeremiah.

  “Shh!” said Sweet Melissa, batting him with a loop of rope. “Let a girl dream.”

  “Supposedly the treasure inside is the key to a better life,” said Dronkal. “But like Shug said, it’s been generations and nobody’s ever gone in and lived to tell, so who knows. I think it’s a bit of an eyesore, myself.”

  “What about the guards?” Jeremiah had seen figures standing sentry on the roof.

  “They won’t stop you from going inside,” said Shugga. “They just keep people from burning the place down and the like. You can walk in the front door or pick a lock all day long, but if you so much as scratch the glass, they kill on sight.”

  “It’s been, what, two years since someone had a go?” Dronkal asked.

  “Two since someone made a big deal about it,” said Sweet Melissa, “but people wander in to off themselves damn near weekly.”

  “People kill themselves in it?” said Jeremiah.

  Sweet Melissa shrugged. “Yeah, sometimes. Might as well take a chance at riches while you're at it, right?”

  There was a light scratching at the door.

  “Cat,” said Melissa.

  “Got it,” said Shugga. He cracked the door and a small orange cat slinked inside.

  “You have a cat?” asked Jeremiah. That explained the lack of rats in this immediate vicinity.

  “This is Miggy, the Cell Four mascot,” Dronkal said, scooping her up, “She’s dumb, but she keeps the place clean. And she loves attention! Yes she does! Yes she does, my chubby little princess!”

  Jeremiah suddenly felt very alien in this space, the mundanity of their lives catching up with the lies he was presenting them. Comfortable as it was, this wasn’t his place. He had to remember that.

  “Oh, before I forget,” said Shugga, “we should get Jay some proper clothes for tonight. I know this great seamstress who—”

  “Already done,” said Sweet Melissa. With a flourish, Jeremiah’s arms were lashed to his legs.

  “You bought me clothes?” asked Jeremiah.

  “Without consulting me?” gasped Shugga.

  “Yes,” said Sweet Melissa. “You look like a joke and I refuse to be seen with you.”

  She disappeared into to her room and returned with a bundled package. “Consider it a welcome present. Made to measure.”

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  “How do you have my measurements?” asked Jeremiah.

  “I’ll give you one guess,” said Sweet Melissa.

  “You make me profoundly uncomfortable,” said Jeremiah.

  She leaned close. “Go on…”

  “Off,” said Dronkal, prodding Sweet Melissa away from Jeremiah with the flat of his blade.

  Jeremiah ran to his room and tried them on immediately. A simple fitted shirt and trousers, clean, new, and of adequate quality. Everything he needed. He’d need to patch a pocket for Gus, but otherwise they were perfect.

  He skipped back downstairs, feeling a new man. “How do I look?”

  “Human,” said Dronkal. Everyone nodded. Jeremiah wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was a human, so it sounded okay.

  “Definitely human,” sighed Sweet Melissa. “It’s really tough to get away from that with just clothes.”

  “It really is,” said Shugga with exasperation.

  Jeremiah turned to Sweet Melissa. “Thank you. This means a lot.” It was slightly alarming how much the gift made him want to cry.

  “You can put hands in the pockets!” said Melissa.

  Deep in The Pit, a gathering was in progress. The members of Cell Four walked Jeremiah down the stairs to the headquarters of The Pit Crew. Jeremiah took his cue from the others and adopted a dire expression, as though he were approaching his own execution. It seemed the right thing to do.

  The headquarters were packed, and not just with the brutes that Jeremiah had seen the last time. Complete with their own distinct smell, the majority of occupants were a motley collection of weary looking men and women. They wore the battered rags Jeremiah now recognized as belonging to those who lived rough.

  “Who are they?” Jeremiah whispered to Shugga.

  “The Cell Four subordinates. Subbies,” Shugga whispered back.

  “They’re the dregs,” added Sweet Melissa, “every gang has them. Useful as hands and not much else. Don't bother learning their names.”

  The subbies kept a pointed distance from Cell Four as they waited. Jeremiah was about to ask what they were waiting for when Monty strode in.

  The subs cowered before their king as Monty’s voice boomed around the room. “Tonight, our newest member Jay is to undergo his initiation as a member of Cell Four.”

  One of the subs, a halfling woman who was already drunk called out. “Oi! I’ve been busting my ass for two years, that spot was supposed to be mine! Now you just give it away to some new meat? My son and I were counting on—”

  “I got it,” said Dronkal. He crossed the room in a few quick strides. The woman cowered before him and raised her hands in defense as he raised his truncheon and dashed her across the forehead. The woman took the blow in silence. The other subs averted their eyes.

  Monty continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “As always, he is stripped of status and must comply with any order, whim or suggestion from any of you, unless vetoed by a cell member, until the initiation is complete.” He paused, smiling slightly. “I’ve decided I will be joining you all for at least the beginning of the event, so I expect you all to show me the meaning of a Stonefist party.”

  The subs cheered, and Shugga clapped Jeremiah on the back. “Get ready for a wild night!”

  But Jeremiah kept thinking about what that sub had said. My son and I. “Hey, do a lot of Subs have kids?” he asked.

  Shugga answered. “I think a few? Like we said, don’t worry about the Subs. They’re chaff, they come and go between gangs all the time. The strongest and smartest of them get out and become made. Proper members, that is.”

  “And the rest?”

  “They stay Subs,” said Dronkal. “They’re too dumb or weak to be anything useful.”

  “Something wrong Jay?” asked Shugga. He put affectionate arm around Jeremiah’s shoulder.

  Jeremiah shrugged off the arm with a jerk, “They’re still people! Being dumb or weak shouldn’t matter.”

  “If they really want out, they can get out,” said Shugga. “Take Dronk and me. We’re bigger and stronger than most of the trash out there, but definitely not the biggest.”

  “Definitely not the biggest,” echoed Dronkal. He seemed sour about the fact.

  “But I got recruited into the gang by Monty,” continued Shugga. “He watched my brawl in a pub and made me a sub. I worked my way up and eventually joined my Cell. I started from nothing and here I am, a made man.”

  Dronkal said, “I was with the Bricks for ages, but those guys are nuts, it's all brutality with them. So I made the hard choice to break off and join the Stonefists.”

  Jeremiah looked around, half expecting Sweet Melissa to appear and tell her own story. Shugga followed his gaze and told him, “Sweet Melissa is…special?” He looked to Dronkal, who shuddered. “Yeah, she’s a special case.”

  “And what would have happened to you if Monty hadn’t been in that pub?” Jeremiah asked. He couldn’t quell the ember of anger in his chest.

  Shugga shrugged, “No idea. Probably wouldn’t be a Stonefist.”

  “Exactly, it was luck. Sure, you can fight, but it was for luck you got here in the first place. Same for me, I’m only here cause Pete found me.” Jeremiah felt his voice starting to rise.

  Shugga and Dronkal exchanged another look. “So, first of all,” Shugga slugged Jeremiah right across the sternum with his truncheon. It didn’t hurt like getting hit on a bone, but his heart did something in his chest that scared him. “Don’t presume to discount what Dronk or I went through to get here.”

  “Second,” Shugga continued, and Dronkal rapped Jeremiah in the shin, causing him to cry out in pain. “Best remember that you’re not shit yet. We like you, thats why you only got a love tap. But we don’t owe you anything. Understand?”

  “Got it,” Jeremiah hissed through clenched teeth, “Too cozy.” He rubbed his shin.

  “Anyway,” said Shugga, stowing the baton, “feel free to devote your time catering to the Subs if you want. See how it comes back to you.”

  “Pay attention,” said Vivica. Why was he thinking of her now?

  “You guys have kids?” Jeremiah asked.

  “No,” said Shugga.

  “I have a boy somewhere,” said Dronkal.

  Shugga looked startled. “I didn’t know that.”

  “He would be about four now,” said Dronkal. “Lives way out east by the ocean with his mum. Last I heard, anyways.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” asked Shugga.

  “Doesn’t matter much, does it? I just send a couple silvers now and then. He’s better off without me anyway, no kid needs a thug like me as a dad.”

  Monty appeared then, interrupting the daggers Shugga was starting at Dronkal. “Come on gentlemen, you’re holding up the festivities.” He wore a genial smile, authentic and warm, that fully reached his eyes.

  He fixed Jeremiah’s gaze with his own, maintaining the kindly smile. “What do you say, Jay? This is your night. I want the Stonefists to feel like home. A place of safety . A place to rest . Where family lives. Where you live.” His voice was low, almost mumbling, except for the words he stressed.

  “Um,” said Jeremiah. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go, everyone!”

  And to his surprise, there arose another cheer around him.