Chapter 25. Leverage

  The Pit, true to its name, was a massive hole in the ground with long, sloping sides. It was towards what once had been the outskirts of Elminia, but as the city expanded beyond its original footprint, the Pit came to be surrounded by slums—cramped, tiny buildings, squeezing tightly together to avoid tumbling over its edge.

  “Twas a mining pit in years long since past,” said Pete. “If it’s said that Elminia has an infection, the Pit is the wound that delivered it.” He had relaxed somewhat during their walk from The Ample Room, testing the waters with snippets of conversation, though he did keep rubbing the back of his hand.

  Jeremiah and Pete stood at the end of a narrow street of the slum, gazing down into the Pit that was somehow worse. The sides were crusted with dilapidated hovels, built thoughtlessly over one another like the scales of a scab and blackened with soot that grew thicker towards the depths of the center. The sheer density of smoke and fires gave it a hellish appearance.

  Yet at the Pit’s center stood a stark oddity—an ornate mansion with a burnished gold roof gleaming in the light of the moon, seemingly exempt from the choking ash and plague of degradation.

  Jeremiah fought to conceal his awe from Pete. He feared he was already losing his advantage over the other man as they entered a situation in which he was completely inexperienced.

  They began to descend into the Pit. There were no roads, any space that had been used by the ancient miners for transit had long since been overbuilt. Jeremiah and Pete picked their way between the haphazard buildings, trying to avoid the more disgusting hazards. Refuse was everywhere, especially near the edge, where the inhabitants of the slums above added their own waste.

  Many hovels were outright destroyed, great piles of burned rubble left to rot where they fell. Through the splintered timbers and pulverized bricks of one, Jeremiah could see little flickers of firelight. People were still living in the rubble.

  Pete followed his gaze. “Not much to be said for safe constructions here, I’m afraid. Landslides are not uncommon. One building knocks down another, which knocks down another and another, all the way to the bottom. Then all the rubble gets turned into new buildings. Nothing goes to waste in the Pit.”

  Jeremiah sidestepped a pool of putrid food waste only to land his foot in human excrement instead. “Why do people live here?”

  “There’s not much in the way of ‘rule of law’ down here,” said Pete. “No guards to make a bother of those sleeping rough, or theft. Or murder, for that matter. There is a freedom here rarely afforded in what one might call, more civilized society, and I daresay the denizens of the Pit do enjoy their freedoms. Access to urban niceties paired with being beyond the reach of the law has given rise to a number of neighborhood community organizations.”

  The denizens Pete referred to eyed them hungrily as they passed. While Pete certainly looked out of place in his finery, he carried himself as though he hadn’t a thing to worry about, and indeed the gaze of any would-be muggers seemed to linger on Jeremiah instead. He sensed that if Pete were to disappear on him, his evening stroll would meet a swift and violent end.

  Pete was speaking more freely now. He seemed aware that their environment had shifted control of the situation back in his favor. “I’ve been giving some thought to the right place for you, lad. You don’t seem like a good fit for The Bricks, unless you’re interested in smash-and-grab and protection work?” Jeremiah shook his head. “I suspected not. There’s also The Simmering Idiots—they’re into narcotics and distribution. Quite large, friendly to the small stature races, as well, but of course not as much opportunity for a second-story man, is there?”

  Bruno had coached Jeremiah extensively on the type of group he needed to join. Gangs that were too large and established wouldn’t need whatever boons were offered by working alongside a cult. Too small, and they wouldn’t have the reach to get noticed by one. He needed a gang that was growing and ambitious, one what would welcome and reward a new highly-skilled member.

  Pete continued his rundown. “The Men of Night have been making waves recently, if assassinations aren’t something you object to…”

  “Not at all your skill set,” said Bruno. “You’d be a miserable assassin.”

  “I’d rather not, hardly any challenge in it,” said Jeremiah.

  “Look Jay, I’m a busy man. Why don’t you tell me more about what you’re looking for?”

  Jeremiah heard the challenge in Pete’s words. He needed Pete’s help, but he needed Pete’s fear and respect too. “I’ll already told you—I’m looking for a chance to be noticed by the right kind of people . And you stand to gain from this as well. You do realize that, right Peter?”

  “It’s Pete, and I-”

  “Peter. I asked you a question.” Jeremiah stopped and glared at him. “ Know your place ,” thought Jeremiah. “ If I say your name is Peter, then it’s Peter. ”

  Pete gave him a practiced smile, “Jay, my lad, I’m going to make use of you one way or another. Don’t you worry about ol’ Pete, I’ve got big plans for you.”

  The feeling of threat had suddenly shifted. Jeremiah tried to regain composure. “Peter, you know my request. Any opportunities that will keep me happy?”

  Jeremiah noted with satisfaction that Pete unconsciously rubbed the back of his hand again. “As a matter of fact, I do indeed have a thought, and if you agree, we can make our way to meet their boss immediately. I can tell you value your time as much as I do.”

  Jeremiah nodded for him to continue.

  “They’re called the Stonefists, and they dabble in just about everything—theft, narcotics, intimidation. Their leader, Monty, is always on the lookout for the next foothold upwards. I suspect he will take a great interest in a young lad like yourself, especially on the back of such a glowing recommendation as I am happy to provide.”

  “ Always looking for ways to move up, huh ?” thought Jeremiah. It sounded like Monty was exactly the kind of person he was looking for.“Sounds like a winner. Let’s go.”

  Pete chuckled. “I do warn you, lad, one does not simply step into such an organization. There is decorum that must be maintained. Initiation rights, you understand. Even with my heartiest support, you should consider them quite dangerous.”

  “Peter,” Jeremiah put a hand on Pete’s shoulder, “you’re talking to the most dangerous man you’ve ever known.” Jeremiah was bluffing, but he also wasn’t sure he was wrong.

  In the Pit there was a hole, and in that hole there was a stair, and down those stairs was a door, and through that door was Jeremiah's destination. Pete led him through an ugly state of affairs to reach this point, and it appeared things were only going to get uglier.

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  Pete rapped on the door, and a tiny slider opened. “Pete,” said the eyes behind the door.

  “Evening, Mardok,” said Pete. “I am here to speak with Monty, and to introduce him to a sterling young man who has recently arrived in our great city.” He clapped a hand on Jeremiah’s shoulder.

  The eyes behind the door closed, and Jeremiah heard a sigh, “Pete, after last time I’m not sure if…it’s just that…”

  Pete held perfectly still, not letting his gaze or smile fall away. Jeremiah could feel a tension in Pete’s hand. He sensed neither anticipation nor fear. Was it rage?

  “You know what, it’s fine,” said the voice. “Come on in.”

  “You’ll find my name opens many doors,” whispered Pete.

  “Reluctantly opened is still open, I suppose,” said Jeremiah.

  “Indeed it is, lad,” said Pete, leading the way inside.

  The Stormfists’ headquarters was stiflingly hot and reeked of cheap tobacco. The room was too small for the large cookfire at its heart, and the narrow ventilation shaft in the ceiling left a heady smoke to cloud the low ceiling. Surrounding the cooking area, which was cluttered with bubbling iron pots, was the body proper of The Stonefists—an amalgamation of races and demeanors, each turning to regard Pete and Jeremiah as they passed.

  “Hey, Pete.”

  “Whose the new meat?”

  “The hell you looking at?”

  “‘Sup, Pete.”

  “Keep walking, little man.”

  They descended further yet, a set of stairs hidden in a dark corner. Each board they stepped on begged for mercy.

  At the bottom of the stairs was a narrow tunnel that Jeremiah and Pete had to stoop to traverse. Several doors led off it, but Pete led Jay confidently to one in particular. “No shoes,” he said, removing his own and setting them outside the door.

  Jeremiah followed suit and waited as Pete knocked, trying to feel dignified and confident while hunched barefoot in a dark tunnel.

  A voice bade them enter. Illuminated by a single candle, a dwarf awaited them behind a desk. Jeremiah’s first impression was that he looked like a businessman. His hair and beard were jet black, with the latter trimmed to end in a perfect point, highly waxed and stiff. He wore a simple gray tunic.

  The image was ruined, however, by the dwarf’s immense hands. There were easily twice the width of Jeremiah’s own, with forearms to match. They were folded politely on the desk, but to Jeremiah they promised a capacity for violence that made him suppress a shudder.

  “Sit,” said Monty. His voice was soft, deep, and surprisingly delicate.

  Jeremiah looked about, but there were no chairs in the room. The tiny candle did not illuminate far enough to see the walls, and he could sense more space beyond his vision.

  “I said, sit,” said Monty.

  Looking to Pete for guidance, Jeremiah found him already seated cross-legged on the floor. He quickly followed suit.

  Pete cleared his throat. “Thank you for meeting with us, Monty, on this most auspicious of days. I have brought along a young man whose introduction to you I believe will be of mutual benefit. He is a lad of extraordinary talent and pedigree.”

  “Quite the claim coming from you, Pete,” said Monty. “Who else has he met?”

  “You’re the first. I knew you of all people would be most discerning over such a find,” said Pete.

  Monty turned his attention to Jeremiah. “What am I supposed to do with you?” His voice was eerily smooth and patient, never wavering.

  Jeremiah breathed evenly to try to control his nerves. “My name is Jay. I’m a second-story man out of Shabad and I’m looking to get back at it.”

  “Why are you here and not there?” asked Monty.

  “Ran afoul of some killers,” said Jeremiah.

  “Nice and vague, less is more,” said Bruno.

  “Why’d you bring him to me,” asked Monty, turning back to Pete. “There’s no shortage of second-story men who are not lying about their origins.”

  Jeremiah stared at him. “I’m not lying!”

  Monty stood. He made almost no sound as he walked around his desk and stood before Jeremiah. With both incredibly large hands, he gripped Jeremiah’s arm, easily closing around the entire limb. “Tell me the truth.”

  Jeremiah instinctively yanked his arm as Monty’s hands tightened like a python’s coils. “Let me go!”

  “Last chance. Tell me the truth or I squeeze till the tips of your fingers burst,” said Monty. Still smooth, still delicate. Jeremiah could feel monstrous strength in Monty’s hands, the pressure squeezing his bones and ramping up. There was a pulsing ache in his fingers.

  Jeremiah looked to Pete, his heart pounding, but Pete just watched with polite interest. He had to act. He could still cast acid with one hand, he could lob it into Monty’s face. Or the gas, he could—

  “Be strong,” said Allison.

  Jeremiah glared into Monty’s deep, green eyes. They were flecked with blue starlets and looked almost gentle. “Do it then!” The words came out of nowhere.“Either believe me or don’t, I don’t give a shit, but finish up so I can go get paid somewhere else.”

  Monty didn’t so much as blink. The grip loosened. “The Stonefists are organized in cells of four members and subordinates, which do whatever cell members say. You will be a subordinate. Put in the time, impress us, and maybe you’ll be selected to join a cell. Then, and only then, will you be a Stonefist.” He returned to his desk and refolded his hands.

  “Press,” said Delilah.

  “Not good enough,” said Jeremiah. The candle flame guttered.

  “I’ll let you try that again,” said Monty calmly. Pete subtly shifted away from Jeremiah.

  “Sir, I was the best second story man in Shabad. The best.’' He fixed Monty with a hard glare. “Put me in a cell or I walk.”

  “If I may,” said Pete. He waited until Monty nodded to continue. “I have confidence in the boy’s talents, but I understand you cannot simply take my word for it. Set him a test to earn his place. In the extremely unlikely event that he falls short of your expectations, I withdraw any protections my association lends, and you may do with him what you will.”

  Jermeiah tore his gaze from Monty to stare incredulously at Pete. Somehow the man had created himself a no-lose situation—either Jeremiah succeeded and Pete had fulfilled his end of the deal, or, Jeremiah failed and would be conveniently finished off by someone else, removing him as a threat entirely.

  For the first time since they entered the room, Monty appeared to be thinking. He leaned back in his chair and worked the point of his beard between his massive fingers, making sure it was perfectly neat. “I’ll give you a chance,” he said, finally, “but I’m not wasting a potential heist target on you yet. Bring me one gold.”

  “Easy,” scoffed Jeremiah. One gold was a ludicrous amount of money to beg, borrow, or earn, but surely it wouldn’t be that hard to steal. This was very good.

  “You have one hour to bring me the money,” said Monty.

  This was now very bad. “One hour?” exclaimed Jeremiah.

  “Raise your voice again and it’ll be thirty minutes. Should you fail to place a gold on my desk by the end of the hour, I will put out a hit on you. Your time began when you walked into this room.”

  Monty set an hourglass on his desk and, sure enough, the grains of sand within were already falling.