Chương 128: Penicillium - Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Seven It became increasingly difficult to get news in the slums as problems ramped up. Within a few days, every market was shut down by bullies who didn't care that those were people's main source of food. That brilliant idea might have stopped the spread of news, but it also pushed a lot more people towards hunger, and hunger led to desperation. The day after they closed the markets, the first food riot occurred. I don't even think it was a planned event.

It was just desperate men and women leaving the safety of the slums to the middle-class parts of the city in search of food. And when the bullies blocked their path and told them to go home... well, someone tossed the first stone. The bullies retaliated. And then they discovered that for all that the people were weaker, hungrier, and unequipped, they were both desperate and numerous. I could hear the distant report of guns from my home where I sheltered with my mom and Sir Nibbles. We didn't lack for food, which...

kind of made us awful, didn't it? The next day, once the fires--which surprisingly, hadn't reached the slums--died out, I ventured out and found Bet waiting by my farm. She was nervous, of course, and hungry herself. So I fed her, and we concocted a simple plan. We had food. Not enough to feed neighbourhoods, but enough to keep a lot of people going. Mushroom stew wasn't complicated to make, and it could be rather filling.

We took over the market nearest the farm, and soon enough a few older ladies came around and took over our operations. I was thankful for it. I didn't have the kind of authority to keep things calm. An older woman with a wooden spoon and a mean-spirited demeanour could do more to stop unrest than an entire squad of bullies in full riot gear. As it turned out, some kind souls had some extra tucked away too.

Onions on the verge of going bad, some turnips and a few other hardy vegetables that could be grown on a rooftop garden or in a little patch with some sunlight. It all went into the stew, and soon enough we were ladling it out for anyone who wanted a bowl, with the old ladies keeping everyone nice and orderly. It was... nice. The sense of community in the face of hardship. Logistics dictated that it wouldn't work though. This sense of community was inspired by the presence of food.

My mushrooms would run out very soon, and it would take days to grow another crop. I couldn't feed a village on my own. It's why when the union approached me that night I agreed to chat, even if that meant walking all the way over to their new base.

"So, been busy?" I asked as we walked together. We were keeping to the side alleys and occasionally cutting through unfamiliar buildings. I didn't even know about half of the shortcuts we were taking, but Gary used them as if he took this route daily.

"You're asking that now?" he asked.

"The whole city's been kicked into a frenzy. I haven't seen it this messy in... about ten years? Nine? The last time we had a big union riot."

"That was before I was around," I said. He chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess so. They were good times." He paused by the next doorway, an exit leading into what I guessed was an alley. He shimmied a brick out of its place in the wall and peaked through the hole that left.

"It's clear," he muttered.

"So, what's the union up to now?" I asked.

"Mostly keeping our heads down and spreading the good news."

"Is there a lot to spread?" I asked. He grinned back at me.

"No. But hey, membership numbers have never grown so quickly before. Turns out the promise of a warm meal is enough to convince all sorts of people about the good of working together against the owners."

"I'll bet," I said.

"Any idea what Markham wants?"

"Not a one. But Markham's always been a plotter. I just do what he says and things tend to work out in the end." That was somewhat concerning. I kept following Gary through the city until, finally, we arrived at the Ratesco's Union Headquarters. The place was packed. People were sitting and waiting on either side of the street, dirty men with dirty scowls, some of them armed, though their weapons mostly amounted to boards with nails and lengths of chain. Still, I noticed a distinct lack of any police in the area.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Gary and I were let into the union with nothing more than a nod from the people at the door. There were two entrances, one for us, another that had a long line standing outside of it. The smell of something cooking told me what that was for. It wasn't just men in that line though. There were women, children, the elderly. Anyone that wanted a bite to eat. That was a good sign.

The union wasn't just looking out for people who could fight for them. They were looking out for everyone, and that meant that a lot of people would be going home with full stomachs and a good opinion of the union itself. The inside was just as busy as the exterior. One thing that I noticed right away though was that most of the people within were wearing grey coats. The rest of their clothes were mixed, but the coats were universal.

I glanced at Gary, who had been wearing one just like it the entire time, I just didn't care to notice. A uniform? That kind of made sense, especially if they were setting themselves up in opposition to the bullies who had their own sort of uniform. The weapons were better too. Probably delver surplus. Short swords, flanged maces, shields. And guns. Not many, but a number of people had long rifles slung over their backs. Muskets of some sort or another.

I didn't know much about firearms, unfortunately, but they didn't look modern to my sensibilities.

"This way," Gary said. He brought me towards Markham's office, but that turned out to be just as busy as everywhere else, and it seemed as if my arrival wasn't worth pausing everything. That was fine, I could wait. Gary left for a bit, then he returned with two tin bowls full of stew. I took one and sipped at it while we waited. Finally, Markham had a minute to speak with me and I was ushered into his office. The man looked tired.

Bags under his eyes, his hair not perfectly coiffed, and his desk covered in far more paperwork than I was used to seeing around him.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," I replied. He glanced around, then gestured to everyone.

"Leave us," he said.

"Monet, could you set that bag of books down by the entrance please. You know the one." A secretary nodded and soon the room was empty except for the two of us.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked.

"I did. I'll make this short. Time isn't something I have a great amount of." He leaned back in his seat which creaked with the motion.

"You were in the Ditz dungeon the day before all of this started. And with the investigations uncertain of the exact time, it's entirely plausible that you were in the dungeon at the exact moment that it started to change." I blinked at him, face neutrally curious not to give anything away.

"They're looking for you, you know. They suspect a number of people, but you're on that list. If they find out you're responsible... well, you've cost a number of people a great amount of profit. Not to mention the riots."

"I'm not responsible for that," I said. He frowned at me.

"And you think you're telling the truth. Interesting. In any case, that's not what I called you here for. I have a job that I think you're uniquely suited to."

"Go on," I said.

"I need some people to be dead." I nodded slowly.

"I might be able to manage that."

"Not now, no. These people live in mansions, they have guards who have classes that make it impossible to reach them under normal circumstances, and while I could kill them if I really pushed, it would be extremely evident that the union is responsible. We are many things, but subtle isn't one of them."

"Alright," I said.

"So you want something discreet done?" He nodded.

"What's your level of education?"

"Poor, I suppose," I said.

"I know my numbers and can read and write well enough, but my history, geography, and a few other things are lagging behind."

"And you have that gutter accent," he said. His fingers tapped on his desk as he continued to eye me.

"How would you like to go to school?"

"I'm not seeing the relevance here," I admitted.

"The people I want dead. They have children," he said.

"Children who all attend the same prestigious school. I could get you in there, if you can hold up your end of the bargain."