They walked for around 30 minutes before the noxious odour of the back end of the outskirts hit them. The alleys had become increasingly smaller, with barely an arm's width to spare. Rats and Crowlins skittered across the sewers and cracks in the walls, following them nervously, hoping for a scrap of food. Bricker was about to take a piece off the loaf of bread, before Blackeye put his hand out and said, “Don’t”. Bricker quickly shoved the bread back into his pocket.
Now and then they came across the inhabitants of the outskirts, like a beggar and her child, raising their hands out hopefully, almost praying for a simple coin. Or a street vendor selling his mouldy apples, dressed in very few clothes and having even less integrity. Sometimes they spotted a thug and his gang of bullies, which is when they dashed down a side alley, hoping not to get mugged, beaten, or even worse. But most often they found the victims of Hide, green scars lining their bodies at the places where they had drawn blood to take one more sip of that ensnaring drug. Blackeye didn’t understand it. Why would anyone do that to themselves? He avoided eye contact when he saw them.
Blackeye used this route whenever they had to go further out of the city. The buildings were all less than a story high, giving easy access to the roofs carpeted with moss that filled the outskirts. This path also gave many exits and dead-ends that were helpful when you had to avoid someone. Walking through this small trail gave flashes of memories from Blackeye’s younger years, memories that made his legs shiver and his toes grow cold. They took a few more turns, trying to avoid the most crowded areas, and then they heard the familiar beat of the drums, which Chuck’s used as entertainment. One more turn and they came to the gates of the stingy, unsafe market.
A row of sharp wooden stakes lined the wall of the market, daring anyone to climb over its menacing edge. In the centre was a gap in the needle-like spikes, which served as the entrance to the market. Two strong, broad-shouldered guards were protecting the gate, one with his arms crossed, the other leaning against the wall, jabbing his spear into the air, obviously bored. When they saw Blackeye, Nosedive and Bricker, they beckoned them over. A broad grin spread over the one with a spear.
“Allo lil pipsqueaks, yous a bit small to be out ‘ere alone. Where’s yous mummy?” The guard said, in mock seriousness, then burst out laughing.
Nosedive started smoking at the ears, and before things started getting out of hand, Blackeye pulled out of his trouser pocket the three wooden tickets that got them in here. Each was dyed with an orange boar head on the top, its tusks as big as its entire head. He handed the tickets to the other guard, who was obviously much more sober than the other, and he took them distractedly. The guard chewed a piece of dried meat as he examined them, noshing his teeth on the slice.
“Second level, huh? Alright.” The guard gestured to inside the wall of spikes with his hands. Nosedive choked. Blackeye almost gasped. Bricker looked dumbfounded. Could they be that lucky? Quickly they rushed to the entrance.
“HOLD UP. Where is yous grab? If yous want in, dere needs to be payment.”
Blackeye sighed. Of course, they weren’t that lucky.
We should have brought PJ.
Bricker stuffed his hand into the sack, trying to find what he needed. After a minute or two, he pulled out his fist, with the familiar metallic surface of a smoke ball. He handed it to the guard and went to the door, ready to go in. But before he got through, the metallic tip of a spearhead bared his way of entry. The drunk guard looked very pleased with himself as pointed his spear at Blackeye.
“What about my friend ‘ere? He needs a lil somefin as well. Just look at how sad he is.”
The other guard was not sad, and quite obviously bored out of his mind. But he knew this guard wasn’t letting them in without another. So hesitantly, he dug in the open bag for the other smokeball.
Grudgingly, he handed the pebble-like sphere to the guard, who examined it with caution and then nodded. He pointed to inside the walls.
“Go ahead.”
Defeatedly, they walked inside to the hodgepodge of stalls, bars, and thieves that awaited them.
The path that went into Chuck’s spiralled out into smaller paths that went to every corner of the market. Stall vendors everywhere were shouting and yelling at the other tradesmen while luring the clients wandering from shop to shop. They sold all manner of trinkets, some that might have be slightly illegal.
In one corner was a Bassanian man selling jewellery made from the rare gems and crystals found in Bassan’s mines, which a few of the fancy Mainers were crowding over. They were completely oblivious of the sales boy sneaking up behind them to pick their pockets. A woman with Neon blue hair was showing off the beautiful dyes her stall sold, with a dark blue dress to match it. A Hide seller was walking with a sleeve that held around five dozen vials of the green liquid. At least twenty Hiders were scrabbling around him, almost worshipping, with hands stoking every inch of the man for the feeling of glass bottles. An old woman next to him was selling ripe apples with a sign next to them saying “Straight from Scadiva!”.
This market was a diverse metropolis of goods, grabs, and grabbers. There was barely anything you couldn’t find at Chuck’s, and that made it the popular, well-run, business that it was.
In the centre of the market was the building they were looking for. The huge painted slab of wood hanging from a log attached to the roof of the building stated “CHUCK’S GOODS” in bold lettering. As they opened the doors, the multicoloured lanterns from the windowsills shone in their face. Tables filled the first half of the building, and all sorts of people gathered around them to eat, bet, or steal. At the bar were two bartenders and one Chuck Westerstone, cleaning the glasses with a red cloth.
When he saw them, his eyes lit up as he shouted, “Come over here, you little pipsqueaks!”
They approached him with guarded expressions, eyes searching for any sign of hostility. Chuck’s dark brown hair whisked across his face with delight at the prospect of more kids to cheat out of their grab.
“To whom do I owe the pleasure? It’s been a while since you last graced us with your presence.”
Blackeye ignored his comment, leaned up towards him and whispered, “We’ve got some things for you.” Chuck cocked his eyebrow up questioningly, Slowly, he turned around to the back of the bar, opened the door to the kitchen of the pub, and went in.
“Come in.” He called to them. Blackeye, Bricker, and Nosedive walked in after him hesitantly, still suspicious of how nice Chuck was.
Inside were a few cooks, who were preparing a variety of dishes. Steak brew from Scadiva and Aban fries filled the room with a delicious smell. Wines of every colour and tatse lined the shelves, their bottles glistening in the lamplight. Through a maze of fires, spits, and stone ovens, Chuck led them to a door at the opposite end of the building. As he pushed it open, it was clear that this was his private room. Inside the room was well furnished, equipped with a round glass table, three large chairs, and two silk tapestries on each side of the wall, all very expensive. Chuck dropped into the far chair, his whole body almost oozing into the fabric, and gestured to the other seats.
“Sit down.”
Blackeye took the one to the left, and Nosedive to the right. Blackeye nodded his confirmation to Bricker, who tipped the contents out of the satchel.
“All right, let's see what you got.”, Chuck said eagerly. He first picked up the dagger.
“Oh, this is nice. I’ll give you a couple decka for it.”
“Four,” Nosedive said sternly.
“That’s a bit much, don’t you think? How about three? I think that’s fair.” Chuck bargained. Blackeye looked to Nosedive, who nodded.
“Okay. And the rest?”
“I’ll give you 15 jing for the bread. Looks good, and isn’t filled with maggots,” Chuck glanced at the rusty tool with distaste. “The hammer . . . I’m not sure. I could have it welded to use the metal for something else, but that might be more pricey than actually selling it. A decka, and no more.”
Blackeye thought about it for a moment.
“Two,” he finally said.
“Still one.”
“One and a half.”
“One decka and a jing.”
“Three jing.”
Chuck grumbled, obviously annoyed. “One decka and two jing. And that’s my final offer.” He said eventually.
“Fine.” Blackeye
He handed over the small metallic coins quickly, as if he was already regretting his decision. He took the grab and eyed it with a look of greed. Chuck looked up again to see Blackeye, Bricker, and Nosedive.
“Oh, get out now, the lot of you! SCRAM!”
Not needing another order, they ran out the door, through the kitchen, the bar, and then the tables.
“That was strange, wasn’t it?” Nosedive asked. They had been walking through the maze of alleyways and buildings for a while now, and the sun could not be seen any more behind the tall buildings that towered over them.
“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d see the day when Chuck was actually nice for once,” Blackeye said. “Something must be wrong if he was that desperate to get our grab.”
They pondered this momentarily as they walked through the concealed buildings that closed in on them from all sides. Blackeye couldn’t believe they had got to Chuck at such a good time. Generally, Chuck would be at most tolerating of them, if he even decided to buy their grab.
So why would he do that? Blackeye thought. Well, I guess that’s a question for tomorrow’s Blackeye.”
Quickly, they started turning through roads and back-alleys, jumping over obstacles as fast as they could. It was getting dark, and no one wanted to be outside in the Outskirts at nighttime.
The Crowlin had fluttered away, and the rats weren’t in sight. The alleys started to shine a couple of lights from the few occupied buildings, making it all the more noticeable that Blackeye and his friends were in a hurry.
“Where are you going at such a speed, you little chumps? Care to give us something?”
A thousand imaginary needles stabbed into Blackeye’s back as he heard the sickening voice. He knew what was about to happen. Blackeye looked for other exits, but there weren’t any. It was either fight or flight. Nosedive gave him a glance that said in no uncertain terms, Let me beat the crap out of this guy. Blackeye nodded, then turned to Bricker. His hands were already clenched into fists.
“On the count of three.” He whispered.
“What are you talking about?” The voice jeered.
“One.”
“Oh come on, all we want is a bit of that jing you have there.”
“Two.”
“Are you guys really going to make me do this?”
“Three.”
Blackeye turned 180 degrees to throw a punch that these thugs wouldn’t forget in a hurry.