Dead Streets

NINE

I'd encountered Rondo – known on the street as the Creeper – not long after I'd first come to Nekropolis. He'd begun his criminal career working as muscle for a veinburn manufacturer, but he didn't get enough opportunities to kill people working for drug pushers, so eventually he struck out on his own as a freelance assassin. Being a sociopath with a pair of insanely powerful hands designed to cause severe bodily damage, he excelled at the work and before long he was commanding quite a price for his services. One day he was hired by a vampire named Varney who'd had his blood bonded human lover, called a Shadow in Bloodborn parlance, stolen by another vampire. Rondo was hired to kill the Shadow and he succeeded in strangling the woman. But the woman's new lover, a Bloodborn named Camilla, was inconsolable at the Shadow's loss and she hired me to find the woman's killer. I eventually did, though Rondo had nearly managed to rip me apart with those hands of his before I turned him over to a Sentinel. Both Varney and Camilla were minor nobility among the Bloodborn, so Varney got away scot free. Rondo wasn't so fortunate. Camilla used her influence to make sure the Adjudicators sentenced Rondo to Tenebrus and that was the last I'd heard of him – until now.

Despite his ungainly appearance, Rondo could move swift and silent when he wished – hence his nickname Creeper – and he was nearly on me before I could react. But after everything I'd been through since saving Scream Queen's voice, I wasn't exactly in the mood to dance with the ugly sonofabitch.

While I keep most of my weapons in my suit jacket, I'm not dumb enough to keep all of them there. I was grateful for Keket's sloppy security. Perhaps she'd assumed that Quillion's people had searched me thoroughly and had removed any weapons I might be carrying before sending me to her. If Devona had been here she'd had given the undead sorceress a stern lecture on basic security protocols. I reached into my pants pocket and removed a small yellow sphere no larger than a pill, but this medicine wasn't supposed to be taken internally.

As Rondo came at me I threw the sphere to the ground and it burst upon impact. A cloud of yellow gas billowed upward, catching Rondo in the face. He stumbled to a stop and clapped those huge hands of his over his mouth and nose to keep from breathing any of the gas in, but it was too late. His already bulging eyes bugged out even further as they began to water. He took in two hitching breaths and then released a truly impressive sneeze that, if I hadn't braced myself, might've knocked me off my feet.

"As you've undoubtedly guessed by now, you've just inhaled a couple of lungfuls of the strongest sneezing powder in the city. There aren't many benefits to being dead, Rondo, but no longer having to breathe is one of them."

I'd picked up the powder at the same place where I get a lot of my toys – at Hop Frog's Delight, the best joke shop in Nekropolis. The dwarf who owns the place is an absolute genius when it comes to creating practical jokes and he handcrafts each one personally. But you have to be careful. As a joke on his customers, Hop Frog designed his jokes to randomly burst into flame upon activation – for some reason the jester has a thing about fire. Maybe they'll go off the first time you use them, maybe not until the seventh time. You never know, and for that reason, at Hop Frog's it's very much caveat emp tor.

The cloud of itching powder was spreading and those inmates who were standing too close to Rondo and me quickly drew back to keep from inhaling any of the stuff. As for Rondo he was doubled over and sneezing so hard he could barely catch a breath. Hop Frog's jokes are extremely powerful and I wondered if Rondo was in danger of sneezing himself to death. Given the number of people who'd met their demises at the overlarge hands of the Creeper, the prospect of the man's death didn't exactly fill me with sorrow.

Rondo's super sized sneezing fit attracted the guards' attention and several of the jackalheaded musclemen were making their way toward us, plowing through the crowd of inmates, shouldering them aside and – if they didn't move fast enough – giving them a short blast of energy from their golden speartips. The guards weren't the only ones coming. Several of the silvery floating devices I'd seen from the overhead railing were heading in my direction, gliding soundlessly through the air. Now that I was closer I could see that the objects were levitating silver skulls about three times the size of a human skull. They reminded me of the skull sentry I'd encountered at the Foundry's main gate. These were more of Victor Baron's creations, I assumed, this type designed to provide additional security in Tenebrus. There were probably living brains housed within those metallic craniums that were even now sizing up the situation and deciding what to do about this disturbance in the general population. An instant later I got an inkling of what the flying skulls' response was going to be when their hollow eye sockets began to glow with ruby colored light.

I felt a tug on my elbow and a voice whispered urgently in my ear.

"Quick! Come with me if you want to live!"

I decided now wasn't the time to point out the irony in my newfound benefactor's statement and I allowed him to pull me away from Rondo, who was still sneezing so loud I figured it was even money that he would cough up at least one lung before any of the guards could reach him.

As I was led through the crowd of inmates I took a good look at the being who was pulling me along. It was a verman, although he was larger than usual, almost my height, and he was a true albino with white fur and red eyes. He wore a green frock coat with white ruffles at the sleeves and brass buttons down the front. I was surprised to see one of his species in Tenebrus. As mild and servile as vermen usually are they almost never cause any trouble, let alone commit crimes. I'd never seen a white furred verman before, nor had I ever seen one dressed so fancy. Something strange was going on here, but that didn't surprise me: something strange is always going on in Nekropolis. Weird is our stock in trade, after all.

The verman led me on a winding path across the canyon floor and while the inmates we passed glared at me none of them made a move to stop us. What's more none of them looked at the verman at all. They deliberately ignored him as if he were beneath their notice. At least that's what I thought at first, but as he continued to lead me, I saw that they made a point of getting out of his way. Most of them tried to appear casual about it, but it was obvious to me that they were showing deference to the verman, which was unheard of.

After a while we reached one of the canyon walls and the verman finally stopped. We stood close to a large semicircular opening which I recognized as a lair for one of the giant scarabs I'd seen earlier. I started to tell the verman that I didn't think this was the safest place to stand, but he put a finger to his mouth to shush me while he reached into a pocket with his other hand. He removed a large white cube and tossed it into the mouth of the entrance. Quick as a flash, a giant scarab darted forward, snatched up the cube in its mandibles, and scuttled backward into its lair. When the mammoth insect was gone, the albino verman visibly relaxed.

"It's safe to talk now. It won't bother us for a while." He gave a soft, snuffling laugh. "Those things are crazy for sugar."

This verman's manner was different from any of his kind I had ever encountered before. He stood up straight and looked me in the eye when he spoke and his tone contained no trace of servility. He talked to me as if we were equals and I knew this was no ordinary verman I was dealing with.

"My name is Gnasher," he said. "And you're Matthew Richter."

He held out his slender rodent hand for me to shake and I did so. When I let go he used his claws to rapidly scratch the fur under his chin and I saw several fleas fall to the ground.

"It's no wonder you know my name," I said, doing my best not to think about how many fleas Gnasher had remaining. "Keket made sure to announce my arrival loudly enough."

"True. The warden loves to stir up trouble down here. She gets off on watching the various little dramas that take place among the general population. Brawls, assassinations, gang wars… The bloodier the spectacle, the more she likes it." Gnasher pointed to one of the flying skulls floating off in the distance. "That's an Overwatcher. They're Keket's eyes and ears. Whatever they see and hear, she does too."

"I'm surprised we gave them the slip so easily, then," I said.

"There might not be many places to hide down here, but there are a lot of people. That helps. But I've got something that helps even more."

"What's that?"

Gnasher grinned, displaying a mouthful of long, narrow, flat-edged rat teeth. "A subcutaneous implant that renders me invisible to the Overwatchers' sensors. As long as you stay close to me, they won't be able to detect you either." He gave another of his snuffling laughs.

I frowned. "That kind of tech doesn't sound like standard issue for prisoners."

Gnasher's grin widened. "It's not, but then, I'm not a prisoner. And I knew who you were and that you were coming long before Keket made her announcement. In fact, I was waiting for you."

"Who are you? You don't act like any verman I've ever met. And why did you help me? Not that I'm ungrateful, but this doesn't strike me as the kind of place where altruism ranks high on the list of survival skills."

Another laugh. " That's an understatement! No altruism on my part. It's payback. You saved the life of one of our people at Sinsation, when Overkill failed to steal Scream Queen's voice."

I remembered the verman waiter who would've gotten skewered by one of Overkill's weapons if I hadn't stepped in and intercepted it.

Gnasher went on.

"Most people in the city wouldn't have bothered to save him, wouldn't have even seen him as someone worth saving. But not you. You saw his life as valuable enough to risk your own to protect it."

"Look, I was glad to keep the waiter from getting shish-kabobbed, but don't make me out to be something I'm not. I'm a zombie. I don't feel pain. It's no big deal for me to take a wound to protect someone."

"Maybe so but you still saved his life and for that we owe you. And we always pay our debts, Matthew. Al ways. Besides, Skully has spoken highly of you over the years and we trust his judgment."

Skully is a friend of mine, a bar owner with ties to the Dominari, Nekropolis's version of the Mafia. Despite being on different sides of the law we've always gotten along well and he's helped me out with cases on more than one occasion.

A suspicion was beginning to form in my mind.

"So you work for the Dominari too?"

Gnasher let out another snufflelaugh and scratched behind one of his ears. " For the Dominari! Don't you get it? We vermen are the Dominari!"

Gnasher went on to tell me more about the true nature of the Dominari, and while at first I found his story unbelievable, the more I thought about it all, the more sense it made. I'd lived and worked in Nekropolis for years and I dealt with the city's criminal element on a regular basis. But while I'd met plenty of people who one way or another worked for the Dominari, I'd never actually encountered a member of that criminal organization in person. The Dominari did its business in secret and kept the identities of its members well concealed. Not even Skully would tell me anything about the people he worked for. I'd always imagined the Dominari as a combination crime cartel and spy agency, with hidden headquarters located somewhere in the Sprawl. But the one thing I'd never considered was that the Dominari might be hiding in plain sight.

"My people came to Nekropolis during the Descension with the other Darkfolk, and as the city began to develop, we realized there was opportunity for us here. You see, my kind has always been pragmatic, willing to do things that others find distasteful in order to survive and thrive. Where others see mounds of trash, we see discarded resources to be recovered and made use of. Where others see nothing but rotting carrion, we see food going to waste. And when the Darkfolk began to build their city's infrastructure, complete with laws and legitimate businesses, we knew a shadow economy would inevitably develop. In this respect, the Darkfolk are no different than humans. Crime is a fact of life and if there was going to be crime in our new home my people decided not only would we take advantage of it, we'd run it. And so the Dominari was born. The Darkfolk already looked down upon us as lower lifeforms, so we used that as camouflage, acting docile and hiring ourselves out cheap as manual laborers and servants. We quickly infiltrated every level of society, allowing us access to all manner of information, for we made ourselves such a common part of everyday life – just another bit of background scenery – that few people noticed us, and even fewer guarded their tongues in our presence. Positioned as we were, we were able to take advantage of every business opportunity that came our way and over the years the Dominari grew strong. If there was a criminal enterprise in the city that we didn't own outright, we took a cut of the profits. We became rich as any Darklord – richer, even – and in our own way, just as powerful."

Gnasher's revelation completely changed my view of Nekropolis and as I struggled to process what he'd told me a thought occurred to me.

"Why haven't the Darklords done anything to stop you? Why hasn't Dis? Surely they must know the truth about you."

Gnasher grinned. "We've made ourselves such an integral part of how the city works, that if you destroyed us, Nekropolis's entire economy would collapse. Dis and the Darklords learned about us long ago, but they view us as a necessary evil and as long as we don't interfere with their personal business they leave us alone for the most part. From time to time they make token strikes at us to placate their subjects and make them think something is being done to curtail crime in the city, but afterward everything returns to normal."

I shook my head in amazement. Gnasher was right: in many the ways the Darkfolk aren't so different from humanity.

"So what are you doing here in Tenebrus?" I asked. "I'd think your people would've seen to it that you were never arrested, let alone convicted."

Gnashed snuffled again. "I'm not a prisoner. I am a Secundar, a high rank among my people. Only Primark is higher. I have the great honor of serving as the Dominari's liaison to Tenebrus. We can't prevent every captured criminal from being incarcerated, so we make sure to keep the lines of communication open between Tenebrus and the outside world. That way our associates' knowledge and skills don't go to waste. We despise waste."

It's no secret that organized crime figures and gang leaders back on Earth are still able to run their organizations from inside prison and it seemed the Dominari were doing the same here – only they'd moved one of their own into Tenebrus to do the job.

"I carry messages back and forth as well as delivering alcohol, cigarettes, drugs, pure blood and fresh meat for our people inside. No weapons, though. Keket is aware of my presence here, and while she allows me a great deal of freedom, she'd never permit me to bring in weapons that might be used against her guards – or more importantly, against her."

"Back and forth… You mean you can get out whenever you want? Keket told me that no one has ever escaped Tenebrus!"

Gnasher grinned. "I told you, I'm not a prisoner, so technically I can't escape. From time to time we're allowed to take some of our people out for a furlough, provided we return them. So again, no escapes."

For the first time since Quillion cast me down to Tenebrus, I began to feel a ray of hope.

"So you can get me out."

Gnasher spread his hands. "Maybe yes, maybe no. Intervening to keep you from getting torn apart by an old enemy is one thing. You save one of us and we owed you. And as long as you remain with me, you will be safe. No one in Tenebrus would dare touch anyone under my protection. But that's as much as we'll do to repay our debt to you. If you want more from us, we'll need to negotiate."

"I should have guessed as much. After all, everything is business with the Dominari, isn't it?"

Gnasher gave me a hungry smile. "Indeed."

The idea of dealing with the Dominari didn't sit well with me. Despite all of Gnasher's talk about his people filling an important niche in Nekropolis's society, the bottom line was that the Dominari were thieves and murderers, the very people I'd spent my entire adult life trying to get off the streets. Still, it didn't look as if I had much of a choice if I didn't want to live the remainder of my unlife trapped in Tenebrus, trying to avoid Rondo and the other prisoners I'd helped send here. I'd been framed for a crime I didn't commit and if I wanted to clear my name I'd need to return to the city proper to do it. Besides, I missed Devona and I was pretty sure Keket wouldn't permit conjugal visits.

"All right. What do you want from me?"

"Nothing, actually. When I said we need to negotiate, I meant the Dominari. Not you. Discussions are taking place even as we speak and if terms can be reached you will get your chance at freedom. If not… " He shrugged. "I suppose you can always work as my assistant."

I frowned. "If you're not going to negotiate with me, then who…" Then it hit me. "Devona."

"We contacted her as soon as we learned you'd been sent here."

Without thinking I grabbed Gnasher's coat by the lapels and gave the ratman a shake.

"If anything happens to her…"

Gnasher's eyes glittered dangerously and I felt the pressure of something poking my abdomen. I looked down and saw that the verman had drawn a black bladed dagger and held it pressed against my stomach.

Gnasher's voice was emotionless as he spoke. "I said I don't deliver weapons to prisoners. I didn't say I don't carry weapons of my own."

I stood very still. The black knife was a dire blade, one of the deadliest weapons in the city and a trademark of the Dominari. No one outside the Dominari, supposedly not even the Darklords, understood the magic that was used to create the foul things, but a dire blade could kill any supernatural creature with a single thrust, zombies included.

I very slowly released my hold on Gnasher's coat.

"Sorry," I said. "I appreciate everything you've done for me. I guess I'm just a little stressed out after everything that's happened to me over the last day or so."

Gnasher regarded me a moment longer before making the dagger disappear somewhere inside his jacket.

"Perfectly understandable, but a word of warning: if you touch me again, I'll gut you faster than you can blink."

Gnasher delivered the threat matter -of factly but the anger smoldering in his gaze told me he was deadly serious. He was, after all, Dominari.

"I get it."

Gnasher nodded curtly. "Good. We should go now. It's best to keep moving down here, and besides, one sugar cube only satisfies a scarab for so long. We keep talking here and we run the risk of becoming the insect's next treat."

He started walking away from the scarab's lair, and I followed.

"How long will your people's negotiations with Devona take?" I asked as we walked.

"It all depends on what she has to offer us and how swiftly we can come to terms. In the meantime, there's no reason to stand around doing nothing. Time is money, you know."

As Gnasher led me toward a group of prisoners I wondered what Devona could possibly have that the Dominari might want. I just hoped that whatever the price for my freedom might be it wouldn't prove too costly for her in the end. Despite Gnasher's last comment I knew the Dominari wasn't solely interested in money. They had all sorts of ways to get their claws into you and the last thing I wanted Devona to do was make a deal with the Dominari that she would later regret. But I knew if our positions were reversed I'd do whatever it took to win her freedom. But there was nothing I could do right then except try not to worry and stay out of trouble while I accompanied Gnasher on his rounds.

I had a feeling that both would be much easier said than done.

I spent the next several hours tagging along with Gnasher. Sometimes the transactions he conducted were obvious, like when he delivered several vials of tangleglow to a porcine creature with a bushy red beard who looked like Porky Pig and Yosemite Sam's love child. The pig thing immediately opened one of the vials and snorted the contents while tucking the second away in a pocket. A few seconds later the creature's eyes began to shine with a kaleidoscopic light. Satisfied, he handed a bag of darkgems over to Gnasher and the ratman placed it into one of his own pockets. A jackalheaded guard standing nearby kept his gaze averted during the transaction, giving no sign he was aware of us, let alone that he had any intention of interfering. When I later asked Gnasher about the guards he said, "They'd better look away. We pay them enough."

Other times the verman's errands were more enigmatic, like when he walked up to a naked woman whose body was covered in fish-like scales and whispered a series of seemingly random numbers in her ear. The woman nodded, whispered a different series of numbers back to Gnasher, and the verman thanked her and we departed.

Everywhere we went the guards ignored us and the Overwatchers gliding above seemed oblivious to our existence. The inmates still pretended not to be interested in Gnasher as they had when I first arrived – unless of course he had direct business to conduct with them – but now I knew the prisoners were well aware of him, and by extension, of me too. They maintained their distance, though, never approaching the verman, always waiting for him to come to them. I kept watch for Rondo, and while I didn't see him, I wasn't foolish enough to think he'd leave me alone just because I was in Gnasher's company. Wherever the Creeper was I knew he was plotting his next move against me.

I saw other criminals that I'd help put away – the Lotus Bleeder, Zack the Knife, Nightshadow, Carnality and more. All of them glared at me as if hoping the hatred in their gazes might reduce me to dust, but none made a move toward me, presumably out of respect for – or fear of – Gnasher. It's good to have friends in low places.

After a while I realized that Gnasher had been pulling more objects from his pockets than he should've had room for. I was sure there was some sort of magic at work and probably a high-level enchantment too. After all, the Dominari could afford the very best. Given that I rely on the contents of my own pockets in my work I was more than a little envious of Gnasher's jacket, but I didn't ask the verman for the name of his tailor. Whoever it was I knew I couldn't afford his services.

Gnasher was talking with a tall man in a black suit who'd been jailed for smuggling dead bodies between dimensions without proper authorization when a fanged being covered in crusty armor plates lumbered up and grabbed the verman from behind. The creature – a she, I guessed based on the configuration of her armored chest – got Gnasher in an arm lock and held him tight.

"What do you think you're doing?" the verman said in an indignant squeak that sounded more like Mickey Mouse's voice than that of a well connected mobster. "Don't you know who I am?"

"She knows," said a gravelly voice. "She just doesn't give a damn."

I turned to see Rondo approaching, a grin splitting his distorted face. The Tall Man decided he was suddenly needed elsewhere and rapidly moved off on those long legs of his.

I nodded toward the vaguely lobsterish looking She Creature. "I'm surprised you found someone to help you. I didn't think scum like you had any friends."

Gnasher struggled in the She Creature's clawed grip, but she was too powerful and he couldn't break free.

Rondo stopped a dozen feet from me, evidently having learned to keep his distance after our last encounter. He might look like a slender Neanderthal but that didn't mean he was stupid.

"I don't need friends," Rondo said. "Not when there are lots of people here who hate your guts almost as much as I do. You don't know her -" he nodded toward the She-Creature – "but her brother was a gill man you had a run-in with once."

"I remember. The fishface kidnapped a selkie and was holding her captive as his sex slave. Her parents hired me to get her back, which I did, but I needed a dehydra's help to do it." I turned to face the She Creature, who was glaring at me, long ropey strands of saliva dripping from her fangs. "You ever see a dehydra at work? Those creatures can suck all the moisture out of a person in seconds. They're like water vampires. Your brother went from gill man to bipedal prune in less than five seconds."

The She Creature snarled and started to loosen her grip on Gnasher, clearly tempted to let him go so she would be free to attack me.

"Don't listen to him, Marla," Rondo warned. "He's just trying to goad you into making a stupid move."

The She Creature looked like she was still considering having a go at me, but in the end she tightened her grip on the verman once more.

Rondo gave me a triumphant grin and I shrugged.

"Can't blame a guy for trying. So… what's next? She's going to hold Gnasher while you and I fight? Do you really think that will help? I managed to kick your ass all by myself the last time we met and I only needed a little sneezing powder to do it. You're not nearly as tough as you think you are."

Rondo kept grinning, but his gaze turned deadly cold.

"Much as I hate to admit it, I agree. Which is why I've brought along another former friend of yours."

A crowd of prisoners had gathered as we talked, all of them looking excited at the prospect of witnessing some prison yard mayhem. But now they began whispering among themselves and looking back nervously over their shoulders. More than a few moved off, as if they decided they'd be better off watching the proceedings from a distance. A moment later I found out why when a husky man with shaggy brown hair came walking toward us. He wore a loose tan shirt and matching pants, but no shoes. His black eyebrows were just as thick as the hair on his head and they met in the middle, a sure sign that he was a lyke. But I already knew that because I'd encountered this shapeshifter before. I didn't know what his given name was, but I was all too familiar with his street name.

Lycanthropus Rex.