The Broken Isles

TWENTY — FOUR

The streets were slick with rain. Street traffic picked up after the rainstorm: people heading quickly on their way home before the skies opened up again. Fulcrom and Lan had waited for the rain to stop before leaving the Citadel.

Dressed in crude civilian clothing, brown breeches, woollen tops, raincapes and heavy boots, they blended into the Villiren dusk.

‘These jumpers make my skin itch,’ Lan said.

‘Never mind,’ Fulcrom replied, smiling.

‘It’s all right for you, with your rumel skin. What about poor little humans like me?’

‘You’re tough as old boots,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘You’ll live. Besides, it’s either that or give ourselves away.’

‘I get it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it,’ Lan said, rearranging her raincape.

They continued through the cold streets to their destination in the Ancient Quarter, the Partisans’ Club.

Fulcrom had done his best to speak to locals that morning to glean the mood on the streets; he also studied maps, memorized street names and corporation names registered with the Citadel, so that he might pose as a civilian more effectively.

The road around the Partisans’ Club was noticeably different. There were people here coming for the meeting, that was clear. But amidst the moving tide of people, Fulcrom noticed individuals who were standing still like islands. Big men with their arms folded lined the wall nearest the entrance. Behind the flick of a cloak, Fulcrom spotted a blade or two. ‘Keep an eye on those,’ Fulcrom whispered to Lan. Her gaze immediately scanned around and she nodded her agreement.

Men stood by the door of the club, occasionally pulling certain individuals out to inspect them, before pushing them back into the flow. As the last remaining light vanished from the day, Fulcrom and Lan headed inside.

Down a stairwell and they were inside the plush club. At one end was a stage with spotlights and dreary lanterns, which gave the room a vaguely sinister air. There was a heady smell of damp, sweat and cheap incense, and the place was rammed with people of all ages. Fulcrom had expected a few tough-looking disillusioned types, but was surprised at the variety of ages and classes: there were old and young, well-to-do and both men and women, humans and rumels present.

It was mostly standing-room only. There was cheap artwork on the wall and, judging by all the tankards of beer, and glasses of wine or vodka, there was a bar somewhere out of sight. At least it was warm. Fulcrom and Lan managed to find a spot against the far wall, so that the stage stood on their right and the rest of the room opened up to the left, allowing them a full view of everything.

The noise of the crowd grew and people became restless. They were whistling and jeering, and when three men walked on stage the people cheered sarcastically.

The centre figure walked to the front of the stage with his legs apart like some dodgy actor soaking in the admiration of his crowd; this was sheer arrogance on display. Even though he was thirty feet away, Fulcrom guessed he was a handsome man, a swarthy-looking fellow with a day or two of stubble. Everything about his outfit said he was a man used to the company of thugs — the handle of a dagger was sticking up out of his boot — but he had a vaguely refined air about him.

‘Who’s the show-off?’ Lan whispered.

‘I suspect this is the man who runs the show, and the very man we’re looking for. Malum.’

The two men that had accompanied him on stage suddenly drew out enormous swords and rammed them in the stage — and the crowd fell silent.

Malum placed his hands in his pockets and waited just a little longer before beginning. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he started. ‘It’s much appreciated. Feels good, doesn’t it? All of us together like this. You know, humans and rumel, folk from all across Villiren. That’s us. That’s community. That’s what this city’s built on, right?’

A few cheers scattered about the club.

‘Good,’ Malum continued. He walked slowly across the stage as he spoke. ‘My lads have good evidence, you see, that all of this is under threat. You heard about the monster in the iren, yeah? The child killer?’

A murmur of agreement from the audience.

‘You ain’t seen anything yet. There are worse creatures to the south. We’ve seen them.’ He gestured to his accomplices on stage. ‘Me and the lads, we’ve seen just what lies on the edge of the city. You want to know what we saw?’

Malum marched across to the other side of the stage. ‘Oh, we saw some of the sickest shit. Creatures with more arms than you’ve had hot dinners.’ He pointed to a heavyset man in the audience, and got a few laughs.

That seemed important, to show his charisma, Fulcrom thought. He’s looking to win them over all right, but for what? Why does he need their support?

‘Creatures with rows of vicious teeth, creatures with the blood of our children on their hands. That’s right, we’ve seen them taking people off the streets. Kids, animals, you name it.’

‘That’s not actually true, is it?’ Lan whispered to Fulcrom.

‘No. But he’s very convincing, isn’t he?’

‘So, the commander who fancies himself as a bit of a ruler over you and me — someone who doesn’t know how tough things are for honest people in this city — seems to think it would be a good idea if we lived side by side with these things. He’s spending all his time meeting with them, preparing the way for millions of those aliens to come to our islands. He wants them to work with us — can you imagine that? There’s hardly enough fucking jobs as it is — he wants to hand over what’s left to a bunch of evil monsters?’

‘He’s stirring up a little racial hatred,’ Fulcrom whispered. ‘You see it all the time from various businessmen trying to keep the masses angry and accept low wages, but what’s this guy trying to achieve?’

‘Maybe he wants to lead them?’

Fulcrom’s attention skipped back to Malum, who was continuing his monologue of hatred.

‘I’d like to invite anyone who supports them aliens south of the city to stand up here on this stage and tell me why,’ Malum demanded. He now stood centre stage once again. There was nothing but silence to his question.

A voice eventually hollered from the audience: ‘OK, you got us on your side, pal. What can we do about it?’

‘I’m glad you asked that,’ Malum replied. ‘In terms of your safety, I’m already on it — not the military, you should note, but a lot of genuine people who I know well. We’ve got civilian patrols organized keeping watch on the fringes of the Wasteland. .’

As Malum spoke, Fulcrom caught some movement to one side. It looked like a scuffle, and two men were pulling a third out towards the exit. ‘Wait here,’ he whispered to Lan, before pushing his way through the attentive crowd towards the doorway. He poked his head around the corner and glanced through to the dimly lit corridor beyond. There, two thugs were laying into another man, striking firm blows to his stomach and face. They pushed him up against the wall and spat in his face.

Fulcrom could overhear a few words. ‘. . You breathe a word to anyone and we’ll kill you.’

The victim, a male in his late thirties, with a torn shirt, brown breeches and heavy boots, spluttered his response. ‘Didn’t. . didn’t mean to disagree with the man. Just seemed a bit over the. . over the top.’

‘You said you were heading to the Citadel,’ one of the attackers snarled.

‘Was jokin’. Empty threat. Nothing more.’

A third man came to enquire what was going on and the thugs dumped their victim on the floorboards before speaking to the newcomer, a broad-faced, red-headed man who looked as though he’d been in a few fights in his life.

‘Citadel you say.’ The red-headed man scratched his chin. ‘Malum wouldn’t like that. Better get rid of him. Keep it clean.’ And with that he began to walk away.

The thugs nodded, pulled out a blade, hauled the victim up off the floor and, with his eyes wide and his hands up in protest, they slit his throat. It happened so quickly. Blood pooled across the wooden floor.

‘Aw, for fucksake,’ the red-headed man called back. ‘I said keep it clean.’

‘Sorry, JC. You want us to sort it?’

‘Yeah, we’ve got a reputation. People respect us. Get a mop and a bucket and sort it out, and get rid of that fucking body.’

Fulcrom quickly pulled back into the room and, his heart beating rapidly, he pushed his way through to Lan’s side. Malum was still talking, and there was now the acrid stench of arum weed to add to the sweaty musk.

‘What was it?’ she asked, and he told her.

‘If I’d have intervened they would have taken me too.’

‘Shit.’

‘Exactly. I’d like to see what the commander has to say about this.’

‘They’re not messing around, are they?’ Lan whispered.

‘No, this is serious,’ Fulcrom replied. He eyed Malum, who was at the far side of the stage, continuing his diatribe.

‘Tell you what I’m going to do,’ Malum called out across the crowd. ‘I’m gonna repeat this little speech of mine on another night or two. Or three. Fetch your friends and family — and if they can’t make it, tell them all will be fine. I’m here. I’ll not let this city become some kind of military dictatorship or alien ghetto.’

The raucous cheer was louder than ever. People banged tankards on tables and stamped their feet on the floorboards.

After this settled, a few people began to ask what he’d do next?

‘All in good time, my friends. All in good time. I’m getting some of the old underground networks to unite. We’re starting to form a new network with some of the tavern owners and shopkeepers around the city — all nothing to do with the alien-lovin’ soldiers. We’ve got plenty of money on our side. We’ve got all we need to take our city back and protect it from aliens. Expect more news very soon.’

With that, he turned and walked off stage, leaving the crowd demanding more.

‘That guy knows how to play to an audience,’ Lan commented.

‘It all explains why he created that scene in the iren, anyway,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘We need to report back to the commander right away.’