Aethosphere Chronicles: The Rat Warrens by Jeremiah D. Schmidt Page A

itself
here shortly, so we’re just going to have to skip all this
courtship and jump right into it. But don’t look so glum, you’ve
still a place here in the Syndicate—always will—and with that
spirit of yours, you should go far. Some accumulate more
time , my friend, and that could be you.”
    “And what if I don’t get you the money?”
    Time chuckled in a way that suggested he was
far from amused. Suddenly he turned quick; quick as lightning; and
yanked the dagger from the map. Then thumbing the tip with his
gloved finger, he observed Fen coolly. “Let’s not even entertain
that notion, kid. This is a thing you’re going to do. Money ,
after all, is just a thing we trade, Gord-O, but people ,
people is where the real power lays. As I’ve demonstrated, I’d take
one of you for a few bundles of Ludwigs any day, but your price is
starting to get steep now, even at token rates; and the rest
of that cash is bound for bigger fish; fish that’ll look the other
way when I send ol’ Boss Trask on a one way trip to the afterlife.
Don’t make that a trip for two…or three should I have cause to
include that sister of yours.”

Chapter
10
    Threatening his sister was as low as Time could have
struck him, and Fen’s affinity for the merchant went up in smoke,
like a strike-match in an exhale vent. In his anger he could have
taken the rucksack and dropped it into the Drain Line, just to
spite the man and his overwrought scheme. Take out the rat
lord , Fen scoffed internally. The idea of it was absurd. Boss
Trask had been boss longer than most had been alive. He never, ever
left his lair, and he had more dangermen and bruisers then any
dozen ratties combined had teeth. Time thought he could take out that , and by what…taking down the Exchange? Fen didn’t
pretend to understand the intricacies of what Time had planned, but
it seemed a pipe dream at best.
    Only the fear of testing Conrad Time’s
sincerity concerning his sister kept Fen in line; that, and Time
sending a handful of his oldest boys to make sure the deed was done
right. One he recognized from weeks back, when he’d come into the
shop while Fen sat bloodied and bruised. Turned out his name was
Sam Time, and when Fen uttered aloud, “I didn’t know Time had a
son,” the boys sniggered and laughed while Sam mockingly chided
him, “Take a good look at me, you sot, do I look like I could be
his son?”
    Sure, the thickset adolescent had black skin,
while Conrad’s was as white as a corpse grub, but Fen never
considered skin color any sort of barrier when it came to chasing
skirt, and besides, there was no rule against it. Edrika’s
grandparents had been opposite ends of the spectrum, and that
didn’t stop them from having five kids, spanning dark to light.
Still, given the response he’d received, Fen began doubting that
Sam was actually Time’s son, though the boy clearly had the
merchant’s trust and the other boys looked to his guidance in all
things as they made their way towards Fen’s stash.
    On the climb through the Bednest Fen
contemplated on more than one occasion giving the brutes the slip.
He knew these pipes through and through; knew the places he could
squeeze along; knew the “nests” he could lose himself in; knew the
vertical pipes he could climb without them buckling under his
weight. All he needed was the opportunity, because the more he
thought on it, the more he come to realize the ticket for him and
his sister to escape the Warrens was stuffed in that bag. Time said
it himself, the only way out was to climb, and Fen had no intention
of being one of those trapped down here, not now that he knew what
he had.
    By crook, that’s how he was going to get out
of here, because if there was one thing he’d learned in his short
life, it was that adults couldn’t be trusted to care. Companymen
from Hanns had sent him and his sister to the slums, his mother had
run off leaving them to fend for themselves, and his father had
drank