Chapter 83: Slumdog Millionaire
It was never a question whether a rough part of town existed. There was always one, in every decently sized human population, that particular kind of place which ranked at the bottom of every list except the local crime index. In the time before, Brixton had famously held this dubious honour for most of my life, only shedding this image in the 21st century after a prolonged campaign of gentrification that coincided with England hosting the 2012 Summer Olympics, and was still ongoing in some fashion at the time of my death. Granted, it had fallen off the top spots for violent crime by then, supplanted with up and coming hotspots like Stonebridge, Croyden and Dagenham. The point being, no matter what the authorities did or how much money was invested, crime never vanished, it only relocated.
This much was evident as I followed Kyle down a winding path, alternating between the main road, back streets and the occasional alleyway. We’d begun our trek in the aforementioned merchant’s district, where people walked the streets freely at night, and carriages laden with goods could be parked behind the local inn without worrying about theft. As we progressed, the crowds of revellers steadily declined, as did the quality of the local establishments. Poshly appointed restaurants and bars boasting a finely dressed clientele steadily gave way to grungy diners and alehouses surrounded by the seedier sorts, circling outside while indulging in wine by the bottle, cigars and lines of chalk white powder. If there was any difference from the bad wards in London, it was that our party of two had yet to be accosted by beggars, muggers or both, because instead of blocking our way to demand their share of coin, the rabble seemed content to stay out of our way, pretending to not even notice our passing.
“They won’t bother us none,” Kyle boasted, not even sparing the onlookers a single glance. “I grew up in these parts, I know my way around this crowd.”
It made sense, especially since Kyle had yet to reactivate his earring, meaning that his Level was on display for all to see. None of those we walked past had even made it to Level 5, which made the Level 11 Sharpshooter a daunting prospect to face. I still wasn’t sure what that class entailed, and Kyle for his part had shown nothing save a single short sword, remarkable only for its ubiquity and ease of use. It sounded pretty intimidating though, which was what mattered in the end. After what felt like twenty minutes, the road was entirely deserted except for the two of us, while the buildings had substituted brick for the much cheaper wood.
The houses all showed signs of significant wear and tear, ranging from mildly rickety to looking like they’d fall over in a stiff breeze. Windows were either entirely open or covered with strips of wrought iron; the only glass visible lay in broken shards along the floor, interspersed with the wreckage of wine bottles. The street lamps were likewise entirely empty, leaving only the odd candle inside one of the houses to provide a semblance of lighting. Out of this tableau of profound urban decay, only one building had a guard posted outside, which was naturally where Kyle led us towards.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
[Seb - Level 5 Guard
Jeremy - Level 5 Guard]
A pair of stocky men wearing chainmail vests and leggings, one boasted a two-handed tower shield, and the other a greatsword taller than himself, making for an odd pair that were likely trained specifically to work in tandem. Both of them startled as we came within a few feet of them, reflexively reaching for their armaments before relaxing as they saw Kyle’s face.
“Kyle, you old prick,” Jeremy grumbled. “Why do you insist on using Stealth? Give me a heart attack every time you visit, I swear to the Gods.”
So it wasn’t that we were being ignored, I realised in hindsight, Kyle had made it so they didn’t see us at all. The fact that he’d done so without my awareness, despite the fact I stood right next to him was unsettling, but did provide a good picture of how his Class worked. Even in this new world, the Stealth Archer was something to be feared, huh? Todd Howard would be proud, I thought.
“Back for another round of drinks?” Seb offered. “It’s your turn to pay.”
“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” Kyle laughed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “Tonight, I’m just here to show my young friend around. He asked for an introduction to the seedier part of Heaven’s Reach, so here we are.”
“What I actually said was that I need someone to go missing,” I retorted, seeing Seb and Jeremy’s gobsmacked faces. “Not directly, but the subtext was there, and you definitely knew it.”
He didn’t give them my name, which was something, in fact he kept the entire matter quite vague. An admirable level of caution, but one which could be taken to extremes, hence my need to interject.
“In that case, you’ve come to the right place,” Seb exclaimed, his eyes lighting up in understanding. “This here is the old penitentiary; back when Heaven’s Reach first started, it was the only jail for the growing town. Course, the town grew a lot bigger than it could accommodate, so a much larger prison was built further up, closer to the main garrison and the Wall. These days, this jailhouse only covers the local area, it’s where we keep the people who even the slums won’t accept.”
“I see. Do you have anyone available who’s facing death row? I’d appreciate it if we could take him off your hands, permanently.”
Seb and Jeremy shared a long look at that, turning into an impromptu staring contest that made me realise they likely had the texting module, causing that longstanding annoyance to return with a vengeance.
“We might have someone who fits the bill,” Jeremy replied eventually. “But it’s complicated.”
Par for the course, I thought wryly, hiding my exasperation behind a cold facade.
“Explain.”