Sneaking into the heart of the Landlord’s territory, Funderson Ave, was actually easier than Timmy and Wally had thought it would be. The area was a churn of activity. An endless mob had formed on the streets in the West as people seemed to have lost themselves to the chaos. Whether it rained or not, there were people on the streets. Some chanted, some marched, most just milled about with a sort of caged frenzy, as if just waiting for their chance to break those unseen social contracts that allowed millions of creatures to reside side by side. More enterprising citizens had set up every manner of shops, stalls, and kiosks to serve the needs of any self respecting mob. There were the obligatory beverage stands, keeping the mob hydrated and inebriated. There was a plethora of hygienically questionable food vendors, that all seemed to be selling some variation of mysterious meat sausages and ‘ot pies. Then there were the more niche vendors, flitting in and out of the crowd selling ‘sharp bits' and ‘eavy fings.’ These ranged from thick poles to small knives, and were all sold from the inside of some feller’s dirty overcoat. One of these was one young man, hoofing a heavy sack over one shoulder, almost bent double with the effort.

“‘Alf a brick for 2 penny, 5 pence for a full brick!” he cried out. “Perfect projectile for shattering glass and teef! Get em now ‘fore they’re getting lobbed at you!”

The atmosphere was like a twisted fun fair or street party. People had turned out in their best clothes and were having lovely chats and cups of tea with their neighbours, while heavily armed youths marched up and down the streets brandishing weapons and shouting anti-Goblin slogans.

Timmy and Wally had agonised over their backstory and undercover identities as they walked the long miles to Funderson Avenue, but once they arrived they realised no one cared. They were the right species and looked about the right shape and disposition. That was all anyone needed. They were hit up by the vendors, plied with cheap beers, and then swallowed up into the carnival atmosphere. Somewhere a band had started up and everything seemed rather jolly.

“Cor… rioting ain’t ‘alf bad over ‘ere,” Wally said, sipping his beer and looking at the colourful bunting that was being strung across the road.

“Wally!” Timmy hissed out of the side of his mouth. “We’re on duty, you can’t be drinking!”

“Oh wot, this? I’m undercover, remember? Would be bloody weird to walk ‘round with a pint and not drink it.” Wally took another deep glug as if to prove his point.

“I guess, but just make sure you stay sharp.”

“Yeah right. But wot are we lookin’ for?”

“I don’t know. Like a gathering of… I dunno, thuggish looking youths?” Timmy shrugged and wiped sweat from his forehead.

“Wot, like them over there?”

Timmy followed Wally’s finger and saw a group of heavily armed youths, marching, waving flags, and chanting.

“Us and Ours before Them and Theirs! Us and Ours before Them and Theirs! Us and Ours before Them and Theirs!” They chanted in unison.

“Must be!” Timmy said.

They sidled their way towards the group and watched them.

“You reckon any of them is this ‘Unter fella?” Wally asked.

“Not sure. I don’t know what he looks like.”

“Yeah, true. What did that Tommy say?”

“Tommy Plumb described him as: Human, 17-24 years old, close shaven hair, blue eyes, and possible tattoos on his knuckles.” Timmy said, reading from his notebook.

“That’s all of ‘em!” Wally said, flapping an arm at the youths.

It was true. They were all Human, they all looked no older than teens, they all had shaven heads, and there were smatterings of tattoos around all of them.

“Maybe if we follow them they’ll take us to their leader?” Timmy suggested.

“They just seemed to be goin’ up and down,” Wally said.

“Damn it.”

With this many people on the street, it felt impossible to find just one Human. Timmy chewed his lip as he watched a group of little girls stream past them waving little flags and giggling. He had expected the streets to be full of nasty looking sorts, giving big speeches, and tearing the place up. He had not expected to see everyone and their mum out on the street having a jolly.

“S’cuse me squires, you lads in the market for any self defence and or offensive items, such as wot will ensure you ‘ave a bloomin’ good riot this evenin’?” A grubby face in an even grubbier coat sidled up to them.

“Excuse me?” Timmy said.

“No need to be scused, squire. I’ve got everythin’ a young man needs for a rollickin’ good riot.” The grubby figure wrenched open his coat to show off the myriad of dangling weapons. “I got koshs, sticks, bats, bricks, knucks, brass and copper, whips, whaps, tacks, and truncheons. Or if sir is feeling spicy, I’ve got razor blades, stilettos, throwing knives and stars, hatchets, mauls, maces, and morning stars. For the discerning gentleman o’course.” The grubby man shimmied his hips making the menagerie of weapons jingle and jangle. “Best prices around, guaranteed, or me name ain’t Faversham Foxworthy.”

“Yore name’s never that!” Wally burst out, breaking the spell the man’s patter had created.

“And we’re po…” Wally’s sharp elbow caught Timmy in the ribs as he was gearing up to read Faversham his rights.

“It is, ‘onestly.” Faversham said, crossing his heart, if his heart were on the right side.

“We’re not in the market for weapons,” Timmy said, rubbing his sore rib.

“Woah woah, who said anything about weapons? Weapons is illegal. Weapons kill peepole.”

“Then wot are those?” Wally asked.

“These is… for decorative purposes only. To help folk get into the spirit of the riots an’ all that.” Faversham flashed them a yellow toothed smile.

Timmy snorted derisively at the outrageous lie.

“Well if you ain’t interested, I’ll shove off, pardon me for tryna earn a few scraps on these cold cobbles.” Faversham looked genuinely hurt that they had not bought any of his ‘decorations.’ He snapped his coat shut and began to sidle away.

“Wait!” Wally said.

“No, don’t worry ‘bout ol’ Faversham. I’ll find a crust someplace…”

“No ‘old up. Come back.”

Faversham reappeared in front of them in a flash, his coat yanked open again, his hips gyrating, and all of his weaponry jangling leerily at them.

“Wot can I do you for mister? You look like a razor blade man, bet you love slicin’ and dicin’ ‘em up!”

“No I don’t!” Wally said. “An’ I don’t want any weapons!”

“Then stop wasting me time. This is cruel to keep a ‘onest fella on the hook like this!”

“No… I mean we do want something.”

“We do?” Timmy asked.

“Wot you after?”

“Information.” Wally breathed the word like an ancient curse.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Inform… naa mate I don’t deal in that stuff. That’s dangerous.” Faversham glanced nervously up and down the packed street.

“And hatchets and blades aren’t?” Timmy asked.

“Naa, they’s just for decorative purposes. Information though…” Faversham whistled gently through his teeth. “Could be pricey. Wot you after, squire?”

“Who are we after,” Wally corrected. “Where’s ‘Unter?”

“‘Unter who?”

“‘Unter, part of this mob. ‘Umans First an’ all that.”

“‘Unter from ‘Umans First? No chance, mate. Wot you wanna go getting yourself muddled up with them lot. You look like a nice pair of lads. I’ll tell you wot, coz you look like good decent types, I’ll give yer a 2 for 1 on me koshs. Best offer you’ll get today, promise that.”

“We need to find Hunter,” Timmy urged him.

Faversham sucked at his teeth and looked up and down the road again.

“It’ll cost ya,” he said quickly.

“‘Ow much?” Wally asked.

“Two gold.”

“Piss off!”

“That’s a fair price!”

“For directions? No chance.”

“Fine, fine, coz I like you two, one gold each.”

Wally paused for a moment to think.

“‘Old on a minute…”

“We’ve got half a gram, if you want it you can have it,” Timmy interrupted, holding up a half gram coin.

Faversham’s eyes lit up at the sight of it. His hand snaked out, plucked the coin from Timmy’s fingers, with the fluidity of a snake charmer. He licked the coin and then bit it before disappearing it away in the many pockets of his overcoat.

“Right, you didn’t ‘ear it from me,” Faversham began.

“Who did we ‘ear it from then?” Wally asked.

“Wot? Anyone… just not me. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“‘Unter’s been keepin’ a real low profile recently. Sounds like e’s got ‘imself in a spot of bother.”

Timmy and Wally exchanged glances.

“But… I ‘eard they’re ‘olding one of them rallies out by woods tonight. E’ll deffo be doin’ one of ‘is big speeches.”

“You know where?”

“Out in the woods, Burnham District, but it can move about so be on yer toes.”

“And what does this Hunter look like?”

“Like the rest of these. Shaved head and angry as anything. I’d be real careful if I was you boys, out there bodies can disappear real quick.” Faversham straightened up and adjusted his coat. “Now if that’s all gentlemen, I’ll be on me toes.” He nodded his head and melted away into the crowd.

“Burnham District,” Timmy mused. “We could be there in a couple of hours if we start walking now.”

Wally chewed his lip and then nodded.

“Let’s catch this bastard.”

Timmy and Wally turned and began to make their way through the thronging crowd when they saw an excited gathering forming. Their coppering instincts took over and they wandered over to see a group of shaved headed youths surrounding a speaker.

“Is that ‘im?” Wally asked, standing on his tiptoes trying to get a look in the circle.

“I can’t tell… no he looks too old,” Timmy said, spotting the grizzled speaker.

“And finally my bruvvas and sistas, the day ‘as come! The day when we take back our city from the foreign ‘ordes!” The man pumped his scrawny fist in the air to rapturous applause from his audience. “Too long ‘ave good people, good ‘uman people of this city walked in fear! Fear of them wot come here to take wots ours!”

Another roar went up from the gathered crowd, most of whom looked too young to actually own anything worth taking. They all shared the same uniform of shaved heads, heavy boots, and drunken snarls.

“Death to the toads!” A particularly venomous young man screeched.

“Yes my bruvva! We who is last will be first! And ‘e who laughed last will laugh first and not stop! This city ‘as abandoned us but we, the ‘Uman First Militia, we ‘ave ‘eard your cries. We ‘ave seen the injustices wot ‘ave been ‘appening all across the city! Our jobs being taken! Our women being molested and leered at! Our pockets bein’ emptied! And the guv’mint don’t do nuffin about it!”

“Down with Pleasently!”

“Death to all traitors!”

“Hang ‘em all!”

“Now is the time to act my bruvvas and sistas! Now that the pigs ‘ave lost control, now is the time for the Militia to rise up! To take back wot’s ours!”

The crowd roared its approval and stamped their heavy boots, even as passing old mums rolled their eyes and dragged their small children away from the baying mob.

“Can you believe this crap?” Timmy said to Wally.

“I dunno, I guess some of it makes sense,” Wally mused.

“Wally! You can't be serious! This is hate speech!”

“I know. But… well I do know a lot of fellas put out of work by Goblins and Trolls in the factories. And you know yerself that we ‘ave to be ‘specially careful when arresting any non-’uman folk. Not s’posed to kick shit out of ‘em or anyfin.”

“We’re not supposed to kick shit out of anyone!” Timmy said in exasperation. “It’s this kind of crap that led to that family being burned.”

Wally looked aghast, his face turned pale and his eyes hardened.

“I didn’t mean…” Timmy began.

“No, you’re right Tim.” Wally said, glaring at the speaker as the crowd pumped their fists and the chants started once again. “Weren’t their fault. They never put no one out of work. And even if they did… they didn’t deserve that.”

It was then that Timmy noticed there was another group of men on the edge of the mob. The crowds broke around them, like schools of fish around sharks. Folk kept a polite distance, nodding and smiling with fear rather than warmth. The men stood languidly around the entrance to a small pub, drinking and watching the speech with a detached sort of amusement. Timmy looked at them closer and realised he recognised a couple of the faces. Where had he seen them before? The man closest to them grinned at one of the others and Timmy saw the flash of his golden teeth. Dread thudded into Timmy’s stomach like a bat. He felt ice run down his legs at the same moment that bile burned the back of his throat. He tugged frantically at Wally’s sleeve.

“Wot?” Wally asked, looking at Timmy. “Wot’s wrong?”

“We need to go now!” Timmy squeaked at him.

“Alright, no need to…” Wally followed Timmy’s gaze and saw the men. “Hey… I recognise… oh shit!”

Wally realised a second too late. He made eye contact with the golden toothed thug. The thug leered at Wally curiously. He nudged the man next to him and pointed at Timmy and Wally.

“Weren’t those guys at the Landlord’s pub?” Wally whispered to Timmy.

“Yes.” Timmy squeaked. “They know who we are!”

“Shit, they’re looking right at us! Wot should we do?”

“Let’s leave slowly. Don’t arouse suspicion.”

In their haste to get away, Timmy and Wally stepped sideways into each other. Wally bounced off of Timmy’s bulk and into a small, bald headed lout, knocking his drink out of his hand.

“My beer!” the little man snarled, whirling on Wally.

“Oops, sorry. Was an accident.” Wally looked nervously about and saw the two of the Landlord’s men detach from the group and start walking towards them. He didn’t see the punch coming. The little man’s fist cracked off the side of his head, just above his ear. Wally saw stars for a second, his whole world lurching to the left. He staggered into another group of men.

“Oi! What’re you doin’!”

Someone shoved Wally and then another punch was thrown followed by a flying beer. Wally wasn't sure what happened next. He was slugged a couple more times and then he found himself on his back on the floor while bald headed people shoved and punched at each other above him. He wriggled over on to his stomach and began to crawl as fast as he could through a forest of heavy boots and scrawny legs. Wally did his best not to get kicked in the face as he fled, his hands and knees whirring. He felt a hand grab him around the scruff of his neck. Wally was yanked around to see the little feller he had bumped into standing over him. His mouth was bloody and his eyes were drunk and crazed. He had a thin blade raised in his hand.

“I’m gonna…”

THONK

The man’s eyes crossed.

THONK

THONK

THONK

He tottered and went down.

Wally looked up into the weak gleam of the sun and saw a heavyset figure standing over him, offering his hand.

“Come on Wally, let’s get out of here!”

“Timmy!” Wally gasped, grabbing his partner’s pudgy hand.

Timmy dragged him up and together they fought their way through the drunken melee. They broke free and took off running. Wally didn’t have an athletic bone in his body, but he was an excellent scarperer. He could outrun a pack of dogs if properly motivated. Fear was a powerful performance enhancer, as Timmy was finding out. He chugged behind Wally, his arms pumping like pistons, too many parts of his flabby body rubbed together as he ran, chafing him badly. They fled down as many side streets and alleys as possible, never once stopping to check if they were being pursued. It was only when Timmy was sure either his heart, his face,or his lungs would explode, that he came to a wheezing, stuttering halt down the side of a pub. He staggered to his knees, gasping for air. Wally had continued to run until he realised Timmy was no longer behind him. He came back, red faced and panting. They both stood bent over in silence, breathing heavily and listening out for the thud of pursuing boots.

“Fink… fink we lost ‘em,” Wally wheezed, clutching a stitch in his side. “Good work back there Tim, you saved my bacon.”

Timmy nodded, his mouth flapping open and closed like a fish on land. Wally looked around and realised where they were.

“Come on, let’s get a drink,” he said, pointing up at the old-fashioned swinging wooden sign above the door. “First pints on me.”

Timmy was too out of breath to protest and he wouldn’t mind finding somewhere to sit down so he followed Wally.

“Mate, did you see the look on that little bald headed basta…” Wally said merrily as he swung the pub door open.

His words died on his lips. The pub was full of angry, little bald headed bastards. About thirty sets of eyes all swivelled towards them as they entered.

“Oh dear,” Timmy squeaked.