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“How bad is his injury?” Orion asked.
“Not as bad as it looked, Jax. I think he spun when he got hit so the blade didn’t pierce through his muscle. Still, it’ll be a few weeks until that’s healed, months if he keeps moving around like that,”
Orion nodded, before switching his attention to the fort ahead. There were more guards at the entrance than usual, but this was a mere curiosity to the Seekers as they were let in as easily as usual. The loud commotion in the distance led them in and met them at the food court. Ginger had swapped out his dirty jacket and trousers for cleaner and more colourful sorts. He barked the Sticky Fingers around, the tension clear in his voice.
Next to him was Nanlong, his washed and combed hair revealing light brown strands instead of the dark mane he normally sported. He solemnly sat there, his mercenaries nowhere to be seen.
It was only when the Seekers stepped in front that Ginger noticed them.
“Ah, that’s all of us ‘ere. Let’s get going,”
“What’s the rush? I thought you said Rats’s celebration was at noon? The fog’s still out; we’d be straggling like blind mice if we left now,” Kora said.
“The rush is that he doesn’t want to keep Fatso waiting,” Nanlong said while rising to his full height.
“The rush is that no one keeps Fatso waiting,” Ginger corrected. “Oh, are yer guys gonna take in anything with yer?”
“I’ll leave my bag here, hopefully, you can keep it safe. But I’m taking in these daggers and sword,”
“Same,”
Ginger checked their weapons and grunted. “Yeah, those are fine. Don’t worry, none of my boys will touch anything of yers,”
The Seekers left their bags with Thimble and passed the gates with Ginger and Nanlong. Ginger clearly knew where they were going off by heart as he navigated the fog with ease. While walking deeper into the slums, they finally saw the size of the celebration: market stalls had set up over the filthy roads, offering food and wares to the criminals; bands of people moved along with them, their steps softs and words whispered, fully aware of who had set up the celebration; hard-eyed men and women watched from every nook and cranny, searching for those who didn’t belong.
They walked for an hour, most of it spent queuing behind others as the streets grew clumped and the celebrations grow thicker. The nervous quiet transformed into a boisterous joy as the fog lifted and the alcohol stalls set up. Orion could spot tens of people high on Gajoi nuts, and even a stall wafting the arresting smell into the crowd in a bid to earn more.
The immensity of their situation dawned on him simultaneously, realising all these people were celebrating simply because Rats had told them to; the man they had to meet and betray was alike the Lord of Visgamar, on the other side of the city, sure, but still on the same side of the spectrum.
The shouts and cheers and singing had given Orion an earful when they reached Rats’s pavilion, or more precisely, his garden. Four guards around Nanlong’s size checked Ginger’s identity and invitation at the entrance. The multiple scars ranging their mountain-like muscles made it clear how they would act if they caught anyone sneaking in.
Compared with the stench of the streets, Rats’s garden smelled like paradise - various scents bubbled and popped in the air. Looking around, Orion recognised many exotic flowers and plants, all of them surrounded by skulls and broken bones for compost. The noises from the garden were much more restrained, and the nervousness was palpable. Despite the plethora of drinks and drugs orbiting the guests, none of them seemed to partake as they stood with backs straight and fists clenched.
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The garden itself was as large as a field, maybe larger as the horizon was hidden by overgrown willow trees. Shamrock-green grass filled the space between the various flowers planted here and there to fill the space. Behind the willowy branches in the distance, Orion spotted a large curved dome the colour of clouds with golden scribbles over it.
Closer to him, he could see a mansion made from beige stone with doors and windows the size of horses. It was from this house the servants kept bringing the food and drinks, and it was through these doors he expected the host to stride through.
There were two loose factions in the garden, one around an old yet dainty woman and the other around a man the width of a table, the height of a door, and the build of a wardrobe. Ginger walked to the obscene mix of fat and muscle and kneeled to him, to which the man nodded and shooed the gang leader to the edges of his faction. He was Fatso, the Underking of trade, and the woman on the other side was Madam Rischei.
Both of the Underkings’ factions were similarly built, with larger-than-life characters around the centre and affiliate gang leaders near the edges. The biggest difference came from who protected each Underking. Around Fatso were ten Black Hearts, their clothes sable and a sliced heart symbol stitched over their chests. Moreover, they clearly weren’t novices either, their calloused eyes scanning the crowds with scrutiny. Although their weapons were hidden into their get up, Orion intuitively knew they were armed to the teeth.
Around Madam Rischei were two men and two women the width of Fatso but half the height. If the ornate staffs they used as walking sticks weren’t enough to identify them, their size was. And if their size wasn’t enough to identify them, the contempt with which they looked around was. And if their glares weren’t enough to identify them, the glowing orbs circling theirs and Madam Rischei’s figures were.
It didn’t surprise Orion to see the Underking of brothels guarded by pigs addicted to Asarte’s juice, but their roundness declared them to be high-ranking Mages, which did startle him. The higher they went, the more prideful they were, so Madam Rischei must have offered a lot in return for their services.
Rats’s entourage would only come out with the man himself, so it was Grima, the last Underking, he was puzzled not to see. But thinking on the matter, it made sense why Grima wasn’t here and why there wasn’t a faction dedicated to him, after all, his men were the ones standing tall in the other factions.
Time passed by and the underworld waited. Ginger and Nanlong understood their places in the grand scheme as they stood meekly like everyone else of their status. Madam Rischei stood likewise, showing no signs of impatience at being stood up. She understood it was all a power-game and the first to snap would lose - she also knew who would be the first to lose.
Fatso’s ego got the better of him as the man began to pace around, his jeers against Rats sounding far and wide. Coincidently, it was when the man-mountain wanted to storm the mansion that a few men strolled out from behind the willow trees in the distance.
“Our master invites all of you to his pavilion,”
Furious at falling for such a juvenile trick, Fatso thundered towards and past the willow trees, his faction and Madam Rischei following. After a ten-minute hike Orion saw the pavilion. It was of a similar size to the Temple and built with horse-thick pillars arranged in a circle, holding up the cloud-coloured dome at the top. It was encrusted with gold and the floor of the pavilion was milky marble.
Sitting on a red throne fashioned with cushions in the pavilion was the star of the show. Rats was a slight man compared to Fatso, his height and build similar to Orion. He wore a black tunic and black trousers, showing off the corded muscles fastened around his forearms. His simple, albeit dauntingly scarred, look was finished with slicked-back hair and bright green eyes, his skin paler than the eastern norm.
His men and women surrounded him. They wore no uniform, regardless, their clothes looked of high quality. They made up the biggest faction and each of them looked ready to fight, if not, kill.
Rats waved his hand to the space in the pavilion, inviting the other Underkings in with a sneer. His eyes smiled as he saw them follow, taking their places in his play.
Knowing it was time, he stood and stretched out his arms.
“The Empire, aren’t you all sick of it?”
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