“You’re an odd duck,” Jeremiah said, three pints in and looser-lipped than he generally tried to be. “You have a funny way of talking. Have you heard the man?” he asked the rest of the table, who shook their heads with varying degrees of vehemence. “A funny way of referring to people. He called you my ‘compatriots’ earlier this evening. And everyone in Lockup is a guest- like they just dropped by for a few days on a social visit. ‘Have you met our newest guest?’ he’ll ask me in the mornings. What is this, a bed and breakfast?”
Doc Claude didn’t seem phased by the snickers- just smiled and raised his beer to his lips. Reece Orven, a junior who was also doing part time training with the doctor and who worked with Jeremiah one afternoon a week, jumped in.
“Everyone we meet, too: it’s Mr This or Ms That. We met some kind of armadillo wilding the other day, the one that was cooking enough drugs in his kitchen to knock out Midtown, and this guy just walks in like ‘Hello Mr Lawrence, I hear you’re having chest problems.’ Like, no shit he’s having chest problems, that man’s lungs have seen more chemicals than a damned glue factory.” The table swivelled to the doctor, to see how he’d respond.
“Would you recommend a better way of greeting my patients, Mr Orven?” Doc Claude’s smile was mild, his voice calm. Reece reddened and rolled his eyes.
“Their first name? I don’t know, just go in and give them whatever medicine it is they need. You don’t need to talk to them like they’re-“
“People?”
“What?” Reece blinked, wrongfooted. “No, like they’re Hightown or some shit. You act as though they’re doing you a favour, rather than the other way round. You realise they’re not the ones paying your wages, right?”
“Would you treat anyone outside lockup in the way you treat people within?” Doc Claude asked.
“Yeah- people who are going to end up there soon enough.” Reece laughed, and about half the table joined. Jeremiah didn’t, nor did a few others: they were suddenly shifting, staring at their drinks in discomfort. They had an idea of where the conversation was going.
“And you know who those individuals are?”
“I know you don’t get out much, doc, but you may have noticed: there’s a type,” Reece smirked. “Usually have funny teeth and too big ears- I don’t know if you cover that stuff in your anatomy class though.”
“Ah, I see; so, for you there are good citizens worthy of respect, and then there are wildings?”
Reece just about spat his drink.
“Fuck, Doc, don’t say it like that. That sounds so…”
“Bigoted.” Doctor Claude set down his drink, all trace of a smile gone. “Perhaps I should emulate you, and be more subtle in my discrimination.” He stared at each of them in turn; no one spoke. “But I would prefer to remind you that though we work in the name of Our Lady of Silver, we are funded by the taxpayer, and should deign to treat them with the respect which that entails.”
“These freaks aren’t fucking taxpayers, we all know that. I don’t see why we have to pussyfoot around it- half of them are borderline feral!” Reece just didn’t know when to shut his damn mouth. Part of that was the alcohol, but he would go off sober too. Usually he knew better than to do it in front of his superiors though.
Doc Claude rose from the table, looking down haughtily.
“I am a medic. I am funded by the people, for the people, and as such I will continue to treat them like people- wilding or not. I would encourage all of you to do the same.” He spun on his heel and made his way out, leaving a very subdued table behind him.
“Way to go Reece,” muttered one of the other officers. Reece glared.
“Blame fucking Jeremiah, he’s the one who invited him. What did you do that for? The man sucks the fun out of anything. Jeremiah? Hey, Jeremiah, you listening?”
Jeremiah looked at him and frowned. He’d liked Reece well enough before, but now the man was just grating on him. Without saying a word, he drained his drink and followed his mentor into the night.
-
They had barely cleared the gates when Gliridae whirled to glare Bill down. Well. To glare up at Bill. Still, it was enough to bring the two taller men up short, not least for how surprising it was.
“What the fuck was that?” When neither replied, Gliridae continued. “Why would yeh do that? Faced with a woman perhaps a third of your size, chained in fucking place and unable to defend herself, yeh chose to punch her full force in the face- what. The fuck?” His lips were drawn back in a snarl, furry face bristling. Contrived or not, the tiny musician usually defaulted to nonchalance: now, all traces of that had vanished.
“That wasn’t full force,” growled Bill, matching Gliridae’s glare.
“It was certainly forceful enough to break her nose. Why would yeh do that? She was completely defenceless.”
“She wasn’t answering!” snapped Bill.
“We were getting there,” Gliridae snapped back. “We could have talked it out. But no- you,” he stepped forward, jabbing a finger into Bill’s chest, “had to have a fucking fight.”
“I was sick of your talking.” Bill swatted Gliridae’s hand away; the movement alone was enough to make the smaller man stagger sideways. “And I’m sick of it now. I don’t need to listen to pests like you.”
“Guys, I think-“ started Jeremiah, but neither of them were paying him any attention.
“For someone who prides themselves on leaving a gang, yeh sure do talk an awful lot like a gang member. Don’t like something? Just punch it into submission, it’ll stop annoying yeh eventually.”
“Leave it, Gliridae.” Bill’s voice was dangerous. Jeremiah’s heart sank: his friend was well and truly pissed off now.
“Leave it? Shrug my shoulders and move on? Conveniently forget what yeh just did? If accountability bothers you so much then maybe you should go back to the Props. Clearly yeh’re still one of them at heart.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
In a movement faster than Jeremiah had realised he was capable of, Bill swung around and grabbed the front of Gliridae’s shirt, easily lifting him three feet up so that they were- for once- at eye level.
“I said, shut up!” Roared the enormous man, before turning again and slamming Gliridae against the wall. Jeremiah head him gasp at the impact. The tiny man’s feet dangled and he stared at Bill, wide eyed. His face was a mixture of fear and something else, but still he kept pushing.
“Or what? Yeh’re going to hit me too?”
Vindication. Fear and vindication. As though he’d known exactly what Bill would do
“I might. It’s a mighty tempting prospect, let me tell you.”
“Yeah, fight yehr way through all your problems. How’s that going for yeh?”
“Let’s find out.” Bill drew back his fist.
“Enough!” yelled Jeremiah, finally managing to force his way between them. “Stop it the both of you. Gliridae, stop picking fights you won’t win- no, shut it! If you actually wanted something productive you wouldn’t have started the way you did. What, were you trying to goad Bill so that you could make a point?” He turned to look up at Bill. “And you! You need to get that damn temper in check, because he’s right: you didn’t need to hit her, and doing so has probably made more problems for us further down the line. Now put him down so we can talk this out.”
For a breath, there was silence. Then Bill threw Gliridae to the side; the smaller man rolled, but landed lightly and glared up.
“I never asked to be part of this,” Bill rumbled. “I never wanted to be part of this. I was doing it to help you, Jeremiah, as a friend… but I’m done. I’m done.” With that, he turned and marched down the street.
Gliridae dusted himself off. He was trying to look unphased, but Jeremiah could see his legs were trembling. Stooping, Jeremiah picked his hat from the street and passed it back to him. He pulled it down tight and gave the ex-Silver a long look.
“Well…I think my point was made.” And he turned and headed in the opposite direction.
Jeremiah hesitated, caught between the two of them. But at least for Bill he could guess where the larger man was headed. Making a split-second decision, he turned to catch up with Gliridae, who was somehow already nearly at the end of the street. The smaller man quirked an eyebrow.
“I would have thought yeh’d go running after Bill.” His tone was biting.
Even though his legs were significantly shorter than Jeremiah’s, the musician set a ferocious pace, and Jeremiah found himself near jogging to keep up.
“I know where Bill is coming from,” said Jeremiah. Gliridae rolled his eyes but made no move to reply. “But I- look, slow down, would you? You’re killing me here.”
They stopped under a shop awning; the store itself was boarded up, and- like everything this side of town- plastered over with posters for the new rail project. The afternoon was dim, the sun blocked by looming clouds that threatened to empty their contents at any moment; the air was damp and close, with no breeze to lessen its oppressive weight. Gliridae stared up at him, eyes dark, and Jeremiah was once again struck by how childlike he looked. By how close Bill had come to striking him.
“I want to know where you’re coming from. You said I didn’t get it, right? Well, explain it.”
Gliridae then sighed and rammed his hands deep into his coat pockets, dropping his gaze. For a long moment there was silence; Jeremiah wasn’t sure if he was going to say anything. Then he snatched one of the posters and began to methodically tear it to bits, voice soft as he spoke.
“When yeh’re like Bill and I- when yeh’re wilding, especially as much as we are- yeh only really have two choices. You can be part of the problem, or you can lose.”
“Lose what?”
“Everything; yeh lose at life. Good luck finding a good job, or a house in a safe neighbourhood, or a bank that will work with yeh. It’s in the name itself: wild. People don’t trust us, people don’t want to know us, or want anything to do with us. God forbid yeh ever get angry. Show one bit of emotion and they’ll scream that yeh’re feral.” His accent slipped lower, distress clouding his words. “Have yeh’ver been to a Lowtown slum? Yeh’re not gonna find any non-wilding there. So if yeh don’t wanna lose, if yeh want a better life…well, instead yeh become part of the problem. Yeh know gangs are pretty much the only career path with any potential for growth? But I…” The tiny musician trailed off, staring into the middle distance. “I don’t even know why I’m bothering, there’s no point.”
He threw down the poster and turned to walk away. Jeremiah grabbed his arm.
“Gliridae, please! Look, we need your help: we can’t do this without you. And I want to understand; I’ve never met anyone who can… I don’t know, articulate these things so well. Please.”
The musician stopped but didn’t turn back to face Jeremiah.
“I don’t know why I’m here! I… I don’t know why I’m helping yeh. The reason I got out is because I don’t help. It’s Gliridae first, and everyone else at a distance.” Beyond the awning, the rain started to fall. “I don’t work for anyone, I don’t work with anyone. No one knows anything about me, beyond the surface; and everyone knows that they can’t rely on my loyalty.” He finally turned back to Jeremiah, flashing a hollow smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s how they get yeh; they’ll start to do yeh dirty if they think yeh’re loyal to them.”
Jeremiah thought of his time at the Silvers; he didn’t disagree.
“So… are you a loser or part of the problem?” he asked. Gliridae shook his head and chuckled mirthlessly.
“I told yeh, I got out. I’m neither. Gliridae Welch: do no harm but take no shit. A man with a very specific set of skills. The second I pick up a gun, a crowbar, or anything else, then I’m part of the problem. Bill is part of the problem: every time he uses his physical size and strength against someone, he’s part of the problem. Every time he confirms people’s biases, he’s part of the problem. Maybe I’m just selfish… I don’t like that he makes me look bad.”
“His actions are no reflection on you,” snapped Jeremiah.
“Tell that to the rest of the city,” Gliridae shot back. Jeremiah hesitated.
“I mean…Still, you can’t blame Bill. He got picked up young, and they trapped him in. They tricked him, they cheated him- he still has that damn debt hanging over him.” Jeremiah frowned. “It’s easy to say no to fighting when you don’t have half the world trying to fight you. And besides, he’s a changed man: these past years, he’s been different. Working towards a better life. Who are you helping?”
“I never claimed to be helping anyone,” said Gliridae, “only that I’m not hurting anyone neither.”
“With your talents, you should be talking to people- raising awareness, running for office. If you hate how things are so much, why not try to change the system?”
“Yeh were part of that system and then yeh saw how fucked it was; did yeh try and change it?”
There was a long pause as the ex-Silver looked out beyond the awning. He normally liked the rain, liked the way it washed the city clean. Now he could only picture the pollution, accumulating as the water flowed down and down and down, into Lowtown soup pots and water glasses, into Lowtown blood streams and across placentas. Into little babies, born with strange dentition and unnatural features.
“I didn’t think so.” Gliridae said finally. “Yeh can’t fix something that broken.” He turned his back to Jeremiah, but this time made no move to leave; instead, he also seemed to be watching the rain. His stance softened, shoulder drooping. “I don’t know why I’m here,” he repeated, almost to himself. “I should have thrown Bill and yeh under as soon as we were in Silver headquarters and been done with it. I don’t help people… I do jobs.”
“You had money on the line.”
“Not enough for me to get entangled with the Silvers. They’re the worst gang of all- at least the others will kill yeh quickly.” He sighed. “I thought I’d skate by without ever seeing Lockup. I’m the only wilding I know who hasn’t spent time there. But for some reason I’m stuck on this damn job.”
“This feels important, doesn’t it?” asked Jeremiah, stepping up besides Gliridae and placing a hand on his shoulder. The smaller man shrugged it off, then sighed again.
“Yeah. I can’t shake it; the thought of walking away now makes me feel… anxious. Like I’m letting go of something that I have to see through.”
“Do you think you can put aside your differences with Bill long enough to end this?”
Gliridae hesitated.
“I won’t apologise to him… but I will reconcile.”
“I wouldn’t ask for anything else.”
Bracing themselves against the now-heavy rain, they made their way back into the city.