Chapter 35. Collect

  Jeremiah weaved his way through the Pit after another successful robbery, followed by distributing a box of cigars to the subs. He had been feeling good over his last month as a Stonefist. Great, even. Better than he had in a long time. Here, he was proficient at his work. He was trusted. Among the subs, he was adored.

  A corner lurker gave him a nod, which he returned. Jeremiah no longer worried about being targeted by random crime in the Pit. People knew he was a Stonefist, and a popular one at that. The status protected him far better than any weapon could.

  The fever of the city, that ineffable sense of tension, was still building. People were disappearing, violence was becoming far more common and extreme, even casual. But even that couldn’t dampen Jeremiah’s mood, except to remind him he’s supposed to be doing something else. He pushed the thought away. He needed some rest first, then he could think about it.

  Jay climbed the stairs to home and rapped out the special knock before pushing the door open. He was looking forward to collapsing onto his bed for some much-deserved rest, but almost as soon as he entered, Dronkal said, “Load up, Jay, we’re leaving.”

  “Huh? Where are we going?” asked Jeremiah.

  “We're going collecting,” said Shugga, “we need to make sure you can cover for one of us if need be. Besides, it’ll be good for our regulars to recognize you.”

  With great reluctance, Jeremiah allowed himself to be led back down the stairs. He thought of his pillow, cool and fluffy in the morning light. “ I’ll be back soon ,” he promised.

  They crossed the edge of the Pit and entered the slums. Dronkal and Shugga wore stony expressions, their greatswords and batons hanging at their hips. They walked shoulder to shoulder, and their size and pace left Jeremiah tailing awkwardly behind.

  “This is our first stop,” said Shugga, halting so abruptly Jeremiah collided with his backside. “You taken protection money before?”

  “No. Is there going to be trouble?” asked Jeremiah.

  “Doubtful,” said Shugga. “We make sure of that. Follow our lead.”

  They shoved the doors open with a bang that and startled the few customers and the halfling behind the counter. The patrons took one look at the character of the men who had just entered and took their leave.

  Dronkal approached the counter as the halfling began to stammer. “Gentlemen! There must be some mistake, you've come far too early in the week to—oh my!”

  Dronkal stepped over the halfling sized counter, his foot connecting with the halfling's shoulder and knocking him aside. “Bird told me you've been stashin on me, Cinta. That true?” He loomed over the tiny cheesemonger, tusks protruding and hands curled into heavy fists.

  “No! Not at all, sir! I keep careful ledgers, I do. Your cut is here!” The halfling, shaking like a leaf, took a small pouch from the counter and held it up to Dronkal. Dronkal snatched the coin purse and peered inside.

  Meanwhile, Shugga patrolled the empty shop, inspecting each wheel of cheese. They were stacked to chest height, and a thin cutting wire had been placed delicately atop each one. Shugga gripped the edge of a wheel and ripped off a first-sized chunk. He stuffed most of it into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, then cut a careful wedge with the wire and stowed it.

  Shugga gave Jeremiah a pointed look, and Jeremiah found his own wheel of cheese. “ Was Shugga going to pay for that? ” thought Jeremiah. “ No, no of course not. This is criminal stuff. We're doing criminal stuff .”

  Jeremiah had never stolen anything before.

  “Wait,” he thought. “That's not true. I've stolen lots of things in the last few days alone. Why does this feel so different?”

  He took the wire and sliced a piece off of the pale yellow slab. The proprietor shot him a pained expression, but didn’t object. Jeremiah nibbled the corner of the slice. It was okay.

  “Best make sure we don't hear any more rumors,” said Dronkal, satisfied with the count.

  “I-I’m not sure how…I mean, I will! Yes, of course, sir!” said Cinta.

  They left as quickly as they came, Shugga making sure to slam the door as they left.

  “You saw how that went down?” Dronkal asked Jeremiah.

  “I think so,” said Jeremiah. “You intimidated him, and got the money. Were there really rumors he was holding out?”

  “Nope,” said Dronkel, “but they need to be scared every time. Got that? Every single time. The moment they're not afraid of you is the moment they'll start wondering what they can get away with.”

  “Well, we have different philosophies,” said Shugga. “I try to be a bit more friendly and let it feel like a business transaction. Really stress the ‘protection’ side of things.”

  Jeremiah nodded. “And are we actually protecting these people from anything?”

  Dronkal shrugged, “Technically yes, we’re protecting them from other gangs who would do the same thing.” He frowned. “Don’t get any fantasies of noble thieves in your head, they died out long ago.”

  Jeremiah’s mood soured like curdling cream. For some reason, he was surprised. Dronkal and Shugga seemed so nice. Brutal maybe, but they were nice to him . How could there be such a difference between the Dronkal and Shugga he knew and who he was seeing now?

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  Another shop, this one selling untreated leathers. Shugga took the lead and was slightly more civil to the man running the shop, but the air of threat was still there.

  “Not having any problems, Gerald? Yeah? No one making payments difficult is there?” said Shugga.

  Gerald wouldn’t look directly at Shugga. “No sir, no problems. Thank you for asking.”

  “Well you just let us know, alright?”

  They hit up a half dozen stores, Jeremiah becoming more and more sickened by the routine with each stop. The song and dance was always the same.

  Until it wasn’t.

  “You’re up,” said Shugga.

  Jeremiah started. This was not part of the plan. “Me? You want me to do the next one?”

  “Gotta learn. Go in there and tell them you’re working for Dronk and Shug. Get the payment. We’ll be just outside in case there’s trouble, don’t worry.” Shugga gave him an encouraging slap on the back. There was that awful juxtaposition again, that friendliness mixed with an insistence Jeremiah do something awful.

  It was a small blacksmith’s shop set up under a shoddy overhang that bowed and bent like an old man. Everything about it was tiny—the furnace, the buckets, the hammers and anvils, everything. Jeremiah would have assumed it belonged to a gnome or halfling, but for the young human woman tapping away at a horseshoe on her anvil.

  “Morning, sir!” She flashed him a smile. “What can I help you with?”

  “This place is small time,” thought Jeremiah. This wasn’t a smith who made weapons and armor, she did nails, horseshoes and cheap knives.

  “I’m here to collect,” said Jeremiah, putting as much casual authority into his voice as he could, “on behalf of Dronk and Shug.” He thought he sounded like a herald.

  The smile slipped off the woman’s face. “Got a batch of bad iron and business has been slow. Come back next week.”

  “I really was hoping this was going to be an easy one,” thought Jeremiah. He got closer to her, trying to think what would be intimidating. “ That’s not my problem. You are my problem. Now, pay up. ”

  The woman looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow. “That so? Then you got a mighty fine problem on your hands don’t you?” She squared up with him, gripping her small hammer hard. She definitely had some muscle on her, not enough for Jeremiah to feel cowed, not like Allison, but enough to make him awfully nervous of that hammer.

  “Oh, is it time to take a stand?” said Jeremiah. “Now’s your big moment?” Please, he silently begged, don’t make this worse.

  She didn’t flinch. “Mayhaps it is. I don’t bring in much for you and yours. Maybe I’ll make myself not worth the trouble.”

  Jeremiah realized he’d screwed up. He had put the idea of defiance in her head like a script.

  “You don’t have much. It’ll be real easy to take it all away,” he said. It was a vague threat, nonsensical threat, but worse still, as he was saying it, he flinched. His eyes flicked away from hers for just an instant, and she caught it.

  “Tell you what, little man,” she said with a half smile. “I’ll give you two sets of horseshoes, free of charge. That’s worth about what I pay to your people. We can call that square, can’t we?”

  Jeremiah wasn’t sure. He had no idea what horseshoes cost. “Better than nothing. Maybe they’ll take it easy on you,” he said.

  “Oh I sure hope so,” said the woman. She grabbed eight horseshoes off a peg and handed them to Jeremiah. He bobbled them and a few clattered to the ground. “Butterfingers,” she said.

  He gathered them up and left.

  Dronkal and Shugga were waiting around the corner. “It’s just, why wouldn’t you tell me?” Shugga was saying. “It’s not weird that you have a kid, it’s weird you wouldn’t say anything.”

  “Jay! How’d we do?” said Dronkal.

  “She said she didn’t have enough money, but gave me these.” Jeremiah showed the horseshoes to Dronkal and Shugga.

  They burst out laughing. A flush began to rise in Jeremiah’s cheeks.

  “Oh, that takes me back,” said Shugga, wiping a tear from his eye.

  “Jay, do we own horses?” said Dronkal.

  “No,” said Jeremiah, looking at the ground like a scolded child.

  “Are we in the horseshoe selling business?”

  “No.” It was Monty’s one gold challenge all over again.

  “No. She sells those at a markup. They’re not even worth what she charges for them.”

  “I love it when a Slip tries to do a thug’s job,” laughed Shugga. “C’mon Jay, we’ll get this straightened out.”

  Dronkal took a horseshoe from Jeremiah as he and Shugga went to visit the woman. Jeremiah reluctantly followed, his embarrassment quickly being replaced by dread.

  The woman had barely entered Dronkal’s line of sight when he flung the horseshoe at her. She glanced up at the sudden motion and caught the iron right in the mouth. Blood exploded from her lips and she tumbled backward onto the floor of her shop.

  “This what my name is worth to you?!” Dronkal screamed. He snatched another horseshoe from Jeremiah and threw it. The woman, curled in a ball and hands pressed to her mouth, took this next one in the kidney. She screamed through broken teeth and spasmed in pain, arching her back. “You hear my name and you think of horseshoes?!”

  Dronkal grabbed another two and hurled them, one after another. She rolled away from the first one. The second glanced off her shoulder with a sickening crunch.

  Jeremiah stood frozen. The escalation of violence had locked his legs in place. Dronkal took the remaining horseshoes.

  “I’ll just return these! If that’s all they’re worth! If that’s all they’re worth!” Dronkal continued to scream. The woman frantically produced a small metal coin box hidden beneath a table, she held it up over her head in a warding gesture. Dronkal threw the next four horseshoes regardless, three missing, one slugging her in the stomach. She curled up and waved the box desperately until Shugga snatched it out of her hands.

  “Don’t you ever disrespect my name again!” Dronkal spat at her broken form.

  They left her here, shivering and broken. Taking her money, her dignity, and her health in only a moment.

  “We’re Cutter,” Jeremiah realized, “we’re her Cutter. We’re all someone else’s Cutter.”

  He had to get out.