“You think he can be trusted?” Sitra asked. “This Hacker?”

  “Yeah.” Boras nodded as he pulled open the sewer gate upon their return the city’s underground. “I saw him in the market. He’s a good man.”

  “Well, you have better faith in people than I do.” Sitra stepped past him and into the gloom and the smell that awaited them with eager foulness.

  Boras grunted with effort as he pulled the gate shut behind him. “It’s better than thinking everyone’s a shit… It would be a shitty life to have.”

  “Uh-huh.” Sitra lifted the dead torch from the wall.

  After locking the gate and placing the secret key back in its hiding spot, Boras waited for Sitra to light the torch.

  Hacker had been a nervous wreck during their tenuous meeting.

  Understandable, with him on his own and being accosted by a pair of ruffians who clambered from a hedgerow. But during their discussion, Hacker grew more visibly relaxed and was reassured by Boras of the plan to rescue the Silverstreakers.

  Hacker explained all he knew and hurried off at a gallop, now armed with new information. Boras and Sitra also set off south, heading right for the hidden sewer grate.

  As they had arrived, Sitra had expressed great doubts of involving a civilian in their scheme. But Boras reasoned that the more hands were on deck for this mission, the better chances for their success.

  With the diminishing sun, Boras watched the young criminal. She noted his look and matched it with a hard stare.

  “What?” She snapped. Her green eyes flared bright against the reddening evening light. With the stain mask, Boras’s attention was fully drawn to her eyes. They really were shining.

  “Nothing…” Boras said with a small smile. “Just that… you’re very striking.”

  “What?” Sitra’s eyes blinked. And blinked again. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Your eyes are very green. Like Southern jade. It reminds me of jewellery back home.”

  Sitra narrowed her eyes at him. They were filled with suspicion. “What’s this game you’re playing, Tashiishan?”

  “No game.” Boras raised his hand. “Can’t a man be honest about what he sees?”

  “When it comes to you?” Sitra turned back to attending the torch. “I doubt you know honesty.”

  “Damn… That hurt, Sitra.” Boras said with a flinch. “Fine, I take back my compliment, since you’re not so receiving.”

  Sitra whipped her head back to him as the torch developed a small flame that grew quickly. “You can’t take back a compliment.”

  “I certainly can.”

  “You can’t. It’s out there now.”

  “Really? Look.” Boras made a show of grabbing a fistful of air in one hand and shoving it into his pocket. “See, compliment taken back.”

  “Gods…” Sitra stood up with the torch in hand with a surge of annoyed movement. “You are such a-”

  “A handsome and delightful chap?” He finished.

  “A giant twat.” Sitra snorted a derisive laugh.

  Boras crossed his arms and gave her a raised eyebrow.

  She saw this expression and groaned. “Oh for the love of the gods, what is it this time? You gonna tell me how nice my hair is? How perfect my skin is? My body? My voice? My arse? What?”

  Boras grinned. “All of that, yeah. Thanks for saving my breath.”

  “Oh.” Sitra crooked an eyebrow at him. “You were being serious.”

  “When it comes to lovely ladies of personality and looks, I’m always serious.”

  Sitra was taken aback by this statement. She actually took a step back from Boras. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

  His grin widened. “What isn’t happening?”

  “This!” Sitra gestured the pair of them. “This thing you’re trying to make happen. I don’t know what’s gotten into your head, Cutter, but there is not a chance in all the hells for it to work. So you may as well give up.”

  “Alright.” Boras raised his hands and nodded. “You win.”

  Sitra’s eyebrows furrowed and her eyelid twitched. “This isn’t about winning, you ass. Just leave it.”

  “Okay. Boundaries established. Ice fort built. Moat has been dug and filled with acid.”

  “I fucking mean it, Boras.”

  “Okay. You’re the boss.”

  “Boras…” Sitra peered at him. His head was lowered. But she was able to see the insincere smirk hidden from her view. She scowled.

  “Gods… how big is your ego, honestly?” She asked him with gritted teeth.

  Boras took a moment to think. A dramatic pause. Then he smirked with a laugh.

  “I’d say that it’s somehow bigger than my cock, but let’s not exaggerate things. I wouldn’t want to get your hopes up. Unless you’re about that type of play.”

  Sitra was stunned. And even with the satin scarf hiding her cheeks, Boras could see the flush of red blood blushing the tops of her cheeks.

  Neither of the pair spoke for that moment. Boras smirked. This was the game Sitra and himself had set up between them. Let’s see who broke first.

  “Ugh, you drunken, chauvinistic pig!” She shook her head and turned away.

  Boras followed the stalking Sitra down into the tunnel and doing his best to hold back his chuckle.

  It felt good to get under her skin for a change. It felt very good to win this round.

  A few minutes passed. The pair had been travelling through the sewers. Boras tried to keep a sense of direction whilst walking through the first time, but soon it became clear he was once again lost. Sitra, with more experience, was well acquainted with the geography of the subterranean world. All to the good as well.

  As they had passed through the last time, they had the lit torch and the sunlight from the various grates and sewer manholes to provide the light. But with evening giving way to night, the darkness of the sewers pushed onto them with an insidious determination.

  The jovial attitude that Boras had started with as they reentered the city was slowly withering under the dark gloom. He could hear the dripping of water and the low rush of wind that pushed through the grates and manholes above them. There was also the low rumble and murmur of the city above. All the noises combining into a low hum that encompassed his senses. With the darkness held at bay by the orange glow of their torch, the hum seemed like it was the darkness itself humming to him.

  The stench of the sewer was less apparent now. Maybe because he had grown used to it, having been down here often enough. However, Boras was more certain that he would not make this a habit.

  He followed Sitra as she hopped around a corner, not waiting for him to catch up. Boras rushed on so that he would not be left behind. From her stiff stride and the lack of checking behind her for him, Boras sensed that he may have annoyed the Sade woman a bit too much. Not the best tactic to annoy the heiress, seeing as they were trying to establish a worthy alliance between the Waywards and the Mercury Gang.

  “Hey, question!” He said. His voice echoed down the new tunnel they turned down.

  “Yes?” Came the understandably frosty response.

  “What do you do for fun around here?”

  “…Really?”

  “Yeah, look. I’m a country boy.” Boras stepped over a pile of sludge that smelled suspiciously like roasted chicken. “Never been to the city before. So it would be nice to know what you guys do to relax.”

  Boras felt a pause between them. Then Sitra stopped and turned to face him. Her half-hidden face was a mask of neutrality. “Is this how you apologise back where you came from?”

  Boras rubbed the back of his black hair. It felt oily with sweat and grime. He really needed to get a bath when this ordeal was over. “I suppose. I know I can come off a bit… much. But I really didn’t mean to piss you off. It was a joke. Sitra, I’m sorry.”

  Sitra’s eyes were sharp and pointed. But Boras could see the edges of her eyes soften.

  “Alright.” She said. “Apology accepted. You’re still a drunken arsehole, though.” She turned around and continued her stride. But it was slower, so Boras could be able to catch up. Walking in tandem now, Sitra glanced to him.

  “To answer your question, there’s a lot of places in Fennaposia for fun. Fighting rings, bars, restaurants, a music hall, theatres, even a private park.” She pointed up. “Above us right now, there’s the capital’s Night Tavern.”

  “Oh really?” Boras smirked. “Good to know.”

  “Ugh, you pig…” Sitra groaned then she followed up. “You know... You’re a long way from the desert, Cutter.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How come?”

  Boras chewed his lip. “Well, to make a short of it, I had made some very, very bad decisions. They led me to running away from home, from my family and on a weird journey.”

  “Weird journey? As in good weird, or bad weird?”

  Boras did not say anything at that. His mind whirled back to memories mired in shadow and pain. The darkness of the sewers, they reminded him of those cold dark nights in the desert. Where he had shared company with people that haunted him. He did not even realise that they still haunted him. The drinking had helped him forget. It dulled his mind to the numbness he had grown accustomed to. But he was not drinking as much anymore. The Guild’s training and the recent troubles had taken that habit from him. And in the void that the alcohol left, the memories returned to their monstrous place.

  The dark cruel memories, all of them revolving around the man that Boras feared deeply and his group of monsters that looked human.

  Orkios. That bastard with his gold teeth. The leader of the group.

  The Slit. Crimson eyes with no humanity and Orkios’ right hand man.

  Botan, Pults and Crudgen. Cold hearted thieves and lackeys to Orkios.

  And then there was Satine… and Declan… Smiling, laughing and singing as they-

  “Cutter?” Sitra’s voice sliced through the mental mire.

  Boras blinked. He found himself standing by the edge of the sewer’s funnel, looking down at the river of shit and sludge. His boots were peeking over the edge of the brick floor.

  “Cutter?” Sitra stepped up to him. “The hells the matter with you?”

  Boras shook his head. “Sorry. What?”

  “What the hells the matter with you? I was talking to you and you just stayed quiet. Then you stopped following me. You were just standing there staring at… I don’t know what you were staring at, but you freaked me the fuck out. What is it?”

  “Nothing.” Boras rubbed his eyes. “Sorry… I was caught up in memories. That’s all.”

  “Memories of home?” Sitra settled the torch into a metal hook that was embedded in the wall, the torch fitted well enough as if it was there for that purpose. Hands free, Sitra crossed them and leant against the wall and stared at Boras.

  “Something like that.” Boras shrugged, still staring down at the sewer.

  “So this weird journey you said you’ve been on. It was a bad type of weird?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Care to share?”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay. Fair enough.”

  After a moment’s pause, Boras turned back to her. “What’s with the mask?”

  Sitra blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

  “That mask. Twice I’ve seen you. When you drink, you use a straw. Just like your old man.”

  “Yes?”

  “So what’s underneath the masks?”

  “Our faces...” Sitra replied with a cold edge. Her hand reached up to adjust the mask, to make sure it hid the lower half of her face, including the bridge of her nose downwards.

  “And why do you cover them?” Boras pursued.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Well, I’m curious.”

  She leant towards him. “Don’t be. Leave it.”

  “Hard to do that, I’m with you pretty much all the time.”

  “You’ve been with me for just one day, Cutter.”

  “You’re making it feel a lot longer than that. So what’s with the mask?”

  Sitra slapped the wall behind her with a violent display of irritation. “You listen up, fucker. Talk about something else, or don’t talk at all. I mean it, Cutter. Drop it.” Her eyes blazed that jade fire at him. Boras couldn’t help but look into them. Against the satin, those eyes really stood out.

  Boras chewed his lip. “Sorry, Sitra.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Sitra sighed through her nose, causing the satin mask to slightly billow from the blown air.

  He blinked, clearly thinking about what to say.

  She continued her diamond-cutting glare.

  “What’s your favourite drink to have at a tavern?” Boras asked her after a pause between the pair.

  Sitra cocked her head, eyes still wide and angered. “That’s a shift.”

  “You did say ‘something else’.” Boras shrugged his shoulders and put his hands into his pockets.

  Sitra sighed deeply. “Rum and strawberry liqueur with ice. Why are you so…”

  “Curious?” He smiled.

  “Nosy.”

  “You’re a friend.” Boras smiled wider. “Makes sense to learn about my friends.”

  “We’re not friends, Cutter.” Sitra shook her head. “We’re business partners. You need us, we need you. That’s all.”

  Boras heard those words, but he saw her eyes. They softened again. “Okay, business partner.” He said. “Gods, it’s like pulling teeth having a conversation with you.”

  She bristled. “You can have a conversation with me. It’s very easy, actually.”

  She counted off her list with flicks of her fingers. “Don’t ask about my private life. Don’t ask about my public life. Don’t ask about my father. Don’t ask about my family. Don’t ask about the gang. And… don’t flirt with me using lies.”

  Boras frowned with confusion. “I’m sorry, what part of what I said was a lie?”

  Sitra scoffed. “Oh please, that whole line about my eyes… They’re not beautiful as you call them. They’re just eyes.”

  Boras shook his head. “I wasn’t lying about that. They really are lovely. And they do remind me of jade.”

  Sitra cocked an eyebrow at him. “Really?” Her voice was not sharpened. It had grown a little soft. She sounded genuinely surprised.

  “Really.”

  Sitra looked down at her boots for a moment, taking in what he had said. Then she looked back up at him. “If I thank you for the pointless compliment, will you stop?”

  “Sure.”

  Sitra pushed off the wall and pressed her hips with her fists. She gave Boras another withering stare before she clipped curtly, “Thank you for talking up my eyes.”

  Boras smirked. “You’re welcome.”

  “Enough of that look. It’s annoying me.”

  Boras nodded and did what he could to wipe the smirk away. With little success.

  Sitra grabbed the torch with a grunting snarl. “We’ve wasted enough time already. Let’s go.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  They moved onwards through the same tunnel. But they only got so far until Boras heard the sounds of footsteps excluding their own. Sitra heard it as well, for she stopped dead like him.

  “Up ahead.” Boras whispered, herding his chin towards a curve in the tunnel.

  Darkness swelled over the path ahead. But the dim light grew around the tunnel’s curve with each approaching footstep. They echoed through the sewer, bouncing off the grimy walls and along the walkways. Someone was coming, carrying a torch like them.

  “Whereabouts are we?” Boras asked. “Are we in Mercury territory?”

  “Not at the moment.” Sitra said plainly. “Docking Fellows right now with some other gang areas overlapping.”

  “So it could be anyone.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I only hear one person.” Boras scratched his chin. “What’s the play?”

  “Act casual.” Sitra advised. “There’s no reason to throw down with fellow smugglers.”

  They waited.

  The footsteps grew louder and louder until the light’s source peeked around the curve, sending a shaft of orange flame light down to the pair.

  The torch’s bearer stopped as they sighted the pair.

  “Who goes there?” The person asked. A woman’s voice, lilted with a deep tone that denoted a Tashiishan accent.

  “Tourists.” Boras offered, earning a scowl from Sitra. “Who goes over there?” He asked.

  “Tourist.” Came the stranger’s reply. “Are you armed?”

  “Are you armed?” Sitra demanded.

  The stranger paused. Then she answered. “Yeah. But I’m tired and injured. I don’t want trouble.”

  “Well, neither do we.” Sitra replied. “Come along, but don’t start shit.”

  “I won’t.”

  “We’re armed as well.”

  “I believe that.”

  The female stranger approached, torch beared forth before her. Both Boras and Sitra remained rooted, waiting for their arrival to stand within eyesight.

  The female stranger stepped into sight, allowing both her torch’s light and theirs to mix and bring further clarity to the area.

  Boras saw that the stranger was indeed a woman. She looked as if she were in her late twenties, though years of apparently hard living had given her deep lines in her forehead and eyes. She was a head taller than the pair. The right side of her head was shaved clean to the skin, revealing a multitude of tattoos on black and blue decorating the skin and around her ear. The tattoos were of fire-spitting salamanders and sand wolves, pointed stars and jagged lightning bolts. The hair that was not shorn was a deep brown, nearly black under the darkness around her, the ends just brushing the nape of her muscled neck. Her skin was a deep brown, similar to that of Ashmak and Boras himself. That helped Boras to note her as a full Tashiishan.

  She was dressed in brown leathers with workers trousers and a cloak. The type of cloak that easily hides weapons or contraband. Her face held some scars, faded on places and fresh in some. Her eyes were as dark brown as her hair.

  Boras could hear dripping. Looking down he saw her arm that wasn’t holding the torch, it was hanging limp. And fresh blood dribbled down her fingers. She was telling the truth, it seemed.

  “What happened to you?” He asked her.

  The woman hissed under her breath and rolled her arm. “Bah… got sliced by a prick at the docks.”

  “Docks?” Sitra caught on. “A Docking Fellow?”

  “Yeah.” The woman nodded. “I was looking for something. They found me searching… and well, it got messy. I got away, my comrade didn’t.”

  “They’re dead?” Sitra asked sharply.

  The stranger looked crestfallen. “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry that happened.” Boras said. “Hey, my name’s Boras. Nice to meet you.” He gestured to the bristling Sitra. “This is my mate, Sitra.”

  Sitra shot him a glare. Boras shrugged at her look before turning to the stranger. “You?”

  The stranger raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re very trusting of people.”

  “I am.” He nodded.

  “We just met. We’re strangers.”

  “I know.”

  The stranger looked to Sitra with a questioned stare.

  Sitra returned her an exasperated look with her eyes, as if she was saying ‘yes, I know he’s too trusting. I have told him this, but damn me if it isn’t working at all’.

  The stranger looked back to Boras. Then she nodded with a small smile.

  “I’m Violet. Violet Johansan.”

  Boras made a curious frown. “That doesn’t sound Tashiishan.”

  Violet raised her brow. “How did you know I’m Tashiishan?”

  “The tattoos.” Boras pointed. “And your accent. It’s like a friend I know. He’s also from Tashiish. And the fact I’m also Tashiishan kind of helps.”

  Violet made a short laugh. “You’re perceptive. My mother was from the Sands. My father’s Darganian. But they live on the Partition, down along the Southern Snake river.”

  Boras nodded. The Partition, a sliver of land that sat between the deserts of Tashiishan and the dry windswept lands of Dargania’s far Western regions. It was a contended part of territory, with both nations squabbling over who owned it. The Partition is a crucial buffer, holding back any encroachments from either country. Unfortunately, the locals who live in the Partition do so under constant scrutiny and fear of attacks from both Tashiish and Dargania.

  Violet winced. “Sorry, but can we please get moving? I would like a doctor, before I lose my arm.”

  “Sure.” Sitra gestured towards the way Violet came from. “We need to go that way.” Then she pointed towards a narrow sewer tunnel to their left that led towards the darkness with a small wooden bridge that connected the opposing walkways. “That way leads you towards the Scribes’ College and a hospital next to it. You head down there, walk a couple hundred metres and you find yourself a ladder on your left and you’re out.”

  Violet made a face at Sitra’s brisk tone, but she nodded. “I appreciate that. Though, it’d be nice to have some company.”

  Boras suddenly looked up past Violet.

  He thought he heard something. He swore he did. Something in the shadows. He could hear the dripping of the condensation from the walls and ceiling. The rushing of the sewage. And the low hum of the city above. But there was something else he could hear. In there dark, there was a low rustling. A low… scrabbling.

  And the sound. It felt familiar. It felt like… It felt like-

  “Shame.” Sitra replied to Violet’s request. “But company’s not what we pilfer. We ain’t Nightpeople.”

  “Uh, ladies…” Boras said, eyes fixed on the void behind Violet.

  “Wow. You are the exact opposite to your friend Boras here.” Violet quipped. “No trust at all.”

  “Because I have a brain and common sense. He hasn’t got neither.” Sitra sneered with a narrowing of her eyes.

  “He doesn’t have either, you mean.”

  “Really? Grammar?”

  “Ladies!” Boras snapped.

  Both women whipped their heads to him. “What?” They barked in unison.

  “Do you hear that?” He asked them. “There’s something… in here. Scrabbling.”

  They closed their mouths and listened like he did. They listened and listened.

  “I don’t hear anything.” Sitra spoke, though in a whisper.

  “Nor me.” Violet supported. “Nothing’s here. Just us.”

  Sitra scrunched up her face into that irritated look she had now designed specifically for her travelling companion since meeting him. She attempted to use it on him, but she faltered upon seeing his face.

  “Boras?” She uttered.

  Boras looked pale. Blood drained and haunted. His body shook. His hands trembled. His mouth, a little open with his tongue running over his teeth. His breathing was ragged and short. Beads of sweat dripped from his dark hair.

  His eyes, once filled with mischief and snark, held only one emotion. Terror. He was terrified.

  “Boras.” Sitra said with conviction. “Boras. Look at me.”

  Boras slowly turned his head towards her. His eyes, filled with that irrational fear, unnerved her. It was as if the insolent boy she had suffered was shifted into this stranger.

  What was so frightening that it would do something like this?

  Sitra did not feel that same fear. Why should she? She roamed this sewers for months at a time. She knew them better that the home she shared with her father. With the torch in hand, she made to step past Violet and towards the darkness where this something Boras had heard dwelled.

  Boras’s hand clamped on hers. She froze but rounded her head to him.

  “Get your damned hand off me.” She hissed.

  “Don’t.” Boras hissed back in double measure. “Fucking don’t. We’re not alone…”

  Sitra looked from him and then towards the darkness of the tunnel. Damn her if the darkness was so thick that not even their two torches could penetrate all of the gloom.

  “Hey, stranger.” Sitra ordered. She wrenched her hand from Boras and offered it to Violet. “Your torch.”

  “What?”

  “Gimme your torch.”

  Violet hesitated. But feeling the fear from Boras, she handed over her own torch. Sitra nodded her thanks and, without a moment’s pause, threw Violet’s lit torch in an underhand toss towards the darkness of Violet’s previous wake.

  They all watched the flame and the glow trail through the air in a low arch up and then down, before clattering on the slick marble steps of the sewers and driving back the darkness and creating a small glow of visibility a good fifty metres from them.

  The fire revealed the marble steps it laid upon.

  The fire revealed the slime of the city’s waste surrounding it.

  The fire revealed the trail of red blood, Violet’s blood, that led towards its donor.

  And the fire revealed the grey worm tailed rat currently lapping up the small blood droplets.

  The trio stared at the grey rat. It was scabby and large, nearly the size of a month old house cat. Its tail was crooked in parts but strong and thick. Its four claws scratched on the marble as its head ducked low to lap up the blood. It seemed to not really care about the thrown torch and the fire that lay a few inches from the creature. It was too busy gorging itself on the drink it had found.

  “A rat?” Sitra blinked. “It’s a rat.”

  “Is it…” Violet stuttered. Her face was matching Boras’s own shade of fear. “It’s drinking my blood… Hells… it’s drinking my blood.”

  “What the fuck.” Sitra spoke in a hoarse whisper.

  “Oh gods…” Boras gasped. “Oh gods…”

  Sitra looked at him. “Boras, what’s the matter with you? It’s just a rat.”

  “It’s not just a rat… Not one… Never one…” Boras raised a finger, shaking and twitching, towards the rat. Violet was also staring, bug-eyed.

  Sitra looked back to the rat. And she stared.

  What was once one rat, now there were ten of them. All of them were gathered with the first. All of them as large and mangy and feral like their kin. And all of them were staring at the three humans. More scrabbling sounds came, sounds that Sitra now definitely heard.

  Dozens of pairs of black eyes glinted against the flame’s light, pink noses with whiskers piercing the glow as the rats… the dozens of rats moved slowly towards the light. And all of them, all the dozens upon dozen of rats stared unblinking at the humans. There could well be over a hundred of the vermin. Maybe even more.

  The grey rat, the one who as first to be seen, raised itself onto its hind legs. It’s tiny front claws tucked into its chest. It’s head raised up and sniffed the air.

  It squeaked, making a high-itched and shrill noise. Like a command.

  And it was. For when it did that, every single rat bared their teeth, puffed up their fur, stiffened their legs and glared narrow eyes.

  “Oh my fucking gods…” Violet gasped.

  And they all lunged towards the trio with a combined squeak that sounded like a roar.

  Sitra heard Boras’s horrified scream before his boots slapped across the wooden bridge to their left. “RUN!” He shrieked.

  Grabbing Violet and ripping her from her spell-bound horror-filled trance of the rats’ attack, Sitra pulled the woman away and pushed her after Boras with Sitra following close behind.

  The three ran, boots slamming down the narrow tunnel.

  Screeches and squeaks and scrabbling claws followed.

  “The ladder!” Violet screamed. “Where is it??”

  The rats screamed.

  “Where the fuck is it? Where the fuck is it?! Where the fuck is it??” Boras howled.

  “Keep running!” Sitra roared back. “It’s not far!”

  The rats screamed with a ravenous derangement.

  It took them a few seconds but the ladder came. It was highlighted by a shaft of moonlight that pierced down through the slitted hole of a sewer cover. The four thin beams of silvery night light showed the ladder and the trio, emboldened by the hope, sprinted harder and harder for it.

  Another chorus of crazed howls and squeaks. The rats were coming.

  Boras reached the ladder first, skidded, slipped on the slime and crashed onto his back with a bash and curse.

  Violet arrived next and scurried upwards onto the metal rungs, sweating and swearing. Boras crawled to his feet and hurried upwards. But he paused and looked back.

  His eyes are wide as he stared past Sitra. “SITRA! RUN! FOR FUCK’S SAKE, RUN! DON’T LOOK BACK!”

  Sitra sprinted. She sprinted with all her might. With a mad leap, she jumped. Dropping the torch, she clung onto the metal ladder for dear life.

  “SHIT!” She swore as her hand latched onto another rung to find some purchase. Her legs dangled madly.

  She looked down and she wished she hadn’t.

  The rats swarmed around the bottom of the ladder, in a wild ocean roil of grey fur and whipping tails. Writhing and flowing, the plague of vermin seemed to halt under the ladder. Waiting and watching. Under the mass of rats, Sitra’s torch was quickly snuffed out.

  Sitra felt she could have pissed herself from the terror that threatened to break her.

  “Fuck that!” She snapped before she climbed.

  Violet reached the cover and pushed. But it would not move. “It’s stuck!” She cried out.

  “Fucking what?” Sitra snapped.

  “Stuck! As in cannot move!”

  “So push harder, you moron!”

  “I only have one arm and I can see jack shit in this darkness!” Violet whipped her head down to the pair. “You are more than welcome to help!”

  “Fine!” Sitra bellowed. “Move over, Cutter!”

  “There’s not enough room!” Boras protested. “Sitra, there isn’t-”

  “Move, you prick!” Sitra snarled as she climbed upwards.

  Boras felt her body coming up beside him. In the faint moonlight, he caught sight of blonde hair and green satin. Her arm looped under his to grab the rung he had a grip on and he felt himself shift towards the edge of the ladder. There wasn’t enough room on the ladder. He could feel the open space on his other side.

  And then the ladder creaked.

  It made the creak into a long, foreboding groan that echoed against the roar of frantic rodents.

  All the humans froze.

  “Uh… What was that?” Sitra said.

  “No one move.” Boras said without much inflection despite the maddened fear clutching his heart. “Not a muscle. Violet, try to get that cover open. Please.”

  Violet gulped. “It’s- It’s not going to move, I can’t get it to-”

  “Just try please!” Boras begged before looking to Sitra. “Sitra, you don’t move. Just hold onto whatever you have and do not-”

  There was a snap of metal breaking beneath him and Sitra made a short scream of surprise.

  “Boras!!”

  There came a wafts of wind around his head as her arms flailed.

  And Boras felt her fall away from him. Pain wrenched his throat. “SITRA!”

  Panic. Horror. Shock.

  All three surged through his body as he reacted with a speed only honed by his short time at the Guild.

  With his legs locked around the ladder, he lashed out with his hands and grabbed for Sitra.

  He felt her flailing arms, catching at anything. His hands grabbed onto two things.

  His left hand found her shoulder and pulled her in. And his right grabbed the back of her soft neck and gripped tightly.

  He felt her face and chest slam into his back and her hands latched around his torso. With her safely on him, he kept his right hand on her neck but his left grabbed the ladder.

  There came a renewed hiss of indignant rage from the rats as their feast was denied to them.

  “I’ve got you!” Boras shouted. “I’ve got you! Don’t let go.”

  “Fuck! Fuck, fuck fuck!” Sitra screamed, as she was thrown into her panic. “Gods and shitting balls! Oh gods!”

  Violet cheered. “There’s a latch on the inside! Of course there’s a latch!”

  “THENOPENTHEFUCKINGCOVER!” Both Boras and Sitra shrieked.

  A shunting clunk of metal came and Violet’s heaving grunt followed. The cover lifted and a full beam of moonlight shot down. Boras could see Violet and her limp arm dripping more blood. He could feel Sitra on his back. And more horrifyingly, he could see the rats. They screeched in unison and some began to try to climb.

  Wait.

  They were not trying to climb. They were climbing.

  One rung at a time, five rats each hopped up with sharp claws and lopping tails. They were getting closer.

  “Black give me strength…” Boras intoned.

  There was no waiting for anything now.

  Violet was up and gone out of the hole without a moment. Boras hoisted Sitra past him and scrabbled up with her. “Go! Go go go!” He urged.

  As if she needed that encouragement. She was hauling arse over tea kettle as she burst out from the manhole.

  Boras had made to the last rung when he felt a sharp tearing on his shin.

  Looking down, he saw a rat. It had managed to beat the others still below it and had latched onto his shin and was busy tearing through the fabric with teeth and claws.

  Emitting a panicked snarl, Boras slammed his shin against the ladder and felt a mixture of pain and ghoulish delight. Pain for his shin bone clanging against the metal and ghoulish delight for feeling the wet squish of dead rat against metal.

  With a final dash upwards, Boras hefted himself out from the manhole, grabbed at the flipped open cover and slammed the metal lid shut with a bang. The screaming rats ceased their cries, bringing back the quietness of the night that Boras dearly missed.