It turned out that Liminal Gateway was fantastic for getting back to Floor 0 without having to pay taxes. That didn’t matter much in the moment, since supplies were actually slightly cheaper at the portal hub where the merchants there didn’t have to raise rates to make a profit, but it was something to keep in mind for later. If he was ever hard up for some danirs, a bit of quick, risk-free smuggling would be an easy way to line his pockets.
He appeared in the same alleyway he’d woken up in a few weeks ago, to that same familiar stink. After the fresh, clean air of Floor 2, it was incredibly noticeable. Brings back bad memories, too. Best get this over with and get the hell out of here before someone spots me.
Having avoided the portal hub and any Hellions who might be watching for him there, Sorin was hoping to duck them altogether. That was out of his control at this point, however, so he just kept his head down.
He didn’t quite make it to a main road before four teens popped up in front of him. They spilled out of a shack, brandishing rusted knives and scrap metal that had been filed to a point and were dressed in rags made from clothes that were too big for them. Ropes served as belts and not a one of them had a pair of shoes, and judging by the smell, they weren’t too familiar with the concept of a bath.
“Take a wrong turn, rich guy?” one of the ones who had an actual knife sneered.
“We’ll help you find your way, for a price,” another added.
“Those shoes and that purse,” the third one said.
Do they practice this shit? There’s no way they’re this coordinated naturally.
“The cloak, too,” the last guy said.
Sorin shrugged the cloak back from his shoulders to reveal the sword belted at his waist. He placed a hand on the hilt and raised his other hand to summon a crystalline ice blade above it. “You boys sure you want to pick this fight?”
It was almost comical watching the blood drain from their faces, but they were either too stubborn or too stupid to give up. “He’s just one guy,” the leader said. “Probably not even rank 1.”
“One guy with a big fucking sword!” one of the flunkies hissed.
“Oh, hey,” Sorin said, remembering something the old man he’d met when he’d first woken up had said. “Are you guys members of the Bats?”
The leader puffed out his chest. “Damn right we are. So you’d better not fuck with us. Just drop the sword and your coin purse, and we’ll let you off easy today.”
Sorin laughed. “God, no. No, that’s not happening. But tell me, have you ever heard of the Black Hellions? I’ve got some questions about them and a couple of fine lads like yourselves might be able to help answer them.”
He took a step forward, willing a second ice blade into existence. This one floated over his shoulder, pointed at the group of thugs. A third one appeared on his other shoulder, and a fourth drifted above his head.
“S-stay back, fucker!” the leader yelled at him. His knife shook so bad he couldn’t keep it pointed in Sorin’s direction.
“Now, this doesn’t have to get violent,” Sorin said. “You answer my questions, and you can scurry on off to wherever you hide out at. Or we can fight, if you want. It’s all the same to me.”
* * *
Sorin sighed in exasperation as he sliced one of the boy’s shirts into bandages. “Stupid kids,” he muttered. “You need to learn to stop running your mouths when you’re outmatched.”
He wrapped the dirty shirt around an oozing leg wound and jerked it tight, causing the thug to squirm and whimper in pain. That was better than the other three were doing. One was completely out of it, having tripped over a loose board and brained himself on the wall of a shack on his way down. The other two had shallow cuts across the backs of their knees—painful enough normally, but agonizing if they tried to run.
The one receiving Sorin’s tender mercies was the most mobile of the lot. He’d been the leader, and as such probably the most intelligent out of them. The bar was pretty much sitting on the floor, though, so that wasn’t saying much.
“Alright, so like I was saying, I have some questions about the Black Hellions, and I would appreciate your cooperation,” Sorin said. He tied off the scrap of shirt and grimaced as he wiped his hands on his pants. I wonder if I can find a laundry service somewhere.
“We don’t know anything about them. We’re a small-time gang,” the kid said quickly. He blanched when Sorin looked at him, then added, “I swear it! A few blocks, that’s all we control. And it’s only because the Hellions don’t care about the territory. If they wanted it, they’d take it.”
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“Great. It sounds like you do know a little bit about them then,” Sorin told the kid. He leaned forward, the heel of his palm pressing down on the leg wound. Ignoring the renewed whimpering and squirming, he said, “Let’s start with numbers. How many Hellions are there? Give me your best guess.”
“How would I know?” the kid gasped out. “Fifty? A hundred? A thousand?”
“How many are around here, then?”
“Maybe ten,” the kid said.
“And what ranks are they?”
“I don’t know! I swear I don’t. Greason is rank 3 I think, but I’ve never gotten close to any of the other ones!”
“What about you two? You ever rub elbows with any Hellions?” Sorin asked the two other boys who were still conscious.
“No, sir! We’re not important enough. The boss is the only one who ever talks to a Hellion rep.”
The boss?
Sorin turned back around to look at the leader, who was at least smart enough to pick up the unasked question there. “Not me,” he said. “The guy who runs the Bats. He’s only rank 1, though. Mostly he just stays out of the Hellions’ way. Sometimes he’ll give us a job to do for them.”
“What kind of job?”
“Protection rackets mostly, if they need some extra numbers, but sometimes some smuggling through our territory.”
“Who needs to smuggle shit through these alleys? There’s nothing here but trash and people too poor to get out of the squalor.”
And me. Wasn’t I just saying I could smuggle stuff through here? Maybe I’m not the only one with access to liminal space. I think I need to meet whoever’s doing the smuggling.
“Who’s the smuggler? Same guy every time?”
“The boss handles it personally. He says it’s too important to let anyone else do it since it’s for the Hellions.”
So either he’s the one with Liminal Gateway, or someone from the Hellions is and he’s meeting the guy running the Bats to pass off whatever he’s carrying with him. This definitely warrants a follow up, but maybe not until I’ve got a few more ranks myself. It’d be real easy to pick a fight I can’t win right now.
“Where’s the nearest Hellion base?” Sorin asked.
“Stentor Street! It’s an old red-brick house. Two stories with some boarded up windows.”
“Good. Good. Great info you’ve got there,” Sorin said. “Anything else you want to add?”
“Um… No?”
“You sure about that?”
Nervous sweat rolled down the side of the kid’s face, but he stuck to his words. “I’m sure. That’s all I know about the Hellions.”
“Fantastic. Thanks for all the help. You kids stay out of trouble now. I don’t want to hear about you causing problems around here.”
Sorin stood up and walked away before any of them could say or do anything else. Blind Sense caught one kid blindly groping for the shiv Sorin had kicked out of his hand—breaking a few fingers in the process—but he gave up without ever finding it.
Next stop, the Climber’s Union so those blood suckers can rob me some more, then back up to Floor 2.
* * *
The seven-tower sign was convenient in that it was unlikely anybody would ever discover it buried beneath years of dirt, grime, and garbage. It was inconvenient, however, in that it was placed in a disgusting slum that Sorin had no interest in walking through repeatedly. He needed a better place to carve a new sign, but it needed to be somewhere people wouldn’t find it and where he could appear unobserved.
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. Floor 0 housed roughly ninety percent of humanity at any given time, and over population was an ever-present issue. People shat out new babies faster than the tower could claim their lives, especially since most of them were content to live their lives cowering outside the tower’s gates. That was no life, not in Sorin’s opinion.
I hate coming back to this fucking city.
The only place he could think of that might fit his needs and wasn’t another slum was the outer wall. Now that he’d walked through liminal space, however, he recognized what waited beyond those walls. It was the same darkness, alive and hungry, always lurking just beyond sight and eternally patient.
An involuntary shiver went through Sorin. Placing a sign there might be a bad idea. He didn’t know how Liminal Gateway would react to having the void so close. It might do nothing, or it might unravel the whole thing. Or maybe it would open a hole in the wall and let voidlings into Floor 0. It wasn’t a risk he wanted to take.
When I have some money, I’ll buy some property and lock it up, then put the sign there. For now, I can just walk a bit farther. I might not have a reason to come back by the time I’m rich enough to afford a place anyway.
As expected, the Union extracted more danirs from Sorin now that he was rank 2, but he got what he came for. A few hours of work in the archive gave him everything he needed. He planned out two routes—one for his whole team and one for just him. At this point, he still wasn’t sure what his immediate future held, but he wanted to be ready to climb to rank 3 either way.
Map, check. Supplies, check. Teammates, hard ‘maybe.’ Well, screw it, if they want to cower and hope a bunch of hopped-up Floor 0 thugs don’t find them, I can do this on my own.
Sorin finished up what he was doing and stood up from the table to put the book back. That was when he realized that the archive had emptied out while he’d been researching his route. Huh. That feels unusual. Maybe they all went for lunch.
The archivist’s desk near the entrance was also empty. A quick glance around confirmed that the back exit was equally deserted, though the door had been left unlocked. He paused, his hand on the door handle, and watched through Blind Sense as someone on the other side of the door shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
That’s probably not good.
He retreated back to the main entrance and lurked near the door and waited. It didn’t take long for Blind Sense to pick up movement there, including a trio of men and one woman confidently striding toward the door. Thinking quickly, Sorin ducked into an empty, darkened office and crouched down next to the desk.
The four people swept into the archive. One of them was a Union administrator Sorin vaguely recognized, but the other three were new to him. Even from a distance, he knew they were climbers, though. All of them were fit and moved with easy grace.
“Alright, spread out and find this asshole,” the tall, lanky one with dark hair said. “I’m already late for lunch, and I want this taken care of.”
Yup. That’ll be a problem.
