Promises Broken

Finnegan and the giant walked at a brisk pace towards the south end docks.  He quickly became annoyed with Berto's penchant for wandering off any time they stopped at a street corner.  One time he walked off to theoretically find a lost kitty that had turned out to be a rat, the second he was sure he saw a shining quag in the sewer and thought Raz would be impressed if he brought it home to her.  Keeping the giant focused for more than a minute at a time was a job in and of itself.

A walk that would have taken Finnegan twenty minutes ended up closer to an hour.  They slowed even further as they approached the wharf.  Finnegan took a moment to see who was there.  Maybe this wasn't the best of plans, he thought to himself. 

Fishmongers had begun bringing in their catch and were dutifully avoiding eye contact with Finnegan.  Twice he thought he saw people on the rooftops staring down at them, but ducking out of sight just as he looked up.

Eventually they came to a large warehouse at the end of Wharf 14.  The large wooden doors were closed and suddenly Finnegan realized how empty the dock had become.  The hustle and bustle of getting fish to market and unloading the boats was replaced with simply the scratches and creaks of the boats rubbing against the docks and the mooring lines shifting with the waves.

Head held high, Finnegan decided to push the investigation.  He walked up to the front door and knocked loudly.  A second later a small hinged window opened and man with small black beady eyes peered through.

"What'chu want?"

"We're here to see Furd!" Berto blurted out.

The beady eyes scanned Finnegan from shoes to bowler and then shifted to Berto.  The expression stayed nonplussed.

"He ain't here."

"Oh no we missed him?"  Berto looked genuinely put out.

"I know he's here.  You can cut the act" Finnegan bluffed, then continued:  "He's not in any trouble.  Just want to talk..."  
From inside he heard someone speak.

"Is that Berto? Hey let him in. I'd recognize that mook's voice anywhere!  Hey is his sister there?  Heh heh...  Who's the other voice.  It sounds familiar..." the voice trailed off as the main door opened.

Furd stood there and looked at Finnegan.  The smile vanishing from Furd's face like a tandil running away from a flame.  Furd's eyes narrowed from confusion to anger as he recognized Finnegan.

"You have a lot of nerve showing up here.  You promised if I went straight you'd never show your mug around me again."

"Furd!!!"  Berto shouted, ran over to him and hugged him right off the ground.

"Get off me you lent!  I don't know you.  Who are you?"  Furd looked around for the runners.  "You and I have never met in my life."

Berto looked hurt.  "Furd, its me.  Berto!"

"Get out of here both of you. I don't know you" he pointed at Berto, "And I have nothing to say to you except that I am legit and you've broken your promise" looking at Finnegan.

Finnegan thought quickly.  "Mr. Ares, I admit we have not gotten off on the right footing, but belive me when I say I hold no grudges.  I'm sure you are fully rehabilitated and merely wanted to talk with you about an organization called the Black Moths?"

The frown on Furd's face turned to a scowl as his complexion turned white. 

"What is this?  Some sort of setup?  I don't no nothing about no Black Moths."  There was a hint of panic in his voice.

"Are you sure?  I can, ah make it worth your while?"  Finnegan grasped.

"Ain't nothing you have that can make it worth my while."

"C'mon Furd" Berto implored.  "You're usually so helpful!" 

Furd's demeanor returned.  "Shut your face mook. As I just told this gentleman here, I don't know nothing bout the black moths.  You get what I'm saying through that thick skull of yours?"

"If you're worried, since, as you say you're now legit, I could arrange protection from the runners for any assistance you might be able to give me."

Furd guffawed.  "The runners?  HA!  That's a good one.  Like they'd ever protect me.  Where were they fifteen years ago?  Huh?  Where were they at the Refinery?"

Finnegan steeled his face. It was time to pull out his last card.

"This is about the missing children Mr. Ares.  If you do not assist me, knowing your past, shall we say, indiscretions, I can have a score of Runner's accountants and investigators here within the hour to make sure that you are as legit you say?  You know how runners are, a carefully placed report from me and we may not have to worry about the black moths at all in regards to the missing children?  I'm sure your room at the refinery is still waiting for you."

Furd looked dumbstruck.  No one threatened him, especially not on his dock at his door.  He looked around nervously. At that moment at the head of a dock a Runner's runner came around the corner and stopped as it received updated instructions.  It stood their, its glowing red eyes seemingly staring at Furd and the little group at the end of the dock.  Instructions received, it continued on.

"Fine.  Come in, both of you.  Slants all to brindle I don't believe I'm helping a crat."

The door closed, and Finnegan's eyes adjusted to the lowered light levels.  What looked to be a run down warehouse from the outside was an immaculate and opulent building inside.  At least fifty people and twenty lemur-men scurried around with clipboards, files and carts.  The building was abuzz with movement inside.  Richly textured pictures hung on the walls, the reek of sea decay disappeared once he crossed over the threshold.  Whether it was real or a detailed glamor Finnegan couldn't tell but he was impressed none the less.  A glamor would have cost almost as much as the items themselves.

"Look, don't make yourselves too comfortable I don't know much. Berto! Put that down!  That costs more than your life."  Berto, looking chagrined, put a small statue back on a table.

Furd continued:  "I met a couple guys at the Refinery.  Said they worked for these Black Moths.  They deal in all sorts of stuff but they have backers. Big time backers.  They're not from here but they have pockets deep enough to buy their way into just about anything.  They're looking for something.  Anyway they tried to incorporate all of us on shorter term sentences at the refinery and I figured it was just a bunch of pie in the sky hooey till I got out.  Next thing I know while I'm gettin' my business out of hock, people I worked with for years ain't calling me back, and that's just those that are still around.  Some up and left town.  Others just up and disappeared.  These guys are more organized than anyone gave them credit for.  Problem is you only get one chance to join them.  Slants knows I've tried to get back with them, join the winning side and all but now I can't even find any of their people.  Its like I'm always two minutes too late.  That's all I know.  They need something, and what they can't buy here in the city they burn.  I swear that's all I know."

Finnegan nodded. What was he supposed to do with this?  Third hand reports of a new mob with ties to the refinery.  He would have to find Berthold again and see if he knew anything.

"I thank you for your time Mr. Ares and appreciate the information.  Berto you have anything to add?"  Berto shrugged.  Finnegan wasn't sure what made him ask the giant, but anyone who supposedly could speak to cuttle might have insights of some sort.

Finnegan left the docks with Berto trailing behind him.  Berto looked a little lost and forlorn.  A block away from his office he stopped.

"Berto what's wrong?"

"I'm worried about Raz.  I haven't been away from her this long ever."

"She'll be fine." He guessed.

"Why did Furd pretend not to know me.  He didn't like you.  Are you a bad man?  Raz told me I could trust you." 

Finnegan chuckled.  "Me? A bad man?  Compared to the likes of some of your so called friends I should be nominated for sainthood."  They began walking again.  Just before he rounded the last corner to his building he slowed.  Dancing lights of what could be a fire played off the buildings around them.  He picked up speed and rounded the corner.  It wasn't a fire, once again the square in front of his building was full of cuttle.  Not quite as large as the day before but there were still at least 50 of the creatures.  This time all of them were flashing in unison.

"Oh no!" Berto cried!

"What?  What is it?"

"Another child is missing as of last night!"

Finnegan watched a couple of cuttle near the back who were tenticle signing for the non-cuttle species.  Seconds later as he pieced together the sign language, sure enough, Berto had been spot on.

Another cuttle baby was indeed missing.

What waits at the top of the stairs

Had started this one about two weeks ago, now its finally finished!  Thank you Chrissie for helping bring two sides of the story together.

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Finnegan was in his high backed desk chair before any of the staff arrived.  The nightly showers had just ended, and a mist was flowing from the city streets out to the bay, its tendrils seeming to shy away from the rising sun.

A fleet of Runner's Runners had been kind enough to drop of box after box of missing person reports during the night, the boxes stacked neatly around his desk.  The boxes were now, in stark contrast to last night, strewn almost haphazardly around the office.  He had spent the better part of the last three hours pouring over only the missing cuttle children.  The Runner's so far seemed to have no leads.  All the usual trafficking outfits coming up as dead ends, one after another.

He straightened up and turned off the gas lamp on the table.  Early morning sunlight had started pouring in his windows.  His back spasmed as he stood up from the desk and he drew his breath sharply.  Finnegan had thought he had been able to avoid real work like this some decades ago.  He could still feel the censure buzzing in his skull each time he thought about handing off some of the files to an assistant.  The buzz would startle him at first, now it was a reassuring vibration behind his ear.

Finnegan walked over to a cabinet and grabbed a bottle of marsh off the top shelf.  He uncorked it and grabbed a small glass from on top of the cabinet.  This early in the morning he thought a scant minute longer before downing the dark blue liquid.

The squeak and groan of the wooden bench in front of the office broke his revelry.  Finnigan put down the glass and walked towards the front office door. No one was supposed to be there for hours yet.  He was halfway to the front door when he thought twice, backtracked and picked up a letter opener from his assistant's desk.  Putting his ear to the door he could hear the occasional creak and groan from the bench. 

Finnegan opened the door quickly and peeked around the frame, sitting on the bench at the top of the stairs, was a mountain of a man, the bench bending under his weight.  When the figure saw Finnigan he rose, head scant inches from the ceiling.  He was fully three heads taller than Finnegan and most likely at least twice his weight.

"Can I help you?"  Finnegan inquired.

For the man's size he stood like a child.  Head bowed, hands clasped nervously, feet pointed inward slightly.  The figures eyes closed and he began mouthing something obviously rehearsed.  Unfortunately there was no breath behind it and Finnegan was caught trying to read the man's lips.

"Ah, sir, you'll have to speak up I can't hear you."

That seemed to fluster the man who looked up surprised.

"Are you a golem?  If so, golem relations is one floor up.  But I don't think anyone is there yet.  Are you all right?  Is your hex wearing off?"

This seemed to prompt the mountian who finally found his voice:  "MynameisBertoandmysisterRaztoldmetofindthemanwhohelpsthechildrenandsaidyouwouldknowwhattodotohelpthechildren."

"Woah, woah, woah, slow down.  You're not a golem?"

"A golem?  No I'm Berto.  Raz told me to find you."

"Right, Raz?  Who is Raz?"

"Mysisteroraleastshesaysshe'smysisterandwegowayback..."

"Slow down.  Take a breath.  Why don't you come into my office.  You said something about the children?"  With that the buzz behind his ear intensified.  Finnegan scowled and said to no one in particular:  "If I can't ask about the children what use is any of this?"

Berto ducked under the office door and followed Finnegan to his office.

"Pardon the mess, I'm redecorating. I'm thinking of papering the walls with these and calling it 'early bureaucracy'"  He slid several files off of a second chair and motioned for Berto to sit.

"Now, you said something about Children.  Oh and can I get you anything?  A glass of water perhaps?  Take a deep breath and start from the beginning."

Berto took a deep breath and slowed down like Raz was always telling him to do, although it didn't look like this man was going to give him a slap to the back of the head like Raz did.

"I'm supposed to see the man who's looking for the children."

"What children?" Finnegan asked cautiously.  The buzzing behind his ear surprisingly silent.

Berto screwed up his face.  He was a study in concentration.

"The missing cuttle children.  They're so unhappy and scared."

"Who the children?"

"No the cuttle."

"How do you know?"

"That's what they were saying yesterday in the square."

"Right, yes of course, the cuttle in the suqare. And you speak cuttle correct?"  Finnegan said, grabbing another three fingers of marsh.

"Raz told me to say...  No I don't speak cuttle I just know anyway Raz told me to say"

"Raz, your sister right?"

"Right, at least I call her my sister.  We grew up together near the docks and we go on adventures together and we 'liberate and initiate the pockets of the unaware and the unrepentant' whatever that means.  Raz says its a noble calling."

"So your sister and you hang out on the docks and pick pocket?"

"Oh no no, pick pocketing is illegal.  We need the money so Raz says its the right thing to do and that the people would want to help us anyway, we're just saving them time!  We give it to our other brothers and sisters and buy them food!"

Finnegan sighed. 

"But that's not what I'm supposed to tell you. I'm supposed to say that we know who kidnapped the cuttle children!  All of them, not just the four you've sent reports to the runners for."

"There have only been four."  Finnegan lied.  The papers hadn't listed any of the other disappearances yet.

"No there've been a lot more.  The Cuttle said so yesterday, and Raz said to say that the Black Moths are involved!"

"The Black Moths?  Who are they?"

"They're the new gang.  Everyone's scared of them."

"Everyone?  Who is everyone?"

"Tom Chindle, the Ares Brothers, Benny Lopsided, Two-hits Linden.  Raz doesn't think I know but I pay attention. I really do!"  He looked so earnestly at Finnegan that Finnegan paused before pouring another glass of marsh.  He grabbed a pen and paper.

"All right, so Its the Black Monks?"

"Moths. The Black Moths"

"Right and the list of the others who are scared of these moths?"

He wrote them down assuming them to be a who's who of low level dock rabble.  At least he'd heard of the Ares brothers before, they had gone to the Refinery on a five year sentence.  Finnegan had been a witness at the trial in one of their lower level person trafficking schemes.

Had it been five years already since they were sent away?  Finnegan realized with a start that it had been much longer than five years ago.  He had born witness against them almost fifteen years ago. 

"Mr Berto. Is that your first or last name?"

"First, I don't have a last name.  Raz says some day we'll be adopted and we'll get that name.  That'll be a fun day!"

"Where is your sister now?"

"She had an appointment.  I don't know where she is but she said it was real important and that me coming to see you was just as important."

"So it was, so it was.  Do you have a way of contacting her?"

"No."  Berto hung his head.  He obviously hadn't thought this plan through far enough.

"Do you think she's doing something dangerous?  If so we should call the runners to help."

Berto panicked, eyes wide. "No!  No runners!  Runners hurt my friends!"

Finnegan had assumed as much.

"Do you have a way for me to contact you if I need more information?  I think I need to pay a visit the Ares brothers but I may need to talk to you or preferably with your sister shortly."

"no" Berto said quietly.

"Then you can either come with me, or stay here.  But I'm going to have to insist on one of those two options."

"I can come with you!  I haven't seen Furd in a long time!"

It made Finnegan uneasy that this giant seemed to be on a first name basis with a known criminal.

"Very well then, I need to write a quick report and send a message.  Would you mind waiting out in the front office?  I'll be ready to leave shortly."

"Yes!"

The mountain acted almost like a puppy, eyes wide, smiling at the thought of not having to be alone or make a decision himself.

Finnegan crafted a quick letter, addressed it to his cousin at the Citadel and put a time stamp on it so that his assistant wouldn't courier it for at least several hours.  Hopefully the runners would arrive in time and not make a mess of things but better to be safe than sorry.

"All right Mr. Berto.  Shall we be away?"

"From where?"  Berto asked getting up from the couch in the main room of the office.

"From here.  Lets go pay a visit to the Ares brothers."

Write the First Time

With Berto safely tucked away in the labyrinth of the Citadel, I threaded my way through the streets of the city. The address on the card led me to a small side lane that I had passed many times but never turned down before.  It was nondescript.  Just a dank side alley filled with overflowing garbage cans and the scuttle of small animals that took flight as I approached.  The alley had a few scarred doors on each side.  Every one had a patina of slime and disuse to them.  None matched the address I had so I kept walking, scanning ahead, ears perked for noise from behind, all the while the gloom of shadows lengthened.  The lane ended abruptly.  I don't know why I was surprised.  I mean, it wasn't like the Black Moths were going to have a welcome mat or placard announcing their presence but I did, at least, expect a door.  Forgive me my ignorance, it was my first time playing to this level of field.  I wasn't quite aware of how out matched I was.  But that sad realization was quickly approaching.

I turned around slowly at the dead end.  More rats.  More stink.  Less light.  But still, no sign of a door.  Just a solid brick wall ahead.  I stepped forward, my toes brushing the loose mortar that lay in front of the wall.  I could not see a since clue that there was anything other than brick before me.  It even smelled of old stone.  I glanced at the card one last time and notice something.  The dark winged moth was glowing.  It wasn't pronounced.  Nothing you could find your way by.  But the shine was there.  I lifted it closer to my eye and the glow intensified.  Clearly, something was happening.  I stepped back and scanned the wall.  Sure enough, there was now a slot, small enough for the card, appearing before me.  There were no instructions but it seemed pretty self evident.  I slid my card into the crevice and waited.

The bricks began to rumble.  It was low and quiet.  A smell of oil and sulfur tinged the air and suddenly my brick wall opened into a small lobby.  A man sat behind a desk directly before me.  He glanced up at me in irritation and waved me in.  I hesitated.

"Come now, mustn't tarry.  You are letting in the smell," he snapped.  His nose wrinkled in distaste.  I scuttled forward and felt the opening shut behind me.  The room was small.  Only a few feet wide with four chairs along the north wall.  The desk with the fussy man sat next to another door.  This one plane wood.  It was closed.

"Now, let me see," the desk man pushed his spectacles up his nose and shuffled some papers with gnarled hands.  "Ah yes, Miss. Raz?  Is it?  And your brother, ah, Umberto de la Torez?  Where would he be, um?" he peered over the rim of his glasses and tapped his fingers impatiently.

"My brother couldn't make it.  He had another engagement." I answered levelly.

"I see," the desk man sighed in disappointment and scribbled something onto the page before him.  "Take a seat please, they will be here for you shortly."  He nodded toward the row of chairs to my right.  I watched as he rolled the paper before him into a cylinder and then slid it into an opening behind him.  There was a woosh of air and it shot up the wall, through an opening below the ceiling and out of sight.  The man returned to his scribbling without further notice.  Warily, I took a seat and waited.