Language warning, as usual. Those darn, foul-mouthed rebels...
Part 1 can be found here: topic52225.html
Part 2 can be found here: topic52638.html
While Raz is gone, I contemplate the past uprisings and rebellions, all of which failed. Why did they fail? Some of them were massive, and the militia is always outnumbered. So why did the uprisings fail? With numbers on their side, the rebels can overcome weapon shortages. They clearly had the support of the people, and the Militia didn’t. They had all the time in the world- the Militia weren’t going anywhere, and neither were they. And the longer they wait, the more brutal the Militia would probably get, just fueling the rebellion. So why did they fail? Maybe the Militia was too brutal, and people were too scared. That’s possible, but somehow I doubt it. I need to figure this out if this has any chance of working…
A soft metallic bang woke me, making me jump severely. Raz shut and barred the door, looking sheepish. “Sorry, Zeno. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay,” I say, getting to my feet. “I hadn’t meant to fall asleep.” Raz hands me a paper bag full of a steaming food I can’t identify. Hunger overcoming curiosity, I bite into it, nearly burning my mouth. It is delicious, whatever it is. “Thanks, Raz,” I say through a full mouth.
“What’d Osul say?” Asil asks after a few minutes.
“He wants to talk to you in person, Zeno,” Raz says. “No, I don’t think he’s going to turn you in. And I found a steel bar to hold the door closed. Wrap it in some rags, and it’ll even be quiet.”
“That’s good work, Raz. Really good,” I say, meaning it. This kid impresses me more and more, I realize.
“Thanks,” he says, smiling.
“When did he want to meet me?”
“Whenever works. I can always find him. He seemed kinda interested, I think. I’ve heard he has a grudge against some people in the Militia. You might be able to make something of that.”
“What kind of a grudge and why?” I ask.
“Seems he might have had a daughter once…”
I raise a hand, cutting Raz off. “I get it.” Indeed, I do. Why they always wanted to take some poor helpless girl when there were reasonably good looking whores at their beck and call, I haven’t a clue, but I most certainly get where Raz is going, even if he doesn’t. Damn sadists. “I might be able to use that. Thanks Raz.” I finish eating the… whatever it is… and stand, brushing crumbs from my shirt. “Let’s see this bar you found for the door.”
After several hours of surprisingly restful sleep, Raz wakes me. “Osul is usually at his house around now. If you want to go see him, now’s a good time.”
“Thanks,” I say, climbing to my feet and stretching, nearly whacking an arm on the pillar I had been resting against. “Should I bring anything besides my knife?”
“It’s not that dangerous of an area, I think, but you might have a little more trouble,” Raz says, leaving unspoken because you look like Militia.
I squat down and start rubbing handfuls of dust and dirt onto my outfit, trying to rough up my appearance. “Does this help?”
“A little bit,” Raz says, sounding not completely convinced of his answer.
Just in case, I stride to the nearest pile of wood and disassembled crates and take a somewhat heavy wooden beam, to use as a club. I drag it against the rough concrete floor to smooth off some of the splinters, and return to Raz. “Let’s go.”
Osul resides in a dwelling on the other side of the river, a few layers up on the border of the under- and middle-city. I notice that Raz goes up and then over, as opposed to journeying across town first and then travelling up to the appropriate layer. From what I can tell, it is night, which explains the conspicuous lack of patrols. The Militia only sends light patrols at night, but has a much heavy presence during the day. It is much easier to travel at night- the routes between layers of the city are usually monitored all hours of the day, but Raz seems to know which to take when, as we are not stopped on our way. I see only one patrol through the entire journey.
The layer in which Osul resides is slightly cleaner and nicer than the layer we came from, which is the lowest. Osul’s house is actually a proper house, albeit small and somewhat grim. But it is indeed a house, with a door and even a window or two, as opposed to some of the lean-to’s we saw on our journey. Raz knocks briefly on the door, motioning me to stand back and to the side, more or less out of sight.
Within in a minute, the door is cautiously opened, not far enough for me to see who answered. I have been suspicious from the beginning, and my sense of unease grows by the second. I partially draw the stiletto from its improvised sheath in my belt, and grip the handle, preparing to fight if necessary.
“Quit being paranoid, Osul. It’s me, Raz!” Raz says. “I brought the man you wanted to see.”
At the proclamation of ‘it’s me, Raz,’ the door opens completely, throwing some light on the person inside. He is a little shorter than I am, and slightly taller than Raz, with long brown hair. He is clean shaven, but looks haggard. “Come in, you little rascal. Quickly, before someone sees you. You too,” he calls, looking around, failing to see me. He turns and enters, Raz following, and I follow suit, closing the door behind me. “Now then, let’s get a look at you,” he says, turning. “Raz says you…” he sees me for the first time, and freezes. His blue-grey eyes go wide, his breath shallows and quickens, and he falls silent for a brief instant, as if suspended in time. His mouth hangs slightly open, paused in the act of speaking. We lock eyes for a brief instant, and I know what’s coming. Militia, he mouths, brows furrowing in rage. The moment breaks.
Osul lunges forward, pulling a weapon from a partially open drawer so violently that the drawer flies out of its tracks and crashes to the floor. I backpedal, knowing that he’ll never believe that I’m not Militia anymore, and pull the stiletto, knowing that it, too, is useless. Faster than I thought possible, the gun comes up. He racks the slide and pulls the hammer down in that motion, taking a two handed grip on the gun, squaring his feet, and aiming the barrel squarely at my chest. Damn. I can’t die yet. I haven’t… Damn.
“NO, OSUL! DON’T!” Raz screams.
“You filthy bastard,” Osul mutters with more hatred than I’ve heard since… ever. “You filthy bastard.”
“OSUL, STOP!” Raz yells, showing more bravery than I expected he had and grabbing the gun. “He’s not Militia!”
“The Militia tried to kill me,” I say, trying to sound calm. “I want to kill them. I’m not one of them anymore,” I say, very slowly and clearly, keeping an eye on the gun and wondering if there’s any way to dodge a shot. Probably not, I decide.
“He’s here to help us,” Raz says, stretching the truth a little, but I’m not about to correct him.
Osul slowly lowers the gun, but does not take his finger from the trigger. “You are sure?” he asks, not looking away from me.
“Yes,” Raz says firmly. “He’s one of us now.”
Osul takes his finger from the trigger, but does not put the gun away. “You trust him?”
“Yes.”
Osul motions us to sit down at a table behind him. I notice that Osul takes the seat farthest from me at the table, keeping it between us. He places the gun on the table, in easy reach. “Very well, but only because Raz trusts you. What do you want from me?”
“Raz tells me you have ‘connections,’” I say. “Connections for weapons like that,” I say, nodding at his gun. “Those are what I want.”
“And why should I risk my neck by breaking more laws than I care to count to get them for you?”
“Because you want the Militia gone, and so do I. Unlike you, however, I am in a position to do something about it.”
“And why do you think you have a chance of succeeding where so many have failed?”
“Because I was one of them. I know how they think. I know how they will act. And I know why every other uprising has failed.”
“Do you, now?”he says with a laugh. “Enlighten me. How do you plan to overthrow the Militia?” I am hesitant to speak in the presence of Raz, firstly because I am still planning, and because I know Raz will tell everyone he thinks he can trust. Though those people may in fact be trustworthy, that is still more people knowing than I am comfortable with. Osul seems to notice this. “Raz, why don’t you go make sure no one’s listening to us? Keep watch, will ya?”
“Sure thing,” Raz says, standing. I am fairly sure he knows he’s being asked to leave, but doesn’t comment on it. “I’ll act like a beggar,” he says, grabbing a large blanket and wrapping it around himself as he goes. He leaves, and closes the door behind him.
“What is so damn secret you don’t want Raz knowing? He trusts you,” Osul says. “And I trust him, which is the only reason you’re still alive.”
“I think I know why the previous uprisings failed. I’m still working on a plan, but I don’t Raz to know it yet.”
“And why not?”
“Because he’s part of it.”
Osul snorts and rolls his eyes. “I’ll take the bait. Why is it that all the previous uprisings failed?”
“For one of three reasons: not enough support, not enough weapons, or lack of a leader.”
“And you intend to overcome these… how?”
“Support is the easy one- once people see success, they’ll join. Defiance spreads. Why do you think the Militia are so brutal? It’s the only way to keep people down. If things go unpunished, other people say, ‘look at him, he got away with it, now I’m going to do it too.’ Lack of weapons? That’s why I’m here. You’ve just proven you’ve got one. I have no idea if Raz knows, but Enko has one too. He was about to shoot me earlier, and he still will, if he thinks I’m going to get Raz killed. I’m pretty sure Enko got it from you, and doesn’t want Raz to know, which is why he didn’t want me coming here. But I did, and you just proved you can get guns.”
“And what about lack of a leader? You don’t seem like leadership material. And how does Raz play into this?”
“Of course I’m not leadership material,” I say, biting off the insult I had meant to finish the statement with. “I can’t command more than a few men. I’m going to get the uprising started, then put Raz in charge, the public face of the uprising. I’ll help Enko in the planning and carry out operations.”
Osul sits silently for a moment. “Enko is going to kill you.”
I laugh, being unable to deny the truth of this. “Hopefully I can convince him not to.”
“Very well, so let’s suppose that you’re right about that. Now why would I support this crazy venture of yours?”
“Because its success would benefit you.”
“Obviously. Beyond that, however. I’m not willing to risk my neck for what may happen.”
“You had a daughter, once?” I ask.
A sharp intake of breath. His face freezes, then falls. “Yes,” he says sadly.
“And the Militia…?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Does it matter?”
“Do you want him dead?”
“What?”
“Give me a name, a place, a patrol route. I’ll kill him. Will that be enough to buy your support?”
He is silent for a long moment. “Yes,” he whispers.
“Name?”
“Wait. Raz should hear this. I won’t be held responsible for whatever you’re getting him into. He should hear this, and know what you intend to do for me.”
I stand, and walk to the door, I open it, look around, and catch sight of Raz, posing excellently as a beggar, sitting against a wall across the street. I catch his eye, and motion for him to come in. He does so, shutting the door behind him, and hanging the blanket over the chest of drawers Osul pulled the gun from, stopping to slide the fallen drawer back into its place in the chest. He sits at the table. “What’s up?” he asks, looking from me to Osul.
“You should hear what he has to say, what he intends to do. You should know what your friend is,” Osul says quietly.
“What?” he asks, confused.
“Osul has agreed to help us. He has agreed on the condition that I kill the man responsible for… what happened… to his daughter. He was about to tell me who the person is,” I explain, looking towards Osul, but glancing at Raz, gauging his expression. He takes this revelation surprisingly well, to my surprise. He looks slightly put out, but I sense he’s not directing this emotion towards me, but rather the whole business in general.
“Yes, the name.” He takes a deep breath, then speaks very fast, staring me in the eye, as if searching me for a hint of deceit or weakness. “His name is Talsen Grinto. He patrols this level of the city ever other day. I know his route. He patrolled today, so that gives you a bit of time to get ready. You’ll have two days. I want him dead next time he patrols this route. He’s the captain of the patrol. I assume you know which that is?”
I nod. “Are they mechanized?”
“What?”
“Do they patrol on foot, or with a vehicle.”
“They are a standard foot patrol- one captain and two patrolmen.”
“Standard equipment?”
“How the hell would I know? I’m a merchant, not a Militiaman.”
I consider pressing him more, but decide not to. “Show me where.”
“I won’t go there. Raz, do you know where it is?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Can you show him?”
“Sure thing.”
“How do you want verification?” I ask.
“What?” Osul asks, confused.
“Proof that he’s dead,” I explain.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll be watching,” he says, with a grin of anticipation. “Now get out of here, and don’t get yourselves caught.”
“I’ll come back when I’m done.”
“Come that night.”
“I will.”
I get up, and head for the door, Raz following suit. As we leave, I see Osul withdraw a picture from the drawer the gun came from.
Gender:
Points: 4428
Reviews: 58