Sporemageddon

Death Cap - Thirty-Four - Asking Pointed and Harmful Questions

I visited the union, but this time the only mushrooms I had on me were those I always carried for protection.

The new union building was, inconveniently, a good ten minutes further away than the last, which left me with some time to think.

Bet didn’t deserve what happened to her. She was just a kid doing a simple job. By that same token, I didn’t deserve to have my stuff taken from me. That table had been made by my dad and... well, I didn’t need more reasons to despise the people who had mugged my friend and only employee, but I was certainly finding plenty.

The guards lingering around the entrance let me in with a nod, then I started looking for Dregs.

I found the hobgoblin sitting near the kitchen area. He had a stool that was a bit taller than the others, to accommodate his height, and was blowing across a steaming bowl of some sort of stew. I sat next to him. “Think I can get some of that?” I asked.

He glanced at me, then back at his food. “Yeah, sure. Hey! Martin, a bowl for the brat.”

One of the guys in the kitchen waved a hand our way without turning back to see us. I took that as a maybe.

“What you here for?” Dregs asked.

“Not in a small-talk kind of mood?” I asked.

“In an eating kind of mood.”

That was fair. I let him have a spoonful before I asked my question. “I’m looking for someone to help me find a group of muggers hitting the slums. Think you can help me?”

“Hmm, maybe,” he replied. “Union doesn’t do much of that sort of thing. Protection rackets, collecting union dues, breaking knees for coins, sure. Mugging though? Union’s fighting hard to make sure people like them. Can’t have people like you much if they know you’ll turn around and take their purse the next time they’re out.”

“That makes sense.” The union was in a PR-war with the industrialists. There was plenty of anti-union propaganda around, and it probably didn’t help that the union really was a corrupt mess.

Then again, the industrialists were openly corrupt as well, and clearly didn’t care about the people working themselves to death in their factories. The union didn’t have to do too much to look like the good guys when their opponents were so sickening.

“What would I need to do for you to tell me where to find a specific group of muggers?” I asked.

Dregs shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like any of my business. You don’t look like you got your teeth kicked in. What’s the story?”

“I hired a girl, ten years old, a good worker, to sell my mushroom skewers for me. They robbed her, beat her, then stole my stuff,” I said. I think some of the anger bled through because Dregs gave me a look.

Then the chef placed a bowl in front of me. Smaller than Dreg’s, but still full to the brim with stew. He tossed in a spoon with a plop, then walked back to the kitchen.

I brought the bowl closer to the edge of the table, then sighed as I had to kneel atop the stool I had to be tall enough to eat. I ignored Dreg’s chuckles as I ate.

“So, it’s revenge?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yup. Simple as.”

“Don’t think I can help you,” he said.

I shot him a look, spoon clinking against my teeth. “Why not?”

He raised his hand, three fingers raised which he dropped with each point he made. “Don’t know the folk you’re looking for so I won’t help there. I’m on duty, so I’m too busy. I don’t see taking out a bunch of street trash as all that exciting.”

“Well, shit,” I said. “If it wasn’t for this stew coming here would've been a waste.”

Dregs snorted. “Fine, I can give advice, at least. Do you want to send a message here?”

“A message?” I asked.

“Make it so that the next idiots who want to mug one of yours knows better.”

I considered it. It was possible. I could do some nasty things to someone with some of my mushrooms. They’d be a ranting, hallucinating mess of a person before their heart or brain gave out. If I made it public, then news would travel as it did in the slums. It might save me trouble later.

It might also make things worse. The bullies knew about me. Or kind of did. This would be me shouting on the rooftops about a strange child with mushrooms that could mess people up. They’d have to be morons not to put one and one together and reach two.

“No, I think I want this to be a bit more subtle. These muggers are from the nicer parts of City Nineteen,” I said.

“Ah,” Dregs said. “We have some union people in all the parts of this shithole city,” he said. “I can maybe talk to some people about it, but you won’t get an answer quick-like.”

“Alright,” I said. “Well, it’s okay. I have other avenues of inquiry.”

“Heading out?” he asked.

I snorted. “Not before I finish this. Free food, Dregs. You don’t say no to free food.” There was even some sort of meat in this. I silently prayed to Feronie that it wasn’t spider rat and ate until my bowl was clean.

Dregs took off to get back to work before I was done, so once I was finished patting down my stomach I placed the bowl in a large tub for dirty dishes, then made my way out.

If I couldn’t find an answer with the union...

My next stop was the marketplace. Not to buy anything, but to visit some old friends. “Hey Stew,” I said as I came to stand in front of a stall. It sold household stuff. Towels and doilies and racks to fix onto the walls and little tin pantry boxes to store crackers in and whatnot. “I just ate your namesake, it was nice.”

“Hey!” Stew said. He looked to be in a good mood. He had replaced his crutch with a newer, nicer one, and while his clothes weren’t exactly the height of fashion they were clean and serviceable. “Been a while. I was worried the slums might have gotten you.”

“Not yet,” I said. “How’s Debra?”

He nodded. “Good. We’re both working now. Still staying together. I know it’s inappropriate, but it’s just for a while longer. He grinned. “I’m getting a ring.”

My eyebrows shot up and I smiled right back. “Congratulations!” I said. “I’m happy for the two of you. Will you be having a big wedding?”

He laughed. “I’ll let her handle that part. My job’s just to find the ring and the courage to ask.” He practically glowed, and it was undeniable that he looked leagues better than before. I wondered for a moment if there was anything I’d ever be able to do about his limbs but... I was probably getting far ahead of myself. “What brings you here? I don’t see your stall.”

“I’m not here for that,” I admitted. “I was hoping I could pick your brain. You might have heard some things while around here that I have a serious need to know.”

He shook his head. “You know, I almost forgot how weird it is to talk to you. I’ve met other kids, some your age, some older. None of them quite as sharp.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” I said while pitching my voice to sound more childish.

Stew told me he’d be busy for the next hour, but he had a few minutes off after the lunchtime rush. I ended up waiting for him behind the market, in one of the linked warehouses where goods were stored. No one bothered me, though maybe that was because I recognized nearly everyone I saw, if only by sight.

“So, what’re you wanting to know?” Stew asked.

“Muggers,” I said. “They’ve been causing me trouble. Not locals. These are guys from somewhere else. Mistbank, the Grove. I just need to know where they’re staying at.”

“That sounds like trouble,” he said. “But I think I know who you’re talking about. Five, maybe six guys? Younger men?”

“Sounds about right,” I said.

“Yeah. I’ve heard a few stories. Guys getting hit on the way back home from the market, a few customers on the way over too. They don’t stick around the same place two days in a row though.”

“Smart,” I muttered.

“What’s really strange is the number of them. Muggers usually work alone. Maybe two guys. This is a lot more complicated than that,” he said.

He might have been onto something. Still, it didn’t change what I had to do. “Is anyone else looking for them?” I asked.

“As a matter of fact, yeah,” Stew said.

“Oh?” I asked. “Who?”

“An old friend of yours.”

***