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

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

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 didnt deserve what happened to her. She was just a kid doing a simple job. By that same token, I didnt deserve to have my stuff taken from me. That table had been made by my dad and... well, I didnt 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.Visit no(v)eLb(i)n.com for the best novel reading experience

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

Hmm, maybe, he replied. Union doesnt do much of that sort of thing. Protection rackets, collecting union dues, breaking knees for coins, sure. Mugging though? Unions fighting hard to make sure people like them. Cant have people like you much if they know youll turn around and take their purse the next time theyre 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 didnt help that the union really was a corrupt mess.

Then again, the industrialists were openly corrupt as well, and clearly didnt care about the people working themselves to death in their factories. The union didnt 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. Doesnt sound like any of my business. You dont look like you got your teeth kicked in. Whats 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 Dregs, 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 Dregs chuckles as I ate.

Not yet, I said. Hows Debra?

He nodded. Good. Were both working now. Still staying together. I know its inappropriate, but its just for a while longer. He grinned. Im getting a ring.

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

He laughed. Ill let her handle that part. My jobs 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 Id ever be able to do about his limbs but... I was probably getting far ahead of myself. What brings you here? I dont see your stall.

Im 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. Ive met other kids, some your age, some older. None of them quite as sharp.

Ill take it as a compliment, I said while pitching my voice to sound more childish.

Stew told me hed 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, whatre you wanting to know? Stew asked.

Muggers, I said. Theyve been causing me trouble. Not locals. These are guys from somewhere else. Mistbank, the Grove. I just need to know where theyre staying at.

That sounds like trouble, he said. But I think I know who youre talking about. Five, maybe six guys? Younger men?

Sounds about right, I said.

Yeah. Ive heard a few stories. Guys getting hit on the way back home from the market, a few customers on the way over too. They dont stick around the same place two days in a row though.

Smart, I muttered.

Whats 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 didnt 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.

***