Chapter 57. Gang

With the wall in place, Abe sent zombies out searching for unaffiliated undead. It would be no easy task since most would sign up as Reavers since it was one of the few ways for the unaffiliated to earn coin. But what choice did he have? He didn't feel comfortable leaving the alley until he had someone to guard this place.

At the alley’s far end, he surveyed the starry sky of the Astral Vale beyond. The alley itself was entirely exposed to the darkness of the Vale, as were many. The floating block of rock that was Lantern was dotted by holes on its underside, allowing for jetties to extend out and Astral ships to be tied down.

It wasn’t much, but Abe had the zombies build him a flimsy timber platform with a couple of extending beams that would work well enough to tie down his Astral ship once it was delivered.

“Well, I guess it’s back to waiting,” Abe sighed and turned back into his alley. Lantern was on par with Earth’s greatest cities, and sitting around, unable to explore, was eating him up a little.

“With any luck, I'll be able to hire some decent help, and then maybe I can see a little of what this place has to offer."

*******

Bent over the counter of the crowded store as dreamers of all shapes and sizes funneled in and out, the giant walking mushroom colony slammed a fist against the bench.

“You say it was a sporeking that sold one of Old Silveroot's acorns? Details, give me!”

“It was,” said a giant eyeball resting atop a humanoid body from behind the counter—though no mouth was apparent. “It was ah,” a gangly finger rose to tap the side of its huge, flickering eyelid. “...sporeking, that much I'm certain of. But, unusually, it carried a pistol and sword. Don’t think I’ve ever seen one of your kind use such weapons before.”

“That’s him,” the hulking mushroom growled. “Details, where did he go?”

“Where did he go?” the eyeball tilted curiously and shrugged. “I’m just a merchant, not a private investigator, Mr. Spore-emperor.”

Ror’rel’s fibrous skin curled back to reveal lines of dagger-like teeth as he let out a low growl.

“It’s true; ask anyone. And I'm protected,” the merchant added, pointing up at a sign against the wall that read, "Security ensured by the Slayer's Guild."

“Master Ror’rel,” a sporeking said, standing stiff at his side.

“What?”

“It’s the scouts. Apparently, they've found witnesses that saw the sporeking venture forth from the Necropolis.”

“The Necropolis? That tracks with what we know,” Ror’rel sneered and turned to the sporeking. “Fine, lead the way."

Mushroom nodded and hopped to action, turning to leave the establishment with its commander on its heels.

*******

Within a dark, moldy recess of the Necropolis, squeaking and squealing filled a damp chamber with dripping pipes lining the walls.

“Quiet, flea bags, quiet,” shouted a roped, one-eyed rat standing atop a podium.

Beneath the podium, hundreds, maybe thousands of rats pressed against one another, pushing towards the stage, where the one-eye rat banged a staff against the ground and continued to yell, “Quiet.”

“It’s fine, Raglas,” came a deep, echoing voice. “Let the children speak,” the giant rat continued as it waddled from a pipe filled with ankle-deep, green water that led out onto the stage. “They mourn a brother; who can blame them?”

Bells chimed as the rat walked, lining strings wrapped around its bulbous, postural-covered, clump-haired form as veiny, red eyes scanned the crowded room.

“Shut up,” Raglas sneered toward the crowd, pounding his staff against the ground. “The Grand  Flagran talks. To speak above his voice is to blasphemy!” the rat shouted, sniffing the air as it looked across the crowd.

The squeaking continued until the obese form of Grand Flagran reached the stage’s edge and fell silent.

“I mourn with you, my children,” Grand Flagran said, raising his clawed hands to the sky. “Brother Rets was a blessed one—big of bone and filled with fat. His loss touches us all. The path forward is clear. The loss of a blessed one requires vengeance. But we must crawl with caution. Anyone who could defeat a fat one like Rets is no easy prey. I shall call a holy war against this abomination. The clans and gangs of Lantern’s Necropolis will hear us squeal. They will understand how serious we are. And never again shall our place in this great city be doubted, for we are the Clan of Plague Carriers. And through us, all shall fester and foul.”

As the rat spoke, the crowd erupted in applause.

********

A hundred or so banshee warriors crowded in a dark, abandoned warehouse in the Necropolis.

“At least we’re alive, Viara,” said Elder Kilik, brushing back her silver hair.

“We saved barely a third of our clan and lost our ancestral home,” Viara replied, her voice distant. “How do you speak as if we achieved something?”

“If we’d stayed, we’d all have tasted true death. At least the clan has a future.”

“Does it? The gangs of the Necropolis will not allow us to march into their territory without a fight.”

“That’s why us elders will have to lead the sisters. Show them a path to victory.”

“Us elders? The ones who failed them already? If we can’t defeat some Astral scavengers, what chance do we have against established forces in a place like this?”

“Quit this depressing attitude, Viara; it is unbecoming of you. Were you not the one that led us to so many victories? Where is the Viara that helped me set down the foundation for our clan—the one that I have leaned on so many times? Where is she now?”

“She’s,” Viara’s breath caught. “She’s…”

“Has your spine really gone?”

Viara’s brows bent, and her lip twitched.

“That’s better. I want to see you pissed off. I want to see the rage you possessed when we slaughtered those pitiful abominations and won that shardworld for a home.”

“You’re right,” Viara’s voice came weak and rugged. “We can’t give up now. I’m sorry, old friend.” 

Exhaling, Viara shook out her arms and stood, straightening her back proudly.

“That’s better.”

“Letting the young ones see me like that is a disgrace. I’m so sorry, Kilik.”

“It’s fine,” the silver-haired banshee smirked. “I’m just glad you’re not going to leave this mess for me to clean up alone. You were being a coward, but you weren’t entirely wrong. The gangs of the Necropolis are not going to allow us easy passage. We ought to find an easy target and take them out. The others will be far more willing to deal with us if we’re taking over the territory of another gang, rather than trying to squeeze out a new parcel of land for ourselves.”

“You’re right,” Viara nodded. “We need to make preparations as soon as possible. The longer this is left, the higher the chance of pissing off the wrong people will become.”

“Agreed.”

*********

“This is it, really?” Abe groaned as the zombies led two raggedy ghouls and a skeleton with a missing jaw through the wall. 

“Sssorrry, maaster, but few aare willing to joooin.”

Sighing, Abe rubbed his temples and shook his head, “It’s fine, I suppose. Do any of you at least have your own weapons?”

The three raggedy warriors glanced at each other and shrugged.

“Damn it. Take them and get some cheap equipment. If I’m going to put any faith in their ability to guard this place, they at least need some weapons.”

The zombies tilted their heads.

“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot,” he said and collected a couple of pouches of ducats. “This should be enough for basic weapons.”

“Aaas you wish, maaaster.”

There’s not going to be anything easy about this, is there?

He wasn’t about to turn away willing help, but those three certainly hadn’t changed his situation. And they certainly couldn’t take on the wererats had they been here, even if the big white one hadn’t been there.

He turned to two other zombies swaying aimlessly and waved them over, “You two.”

“Yeees?”

“I need information. Head to a tavern or something similar and find out what you can about the wererats that attacked,” he said, throwing them a sack of ducats. “That’s for information if you’re required to pay. I want to know exactly who they are, how many there are of them, and if they’ve got it out for me. Got it?”

“Yeees, maaster.”

“Good,” Abe grunted and returned to his hole in the wall. Some of his other zombies knew some basic information about the wererats. They knew that they traveled in clans, but not what clan they came from. They also knew that wererats were considered one of the stronger and more dangerous gangs within Lantern’s Necropolis. But Abe needed more. If necessary, he would go on the run again and hope for the best, but if he had any chance of fighting back against them, he had every intention of doing so.

“I really don’t want to go back to hitching rides on Astral vessels if it can be avoided,” he sighed as he lowered himself to sit on the brick tiles within his little home.

Reluctantly, he crossed his legs and dipped back into meditation for the first time in several days. With any luck, he would find some more help over the following days, maybe even enough to challenge the wererats and keep his shitty little home on Lantern.

“Everything has worked out so far… to some extent, at least,” he mumbled, shutting his eyes. “How hard can fighting an undead gang war on a floating world be anyway?”

The thought sounded even more ridiculous out loud, and it creased a smirk upon his face.

“At least being dead isn’t boring.”

Also, it felt good to meditate beside the pulsating deathly orb; its energy filled the air and settled into his veins as he absorbed energy from both it and the surrounding Vale. But there were far more efficient ways to funnel deathly energy, and this was financially careless. Still, Abe had bigger things to worry about, and so he let himself mindlessly enjoy the sensation.

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