David Dalglish - Blood of the Underworld

“Only if I get to take your earrings afterward.”

Grayson laughed.

“We’ll have our share of killing, and pay no attention to the rumors you’ve heard. The thieves here are dangerous, even with their balls chopped off. But we’ll be better, won’t we? We’ll kill everyone we need to kill, but for now, no reason to fight. When the money starts running dry, the underworld will turn to us. It’s only a matter of time before the other guilds crumble. Now ready up the oxen. I want us at the gates before the midday trade is done.”

“Get ‘em harnessed!” Boggs shouted.

The thieves scattered about, gathering the few supplies they’d broken out for their rest and preparing the wagons to move. Grayson hopped into the frontmost wagon and leaned back in the seat, hands behind his head.

“Think it’ll be easy getting through the gates?” Boggs asked, taking a seat beside him and grabbing the reins. Grayson fingered the medallion in his pocket, then shrugged.

“We’ll find out,” he said. “No reason to panic until then.”

“Never a bad thing to be prepared,” Tracy said, hopping up to join them as the wagon shuddered into motion. Tracy was Boggs half-sister, and far more pleasant to look at. Her brown hair was tied into a tight ponytail, clearly showing her seven lengthy dangling earrings as she took a seat behind them.

“If the guards give us trouble, just flash them your tits,” Grayson said.

“And if they’re not into that?” she asked.

“Then I’ll show them my dick. Hardly complicated.”

Boggs let out a laugh. Grayson shot him a look.

“Care to share, Boggs?”

“Don’t you see?” Boggs asked. “We’re the most dangerous men Veldaren’s seen in ages, and they’re going to let us right through their walls because of some tits and a dick?”

“Don’t forget a little help from on high,” Grayson said, pulling the medallion out from his pocket by its bronze chain.

“Just seems shameful,” Boggs said. “Shouldn’t we be climbing over walls at night or something?”

Tracy kicked him in the back with her heel, the hilt of the knife hidden in her boot jamming him hard in the kidney.

“Just shut up and steer.”

“Yes, sister.”

They followed the road through the shallow hills, enduring the jostle of the wagons. Grayson lay back so his eyes were free of the sun and did his best to relax. Getting through the gates would be trickier than he let on. There was no room for error. Even if they were fast enough to get away, there’d be no way they could take the wagons with them in their escape. Drastically undercutting their rivals was one thing, but losing all that product without any gain would be unacceptable.

“Remember,” Grayson said, sitting up as the walls of Veldaren grew closer. “You keep your mouths shut and let me do the talking. Don’t want anything to draw attention to us.”

“Not our first time smuggling,” Tracy said.

“And all things considered, I’d prefer it not to be our last, either,” Boggs said. “You got your wish, Grayson. Just hope you’re right about your little helper.”

Grayson grunted. He hoped he was right, as well.

The wagons approached the west side entrance, the portcullis open during the daytime traffic. Boggs stopped the lead wagon at behest of two guards who approached with hands raised.

“Been here before?” the first asked.

“Can’t say we have,” Grayson said.

“Need you to register your cargo, as well as pay a fee if you’re not with the merchant’s guild. I’ll let you know the tariff once I look it over.”

“Not sure that’s necessary,” Grayson said, leaning closer to the guard. He lifted the medallion, given to him by Laerek to ensure entrance to the city without incident. The guard’s eyes widened upon seeing it, and he glanced about.

“Back to your post,” he said to the other. The man looked unsure, but did as he was told.

“You’re asking a lot,” the guard said when they were alone. “We allow the temple to bring in supplies as necessary, but three wagons? And you’re yet to tell me what it is you carry.”

“What I carry is of no concern,” Grayson said, reaching into his pocket. He thought the priests of Karak might not have enough sway to get all his men and crimleaf through. But of course, power wasn’t the only way to get what one wanted in the world…

“This, however,” he said, tossing a bag of coins at the guard, who caught it. “I think this is what will most interest you.”

The guard opened it, saw the gold within. The yellow sparkled in his eyes. Closing it, he pocketed the bag and then nodded.

“I’ll still need to inspect it,” he said. Grayson motioned to the others so they might know to leave him be. The guard climbed into the back of each wagon, giving only cursory glances and not once opening a crate. After the third, he returned to the front.

“Your tariff plus merchant fee is seventeen silver,” he said. “Going rate for such low quality wheat.”

“You heard him,” Grayson told Boggs. “Pay the man for our wheat.”

Boggs grumbled but pulled out the demanded coin from his own pocket. That done, the guard waved them through, then went back to his station to hand over the tariff.

“So much for your help from on high,” Tracy said as the wagons rolled forward.

“We’re through, and untouched,” Grayson said. “That we had to grease the wheels a little shouldn’t be much of a surprise.”

“Just preferred we used your grease instead of mine,” Boggs muttered. “Where to now?”

“Head south. I already have a contact there waiting. Once we’ve claimed the hearts of the city’s most poor and desperate, and established our territory, we’ll worry about moving north.”

The quality of roads steadily deteriorated as they traveled deeper into the southern district, the neglect apparent with potholes and even gaps where the brick had been covered with long swathes of dirt in half-hearted attempts to smooth out the passage. The wagons slowed, and the jostling increased. Grayson saw Pierce hop out of the second wagon and come running. At first he thought him just tired of the rough ride, but it turned out not the case.

“We got a tail,” he said, walking beside them.

“To be expected,” Grayson said. “I doubt too many merchants travel south. Did you catch which guild?”

Pierce shook his head.

“I don’t know them well enough. Sorry.”

“Just keep your eyes open,” Grayson said. “And don’t let them know we see them.”

Pierce nodded.

“They’re running ‘long the rooftops,” he said. “Watch them if you can.”

Pierce returned to the second wagon. Grayson leaned back, imitating his relaxed position earlier. As he did, he looked to the rooftops, trying to see who shadowed them out of the corner of his eyes.

“Any of them a threat?” Boggs asked as they shifted to one side to avoid a nasty stretch of mud.

“Not really,” Grayson said. “Just the Ash Guild. But if that is them, well, they might have a tail of their own…”

They continued until they reached their contact, one of the few merchants still maintaining a presence in the far south of Veldaren. He was an overweight man, sweaty and with his shirt overstuffed with his own fat.

“Afternoon, Billick,” Grayson said as they stopped the wagons in front of his shop.

“I assume no guards followed you?” Billick asked, furtive eyes bouncing between the wagons.

“Guards?” Grayson asked, hopping down from the front of the wagon. “No, guards are the least of our problems, my friend. Where can we store our merchandise?”

“Space for everything,” Billick said, gesturing toward the open door to his shop. “Carry it in, and put it the back room.”