Estranged

One of the Seven

“Please come along.” With an unsteady gait, Delayne headed down, boots clanking on the metal steps, awash in a dull green glow provided by tube lights fitted into the railings.

Gringe proceeded to follow, then stopped. He turned, taking a short look at the huddle of unconscious people across the room, before heading down himself.

The steps led to a tunnel. After some minutes, they came upon a steel gate. A portly man stood on the other side of it, wearing a thick, dark, fluffy jacket that made him look like a barrel. A curious sign was stitched onto the breast pocket of the jacket—a soaring swordfish. “That ain’t no Blitz, Delayne,” the man bristled as he neared them, squinting to get a better look in the weak light. “You didn’t say nothing ‘bout any strangers.”

Delayne huffed, bringing out the access key once more. “Pipe down, old man. It’s an emergency.” He held the key to the gate. Moments later, the bolts clanked open, the gate sliding outwards with a slow creak until it lightly struck the unimpressed man.

“Let him show his face then. Can’t be lettin—“

“Jesker.” Something in Delayne’s voice silenced the man. “Believe me when I say it’s an emergency. You’ll be compensated. Let. Us. Pass.”

Gringe grunted softly. The boy was tougher than he looked.

“Not happy about this, boy, not happy at all.” A wicked hawking sound escaped Jesker as he spat on the wall to his right. He regarded Gringe once more with a displeased look. “Tell her I expect double,” he finally conceded, stepping aside to let them through.

“Whatever.” Delayne flicked the access key at Jesker, striding past without as much as a glance.

“Some manners would do you good, you little—“

Jesker’s voice trailed off as Gringe and Delayne pulled out of earshot, leaving the man behind. They walked on alone in the wan green of the lights installed into the tunnel’s walls. They emerged into an intricate crossroads at a point, a junction with seven different pathways leading from it. Delayne had led them straight down one to the left, hardly slowing in his selection.

And then they came upon another gate, much like the one from earlier. A different man stood on the other side, however, dark and heavyset, with a disquiet air about him.

Delayne stood sharp as he brought them to a stop before the gate.

The man was tall, tall enough that he did not have to look up at Gringe. He asked, his voice a low rumble, “Where’s Blitz?”

“Back at the Irryhian. He’s returning above grounds.”

“So who’s he?”

“He…It’s him.”

The man turned to Gringe, his face blank, unreadable. “Come on in,” he said suddenly, raising a key out over the gate’s reader. It unlocked with a clank, drifting open by a few inches. “And you, return to the Irryhian. Make sure Blitz has returned.” He eyed Gringe still. “I’ll take things from here.”

Gringe’s tone brooked no contention, “No. He comes with us.”

“Listen, all above is fair game, but down here, you have no pow—“

Gringe lowered his hood so the man saw his eyes; saw Gringe match his stare. “I said, he comes with us.”

Delayne sucked in a silent breath.

A stare down followed between them, before the man dropped his gaze, chuckling darkly as he said, “As you wish, o venerable District Head.” He looked over at Delayne. “Get in, you rat!”

Gringe moved up ahead, allowing the guard to follow from behind. He had bluffed his way through it, but the guard had been right; from this point onwards, he really did have no power. He was striding into the enemy’s lair unprotected. But it was what he had to do.

The guard marshalled them down to the end of the tunnel, bringing them to a metal staircase which they climbed. On the fourth rung, he hovered the key below the ceiling. A hiss followed and the ceiling yawned open, revealing the entrance to a high-ceilinged space.

“Welcome,” a woman’s voice greeted as they stepped into the room. She sat cross-legged in an ornate leather sofa, one hand swirling red wine in a glass flute, the other laid on the armrest. Elegant, crimson gown draped across her slender figure, she motioned them over with a nod.

Gringe took up the plain seat across from her, settling in it without apparent care for how her piercing eyes measured his every move. Delayne stood to the side, while the guard padded soundlessly to take up position behind the woman.

“Your decision to entertain this meeting is appreciated, Lady Synthë.”

The corner of her glossed lips twitched. “I see you had to take a less…conventional route. Is that where you picked that up from?” she said, nodding at his midriff.

Gringe hid his surprise. She had noticed he wasn’t breathing freely because of his bruised ribcage. Very shrewd. “Yes. After which I was forced into a room, held at gunpoint, and asked to surrender my money. By him.”

Delayne cringed as they turned their gazes on him.

“Hmm.” Annoyance flashed in Lady Synthë’s eyes. “I must ask that you forgive Layney’s rashness, District Head. He is young and still learning the ropes. Or would it please you perhaps if I punished him before you here, right now?”

“’Layney’…” Gringe noted. “That’s rather familiar.”

“My nephew or not, he must grow to know that actions have consequences. So I ask again: should I punish him?”

“No,” Gringe replied. “There were others at the Irryhian; robbed and unconscious. Return their money instead.”

A knowing smile spread across her face. “Ah, District Head Gringe, man of the people, champion of justice, so troubled by his troubled constituents. As morally upright as advertised.”

Realization dawned on Gringe—slow, way too slow. “So this was a test then? All to see if I truly work for the people’s interests and not my own selfish reasons?” Lady Synthë grinned openly; a feral thing that sent a shiver down Gringe’s spine. It reminded him that she was part of a group of people that lived by completely different principles to his. He had to be careful not to forget again.