Free Aethosphere Chronicles: The Rat Warrens by Jeremiah D. Schmidt

kid’ll
buy… Well, I can probably toss you a couple tokens just to keep
your face fed—”
    “Just a couple? No more?”
    “Guess you’ll just have to cut back on the
bench-time, kid. Bench-rent …” Time shook his head in
disapproval, “can’t believe you wasted money on that racket. Two
tokens a sixth hour…and I thought my prices were steep. You must
spend damn near every minute of daylight beneath the Pinprick. Enox Unon , I can’t say it enough; the things children spend
money on.” Time took a moment to pace his shop, stopping to snatch
a battery off the shelf so he could toss to from hand to hand like
a ball. “Alright, I got a soft spot for you, Gord-O, so here’s what
we’re going to do. I’ll work something out with the mint-master;
cash in every single one of your notes in one big score.”
    Fen watched the battery, mesmerized by the
way the merchant juggled something so prized as though it were
nothing but a rock. “One big score?”
    “Yeah, Gord-O,” Time caught the battery in
his left hand and pointed it at him, “it’ll be easier to explain it
off that way. We can call it good fortune; we can call it a
robbery; we can damn-near call it anything we want. The fact of the
matter is, it’ll be a lot easier for the minter to swallow that
cockamamie nonsense than us continually bringing him in a flood of
notes.”
    The idea of handing over all his stash in one
shot got Fen feeling nervous and Time seemed to sense it. Laying a
comforting hand on the reluctant boy’s shoulder, Conrad toned his
voice towards sympathetic. “I get it, Gordon, this is a big thing
to trust another with, and I’d rather not push you into it. But
this is the only way. I can’t continue to risk operating the way
we’ve been operating, I just can’t. When you said you had lots I
hadn’t expected it to be so much. Now you don’t have to do this
deal with me, you can go out and try to find others to exchange
with, but that brings its own sort of danger…need I remind you of
the day we met?” Time lowered his head and probed the boy’s
eyes.
    Fen shook his head, having to admit to
himself his mentor had a point. His nose was still whistling from
the beating he’d received.
    “Good,” approved Time. “Now it might take a
while to arrange this, so you’re going to have to be patient—but,
in the meantime, I want you to consider coming to work for me.”
    The boy screwed his face up in befuddlement,
“Here?” He motioned to the shelves as though they held mysteries
he’d never understand.
    “Here?” Time doubled over with laughter.
“Kid, you’re something else! No, not here, you dolt.” He wiped away
the mirthful tears from his smiling eyes and chucked the expensive
battery aside, heedless of where it might land. “You know when I
said I had kids working for me?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, do you see any kids here?” Time
directed his attention to the empty shop.
    “No.”
    “That’s right, ‘cause I got them out there working.”
    Fen followed Conrad’s pointing finger towards
the front door. Despite the gesture being made as a simple
illustration it seemed important to look, though all he saw were a
couple of shelves flanking a door of screwed together planks. The
boy turned back. “Working, like how?”
    Time raised a well-fashioned eyebrow. “You
know about mischief gangs, Gord-O?” He locked his piercing eyes on
Fen before folding his arms across the lapels of his striped coat.
As he waited patiently for a replay he tapped a covered finger on
his narrow lips.
    Fen scratched at the back of his head and
feigned ignorance. “Yeah…sure,” he said noncommittally.
    Time nodded. “Well this organization is sort
of the same thing, only my kids bring back a wee little bit of what
they take, and in return I take care of them.”
    To Fen, it seemed Time’s services were
needless. The allure of a mischief gang was in not having anybody
bossing you around like some rat lord. “Take care of