Only Villains Do That

Some of my spell combinations seemed like they were pushing the limits of what could be a plausible joining of their base spells, but Summon Bound Slime just did exactly the same thing as casting Summon Slime and Tame Beast in succession. The slime came into existence already bound to my will. It saved a step, that was all.

We worked quickly, Aenit pointing out each of the bolt holes used by the Rats to escape the Nest and me summoning bound slimes to plug them. The mindless creatures were easy to direct in these relatively small numbers, especially after my previous exercises in trying to control hundreds at a time. Stepping as lightly as possible so as not to alert the Nest’s occupants to the adult-sized weight on the roof, I moved to each spot and filled it with slimes, giving them the mental order to hold position once each aperture was fully blocked off. Apparently most of the windows were boarded, which left only a relatively few escape points. From the roof, I had to lean over and direct the amorphous blobs to slither into crevices at ground level and one halfway up a side wall—fortunately they were surprisingly good climbers, sticky and not too heavy—in order to plug every hole.

A person could probably push through them, but anyone would be very reluctant to try: slimes up close were gross and slightly caustic to the touch. I didn’t feel great about trapping the Rats, given the rough day they’d already had, but it was a necessary part of the plan. I required a captive audience to break them from Uncle Gently’s control. After that, they’d be free to go.

Biribo returned from the errand on which I’d dispatched him seconds ago. “Still clear on the streets, boss. The girls are on their way.”

“Good. Now then…” I straightened up from the edge of the roof, looking around. “So, uh, Aenit. This is a little embarrassing…”

“Two roofs over that way, Lord Seiji,” she said with a smile, pointing. “There’s an easy drop to a landing on the second floor, then stairs down to the alley.”

“Right. Thanks. You ready?”

She nodded solemnly. “Gotta move fast once you seal me inside, Lord Seiji. The Nest is always packed; even with a bunch of Rats moved to the orphanage or…” Aenit paused and swallowed before continuing gamely. “I won’t be able to go more than a minute or two without being noticed. If I’m lucky. Not long after that before somebody asks who’s on watch.”

“Right, clock’s ticking.” It already was anyway; all it would take was one bored or inquisitive kid looking for some fresh air to notice one of their hidden exits was packed full of slimes. “I’ll move fast as I can. If you get in trouble, try to get to the front door; I’ll be heading there immediately.”

“Got it.” She opened the last un-slimed exit, a trapdoor set into the roof, and slipped back inside. “Good luck, Lord Seiji.”

Aenit shut the thing after herself, and I summoned a pile of bound slimes to ooze into its edges, both holding it down and ready to discourage anyone from poking at it from inside. Then I turned and stepped as quietly as I could to the edge of the roof.

Aster had already gone ahead and vaulted across the alley. I followed suit, and we dashed across the next two roofs with much less circumspection, finding the staircase exactly where Aenit had said we would.

By the time we returned to the front of the Nest, the others had arrived, Goose and Lamm in the head of a column of women in black cloaks with masks over their lower faces. I had to hand it to Naz; this actually was pretty ominous-looking, especially in the falling darkness of the quiet neighborhood. Only ten of the girls were with us now, the rest having stayed to secure their campsite for our arrival, Twigs being among them.

I greeted them with a mute nod, getting several in return. Then I turned to the front door of the Rats’ Nest and paused for a moment. With the brief lack of active distraction, I was keenly conscious of the pressure rising within me. All day I’d pushed down that lurking beast, but it was like the rage smelled blood, like it knew it was about to be unleashed. I didn’t know whether conceptualizing that omnipresent, simmering fury as something separate from my own mind was making it easier or harder to manage.

Maybe I should take Minifrit up on her offer of whatever passed for therapy here. Man, a real psychiatrist would probably have a field day with me. Fortunately I’d never have to find out.

My cloaked followers had gathered around, forming an ominous human wall encircling the entrance, which was the closest we were going to get to operational security. I grabbed the latch and yanked the door open, stepping into the Nest.

It immediately burst into a scurrying panic like a kicked…well, nest. It was impossible to get a headcount of the kids just in the front room as they all bolted, streaming away through doors, down hallways and up stairs toward their various bolt-holes, as was the sensible thing for them to do when their home was suddenly invaded.

Within seconds, the first shrieks resulted as they discovered what was in their escape hatches.

To discourage anyone from trying to force the issue, I reached out with my will toward the bound slimes I’d placed there, prompting them to ooze aggressively inward, extending pseudopods and dripping extraneous goo in what I hoped would be a sufficiently intimidating display that the children wouldn’t want to try pushing into them. Indeed, I sensed no one bodily disturbing my gloppy minions, though that was the extent of the sensory data I could extract from them.

Not that I was going to leave it at that; people will try almost anything when cornered and desperate. I needed them cornered, so it was necessary to remedy the desperation.

“PEACE.” I held up my hands, speaking in a carrying voice that I knew would echo through the halls of the Nest. “I’m the Healer. I haven’t come to harm you, Rats. Everyone will be kept safe, and allowed to leave once I’m done.”

That seemed to help…a little. Obviously they were not going to take me at my word, but the level of panicked noise diminished at the reassurance. Still, nobody was trying the slime barriers.

And then the one door through which no one had fled opened, and out stepped a man. Calm, unhurried and staring at me with no sign of fear.

This was him. This was it.

Showtime.

“Well, well, well,” drawled Uncle Gently, eyeing me up and down with ostentatious contempt. “And here he is. The great Healer himself. Come to finish your work, is that it? Haven’t you done enough harm to my precious little ones? I guess that’ll teach me to hope you were only interested in the Alley cats.”

He was lowborn, middle-aged, honestly pretty unremarkable save that he had a noticeable paunch and jowls; most of the common folk I’d seen in Gwyllthean did not seem to get enough nutrition to put on extra weight. Also, he had a noticeable sense of style. Trousers, boots, coat, all of it was in the highborn fashion—except that it was all mismatched pieces that clashed with each other, and all was noticeably frayed and patched. A bright pink scarf was draped around his shoulders, embroidered on the ends with crimson and purple. Absolutely hideous. I knew highborn didn’t leave their castoffs lying around where the poor could pick them up; there was too much caste significance attached to the different styles. If he could get these clothes, he could get good ones, which meant this scruffy, eclectic, and flashy getup was something he’d cultivated deliberately.

Between that and the assertive, deliberate presentation with which he confronted me, I could tell I was dealing with an opponent who understood the significance of stage presence.

While the pair of us sized each other up, my followers streamed into the room, spreading out across its front and making the entire place rather cramped as the Gutter Rats who hadn’t outright fled the front chamber retreated further.

Uncle Gently ignored the show of force, which was definitely the act of a fellow dramatist. When I declined to argue back as he paused, he pressed his advantage.

“So, what will it be, oh great Healer?” He spread his arms in a gesture I’d found myself using a lot recently, the expansive body language taking command of the room. “Have you come to do your dirty work with your own bloody hands for once? Ah, no, that isn’t your style, is it. Always goading someone else to fight and die for you. First the Cats, and now the Rats. At least you gave the whores the courtesy of a choice! Already today you’ve killed five of my little ones. What will you—”

“You’re blaming him for that?” snarled Lady Imren—I think her name was Imren, I hadn’t got them all memorized yet and anyway she was masked and cloaked—taking a belligerent step forward.

I held up one hand, bringing her to a halt, and spoke in a sepulchral tone, projected throughout the room and beyond. “Let him talk.”

Uncle Gently had betrayed a moment of satisfaction as he got a rise out of one of my followers, but at that he paused in opening his mouth to continue, reconsidering. The suggestion that he was playing into my hands made him think again about his chosen strategy.

“Goose,” I said, in the same soft but carrying tone, shifting my head to nod at the door through which he had entered the room. “There.”

She nodded once in acknowledgment and strode forward. There were no Rats between us and Goose’s destination, but those clustered against the walls pressed back anyway. With one notable exception.

As Goose stepped up to the door, suddenly an older boy who had to have been pushing thirteen scooted in front of her, planting his body in her path and holding his arms wide to bar her way. He glared up at her, which frankly impressed me; Goose was taller than most men and more muscular than most people in general.

“You can’t go in there!” the Rat snarled. “That’s Uncle Gently’s room! Nobody’s allowed in there.”

“I wonder why that is,” I mused aloud, causing multiple Rats to look at me with narrowed eyes. The building was still secure; we were blocking the front entrance and my slime barriers were all in place. One had been tested, which I’d put a stop to by directing the slime that was poked to begin crawling up the arm that had poked it.

“Son,” Goose said quietly, staring down her nose at the boy attempting to block her, “move. Or be moved.”

The bravado leaked from him visibly as he stared up at her and got no support from his fellows. None of the rest of the Rats put themselves forward in his defense—and most damningly, Uncle Gently failed to speak up on his behalf, currently staring at me in consternation. He’d probably intuited the general shape of my plan, and now squandered his one chance to steal a march on me.

After a few silent moments, the boy hunched his shoulders and crept back out of the way, staring at the floor.

Goose grabbed the door latch, which served only to reveal that it was locked. With a grunt, she seized it in both hands, shifted her stance, and lifted one leg to plant her foot against the door frame. Muscles bulged like the steel cables holding up a suspension bridge for all of two seconds before the aged akorshil planks gave up the ghost. Goose didn’t even stumble as the entire latch mounting was ripped out of the door, simply stepping backward in a controlled retreat. She tossed the broken latch aside and pulled open the loosened door without another word.

“Biribo,” I said.

My familiar zoomed toward the door to Uncle Gently’s room, veering aside for a moment as Gently himself opened his mouth to speak and making the man gasp and stagger back, covering his face with his arms. Which is what most people will do when something the size of a squirrel that buzzes like a wasp dives right at them. It was only a momentary course correction, though, and Biribo immediately resumed his flight path, ducking through the broken door and past the heavy curtains that covered its other side.

On the signal, the rest of my followers flowed into action. Goose retreated, joining Lamm in blocking the door behind me with their bodies, while Aster stood behind them on the Nest’s stoop, sword in hand, to discourage the curious and hold off Lady Gray should she put in an appearance. The ten black-cloaked noblewomen streamed forward, into the room beyond, where my familiar was already waiting.

I’d not found occasion to use this yet, relying instead on Biribo’s ability to sense the presence and position of people, but apparently familiars were also intuitively aware of the shape of structures around them, including any gaps therein. Which made them the perfect instruments for sniffing out hidden compartments.

“Oh, now I see,” Uncle Gently spat, drawing himself back fully upright and making of himself a spectacle of fearless offended dignity. The man was good, I had to give him that; it was obvious how he’d wrangled all these kids through sheer force of personality. “It’s me you’re here to blame for your crimes. Your big plan is to leave them alone and vulnerable to that madwoman you created. Going to take away the only person who cares for them, who protects them, is that it? Come in here and destroy their only safe haven? You surprise me, Healer. I dared to hope that you would at least strike quickly and cleanly if you came to bring your chaos and destruction upon my little ones! But no, you’ll leave them to suffer, slowly.”

I continued to stand there in silence, letting him dig his own grave. It was at that moment that the first of the women emerged from his room with an armful. She was followed by three more, all of them laden down with bread.

Wyddh was a kind of flatbread the Fflyr made that reminded me of naan, except that it didn’t come in a “plain” variety and Donon had stared at me like I’d grown a second head when I suggested baking some. The Fflyr loved their tongue-bustingly strong flavors and they baked their wyddh with all ofthem; it came in spicy, sour, sweet, and savory varieties, and it seemed like every vendor, restaurant and family had their own handful of unique recipes. Uncle Gently had taken advantage of the stuff’s ability to keep for a very long time at room temperature to gather a nice variety. The girls set down piles and piles of the flattened loaves in every color and texture. Wyddh with sour syrup, with sugary glaze, with various kinds of meat or fruit baked right in. Enough wyddh alone to have fed this whole orphanage for a week or two.

And that was just the beginning.

“Oh, let me guess,” Uncle Gently spat, growing more overtly hostile as he saw the writing on the wall. Behind him there came a crash from inside his room; Biribo’s senses didn’t reveal how to open hidden compartments, which was only an impediment to people who cared about not busting up the place. “You would stuff the poor dears full of rich crap? You know nothing about raising children—just what I should expect from a violent whoremonger! Children need discipline, boundaries. They need the care of someone able to wisely portion out their daily bread. Do you know how, Healer? Can you judge the right amount to give them the energy they need, to help them grow, without making them sick? Of course you don’t. You’ll—”

He shied back from a cloaked woman who had just set down a cracked jar trickling out candied nuts from within his room; she had rounded on him with a fist upraised. Nazralind grabbed her shoulder.

“Hey. Not yet, Iloryn. Lord Seiji is handling it.”

For the moment, I simply waited, while Uncle Gently desperately talked and the girls systematically brought out his entire stash, creating a huge pile of food in the center of the floor. It was a ludicrous amount. What the hell was he hoarding it for? One man couldn’t eat all this in a month. And it was definitely hoarded; everything was of a type that would keep well. Expensive and delicious varieties, that is, of foods that kept well. In addition to the flatbread, he had jars of preserved…everything, really, meats and countless pickled vegetables. Candied nuts, dried fruit, dried meat of multiple varieties, fruit jams and preserves, potatoes and potato-adjacent Ephemeral roots I didn’t recognize.

I knew this wasn’t the stockpile of food from which the Rats were fed. Aenit had told me their food was kept in a locked pantry in the kitchen controlled by a few of the older kids Uncle Gently favored, while Gilder had talked about the way he would pass out candy and gourmet treats as rewards for his particular pets when they pleased him. Even had I gone in blind, though, I would have known it from the way the surrounding Rats stared at the growing pile of delicacies.

“And who are you to judge?” Gently raved at me, now baring his teeth in a desperate snarl. “You know nothing. Nothing! Do you know these children? No, you don’t! You don’t know how to teach them strength, how to cultivate good behavior and the character they’ll need to survive in this cruel world! You can’t punish effectively and with loving gentleness, all you know is how to cast spells and slaughter people! For years and years I have raised these precious children to have the best lives they could hope; without me, they’d be starving and begging in the canals! I give them what they need and teach them what they need to thrive when they outgrow this place. I have earned their trust!”

Several small mouths audibly hissed at that last line. Rats had been trickling back into the room, with their ability to flee cut off; small faces were peeking around door frames and over the second floor landing, staring down at this ongoing spectacle. Many were blank-faced, a lot gazed at the food pile in hungry fixation. Quite a few were now staring at Uncle Gently with open fury. Not a one looked sympathetic toward him.

I continued to stand in silence while he ranted and my people filled the floor with his hoard. Having brought out all the food, they now carried in small bags and lockboxes, all full of coins; Nazralind paused to forcibly crack open each one, revealing the discs and halos glittering within. They brought piles of fabric, bedding and clothing of silk much finer than the deliberately tattered outfit he wore.

The man owned a shirt made of shimmersatin—the same stuff I had ensured Auldmaer’s monopoly on two months ago. I’d thought it was going to the highborn ladies. Where the hell did he even plan to wear it?

“Hell’s revels!” a female voice shouted from inside his room. Its owner emerged through the heavy curtain a moment later, brandishing a bottle. “He’s got a twenty-year silver brandy! My own family wouldn’t have let me touch one of these, and we own that vineyard!”

“It goes on the pile,” Nazralind ordered. With visible reluctance, the discoverer of the bottle obeyed, while her compatriots brought forth and added an amazing selection of wines and spirits.

Uncle Gently had given up by this point, just glaring silent hatred at me. I could have told him his gambit was futile. I know better than anyone the power of a good, emotionally manipulative speech; I’d gotten a lot of mileage out of that technique myself, recently. But part of mastering any skill is recognizing its limits. You don’t want to try that right in front of someone who is silently and calmly demonstrating how full of shit you are.

He had nothing but talk, while I had action, and he’d been fool enough to prove it in front of the audience for whose attention we were vying.

Biribo came back to hover over my shoulder, and the last of the noblewomen set down a set of silver candlesticks—as in actual silver, the metal, not pale akornin—and the rest took up positions in front of the room they had just emptied of hoarded wealth.

“These kids look hungry, Uncle Gently,” I stated into the ensuing silence. My voice was soft but projected, carrying and echoing through the house. “Why do these kids look hungry?”

“This is your fault,” Gently hissed. “You did this. All of it! Lady Gray was always rational, logically motivated. It was easy to stay on her good side. Until you came along and riled her up, drove her mad. She forced me to give up five of my own precious little ones—I had to, or she would have slaughtered who knows how many! And all. Because. Of you.”

I stared at him in silence from the darkness under my hood. The assembled Rats watched the confrontation with grim anticipation. My own people loomed at both ends of the room, a silent threat.

“He’s right, you know.” I raised my voice slightly and raised my head, directing myself to the onlooking children. “I set all of this in motion. Lady Gray attacked you because of me—because I was kind to three Gutter Rats, and took them far enough away that neither she nor Uncle Gently could harm them again. She thought she could hurt me by hurting you. So she did.”

Gently was still baring his teeth at me, but his expression was now uncertain; once again I’d reacted in a manner he hadn’t anticipated and couldn’t understand the purpose of. No surprise this guy had never risen higher than manipulating children.

“Shit happens,” I said. “Life is hard. Lady Gray is…just part of the shit that happens, to all of us. Somebody recently told me that what defines a person is what they choose to do when the shit goes down. Well, when Lady Gray happened to us all, Uncle Gently and I both proved who we are. Both of our reactions got people killed. I fought back with everything I had, and broke her control. He served up five of your own on a silver platter to appease her.”

The man himself took a belligerent step toward me, opening his mouth.

Windburst.

The spell slammed him against the wall, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. Almost no reaction ensued from the tiny watchers. Christ, these poor kids had already seen more violence in their short lives than most soldiers back on Earth.

“Shit happens,” I repeated, “and life is hard. What matters is knowing who you can trust to have your back when it goes down.”

I stared down at the winded Uncle Gently where he was coughing weakly on the floor. Was he trying for sympathy now, or had it really hit him that hard? Well, the guy didn’t look to be in particularly good shape.

“I’m gonna tell you kids a secret,” I said, lifting my head again to address them. “Something nobody in power wants you to know. Not Lady Gray or Uncle Gently—even the Highlords and the King use this secret. It’s about how people stay in control, you see: the secret of power. It’s why they’re always so quick to punish anyone for any sign that they are soft.”

Pause for effect, shift hood to make it clear I’m looking around at each of them…

“Because, oh yes, I am soft. I care about people and it hurts me when they’re hurt. That’s why she did this. Why they always do this—because being soft means being connected. When you care for others, feel what they feel, you have bonds that strengthen you both. Two people acting together are many times more powerful than the same two people alone. The more connections you have, the stronger you are. And so, the people in power want you isolated and alone. A bunch of individuals is a lot easier to beat down than people with a common purpose. You’ve seen this yourselves. Think how Uncle Gently keeps control here in the Nest—how he makes you compete, and turns you against each other whenever any of you become too close as friends.”

I’d heard enough from Gilder and Benit about his methods to be able to describe them, but frankly, I could have intuited that much just from the state of this place.

“It’s the same thing Lady Gray does with her gangs,” I continued, watching their faces. It looked like most of the Rats were present now; a lot of them were still blank-faced, many obviously suspicious of me, but some were squinting in thought as they considered what I told them. “The same thing the Highlords do with the lowborn—the same thing the Archlord and the King do to the Clans. The same thing the Lancor Empire does with Fflyr Dlemathlys and all its other surrounding nations. It goes all the way up, and it doesn’t stop until you reach the goddesses themselves. It’s the universal strategy: divide and conquer. And to beat it, all you have to do is unite.”

I held up one hand, forefinger upraised.

“Which is why they’ll immediately move to crush you if you try. That’s why Gently, Gray, and every asshole running the Gutters teaches you not to be soft toward each other, and punishes you if you do. That’s why it’s so hard to break out of this cycle, kids. But there’s a trick to it, and I’m going to teach it to you. Wanna hear it?”

Nobody answered—verbally, at least. They were still tense and standoffish, which was only wise in this situation. Almost half of them nodded, though.

On the floor, Gently drew in a breath, but went still when I shifted to look at him. In his position, I would’ve done or said anything to salvage the situation, at least go down fighting, with the full knowledge that letting the Healer talk was only pounding more nails into his coffin. He quailed visibly at the memory of being slammed into the wall, though. In the end, he was a coward.

Must be nice to have the luxury of cowardice. I’d really like to try it sometime.

“Today, Lady Gray and Uncle Gently moved together to cut off a threat to their power. They decided to punish me for being soft toward the Gutter Rats by killing five of you. When someone does that, you have to punish them back, even harder. So now, I have to make such a dramatic, ugly spectacle of what happens to assholes who murder children on my watch that nobody in this rotten town even dreams of trying it again.”

“Yes,” Gently rasped. “You heard it from his own mouth, my precious ones. They are few, but we are many! Protect your Uncle Gently and push these bastards out of our home!”

I wasn’t actually sure how we’d deal if the mob of thirty-odd preteens zerged us. It didn’t matter, though. Some of them were still staring obsessively at the pile of food and wealth. Some glared down at their Uncle Gently without a trace of pity. Some were watching me speculatively, several just…watching, with neutral expressions, to see what would happen. Even the boy who’d tried to stall Goose earlier was just staring silently at the floor. At some point Aenit had pushed out of the back to stand closer to the cloaked shape of Nazralind than any of the others had dared; she was giving Gently that same look of barely-restrained contempt and fury I’d seen in her eyes back at the mourning chapel.

No one raised a finger, or said a word, in his support.

In the silence, Uncle Gently turned slowly to look up at me, and the look on his face told me he saw only doom.

He didn’t know the half of it.