Tales From Sios: The Wishing Well Arc

Chapter 14: Fleatoe

Janni 1, 4981vaxm
Below the sublevels of the Great Meccen Tower in the dungeons called the Slick Cells. Summer
Time: 3:00am

Boppa leaned back on the out-of-place ornately widdled and laquered wooden seat, bringing the chair up on two legs as his own legs—in freshly washed breeches of black—crossed on the crowded stone slab tabletop. He waved his arms out wide angling himself with saintly vigor as he gently shook his head, showing modest disapproval, before speaking, "See new year, same Queen. Our time is near upon us boys! We will get out and be on way for our own makings once more. Leave the slick cells and the muck behind us!"
Before him twelve men packed in the room, some seated opposite him with dingy black clothes and hardened looks from years in the capitals underbelly, and many more muck coated years in the slick cells, but all of them soaked in the words of Fleatoe.
One man, boasting a nose that gave him a profile like a hatchet with sunken eyes of blue sharp and near sparkling as he spoke, "The lads of the big guts and the boys over in dead-end guts look forward to me freedom and I urge you again Fleatoe, join us, I'd make you a Lieutenant in the Big Guts ranks no problem and together you'd see those makings be riches like you couldn't believe!"
The cocky individual, Blane Alguren, flaunted his status and authority as the—now currently imprisoned—co founder and co leader of the notorious Big Guts Gang (also referred to out of these walls as Cane Industries) alongside Marro Cane, formerly Jack Grass, but the leader of a known rival group, the Gold Reapers, cocked his head and doubled down the niceties to the lax Boppa, "Fleatoe, you get me and mine out, and join us, together we will have the capital, then the whole kingdom!" The bright green eyes of Nindol Proll, the leader of the Gold Reapers (aka Javeouln's Freelance Groups), shone something sinister as his grin twisted up the side of his face at Boppa.
Fleatoe did his best to stifle his glee at the two men who seemed to fawn over him, but the decision was a no-brainer as he cordially nodded his respect to both men before declaring modestly,
"Mister Alguren, yours the Big Guts are formidable in your expertise and cunning. True masters, truly, only a fool would side elsewhere. And to credit Mister Proll, yours is of a dangerous caliber of your own, truly, and in truth I confess I'm burdened to a fool's plight, so gentlemen of the mud and muck, let us free ourselves of this miserable existence in the dark sludge, attempting to force us into worm-living, first, then allow me a decision to side after both halves of an equally beneficial coin make it free back into society and true profits."
Boppa trailed his resolve trying his best to gauge his diplomatic approach as he gave a concerted look of concern that shifted from both men's sludge speckled and smeared faces. Both gave an unbreaking stare back at Boppa before turning to each other and equaling a side-eyed start before squaring a weary squint like abnormal mirrors they reflected each other's behavior with fanatical appeal until right hands appeared, near simultaneously, as muck sloughed off each boss' elbow where it pulled thin sheets of drying slime from their sides and chest to freefall to the filthy muck flooded floor.
"Moratorium.." Both men grumbled it with synchronized precision as they grasped and shook hands across from a smirking Boppa who swept the look from his face when a man shouted from the back of the chamber behind the standing inmates who crowded the opening, "Sir, Guard approaches!"
A sudden hush fell over the chamber of muck covered prisoners until a voice belonging to the number two man of the Gold Reapers, Dallig, piped in, "Jus' Garent."
The air immediately relaxed at the name of the guard–who had become quite valuable to Boppa over the last two months, but in truth was the older brother to his mate and old crime partner Jamison–and when Garent made it inside, Boppa still held his overly lax demeanor with posture blatantly displaying his comfort in the otherwise garish accommodations.
"Get up, inmate, lets walk." His flat tone threatened any returning remarks, as he swiftly spun on his booted heel in the muck and marched back out of view. The men still gathering around immediately gave Fleatoe wild eyed stares before breaking down into beleaguered comments as well as whip cracking sounds from giggling mouths as a few other men threw more witty jests and the rest fell out into hilarity.
Boppa rolled his eyes before cracking back at the last, "Fuck you Ray, you still owe me 40 sticks!" His words bit back, but his laughter showed good faith as he got up from the table and with two separate curt nods to the muck ridden men before him, he took his leave; adding as he went, "It will be soon!"
At that Boppa made his way to the door, with inmates parting and making room for him as he went, and turned beyond the doorless portal to follow the guard, squelching and sliding at every step.
The guard, out of view down the twisting tunnel way called back, "Hurry up, inmate."
With no one else in front of him, Boppa shook his head with disgust that painted clear on his features as he continued trudging along towards the voice, althewhile taking care not to slip and re-muck himself in the slick grotesque conditions.
Once Boppa rounded a corner, in his slowed pursuit of the guard, he plowed into Garent who was standing arms crossed in his brown steel suite that didn't budge when Fleatoe crashed into him. Boppa, however, immediately found himself sat down in the muddy tunnel with a squelching plop that sent a scatter of muck about and around him.
"Garent, warn a man your just loomin' like a hinge, will ya?" Fleatoe snapped at the infuriated guard who cocked his head at the inmates badgering.
"No, Boppa, you are fuckin mad! Your gonna get me in trouble. At first a couple of things was fine, but I don't even know where you got like half that stuff! Your too fuckin obvious!" Garent laid into Boppa relentlessly, tearing him down at every turn.
"Actually I have thought of a solution for that. If you'd hear it out." Fleatoe pushed off the ground as he attempted to readdress the guard on more even footing, literally as well as figuratively. Looking the other man dead in the eyes as Garent suddenly rolled his, reminding Boppa of Jamison immediately, before offering painstakingly, "What could you possibly think would fix this? That was onyx blended marble, there isn't a marble sculptor in 150 miles of this dungeon, that has to be over a 100 pound slab in their!"
"It's actually a one fifty pounder and Anthony is closer to 250 miles out from here." Boppa corrected blatantly, forcing Garent's look to pale in eye popping astonishment.
"You are! You are fucking insane!" The guard hysterically chastised Boppa, but Fleatoe was quick on the tongue, with his reply, "Unlikely, but you are gonna need to help, it's not much, real simple, I mean you dont really have to really do anything, so to speak...you just got to forget to lock the exit when you do your third round."
Garent shook his head in torrid befuddlement, like he was attempting to shake free the ridiculous prattling by Boppa, but Fleatoe stood beaming at him with one empty eye socket and fresh splatter of muck threatening to cake on his cheek as he swooned over his own plan leaving the guard to blast an incredulous, "Nooo!"
Boppa's face fell instantly for a brief moment before he pressed, "Come on, Garent, you do this and Im out of your hair for good and you gain some nice features for your quarters!"
The look on the guard's face flashed a split array of enlightenment, before he shook his head and said, "Fine. This has to be the last of it Boppa."
Fleatoe could of jumped he was so thrilled, but the squalor and mud did wonders for grounding able body folk so the lucky young man just cocked his head with a smile back on his features as he held out his arms wide as if to embrace the guard. Garent squinted at Fleatoe as he gave a smirk and simply turned on his heel as he called behind him, "You have one hour 'til my third round. Don't be late, Fleatoe."
Boppa gave a slight nervous chuckle, before answering as bravely as he could muster, "We will be there! Until next time Garent, Ill give Jamison your regards!"
By the time Boppa had finished the guard was at the edge of the tunnel's straight way where it bent back to the right and Garent gave a no-look wave before disappearing around the bend out of view.
Fleatoe turned and waded back to the chamber where the other high-ranking crime lords awaited and once he made it into the overcrowded room, he marched back over to his seat addressing only the heaviest hitters of the two main crime syndicates as he regained his fancy chair, "Gentlemen, we are on! One hour; tell your lads, the way is made for us fellas!"
Blane and Nindol exchanged expertly masked looks of feigned indifference as the glee leaked from the others who couldn't hide their excitement nearly so well in the packed mud laden chamber.
Immediately several men from each organization started grouping and counting; with three men scooping double fists of fouled clay to slowly spill chunky morsels back to the ground with a dull smack as each purposeful release flopped back into the bulk of muck as another coupling of men counted under their breath's as they looked upon the scene of the odd manual-hour-glassing display by the inmates.
Meanwhile Boppa scooped up a palm of muck and dropped it into a heaping glob on the onyx blended marble top off to the side. He then quickly, haphazardly, used the pile as his medium's material and the slab of fine stone as his canvas and worked it into a series of piles and lines depicting the dungeon and subsequent chambers and guard offices branching off of the main muck cells. When Fleatoe made the finishing touches on his quickly crafted blueprint, he broke the silence of his criminal on lookers, "Okay so when we exit here," his greyish green coated finger pointed and drew a trail of muck as he motioned within the designed walls, "I need to double back to one of these rooms over here, where they keep our possessions. Blane, you said they had something of great value to you there, so we will need to split up to figure out which door hides our personal affects."
Blane starred on at the makeshift blueprint, with hand placed around jaw in quiet contemplation, when Nindol spoke across, "I too have something, but its of far more value than some silly witching crystal on shabby string. I need my bag, a special bag with an embroidered green mask on it, but all black."
"Okay, so you will be coming with then?" Boppa confirmed as he drew his hand away from the modeled floorplan and gingerly scratched his nose tip with the cleaner side of his thumb with finger pointed safely, albeit awkwardly, to the side away from his face as he did so.
"Actually, I figured since you were already heading over there, you could grab that for me. I trust you." Nindol's demeanor was lax and assured as he shrugged his shoulders at the last feigning ignorance to any scheming.
'Yeah, so it guarantees me audience with you once more. Crafty reaper...' Boppa thought as he gave a curt smile, but before he could agree Blane chimed in, "That is not a terrible idea, I too will show good faith in you, Fleatoe, and let you retrieve mine as well. It is not some spooked gem on a chain, though, its of far greater importance than some satchel too, I assure you. The sapphire is on a silver chain in the wardens office. He took a fancy to it when they first brought me in. I imagine your eye and anklet are there too, if they are as brilliant and as beautiful as you've described." The Big Gut's leader spoke as he pulled his hand from his face and leaned forward, while his legs remained forward crossed atop the upper back of a large obedient Big Gut underling who remained quiet and sturdy on all fours with muck up to his throat.
"Then it is decided. I will retrieve these treasures for us three, then. We will meet back up at Ellengold's Crossing if anything goes awry." Boppa clarified, but the Big Guts leader showed his wary consideration on his brows, as he shook his head with disdain.
"Not a good idea, Ellengold's is a Syndicate stomping ground. Since the Syndicate has the crown in bed, almost guarantee they will see us back in chains or worse, the moment we lay eyes on 'em. I think it'd be best to meet at town square where the tunnels eventually let us out at, anyhow, and then i can collect my artifact and you can give me your answer, 'bout when you can join us."
By the end, Blane had a mischievous grin accentuating his final connotation, underlining his own cunning when he spouted his plan.
"Who he will join." The correction from Nindol sent the air to freeze with an icy glare from over the top of interlaced fingers to portray his lack of amusement as he stared daggers into the rival leader.
Boppa, nonchalantly, leaned back in his seat when he stole the argument before it could unravel into a bloody scene, "Precisely, Mister Proll, and well conceived Mister Alguren. I will have your treasures and my decision then." Fleatoe gave an assured smile as his chin sank into his neck.
The leaders across from him did not break eye contact from one another from his clarity, so Boppa added flatly; showing his annoyance for their bad blood, "Well I best be off, gonna need to be one of the first through since i need to play seek and search. Do try and be civilized...so we can all make it out of this muddy hell alive, please."
With that Fleatoe stood in the mucky Sios, impaling himself in the muddy yuck just past his knees before giving a determined nod and marching off with a cadence of slurping and squelching that was stinger'd with plops from mucky flops trailing his burdened effort.
It took a while for Fleatoe to trudge from that chamber up through the main corridor and finally to the long sloped dark of the tunnel expanse that reaches the only exit on into the dungeon offices and guard quarters in the sub-siosen floors of the incredible Meccen Tower where the infamous Slick Cells, herein, reside.
When Boppa finally reached the door, the muck was heavier on his legs than the ground where the giant stone slab of door scrapes the mud and leaves a semi-circled clearing before the entryway. The impressive hunk of bedrock turned door, had no exposed hinges and at its center  was a digit sized keyhole bound in a copper weaving of plates, metal strands and sprokets above a five-divoted and entricately sculpted dial in a circle of cut stone embossed within the slab of bedrock embedded in the foundational siosen rockwalls that capped the tunnel.
Fleatoe stayed crouched outside the casted light flickering from the single torch next to the door—well out of a human's reach—with only the sound of the flame dancing as it lazily swallowed the tallow coated upon the cloth wrapped top of the giraffe femur comprising the stave of the torch.
Here the grueling effort was one of patience and trepidation as the minutes painstakingly crept past, until the sound of thirty men cautiously sneaking up a muddy tunnel reached him and he knew then his moment was finally upon him.
He gingerly placed his hand on the stone dial, slotting a finger in each shallow divot before gripping down on the embedded cylindrical block—like when someone would palm an air filled leather bound ball for games—forcing the sculpted rock to grind in its cut stone housing, as quietly as he could manage, until the block knocked and depressed flush to the copper ring latticwork above. Immediately gears groaned into clunky action as the door tediously opened, sliding a buildup of fresh mud to spill at the break of its pendulum curve, allowing Fleatoe to side shuffle and slip past the swinging slab of bedrock into the well lighted guard hall.
Once fully inside, his hands shot to save his retnas from the unforgiving glare as he squinted his plight; for even the torch-lighting was a brilliance compared to the dark damp of the slick cells his eyes had grown accostumed to. Before Fleatoe could adjust his sight, however, the voice of Garent sounded from a few feet ahead of him, "Well met Boppa. The others behind you?"
Boppa attempted to peer past his hand into the blinding white beyond them when he heard the booted steps of Garent approach, but his senses were locked on the several different breathing patterns he could hear from somewhere directly behind the foot falls.
"Yeah there comin'." Fleatoe admitted hesitantly, albeit quizzically, as he fought his blindness, blinking his orbitals hard as the back of his hands still refused to come into view.
"Well done Boppa. Garent escort this man to my office. Once we disband this dungeon-break attempt we will settle things with him." The voice of the warden Alyx Cludane cut the air, affirming Fleatoe's fears.
Garent gave a customary, 'Aye Warden.' before Boppa felt hands clasping around his arm that pulled him deeper into the light. When Garent finally began to come into view—once Fleatoe's eyes settled their difference within the illumination—his face was a cold stone surface as he guided him past a sea of other guards, forcing his heart to drop at what awaits the others coming up behind him, but then realization found home in Boppa's mental as the reality he would face himself dawned upon him.
Fleatoe's thoughts became a jumbled whir of desperation by the time they stopped in front of the iron door to the warden's office. Garent wasted little time, once the way was open, as he forced poor Boppa through the portal way with a well placed shove from his mailed fist.
"Garent, how could you?!" Fleatoe postulated his miserable disbelief as soon as Garent shut the door behind them and they were finally alone in the dimly lit chamber.
"With ease of mind, and ease of effort." The treacherous Garent spat back, but immediately seemed disinterested in the conversation for he quickly broke and crossed the room—turning his back on Fleatoe—where he began rummaging through parchments scattered across the warden's desk grumbling under his breath while he did so.
"You are unbelievable! I trusted you!" Fleatoe chastised before he pandered his plight when the guard plucked a singular page from the desk and kept his arm raised up, burdening the thicker parchment into a lazy bow of sorts, just above his head—towards Boppa—before exclaiming, "Here, this is your release form. Signed and dated."
Fleatoe froze his bickering and gave a wide-eyed stare before snapping into action when he pounced on the held document—missing his first attempt in lieu of lacking depth perception—and immediately began mumbling and gibbering his speed reading once he finally snatched it free; pausing often and squinting with his one eye as he tried to make out the inky scrawling as he thought, 'What awful penmanship...'
"So, I'm free to go? Wait, what's nullifying mean? And how did I aid the crown?" The questions poured from Fleatoe as he kept his confused features looming over the document.
"You aided the crown because you nullified the threat to it when you exposed the attempt to dungeon break by Meccen's most vile criminals. So the leaders of two notorious gangs will spend their new year in the crawl cells, while several of their lieutenants will be getting their end strikes from this so they will be pressed accordingly. Oh and I imagine all their sentences will be doubled to boot. Meanwhile, your free to go for your bravery and good faith." Garent reasoned as he nodded his own affirmations to a paled Boppa whose mouth lay bare his horror with slacked appeal while the arm holding the page dropped down to dangle at his side.
"Do you not realize what you've done?!" Boppa threw his arms out with animated vigor at the guard who slid his head back as he gave a disgusted look at Fleatoe.
"Set you free, made you a hero, yeah I think I realize, do you? You should be thanking me!" Garent countered his position, but Fleatoe did not let up.
"You made me a rat! Free to die alone on the streets by some desperate fool seeking the bounty those two gangs will have put on me!" Boppa concluded, now irate.
"They might get you while your sleeping in that little attic on the south side of the guts." Garent insisted his correction with a wicked smirk.
"I don't see how you could find this funny, Garent." Fleatoe's head lulled back, like it threatened to fall from his shoulders, while he faulted the guard, still clutching the document and now wrinkling it in his grasp.
"What I don't find funny, Boppa, is your little friends harassing Jamison about some loom." Garent shifted his posture, resting his armored fists on his hips and physically bracing himself when he confronted Fleatoe.
Boppa looked on at Garent with incredulous fright twisting into blatant confusion as he digested the guards words.
"I don't know-" Fleatoe was suddenly drowned out by the sounds of an uproar, despite it being muffled by the office's stone walls.
"Well by the sounds of it, the warden will be here soon, so just be sure when you're out you tell them to leave my little brother be, and we will leave it at that." Garent spoke matter-of-factly as the chaotic sounds suddenly amplified when the door to the office burst open and the warden, in spotless brown breastplate, came in at full stride.
"Good, good, you got your release form, your effects are in the lower left cabinets of the davenport there." The warden pointed to the large writing desk sitting in the middle of the room, after he crossed the chamber, but just outside the door ajar the distressed screaming suddenly found clarity as Boppa could make out the words, 'He's a dead man,' and, 'Fleatoe!'
This froze the blood in his veins and left him staring blankly at the doorway, until Garent barked at him, "Get your belongings Boppa, hurry up. You heard the Warden."
Fleatoe snapped out of it, despite not finding the courage, and moved to the desk where he swung the cabinet door open and sitting on the second shelf from the top was a golden eye resting in his anklet. Next to that was a small black satchel with an embroidered green mask on its face. The shelf above was bare except for one piece of jewelry, a silver chained necklace with an eye-sized sapphire pendant.
His hands moved with deft intent—after he gave a cursory glance over his shoulder at the other two men standing in the room now discussing their next plan of action with the inmates—Fleatoe grabbed his eye in his right hand while his left lifted the satchel, bringing it down to his midsection where he slid it into his waistline as he dramatically popped his eye back into place with the other hand. Once the bag was secured he reached back into the cavity and grabbed the necklace, palming it in its entirety, before using the same hand to grip his anklet, hiding the necklace in plain view behind the clutched ankle bracelet.
With that Fleatoe was standing once more, face still painted a scape of horror, although this time, moreso, thoughtfully feigned. The two guards broke their speech when Boppa stood and both offered him impatient glares.
"Mister Brick, that will be all. Depart at once, you're free. Give that form to the clerk on level one above us at reception and they will give you your freedom provisions there. Now go."
Fleatoe hopped to, keeping care about him so as not to expose his bulging guilt as he made way for the door when Blane's voice broke his otherwise silent exit, "You know who I am?!" His shout was followed by a crunch of steel connecting into facial bones as an armored fist replied and silenced him. Boppa stiffened at the door that stayed cracked with his hand upon the ring as he realized the voice was just on the other side.
When the moment held its climax, Boppa pulled the door open fully and to his surprise the hall was fairly empty, save for a couple of prisoners who laid motionless in pools of crimson. Fleatoe turned to his left and rounded the immediate corner from the warden's office where it turned into a hallway that stretched into the distance, but ten feet away from him on the ground was a limp Blane being drug by a guard from his shoulders into the narrow cell that was built at the base of the wall in the hallway—perfectly sized for a human to lay down in, but only hold that position in the cramped crawl-cell.
Boppa wasted little time as he picked up his pace to a hustle through the hall and past the unconscious gang leader, nodding to the guard as he passed who only sneered as he continued his tiring task of fitting the knocked out man into the tiny space, but Fleatoe's face held little concern now as he shuffled around them.
It took a few minutes for him to clear the dungeon office levels and climb to the ground floor where the architecture suddenly became magnificent detailed marble work as the polish granite stone suddenly faced the mucky slime ridden footfalls of Fleatoe. Boppa shamelessly crossed the floor, having pulled the satchel out of his waistband on the long walk before making the landing of the first floor as well as donning his anklet and the flashy sapphire necklace, now with new and old effects flaunted—the bag bouncing off his hip, where it hung across his body, the pendant dancing against his filthy scrap of shirt across his chest, and his golden eye glistening its splendor finally home in socket—Fleatoe slopped over to the semi-circular desk near the exit to the tower where a boney faced twig of a young man, at least five years Boppa's junior, with a patch of blonde beard attempting to grow on his chin gave Fleatoe a concerned and wary look when he approached.
"How can we help you?" The male receptionist asked with words dripping in an incredulous tone suggesting that Boppa did not belong.
"Just here to give you this and collect my body of freedom." Mister Brick smacked the form down on the black oaken counter as he offered a genuine look of glee, but the scrawny man gave only a wry smile at the form and splotches of grime that now dotted the once pristine top.
"Splendid, we will be happy to see you off then." The words were polite enough, but the tone and demeanor of the thin young man rang a different tune entirely as he snatched the form and held it for inspection in a manner that would suggest he feared it may spontaneously combust.
After scanning the document in brief order the man opened a drawer and dropped the page into its unseen depths before opening another drawer and riffling in its contents, while he was hunched over, out of view.
"Here, this is your token to claim your transit...and this is your body." The man bestowed a small rubber medallion in the shape and design of a wagon wheel as well as fifteen coins; one platinum, two gold, two silver and ten coppers.
Fleatoe let the items pour into his hands as he gave a confused glance at the rubber token.
"Do I not get a mount?" Boppa tried to be as friendly as possible with his tone while he pressed the receptionist.
"What? No, you get a transit token, which will take you one-way anywhere in the Onsain Kingdom. You can redeem it at any gatehouse, just ask for the master of wheels." The young man didn't seem too irritable by the end as he actually offered some decent assistance to Boppa.
Fleatoe nodded an understanding as he moved the small items into the black satchel and once it was secured he offered a simple two finger salute and took his leave.
Once outside Fleatoe took a long draw of the siosen early morning air and felt an undeniable calm flow through him, despite the madness he just endured and the depravity he knew in the slick cells for the last two months, it all faded away as the sun dared to peak on the skyline of the great capital to the Onsain Kingdom and the streets began to stir with the busybodied citizens of Meccen starting their day; the first day of the new year.