Black Mould - Twenty - Greater Threats Rising from Shared Desperation

I had a few things going for me.

First, my age and appearance. I was a bratty, knobby-kneed, and too-thin kid. I was four, and short for my age. If anyone saw someone beating on a kid, then they’d probably react. Probably. That, and hitting a kid was something most people were hard-wired to avoid doing. It took someone messed up to punch a brat.

Second, I knew the area. I knew the locals, both the homeless and those that lived around here. There was a good chance that they’d help if I called for aid. At least, I hoped that was the case.

That was about all I had.

The smart thing to do would be to leave, but then… something tugged me forward. I didn’t want to be cowed by some older teens. I was an adult, dammit!

I set my face so that I wasn’t frowning as much, then stepped around the corner and towards the three teens.

Scanning the three of them, I tried to figure out which was the leader of the little gang. I hoped it wasn’t the guy to the left. He had a face only a blind mother could love, with a nose that put some clown noses to shame. It was a big, hefty thing, all red and rough and nasty. I was pretty sure it had been broken, and recently too.

The guy in the centre was lanky and thin, with a hunched back and his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He grinned, displaying a missing tooth. He had one of those reedy, weasel-like looks to him that would probably make it hard for him to convince anyone that he was up to anything good.

The guy to the right was a bit different. Taller, with broad shoulders and swept-back hair. He actually looked like he had showered in the last week and was kind of handsome, in a rugged way.

I looked at the three, and they stared back. “Sorry boys,” I said. “I’m trying to get back there. Don’t mean to intrude.”

Reedy boy in the middle snorted. It was a nasty sound, which was made worse when Nosey snorted too. “Hey kid, you the brat who spends all their time here?” he asked.

“Might be,” I said. “Who wants to know?”

He smiled, showing off the gap in his teeth again. He looked old enough that the gap was likely going to be a permanent feature for him. “I’m Brick, from the Underside Gremlins. These are my pals. Now, me and my chums here heard that there was someone doing some shady things in our part of the city.”

“That’s unfortunate,” I said. Who were the Underside Gremlins? I’d never heard of them. Then again, I wasn’t the chattiest person around, and the graffiti on the walls around me kinda faded into the background, the same way incessant ads did back on Earth. They were there, but I didn’t pay them any mind. “Anyway, that’s not me. I don’t do shady stuff.”

“Yeah?” Brick asked. He half-turned and patted the back of his hand against big-nose’s chest. “You hear that Knuckles? Kid says they ain’t up to shady stuff.”

“I heard,” Knuckles said.

“Then the kid won’t mind helping us barge into this door here? Right? Nothing shady on the other side.”

“Course not,” I said. “But do you mind if I unlock the door first? Locks are expensive, you know? Don’t want just anyone walking in.”

Brick considered it for a moment. I don’t think anyone from the gutters down here would begrudge another who wanted to keep what little security they had up. But then, this security was meant to stop people like him and his buddies. “What do you think, Philip?” he asked the third guy, who thus far had been pretty quiet.

Philip shrugged. “No harm,” he said. “Worst case I can think of is the kid runs away through some passage or something in there. But then, the door will be unlocked, and the boss will know what’s up.” His voice was… cultured. Nice, even. A deep baritone that suited his physique and which carried a careful pronunciation of every word he spoke.

I never realised it, but I had an accent. Even if I was making an effort to pronounce things correctly, I was still slurring a few syllable-sounds which Philip spoke more carefully.

I rewound mentally, and actually listened to what he said. Oh, great, they had some sort of boss figure. Probably just a glorified babysitter for these rabid teens.

Stepping up, I slipped between the boys, held back a gag from their stench (had they never heard of a shower before?), then moved up to the front door of my farm. Once, not so long ago, I had to stand on a little box just to reach the lock. Now I merely had to reach up with the little key that I had.

I undid the lock, but continued to fiddle with it, as if I was having a hard time. That wouldn’t be surprising; the lock was a rusty old thing, it looked like it would be hard to open. In reality, Dad had oiled it once a season, and the action was actually decently smooth.

I waited until I saw Brick turn away from the corner of my eye, then I pulled the door open and stepped in before they could protest.

The light stayed off. I didn’t need it to navigate my own farm, not after how long I’d spent in here. It would also make it a pain for the boys to follow me.

The first thing I noticed was the blessing I had inexpertly placed over the room. It washed over me, a sensation not too dissimilar to walking into a room that had an AC on full-blast. Refreshing and cool, even if the room was actually warm and humid.

“Hey, kid!” Brick said.

“Just grabbing some things,” I said as I darted to the side.

Now what? I had a room full of mushrooms, but what was I going to do with them? Pelt the thugs with dirt and shrooms? Fat load of good that would do me.

Then my eyes alighted on my table. There was a knife there, but even with that, I didn’t give myself good odds. They had to be carrying knives of their own. They were street thugs; what sort of self-respecting thug wouldn’t carry a knife? Besides, what was I going to do? Shank thmy between the legs? They’d beat me raw.

Next to the knife was something far more useful: the [Dead Horse Head] that I’d cut a slice out of.

I picked up the mushroom, slid the knife back into its sheath which I tucked into the back of my pants, then I darted back out of the room, mushroom held before me. “Here,” I said.

Brick glared at me, then reached over and shoved the door open wider. It let enough light spill in that they could see the room in its entirety.

“Smells weird,” Knuckles said.

“It’s the odour of rot and magic,” Philip said. “What are you doing in there?”

I pout, as disarming and sweet as I can make it. “I’m growing mushrooms,” I say. “Some of them are magic. Like this one. Want a piece?”

Brick snorted. “You’re growing mushrooms? What you doing that for?” he asked. He looked into the room again with a nasty squint, but I knew all he could see were my racks and the mushrooms growing on them. If they went searching it would be all they found too.

“Because they’re tasty,” I said. I raised the [Dead Horse Head] again, and Brick snapped it out of my hand. I winced. He hadn’t been gentle about it.

The gap-toothed idiot sniffed at the mushroom, which I knew from experience smelled delicious. Then he opened his mouth.

Philip caught his wrist. “Wait,” he said, ”Give the kid a piece first. It could be poison.”

I rolled my eyes, making a show of it while I swore mentally.

Brick grinned and ripped a chunk off the top. “Here kid. You should share in your own bounty, right?”

“Yeah, right,” I said. I took the piece, eyed it, hesitated, then plopped it into my mouth.

At the same time, a prompt came up in my vision.

[Congratulations! You have Obtained the [Basic Poison Resistance {Common}] Skill!]

I was hoping to hold off on this skill until I had a better option available to me. No choice now. I chewed, swallowed, then smiled. “Thanks. They’re pretty tasty. Nutritious too.”

Brick sniffed the mushroom again, then plopped the whole thing into his mouth. Knuckles, of course, protested. Especially when Brick made a happy noise. “Oh, this is good, kid.”

“Wait here, I’ll get more.”

That’s when I was shoved aside and into the dirt. I never even saw the push coming, but it wasn’t as hard as it could have been.

I was held down as the trio of morons walked into my farm, Knuckles’s boot on my shoulder to keep me pinned.

Philip and Brick walked around, poking at things, ripping mushrooms out, and eating them with complete disregard for all the work that went into growing them.

My one solace was seeing the morons sample my Dead Man’s Agaric.

Brick returned to me and knelt down. His coat had been turned into something of a basket. “Thanks, kid. We’ll be back in a week, so you grow what you can for the Gremlins. Just don’t shirk your taxes, eh?”

I watched the trio leave, then, carefully, I got back to my feet and looked at my farm.

It wasn’t so bad; it would be fine with just a bit of cleaning up. My hands closed into fists. I needed to find a way to prevent this kind of shit from happening again.

A week, he said?

A week would have to be enough.

***