Dreamer's Throne -
2: Chapter 7
“Welcome. Your name is Frankie, right?”
The morning sun warmed the room, chasing the cool of the night away. A beam of golden light fell across Garrett’s lap as he watched the large young man who fidgeted in the seat on the other side of his desk. Obe and a couple other members of the Family stood behind the frightened young man, adding an imposing presence to the room, though, from the look of it, their efforts were unnecessary. Curious at Frankie’s timidity, Garrett sized up the young man’s thick muscles, wondering what was scaring him.
“Hey, when the boss asks you a question, you answer!” Obe growled, answering Garrett’s question.
“Y… yes! I am… my name is Frankie, sir!”
“Your father is named Gavon, and leads Delver’s Butchers,” Garrett read from the paper in front of him. “You hacked someone up pretty good and then went on the run, right? Why did you choose our territory?”
Gathering what little courage he had, Frankie looked at Garrett and shook his head.
“I didn’t do it. We fought, but I never used no knife. My pa taught me better than that. Fists for fist problems, he says. But they chased me, so I ran. I… I wasn’t meaning to bring you trouble.”
Garrett gave the young man an encouraging smile and waved to one of the Family members at the door.
“Corig, can you take Frankie to get something to eat? He looks hungry. Frankie, you can relax. You are not in trouble, and we’ll let your dad know that you’re staying with us.”
The promise of food seemed to perk Frankie up, and he jumped up, bobbing his head toward Garrett before following Corig out to the kitchen. Obe jerked his head and the other gang members trailed behind the young man to keep an eye on him. Once they had all left, he looked at Garrett, his expression slightly skeptical. Garrett could read the question on Obe’s face, so he straightened the papers on his desk and took out a file, gesturing for Obe to approach and take a look. Blinking at the dizzying numbers that covered the top sheet, Obe let out a grunt and sat down, his eyes resting on Garrett.
“Are we really making a move?”
“We already have,” Garrett replied, his expression nonchalant. “It's almost time for the second phase. Please let Gavon know that his son is here.”
“What are we to do about Howler’s men? They’re combing the city, and if we’re not careful they’ll find out where he is.”
“Nothing. Just ignore them for the moment.”
“You sure that’s wise, boss? Thomas Howler is a nasty piece of work, and if we stick our nose into this, we’ll be asking for trouble.”
Slowly nodding, Garrett lifted the sheet of paper that he had already shown Obe, shaking it in the air.
“This is a rough estimate of the production schedule for the meat processing plant. Until the city was locked, it was responsible for a full quarter of the city’s meat. That is too big a prize to let go. Food stability is one of the main things we need to establish, and we won’t get a much better opportunity. Even more importantly, it gives us a chance to pick a fight with Mr. Howler.”
“Wait, you want to pick a fight with the Howlers?”
“Just Mr. Howler,” Garrett said, putting the paper down and looking across the desk at Obe, a faint smile on his lips. “A lesson for you, Obe. When you are faced with an opponent, always understand their constraints. The Howlers have more awakened than we do, but they don’t style themselves as a gang, which limits what they can do. They don’t have the luxury of a gang brawl, and any major action they take will be under the scrutiny of the guards. We can leverage that against them.”
“You have more confidence than I do,” Obe grumbled, shaking his head.
“Just trust me, Obe. Can you let Gavon of Delver’s Butchers know that we have his son? Tell him that he can come pick him up any time.”
Rising from the chair, Obe nodded and headed for the door, stopping as he reached it. Looking over his shoulder, he looked like he wanted to say something, and Garrett could feel the mix of anxious and doubtful feelings through the connection they shared. Pretending he had not noticed, Garrett sent out a thread of calm, causing the four bloom flower in Obe’s mind to settle down, which in turn helped Obe relax slightly. Shaking his head, Obe never ended up saying anything and a moment later, Garrett was alone in the office.
Closing his eyes, Garrett checked through the hundreds of connections that he had, looking for abnormalities or dangers. This had become a habit of his as the network of flowers grew, and it had been proving to be a tremendous way to get information. Even during the day he could pick up traces of information here and there, which is how he had managed to figure out where Frankie was hiding so quickly. Not finding anything of particular note, Garrett took out a piece of paper and added a few notes to it.
Ryn’s history is unexpected, but a good opportunity if played right. Clearly there is more to the story than she let on, but that’s fine. She can have her secrets. As for this Thomas Howler, I’ll have to do some work tonight. Maybe I can have the Dreamers make a path to his home, or wherever he is at night. Hm. I should probably get some insurance, just in case.
The morning passed quickly as Garrett made his plans and dealt with some of the gang’s administrative work, and it was shortly after lunch that a group of twenty large men swaggered into the inn, clearly looking for trouble. Leading them was a pot-bellied man dressed in gaudy clothing and carrying a cane. A wide brimmed hat sat on his head and his upper lip was graced with a waxed mustache. Stopping just inside the door, he looked around like he owned everything that his eyes touched, and when they saw Frankie who was sitting at a table in the middle of the room with Garrett, his expression turned into a sneer.
Walking over, his goons trailing after him, the pot-bellied man slapped his cane down on the table, causing Frankie to jump. There were a bunch of members of the Family in the inn, and all of them stood up when the cane slapped against the table, their glares piercing the group that had entered, but that didn’t seem to phase them. Instead, they just stared back, coats opening to reveal the short blades they carried. Slowly putting down his spoon, Garrett looked at his spilled soup with a frown before looking up.
“You spilled my soup.”
Ignoring Garrett, Thomas Howler pointed his cane at Frankie from across the table.
“You cut up one of my boys pretty badly, kid. No one is allowed to do that. The punishment is one of those meaty hands of yours. You want to take it off or do you need our help?”
Hearing Thomas speak of such violence so casually, Garrett had flashbacks to his encounters with Henrick. Next to him, Frankie was cowering, clearly intimidated, so Garrett patted him on the shoulder encouragingly before addressing the leader of the Howlers again.
“You must be Thomas Howler. I’ve heard about you.”
A flash of irritation flickered across Thomas’ face, but the glare he was getting from Obe who had risen from the other side of the table prevented him from lashing out. Looking down at Garrett, he took in the young nobleman’s missing arm and wheelchair and a disdainful sneer crossed his lips.
“And you must be that cripple that Henrick tried to murder.”
“The name is Garret Klein. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Howler.”
“You’ll crawl back into your hole and pretend you know nothing, if you know what’s good for you,” Thomas said, his sneer deepening.
“I was about to say the same thing to you,” a deep voice said from behind Thomas, causing him to whirl around.
Standing in the doorway was a mountain of a man with ten other, equally large men behind him. The similarities between Frankie and his father Gavon were easily apparent, though it was clear that Frankie had not inherited his father’s imposing presence. Gavon was close to six foot seven inches tall and his shoulders were so wide that he had to turn himself to the side to step through the doorway. A leather vest flecked with dried blood covered his stained linen shirt, and the heavy belt with a dozen massive cleavers hanging from it gave the impression that he had just stepped off the floor of the meat processing plant.
Feeling the aura rolling off of Gavon, Garrett judged him to be a mid-level lighting awakener, stronger than most, but not anywhere near the shaping stage. Thomas Howler was also at that level, as was Obe, while the other four awakened who had come with the Howlers were all in the early stages of lighting, making them only a bit stronger than the thugs with Gavon. Entirely forgotten, Garrett watched the confrontation with interest, taking in everything.
“Gavon.”
Thomas Howler’s expression morphed from irritation into a hard anger, clearly upset to see the massive butcher. Gavon was glaring back at him with just as much intensity, and as he walked close, his hand strayed to his belt where he hooked his meaty thumb behind the thick leather band, only inches from the handle of his favorite cleaver.
“Howler.”
For a moment they stared at each other while their subordinates postured. Just when Garrett was wondering if he should say something, Gavon spoke, his deep voice filling the room.
“Tricks like this are low, even for you. If you touch my son, I won’t rest until you and all of your men have gotten the chance to run through our grinder.”
“You really think I care about that brat?” Thomas said, spitting to the side.
Taking a step forward, a terrifying feeling suddenly rippled up his back and he felt as if the temperature in the room suddenly plunged. From the way that Gavon’s face paled as well, it was clear that the feeling was not just in his imagination, but it was gone as fast as it had arrived, leaving the entire room shrouded in silence. A light cough sounded, causing both gang leaders to turn and look at Garrett, who looked slightly sheepish.
“Please don’t spit inside the Dreamer’s inn,” Garrett said, waving his hand. “You can continue.”
Garrett had not intended to disrupt the conversation, but seeing the glob of phlegm hit the ground, his annoyance had spiked, causing all of the flowers in the inn to suddenly turn their attention to Thomas Howler. The mental pressure had been so intense that even Gavon had felt it, and Garrett was sure that if Thomas had not been awakened, he would have fallen unconscious on the spot. As it was, the two awakened men had completely lost their desire to fight and they were looking around nervously, trying to find the source of the pressure they had felt. Not finding anything, Thomas shot an annoyed glare at Garrett and sniffed as he turned back to Gavon.
“Count yourself lucky,” he said, pushing past the giant butcher. “You better keep that kid of yours close.”
Though Gavon could have stopped him, the leader of Delver’s Butchers didn’t actually want a fight, especially since there seemed to be a high leveled awakened nearby. Instead, he just snorted at Thomas’ threat and watched him leave before turning and walking to the table where Garrett was sitting. Frankie, who was next to Garrett, was looking even more nervous now that he was facing his father than he had been with Thomas. Ignoring his son, Gavon nodded to Obe.
“Obe, thanks for sending word over.”
“Thank the boss, not me,” Obe said, jerking a thumb toward Garrett. “He’s the one who told me to let you know. I was going to leave your kid to fend for himself.”
Shifting his attention to Garrett, Gavon found himself curious. The crippled nobleman in front of him looked like a regular mortal, but there was also something slightly unnerving about him that set off warning bells in Gavon’s head. Realizing he was staring, he quickly nodded his head toward Garrett.
“Thank you.”
“It’s our pleasure. Frankie ran into our territory, so we couldn’t just stand by and let the Howlers take him.”
“If you had, no one would have blamed you,” Gavon said, half under his breath as he pulled out a chair and sat down. “From your message, it sounds like you had something you wanted to talk to me about.”
“I do,” Garrett nodded. “But if you’d be more comfortable, we can go to the office.”
“No need. Anything that needs to be said can be said in front of my men.”
“An admirable mentality. In that case, I will cut to the chase. Do you know what this is?”
Looking at the pin that Garrett had placed on the table, Gavon’s eyes narrowed slightly and he nodded.
“I’ve seen them around. Your territory butts up against the bottom of Heifer Street. It’s not often, but we see your gang hanging out there sometimes.”
“Not gang, but family,” Garrett corrected with a slight smile. “If you’ve encountered our symbol, you probably understand that we are not a gang in the regular sense. You might say that we are a group of concerned citizens who work for the good of those under our care. In many ways, we are similar to you. Is it true that Delver Horn started Delver’s Butchers as a way to help you all keep your jobs?”
A deep emotion ran through Gavon’s expression at the mention of Delver Horn and he nodded heavily.
“That’s right. It must be thirty-five years ago now. I was just a kid myself when the owner of the plant drank himself to death and the whole place was going to be sold to creditors. That would have meant we were all out of a job so Delver decided to take things into his own hands. He organized us to take up the plant, and we’ve run it together ever since.”
“That’s amazing,” Garrett said, “and a testament to your strength that you have been able to survive in the city since then. However, I think that it’s time for a change.”
Garrett’s words brought a grim look to Gavon’s face and the large butcher leaned forward, one meaty hand resting on the table while the other dropped to the handle of his cleaver.
“Do you? And what kind of change did you have in mind?”
As if he couldn’t feel the pressure rolling off of Gavon, Garrett flashed a smile and tapped the five petaled flower pin on the table.
“I think you should join the family.”
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