Chapter 4: Scratcher Part 1

Alexi rounded the corner as quickly as he could, ducking past an old man pushing a rickety cart, the sound of his pursuer close behind. Vem was a good four years older at least, and was almost two feet taller than Alexi was. The older boy’s longer legs made him much faster as well, but Alexi was quicker on his feet, and knew the warrens much better.

But first he had to get there.

The heavy sack shifted, a jagged piece of Roc bone jabbing at his side as he made another sharp turn, running past a rotten husk of an old airship gondola, towards the warrens proper.

Far above smoke still hung in the air from the airburst shells that had brought down a large flock of migrating Rocs, the bodies crashing into the outer edges of the shipyard. Most had been claimed by the military, but some had landed close enough to the edges of the warrens that the scratchers like Alexi had gotten there first.

He could hear the heavy footfalls getting closer and closer, the seventeen year old closing in on him. Alexi faked a stumble, scooping up a large handful of sand, small rocks, and little bits of metal. Once Vem got within a few feet Alexi flung the debris into the older boy’s face and started sprinting again.

As he got closer to the real warrens the smell got stronger and stronger, the stench of people, of open sewers, of burnt Roc meat, the sounds of husbands and wives screaming at eachother while children cried, peddler’s hawking their goods, the shouted orders from gang lumpers, occasional gunshots, all backed by the industrial din of the shipyard.

He didn’t go right down the main street, too easy to trip, instead he turned to his left and ran along the houses until he found the most ramshackle house of them all. He slipped through a crack in the wall, dodged around the angry resident who drunkenly swung a fist at his head, ducked out the doorway, into the essence smoker’s quarter.

You can’t go anywhere in the Warrens without running into one of the bleary eyed, staggering, essence addicts, but they congregate here for some reason, maybe the smog from the factories in the shipyard wasn’t as noxious, or because whoever sold the best stuff lived here.

He scrambled across the dusty ground, snaking between the huddled groups of “essies” kicking at legs as he passed. They normally weren’t dangerous, but if you agitated them they got violent. It set off a chain reaction, the ones he kicked swung at their neighbors, who followed suit, the brawl spreading behind him like the plume of dust behind a sandship.

He glanced behind, and caught a glimpse of Vem trying to push his way through the violent crowd. Alexi kept running, turning another corner, dodged the snapping teeth of a chained dog, jumped across a sewer ditch, caught himself on the wall of a shack, almost collapsing it despite his emcatated figure.

He spotted his goal and dove into the doorway, the fabric covering the door rustling as he passed. He couldn’t read the sign outside, to him it was the pretty lady place. It had always been a strange place to him, the women here didn’t wear a lot, but not because they didn’t have cloth like a lot of people. Fabric was everywhere, hanging from the ceiling, spread on squishy stools, spread on the ground. He could hear what sounded like animals in another room, but he had been told never to go there.

Someone with long fingernails grabbed his ear and dragged him into another room. A tired eyed woman spun him around. “What did I tell you about coming here?” She hissed. Alexi thought of her as the mother to all the girls here, since she was older than everyone else, and wore more clothing.

“Not to, since it reminds your customers about what happens?” He stammered.

The woman smiled thinly, but not unkindly. “Close enough kid. Someone after you again?” Alexi nodded and held up the bag, which was starting to drip.

“That better not stain the carpet.” She said with a sad smile.

Alexi dug in the bag and pulled out a chunk of Roc meat and held it out to her.

“No, no, I don’t need that. Don’t have anywhere I can keep it.” She said. Alexi shrugged and put it back in.

“I bet they’ve gone now. Head on home kid.” She said, shooing him towards the doorway. Alexi peered outside, didn’t see Vem, and slowly made his way out of the building.

He almost made it home when Vem and all his friends jumped him, before he could do anything the bag got ripped out of his hands, and he was on the ground. They started kicking him as he curled into a ball. As he lay there he reached up his shirt and grabbed the loosely wrapped “itch” an improvised blade that gave sctracters their name. His was made from a jagged piece from a badly rusted metal panel he had broke off, scrapped off as much of the rust as he could, and rubbed it against a rock until it had an edge. He knew Vem didn’t have one, too stupid to make one on his own, too proud to buy or steal one. No self respecting scracter would have a itch they didn’t make themselves.

Most of the people kicking him got bored after a few minutes a walked off, leaving Vem, and Mert, the daughter of an essie. He gripped the leather wrapped handle of his itch and yanked it out from under his shirt, slashing at Vem’s face. The larger boy collapsed howling in pain. As Mert ran away screaming Alexi slowly stood up and stomped on Vem’s nose, before straddling him, holding the itch high.

A steel reinforced glove grabbed his arm as he prepared to plunge his blade home. He froze in terror. The only people who wore gloves like that were the internal security troops who sometimes patrolled the warrens. The most hardened lumpers would flinch if an internal security soldier as much as looked at them.

“He ain’t worth it kid. No point in wasting your first kill on a rat like that.” The trooper growled. Alexi turned to look and saw a man not much older than Alexi’s father regarding him with interest and concern. Alexi dropped the knife. Vem slowly stood up, his pants drenched with fear. The soldier let go of Alexi, his arm shooting out at Vem like a venomous snake going for the kill. The man lifted Vem up by the neck until only the boy’s toes touched the ground.

“I hope you learned your lesson scab. Next time you won’t be so lucky and he’ll rip your throat out with that knife of his.” The soldier snarled in Vem’s face before dropping him. “Now scram!” He turned to Alexi. “You too kid, you don’t want to be around for what happens next.”

Alexi suddenly noticed a dozen more internal security troops all armed to the teeth. He had never seen that many in one place before, he has a flash of realization, picked up his itch and ran. “Hey kid, you forgot something.” A different trooper shouted and tossed him his bag. Alexi caught it best as could, waved in thanks, then kept running.

As he ran the sound of fully automatic gunfire filled the air, followed by screams, then nothing. He didn’t stop running until he found the shack his family lived in and was inside. He could see his father looking out the cracks in the wall, sweat beading on his forehead, face creased by worry.

Alexi set his bag on the table and collapsed into a corner, exhausted. Today had been lucky, the Roc coming down was a rare stroke of luck. Tomorrow wouldn’t be as fortunate, neither would the day after that, or the next, or the one after that.

“The term Scratcher is an interesting one. In the warrens it is a term of respect, they are seen as the only honest people in the warrens, surviving with their wits and skill, with a strange sort of moral code. They are defined by their knives, which they call “itches.”

These are typically made from scrap metal, but are often reasonably well crafted, and a source of pride for their owner. These knives have many uses, ranging from weapon, eating utensil, scavenging tool, to a sort identifier. To them ff you don’t have an itch, you aren’t a scratcher

This is in direct contrast with the rest of Grail society, where scratcher is a blanket term for anyone who lives in the warrens, a reference to the way that people living in the warrens barely “scratch out” an existence.

Part of a memo sent from Grail internal security to the Secret Police of Falcon’s Reach to assist local authorities in dealing with Grail criminals within Falcon’s Reach.”