Grakkan's Union • Chapter Six - The Longwalk Cherubs

The path ahead tapered into the horizon. The stretch of shops was virtually endless. Amidst the clattering cacophony of merchants pushing overpriced garbage and customers arguing for a smaller rip-off sat the parts fit for a top-of-the-line construct. Separating urine from liquid gold was a job for someone with a discerning eye. Captain Impressive had a cybernetic eye that could discern the difference between Desmule Steel from the Beta-Sol Mountains and the Desmule-2 Steel of the Bemot Comet, which for decades had scientists falsely believing the comet was from Beta-Sol. A merchant who thought he was going to sell a piece of scrap as an appropriate replacement for Johnny Alpha's busted arm was going to find themselves in a losing battle... and for their sake, the best hope it didn't become physical.

Captain Impressive performed a slow, methodical search of the shops. If he could retain the information long enough, he'd have a complete inventory of all the goods available. A surprisingly useful list, indeed. He was looking over his third shop when Gail huffed, "I'll scout ahead." She bounded up the endless path with her gray cloak billowing and snapping.

The Kid also left Captain Impressive on his own. The Kid had no idea what the construct needed and was not about to learn. He had grumbled all the way to the market, "We won the fight, we should be spending our credits on ourselves." "It's his body, he should get it." "I don't see why Lady Diamond made us go get it." When Gail and Captain Impressive had failed to respond, he finally ceased his complaining vocally.

Midway up the street, when the horizon barely hid anything worth looking at, The Kid spied an object of his fancy. A poorly scribbled sign pinned to it said it was The Death Cloak of The Oxforian Prince. The Kid stood before the counter and ran a finger down one of the perfectly pressed folds of the navy-blue cloak. The Kid leaned over and sniffed it, the scent of smoke and fermented grain leapt into his nostrils. "How much?" asked The Kid to the man behind the counter. The man had the skin of alabaster and hair of the night. A black and white photo could do him justice. A yellow worm was scarred into his face, separating off the good two-thirds from the remaining debacle.

The disfigured man looked The Kid up and down. The Kid returned a crooked smile, which shifted his struggling facial hair around, awaiting the response. The Kid's hair was growing long with neglect, and the length gave birth to curls. He brushed a few tickling curls from his eyes. His unkempt appearance helped the merchant understand why this greasy juvenile before him wanted a new cloak. His was drab and torn and smelled like the bottom of a boot. It would help hide the shabby, insect-housing clothes that were stuck to The Kid's body.

"Out of your price range." The merchant's voice came out in a pitch fit for a man of one inch tall. Little girls were known to speak with deeper bass.

"Whoa there, Squeaky, you'll be surprised what I can afford."

The merchant and The Kid stared at each other eye-to-eye. With as much intimidation as the helium-induced voice could muster, he said, "Fifteen-hundred credits."

"Come on, is that really the cloak The Oxforian Prince died in?"

"Stripped from his still-warm corpse."

"And how, may I ask, did it come into the possession of a garbage peddler on this out-of-the-way colony?"

"I have my connections."

"Connections or not, I still think it's a fake." The merchant did not try to argue the point further. "I can trade for this."

"And what do you have of equal value?" The merchant was fixated on The Kid's tight-fisted hand.

As if revealing the last Manchan Goldfly in existence, The Kid opened his palm before the merchant's eyes. "This." In his hand was a splintered claw that could have been a bitten-off and spit-out fingernail. "This is a genuine claw taken from the legendary Hellfont. You might have heard of him? Best there ever was? Known for million-credit-claws?"

"What? He's a two-bit fighter, heard he got beat by some kid the other night. That thing's worth a credit...if that."

"Look at me, Squeaky." The merchant looked up. His eyes connected with The Kid's. He could not pull away. "This is the most valuable item you've ever laid eyes on. You'd be honored to trade it for the cloak. You'd come out ahead in the deal. This claw is mystical. It can kill with a scratch. It can make the handler invisible. It dices, slices... vices. It collates and collaborates. It bunches and crunches and... dunches. It mavericks and savericks and blahvericks."

"I'll trade you! I'll trade you!" squealed the little merchant. He bounced with enthusiasm. He picked up the cloak, resting it on the counter, greedily fingering the worthless claw.

The Kid jumped as a heavy hand gripped his shoulder. "What's going on here?" boomed the voice of Captain Impressive.

"I just suckered this guy out of a 1500 credit cloak," snorted The Kid, keeping his voice out of the merchant's reach.

Captain Impressive sucked air through his teeth and clucked his tongue. "I'm sorry," he apologized on The Kid's behalf, "he'll have to trade you back."

"No way," sprung the high-pitched voice, "I got The Claw of Hellfont! This is the most valuable item I've ever laid eyes on. He was gypped, giving it up for this cloak. This claw is mystical. It can kill with a scratch and dice, and ... maverick?" The clouds in his eyes parted. "Hey, you're Captain Impressive."

"That's right," he boasted, his posture straightening. "Would you like an autograph?"

"No, I'd like your head."

"What?" It was Captain Impressive's question, but The Kid asked it.

"You don't recognize me?" squealed the merchant. "Not even this?" He ran a finger down his worm-like scar and scratched some skin off the monstrosity portion of his face.

"I did that?" asked Captain Impressive. "In the arena?"

"Eight years ago," his voice squeaked like a rusty hinge. "I was a Cherub then."

"Cherub?" asked The Kid.

"The Longwalk Cherubs," informed Captain Impressive. "They're a staple of the Grakkan Games. Started by Horatio Longwalk back in the union's third year. Then it was actually Longwalk's own sons. Known to lure their opponents into letting down their guard with their childish appearance. But they were highly trained and quite a dangerous force. Since then they cycle in new members when the current ones are too old. They've won a few years, but never against me."

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I've heard of them." To the merchant, The Kid asked, "Don't they cut off your danglies, to keep you looking young."

The merchant flushed a deep crimson. He started tapping on his countertop. "What do you know about gladiator fighting? You just hide behind this guy, ride his coattails to the top? Have you ever met a real warrior? Have you ever met a real team? Do you know what dedication is?" Captain Impressive was looking around, listening to the rhythm the merchant tapped out. Others joined in. There was a choir of percussion.

"It's tough to take you seriously when you're talking like that, Squeaky. But I could take you one-on-one if that's what you're asking."

Captain Impressive tapped The Kid on the shoulder and gestured around them. Seven other merchants had abandoned their posts and gathered toward them. All were men, all looked younger than their years. The merchant that they were dealing with pulled a hidden dagger from his sleeve. "You know what happens to The Longwalk Cherubs when they grow too old?"

"They become Krevloc Screamers?" The Kid let out a short burst of laughter. He misread the look in the merchant's eyes. "You know, because they’re small, and have that high pitch sound."

"Look out!" Captain Impressive pushed one of the former cherubs back, stopping him from knifing The Kid. He stood back-to-back with the kid. They were at the hub of a circle, eight former cherubs imprisoning them. "Two against eight. I don't like the odds, Kid."

The Kid rubbed the amulet swirling with dark smoke that hung around his neck. "You mean three against eight. And I like these odds very much."

Galeforce, having not found what they were looking for, was headed down the endless road in search of her team. She froze like a petrified statue at the sight. A ring of death; and at the center her friends. She recalled a time when she was at the center. She trembled. She recalled a time when she was part of the ring. She tensed. Her hair tugged at her, but she did not realize why. Only too late did she realize a storm was whipping up around her. She called out to the winds that had saved her many times; that had saved her when she was nearly killed by a gang; the winds that saved her when her gang had killed. The winds were there to protect her, to protect her friends, and to protect their enemies from making a mistake.

The winds mimicked the cherubs, turning to violence, circling, destroying the weak before them. But unlike the cherubs, the winds were less discerning. Anything that could be moved was their prey. Before Gail had control, the winds turned into a full-fledged tornado. Dirt, shops, merchandise, and people were swept up and beaten. Gail clenched every part of her body until the winds were again a part of her, under her command. Slowly the winds died, nothing remaining where it had been. She took off before the militia came to investigate.

Face caked in the dirt, Captain Impressive pushed himself into a creeping position. He groaned at the reminder he was not as young as he used to be. His joints popped and clanged as he rose to his knees. A hundred feet away lay The Kid, dust clinging to the grease in his hair. His hand was gripped tightly to the amulet around his neck. He rocked back and forth, trying to muster the strength to move. His spirits heightened at the cloak that lay at arm’s length.

Still on his belly, The Kid took off his cloak and flung it out. He unpinned the note from the navy-blue cloak and attached it to his own. "Tsk, tsk," warned Captain Impressive. "That's dishonest. That's stealing."

"The merchant was dishonest," protested The Kid. "This thing's probably a fake."

"Then why do you want it?"

"It's what it represents." The Kid stood and pulled the cloak on. He looked like a cleaner, more distinguished version of himself. "The Oxforian Prince. He's every parentless kid's idol. Grew up an abused orphan, found out he was heir to a kingdom and used his newfound position to help the little people. There was not one of us on the Orphanage Fleet who didn't hope we were the next Oxforian Prince."

"Well, if anyone says anything, return it promptly. Now, let's help these merchants set up shop," more quietly, "and don't mention where the tornado came from."

The Kid shuffled his feet through the mess around him. He reached a hand into the pocket of the cloak and found a pipe. He fingered the engraving on the side, reading it by touch. He pulled it out to confirm. "Freedom," it said. The Kid ran the story through his head while he helped upturn shops.

Carig was humbled before his prince, knowing what he had caused him, knowing what he had received. He said to the Oxforian Prince, “You have given me respect, you have given me perspective, and you have given me a new start on my life. I have given you nothing but trouble and a thousand lashings. Now I give you all I have to give, Freedom." Carig pulled from his pocket a pipe; upon it was engraved the word, 'Freedom.' He put the pipe in the prince's mouth and lit it with his humiliation. He pulled from his other pocket the contract that bound the prince to his service and set it on fire with a touch to the pipe. Ever after, when The Oxforian Prince was troubled with a difficult decision that yielded difficult outcomes, he would put the pipe in his mouth, ponder, and err to the side that would allow the most choices to the most people.

Someday, The Kid decided, he would verify the pipe was real by comparing the bite marks to the dental records of the prince. And if it proved to be authentic, he would sell it for a lot of credits.