Quicksand

He received the message clearly enough late at night while taking a moment's rest at the inn. The signal was meaningless to those not familiar with the Tunnelers, and his return signal just as mild to let them know he would meet them presently.

Things were normal enough at the inn, and he observed the growing affections of strangers and friends with mild amusement or honest approval depending on who it was. That eased his mind, and lifted one weight from his shoulders. He could keep himself apart, shred feelings with duty, cast them aside as careless scraps of nothing. It was good to see, and hear, things were not becoming more complicated. He could do with a little less complication.

A flight of a raven from a nearby tree drew his gaze, its body black against the grey of the cold clouds. He watched its passage; a kinship flickered in a thought. He turned away from the street and walked to the back door of the store. Dagger drawn, he held it with the blade up just to the height of his chest, tensed and ready to block the inevitable blow that came when he stepped inside the stock room.

The ring of metal against metal was sharp, and the strike jarred the muscles of his shoulder. It was not merely a threat. Any unprepared would have their head or chest hacked, depending on the height. A nod to the guard who gave a grin, “That dagger’s gonna be chopped away some day, master.”

“Might not be a bad thing,” Ewan offered coolly, only to spy the Master Tunneler approach from a side passage in the gloom of the poorly lit back room.

“Now, now, young master,” he softly crowed, “what good would that do any of us?” His hand moved to Ewan’s shoulder to usher him further inside.

They walked down a short hallway and the Tunneler pressed upon a panel that opened to a room that could not be properly called a room. It was a closet, or small pantry, concealed surely. A man already inside pushed away from his lean against one close wall as Ewan and the Tunneler arrived.

“Master Corinsson,” he greeted. Ewan smiled and bowed. “Your name is becoming a little too well known.

“The dangers of being much around town, I suppose.” Ewan countered with a smile, “But I would not think my name would stay secret for long from you if you wished to use it. Courtesy is not always available to men like us.”

The man chuckled at the barb, his thick beard more grey than black for his age, but time had done nothing to weaken the strength in his thick body. “It could be to our purpose for you to take a more…public role in daily life here.”

The Tunneler remained silent, his part done in bringing Ewan to this man. Ewan kept his attention to the burly man who had spoken. “I disagree, as my time here is never certain, and tomorrow or a year from now, I can be called away.”

“This is not a concern. We will take on your duties of patrol before you kill yourself, man, for a land that won’t even deign to spit on your grave.”

“How poetic,” Ewan’s low, brief laugh sounded.

“But true,” and the man held out his hand, “Take the friendship of the Tunnelers, man, and ease your burden.”

Ewan eyed the hand, then the man, “And what is my side of this deal? I get the eyes and ears of the Tunnelers. What do you get from me?”

“Resources.”

Ewan scowled and the man withdrew his hand. “I have nothing to offer you. You know my name, you know where my allegiance lies, and I will not pull them in to the mire that is this land.”

The man studied him with bright blue eyes, sharp as flint. A smile began, and he offered his hand again, “Let me begin again, Angus Steor, called Compass around here.”

Ewan and the man clasped lower arms and shook once, “Ewan Corinsson called-”

“Many things,” Compass grinned as the men released their greeting, “But if you’d have us, I think we’d call you Quicksand.”

A laugh, Ewan asked, “Because the more I move the more I sink?"

Both men joined in the brief laughter, but Compass spoke, “No, because there are depths to you that can be very dangerous and you are still and quiet on the surface.”

A sobering expression, Ewan returned to the matter at hand, “What is it that I can offer you that you would bring me into your confidence? What are these resources you desire?”

“Hear that, Maze? This one does not waste time.” Compass grinned, then gave a sharp nod, “You can teach us your skills, bring us respectability but keep us secret. We’re men of the city, we’ve our daily duties to tend to in the above ground, but we need someone in power who knows we’re here to help, as we always have, and to do so in the secret ways of our little group.”

Ewan understood clearly, “You refer to that offer of security advisor to the governor?” Both men nodded, “I have given clear reasons why I cannot take that position.”

“One of which is that you would be then too well known. I fear that is something you cannot avoid now. Your name whispered in corners, mentioned, albeit briefly, in various inns. The shadow and the man can not be separated for much longer.”  Compass barely hesitated to mutter about the closeness of the room before going on. “The other reason, no doubt, is that you have much weighing on your time, and this would add more. But rely on the Tunnelers to lessen the burden.”

“You are not fighters.” Ewan chided.

“No, not all, but some. We are eyes and ears and quick escapes.” Maze offered.

“And of my other reason? That I may be pulled away at any moment?” Ewan accepted at this point that Compass had thought through each point and knew his way through this conversation.

“Take what time you have to set up a good system, we can work with whomever you might have as your second, though we will keep to ourselves when you’re away.”

Ewan lowered his head slightly pressed fingers to his head just above the bridge of his nose where a headache was forming, either from finally reaching exhaustion or the complexities of this turn of events. So much for life becoming less complex.

“You need help, man, from someone that you do not care about risking. Do not think I have not been told, or seen for myself, how you keep your distance from the people around you. We are already risking our lives here.” There was more to that statement than the words alone.

The near pleading tone of the man’s rich, bass voice brought Ewan’s attention up again, his hand dropped away. Compass continued, “I am not a man to make deals easily. I have worked with these men trying to keep some sense of justice, if not order, to this city. This is our home.”

Could Ewan deny this man who felt as passionately about his home, the home he has always known with its haphazard amalgamation of lives, as Ewan felt for his own homeland? “I must think on this. If I refuse, or, and more likely, the position is no longer open to me and taken by another, will I lose the access to the Tunnels and its keepers?”

Maze grinned and clapped Ewan on the shoulder with a boney hand, “I’d rather have some of your keen hearing out and about for us, than none of you at all.” The broad grin from Compass seemed to echo the statement.

“Then I will think on the matter and see what is best…for all parties.”