note: I did a lot of planning this week, which is exciting for the story. This chapter is sponsored by Nick Drake's "Pink Moon," which I wrote to. It's shorter than usual, but from hereon out the action will start to pick up, and the chapters will get longer (in theory!). Thanks for reading.

twelve: precautions

It was Swifty's house, so I heeded his wishes; I didn't spend another second in his kitchen. Instead, he employed Boots to bring out four deep bowls of the steaming stew he had created. It was delicious, and, when combined with the fire that he had started in the fireplace, created the effect of being lulled into a state of something resembling serenity. Really, though, I think I was just exhausted, and it was starting to get to me.

Still, the others appeared to be similarly captivated,and enjoyed the chance to rest and feel normal, while getting a good meal down at the same time. So we ate in companionable silence, Swifty thoughtfully regarding an oblivious Dutchy almost the entire time.

"Dutch, who runs this place?" he asked finally, effectively knocking Dutchy out of his stupor.

"Uh?"

"The Dark."

"I… don't know?"

Swifty nodded and set his bowl and spoon on the table. He remained forward in his seat, elbows on his knees. "Sounds like it's time for a little lesson in politics," he said. I laughed shortly. Okay, things could get complicated, but the Dark wasn't as delicately run as the word 'politics' might imply. There was no corruption, because there was no government. For the most part, it was simple brute strength – or cunning – that decided the fate of things.

I knew what would comprise Swifty's "lesson," but before I could ponder more on the subject, he began to speak. It was just as well.

"Warlords run this place," Swifty said, holding Dutchy's eye contact. Boots, who had been close to dozing off, now rubbed at his eyes and attempted to stay alert.

"A lot of them. How many? Who knows. They change, of course, someone is always gaining power or losing power, whatever, it's almost impossible to keep track of it all unless you're really involved. But there are some heavyweights out there, and you need to know about them. Or at least you need to know about the system, or else you're going to find yourself in a lot of trouble.

"The most important thing to remember is that the warlords control almost all of the entries and exits to and from this place. Where did you guys come in?"

"Battery Park," I volunteered. "The edge."

"Yeah, I thought as much. That's a good one, public for the most part, if only because it's near impossible to guard. See, the majority of these warlords, they make their money and hold onto their power through smuggling. Has Race told you about smuggling?"

Dutchy shook his head. I shrugged. There was only so much I could unload at once. I certainly didn't mind someone else doing the talking for once.

"Right, okay. Well, that's how people make money. See, people live here, some 'cause they want to, some 'cause they have to, others… well, others just don't know any other way. But still, everyone wants things from the Other side, things you can't get here. So people smuggle those things in and sell them for an outrageous profit. Now, some individuals, they want more than they can get by themselves. So they join up with others, and soon enough one takes control, leads the rest, and if enough money and manpower are involved, then you've got yourself a warlord."

I smiled again. That was the basic explanation. Swifty either didn't notice my reaction, or he simply chose, as usual, to ignore it.

"The warlords are always fighting with each other, in part because they love to fight, in part because they're all greedy for more power; more money, more people under them. In general, you can go about your business and not be bothered. But there are some things you gotta know. You gotta know which exits you can and cannot use. Race will take care of that. The warlords control the doors in order to control what comes in them. The more doors you have, the more stuff, the more power, right? Some don't care if you just go in and out, others will kill you."

"Kill?" asked Dutchy with a frown.

"Kill. And why not? There's no police here, Dutch, no "justice" as we know it. The only people who would care about another dead body are those who would want revenge, or an excuse for revenge."

"Okay. But I don't really get it. What are they bringing in, the people who work for these… warlords? Money, gold, what? What's worth it?"

"Gold, yeah, maybe," I said. "But most of it is a lot simpler than that. I mean… well, for example, grain. Or fresh fruit. Food, like, I don't know, Coca Cola. Building materials – you know, quality wood, strong nails. Books! Horses, trinkets, you name it."

"You mean I could risk my life by just bringing a bottle of Coca Cola through the wrong door?"

"Pretty much," I admitted. "Though, one bottle? Probably not. A few cases? That would definitely raise some eyebrows. But you could also make a helluva a lot of money."

Dutchy shook his head. "Too weird," he muttered.

"It's just the way things work," said Swifty. And, a little more harshly, "It's a different world. Get used to it."

"I'd rather not," Dutchy returned, with just a little metal in his voice. I had to bite back a grin. It was one of the only times I'd seen Dutchy talk back to someone – ever – and it was definitely the first time it had happened in the Dark. But Swifty had his poker face on, and didn't bat an eye.

"Here's another example," I said, mostly just to break up the awkward silence. "One of the biggest guys out there, he's called the Iceman, guess why?" Without waiting for anyone to answer, I continued, "He controls the ice in the Dark. All of it. White gold, you know? Pretty ridiculous. But it's necessary; there's a demand. So he makes all this money and he has all this power – and trust me, it's a lot."

Swifty nodded in agreement. "You don't want to mess with the Iceman.

"Okay," Dutchy said, digesting all the information. "Well, how about alcohol? That must be a pretty big market."

"Nah," said Swifty with a huge grin. "Nah, the booze we make ourselves." Then he took his flask from his vest and emptied it to make a point. Dutchy laughed nervously.

"Any questions?" I asked.

"I don't think so."

"Well, keep thinking," Swifty said, standing. "Boots, bring the dishes into the kitchen, just leave them in the basin for now. We have a little work to do."

"What's that?" I asked and Boots scrambled to his feet.

"We're going to find a place to hide those ingredients," he said, motioning for Dutch and me to follow him upstairs. We obliged, but as we climbed the steps, I again called into question my trust of Swifty. But what could I do? Anyway, all we had at this point was the moss and the savory. It would be a setback to lose those, no doubt, but there was no reason Swifty would bother with stuff like that. Besides, I didn't feel any real misgivings. After all, Swifty apparently still thought that I was the one to be wary of. Who knows; maybe I was.

Swifty had put the moss in the bag with the savory under the logic that "eventually it would all be mixed together anyway." That was hard to argue with. We were crowded in the bedroom that Dutchy and I had slept in a few nights previous, watching Swifty as he pried up a floorboard.

"I don't think anyone is going to come looking for this stuff," he explained as he worked. "But you might as well take some precautions. At least it'll be better than putting it under your bed at the Brick." He dropped the last nail into a small pile and wiggled the board out of place. The floorboard he had selected had looked absolutely identical to the others, but now we could see there was a sealed compartment underneath. It was so unnatural and out of place, it had to have been purposefully built there. I had to wonder, though, how Swifty had found out about it.

"It's kind of small, but it will do for the time being," said Swifty. Dutchy handed him the bag and he flattened it into the space and then began replacing the board. "I have to admit," he continued, "I'm a little surprised that you guys don't have more yet. I understand some, like, I have no clue what some of that shit means – "Lucky Feet?" The hell? But, I mean, what about those elixirs? That should've been easy."

"Easy?" I said. "I couldn't even pronounce most of those names."

He finished and looked up at me in that annoying "isn't-it-obvious" way. "It doesn't matter," he said. I failed to show any sign that I understood yet. "Pete?" he asked, getting up. "One Lung Pete?"

I realized, and I could've hit myself with his hammer for being so stupid. "One Lung Pete," I murmured. "Shit. How could I've forgotten?"

He shrugged and brushed past me to the stairs outside. "It's the Other side. It's messin' with ya."

I ignored the shot and followed, a confused Dutchy in tow.

"So he's still around?"

"Of course he's still around. The man's an institution. Please tell me that you at least haven't forgotten where to find him."

"I haven't forgotten," I said quickly, for some reason eager to redeem myself. Swifty already thought I was dumb enough without me having to prove it. I couldn't believe I'd forgotten about One Lung Pete. He should've been the next person on my list, right after Sofia. Wait. There was no way that… "Would he have the Cure?" I asked, which wasn't a great idea, as I could almost hear the sound of Dutchy's hopes rising.

"No. One Lung Pete only likes dealing with raw materials. Sofia does the combinations. Hey, do you need a lesson, too, Race?"

"No thanks," I said tersely. Outside it had started to rain, and Boots was at the window again, watching the gloomy scene without much interest.

"Yeah, we'll see," Swifty muttered, more to himself than anyone else, though he made sure I heard it. I ignored him in an attempt to be the bigger man and looked to Dutchy.

"You ready to go?" I asked. He made a point of looking out the window and grimacing.

"It's just a little rain," I said, irritated. Sure, Dutchy didn't care if we stayed. Swifty liked Dutchy, for whatever reason. Boots turned around, also skeptical, but Swifty waved them both off.

"Yeah, he's right, don't worry about it," he said. "Besides, it won't be a long walk."

I wisely decided not to argue. I reminded myself that I was the bigger man.

"See you around," was all Swifty said as we left. Once we were on the street, I looked back just once, right in time to see him open the door to let someone else in, from the shape of the figure I gathered it was a woman – and definitely not Sofia. I rolled my eyes and trudged onward.

We turned that first corner and I was shocked to see the Brick staring me in the face. I had just settled into my thoughts for the long walk home, but here we were. I stood rooted in place, as did the others, who certainly noticed that our journey was nowhere near as tedious as usual. As one, we turned around. But the street behind us was what it should be; just the road that connected with the Brick and began that long walk. I shook my head, dazed. What the hell?

"Is that it?" Dutchy asked breathlessly. "That's twice, now. Is that Swifty's… power?"

I shook my head, still staring down a road we had somehow skipped. "No. I wish… would've made things a lot easier," I added under my breath.

"So… what is it?" Dutchy asked, probably glad he finally had an excuse to ask me.

I turned to face him, thinking carefully. Swifty was old. He was older than me by a little, anyway, but after living here, in the Dark… just old. Did he still have it? Could he still…? I hadn't yet been in the kind of position that would allow me to judge. So I just shrugged, which probably confused Dutchy even more, and figured I may as well share.

"Well… it's persuasion."