The Villainous Cause #7: Opailidictor and Wasteful Thinking

Thwiuil stood uncaring in the middle of the road. Rather than having to avoid the customary late night busyness caused by many rubbish wagons heading to the north-west part of Spansis, all he had to 'concern' himself with was the thronging people heading into the better parts of the city. Thwiuil was no warrior or caster to make him this confident that he would be left alone. He was known to almost all the Wastes as having the strength and toughness not to be fooled with. Some, as they passed him, nodded or grinned a toothy acknowledgment. Thwiuil barely nodded back at these people. He was more interested in the Removalists' activity. This Selector group had watched the Wastes from their vantage high above and behind the Waste Tower, had always been part protectors, part taskmasters for the Wastes. Given the strange events of the past day, he wasn't sure what part the Removalists might have had to play in the uproar.

It was because he was looking to the high lookout that he noticed a darker shape within the shadows atop the Removalist building. He peered intently at the spot where somebody hid, draped in night's shawl. The figure above seemed to realise he was being watched and within moments spied Thwiuil staring up at him.

Thwiuil wasn't worried once the figure stepped from the shadows. It was Dawhen. He was known as 'the Nikka'. It was a nickname given to Dawhen by a young child who couldn't quite get the word, 'technique' out of her mouth. At the time there had been quite a crowd and the amusement caused by Dawhen's chagrined expression, led to it being adopted as the common way to address him. At first, Dawhen had bridled at the silliness of it but in time as he perfected more and more techniques, quite beyond an above average number, he came to like it. As Thwiuil watched him, Dawhen signaled down to him with two quickly clenched right-hand fists followed by a slow sweeping wave. Thwiuil responded similarly as they had come up with the hand code many years ago when they shared common interests. Nowadays, they only spoke when they ran into each other. Not through any plan, only that their ways diverged and there was little need to talk of old times. Both of them were still too young for such sentiments. Their lives were both very much ahead of them.

Dawhen came down the facade of the Removalist's terrace. He resembled a dark curtain being dropped for dramatic effect at a playhouse. He landed lithely and seemingly wandered between the crowd's many occupiers in roundabout fashion, only to wind up directly in front of Thwiuil.

"Cuz." "Nikka."

"What do you make of the horde?" Dawhen's voice had a familiar timbre of hollowness due to the heavy visor on his face. It was accentuated by the tube that emerged from the visor that assisted Dawhen's breathing when necessary. Thwiuil knew that at least one of Dawhen's techniques extended to the use of vapours both obscuring and debilitating. Dawhen's mask made his technique more effective.

Thwiuil looked around nonchalantly, shrugged and,"Seems a decent day for a riot. Weather's fine."

"No more than that? Don't you worry about your fellow Wastes? There will be affray."

"Not worried. They will do more harm than they get on 'em."

"There are new markers in play. This Grey Water bunch, the Sundowners and the Tiger-eyed."

"Yeah, they won't be worried about us and when and if we smack up against 'em, well, we'll have to see. Most times a large mob numbering as big as this one gets right of passage, eh? Who'd be stupid enough to stand in front of it?"

"For a start, they might let it pass by and then stand against it. Consider the charging bull and how best to deal it a killing blow."

Thwiuil wanted to deny this but couldn't. Nor could he truly believe that these new groups wouldn't have some issue with the Wastes moving at will through areas these groups might value. There wasn't a lot to do about it here. If he'd intervene in the route taken it would mean getting far enough ahead of it and directing it in a particular direction. This would require him raising the beneath-the-street barricades that were installed at major intersections and along concourses throughout Spansis.

"I see that thoughtful look in your eye, Thwiuil, I'm too busy to help you herd sheep."

"Armed sheep, Nikka."

"Yes, I suppose they might be a threat to some less vigilant types. Nonetheless, those they will likely run into, are hard armoured types. Fighters. Desperate fighters. Are you sure about this getting out of hand?"

"The Wastes have a purpose and a desire. To get one they must fulfill the other. Once the Wastes have shown what their markers can do, they will be in a better position to make good on their wish."

"Cuz, you know the Removalists will never allow it. The Wastes must remain as they are. Where would our power go if your lot were free to do whatever? No, things mustn't change drastically. The Wastes will need to remember their place in the city."

"No, we will have a better city to live in. We will not be useful to those beyond the tower if we do not get our desire met by whoever would rule the place."

Dawhen paused, considering his next statement, " There might be another way to obtain your desire that wouldn't upset the South-Alls much."

"You sound as though this isn't just coming to you now. A plan long pregnant feels its waters shift, hmm?"

"Not a long gestation but perhaps similarly messy?"

"What is it you have in mind?"

"Cuz, in Lowsis there is the sector the Removalists have fought over for some years now, yes?"

"Your lot and the Soothsayers still squabbling over that flour mill, eh?"

"Have been. If you'd care to direct some of this torrent down there, the new commander of the Removalists would likely consider the fellow who arranged it... well, let's say that person would be well situated."

Thwiuil knew he could as easily barricade the streets to divert the throng below the city as above. He would have to lead them though and have torches readied. The flour mill was defended by merchant-squads as well as being kept an eye on by the Soothsayers. There wouldn't be much there to stop the Waste mob. He could make it happen and if that meant a marker to bargain with come the dawn, that would be well. He stated, "Let's say I do this. Would you make the Removalist commander see my part in it?"

The Nikka grinned and bowed deeply, "Dont get yourself too badly wounded down below and we can have dinner this evening in the commander's roost! We can go over ideas for the mill. It's my belief that it's wasted on flour production."

Thwiuil sensed in his cousin's tone that leadership had changed for the Removalists. His cocked head asked the question and the Nikka's second bow confirmed the answer.

"Cousin!", grinned Thwiuil, "Let's say 9 o'clock!" The two men parted ways with the plan to meet happily anticipated.

In the last place that might be expected; high above, from the perch Dawhen had climbed down from, a man stood grim-featured, arms crossed over his chest, having witnessed the meeting below on the street.

Opailidictor was no Removalist. He wasn't even a Selector. He would see to it, however, that the flour mill's ownership remained in doubt. It suited him. It suited matters beyond his personal plans as well. It was well beyond time for the Cradam plan for Spansis to be effected.