Chapter 157: Dirty Things
Dylan and Jonas entered the alley Jonas had pointed out. It rose gently, almost slyly, as if the city itself was testing the resolve of those who dared to climb. The walls, pressed close on either side, sweated limestone and humidity, and the smell of old stone mingled with the sharper stench of torn-open trash. Breathing here was done halfway.
"Are there many paths like this one?" Dylan asked, his hand absentmindedly brushing the hilt of his jian.
Jonas nodded.
"Dozens. Maybe more. But not all of them lead this far. And most are watched... or trapped. You’ve gotta know them well."
They emerged into a small circular square, paved with a half-erased spiral pattern. A crumbling old well stood in the center, surrounded by three rickety benches and a few kids screaming while throwing rocks at each other. A woman pushed a cart full of fish that had been dead far too long, and an old man struggled to keep a stall of rotting fruit from collapsing.
Dylan wrinkled his nose.
"Do you guys have, like... a cleaning system? Or do you just wait for it all to rot and magically vanish?"
Jonas shrugged.
"There are sweepers. Collectors. But they mostly work when someone from the High-Tier comes down. You know, for appearances. The rest of the time, it’s every man for himself."
They walked around the square and slipped into another street — wider, but not any cleaner. Above them, makeshift balconies of rotting wood and twisted metal sagged under the weight of soaked laundry and dead flowerpots. A woman watched them from a window, then slammed it shut without a word.
"And the Count?" Dylan asked, without much conviction. "What’s he doing for his city?"