He reached for the rum, then remembered—a little foggily—that he’d finished it all. “Rust and Ruin,” he muttered. Perhaps he shouldn’t have downed the whole thing. Then again, it made his sniffles easy to ignore. When he was properly smashed, he could take a punch or two to the face and not even feel it. There was a kind of invincibility to that. A stupid kind, but Wayne wasn’t a picky man.
He made his way up to the university gates, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. The etched letters over the top proclaimed, in High Imperial, WASING THE ALWAYS OF WANTING OF KNOWING. Deep words. He’d heard them interpreted as, “The eternal desire of a hungry soul is knowledge.” When Wayne’s soul was hungry he settled for scones, but this place was full of smart kids, and they were a strange sort.
Two men in black coats leaned casually against the gates. Wayne hesitated. So they were watching for him out front this time, were they? The first of his three trials was upon him. Rusting wonderful.
Well, after the nature of any great hero from the stories, he was going to do his best to avoid this particular trial. Wayne ducked to the side before the two men could spot him, then followed the wall. The university was surrounded by the thing, like it was some kind of bunker. Were they afraid all their knowledge would leak out, like water from a swimmer’s ears?
Wayne craned his neck, looking for a way in. They’d bricked up the broken part he’d used last time. And the tree he’d climbed that other time had been cut down. Drat on them for that. He decided to follow another great tradition of heroes facing trials. He went looking for a way to cheat.
He found Dims on a nearby corner. The young man wore a bowler hat and a bow tie, but a shirt that had the sleeves ripped off. He was head of one of the more important street gangs in the area, but never stabbed people too badly when he mugged them and was polite with the people he extorted. He was practically a model citizen.
“Hello, Dims,” Wayne said.
Dims eyed him. “You a conner today, Wayne?”
“Nope.”
“Ah, good,” Dims said, settling down on the steps. He took something out of his pocket—a little metal container.
“Here now,” Wayne said, wiping his nose. “What’s that?”
“Gum.”
“Gum?”
“Yeah, you chew it.” Dims offered him a piece of the stuff. It was rolled into a ball, soft to the touch and powdered on the outside.
Wayne eyed the lad, but decided to try it. He chewed for a moment.
“Good flavor,” he said, then swallowed.
Dims laughed. “You don’t swallow it, Wayne. You just chew!”
“What’s the funna that?”
“It just feels good.” He tossed Wayne another ball.
Wayne popped it into his mouth. “How are things,” Wayne said, “with you and the Cobblers?”
The Cobblers were the rival gang in the area. Dims and his fellows went about with their sleeves torn. The Cobblers wore no shoes. It apparently made perfect sense to youths of the street, many of whom were the children of the houseless. Wayne liked to keep an eye on them. They were good lads. He’d been like them once.
Then life had steered him wrong. Boys like this, they could use someone to point them in the right direction.
“Oh, you know,” Dims said. “Some back, some forth.”
“There won’t be trouble now, will there?” Wayne asked.
“I thought you said you wasn’t no conner today!”
“I ain’t,” Wayne said, slipping—by instinct—into a dialect more like that of Dims. “I’m askin’ as a friend, Dims.”
Dims scowled, looking away, but his muttered response was genuine. “We ain’t stupid, Wayne. We’ll keep our heads. You know we will.”
“Good.”
Dims glanced back at him as Wayne settled down. “You bring that money you owe me?”
“I owe you money?” Wayne asked.
“From cards?” Dims said. “Two weeks back? Rusts, Wayne, are you drunk? It ain’t even noon yet!”
“I ain’t drunk,” Wayne said, sniffling. “I’m investigatin’ alternative states of sobriety. How much do I owe you?”
Dims paused. “Twenty.”
“Now see,” Wayne said, digging in his pocket, “I distinctly remember borrowin’ five off you.” He held up a note. It was a fifty.
Dims raised an eyebrow. “You want something from me, I’m guessing?”
“I need into the university.”
“The gates are open,” Dims said.
“Can’t go through the front. They know me.”
Dims nodded. That sort of thing was a common complaint in his world. “What do you need from me?”
A short time later, a man wearing Wayne’s hat, coat, and dueling canes tried to pass through the front of the university. He saw the two men in black, then bolted as they chased after him.