//------------------------------//
// Chapter VI: Lying with Dogs 
// Story: The Journey of an Inventor 
// by Inquisitor Seigmund 
//------------------------------//

	“Look Nikolas,” Cogsworth began as he followed close behind me, “I really appreciate the gesture, I really do, but do you really think it’s a good idea to make deals of any kind with a gang?”

I had just told Cogsworth I was planning. I suspected that these gangs were at odds with each other and the only way for them to to stop fighting was for one of the to get out on top of the others. I could tell that three of the gangs were trying to take advantage of Lockjaw’s incarceration and were consolidating power in an attempt to eliminate the others and become the new Jug Street Colts. The Sons of Lockjaw were obviously trying to act as a placeholder gang, keeping the seat warm until Lockjaw got free and could command them once again. Though, considering his charges, he’d be away for a very long time. 

If Lockjaw was commanding a gang large enough to be split up into four group that were each large enough to qualify as a gang in their own rights, that meant that the Colts were more than some pissant street gang. Lockjaw was a racketeer, meaning that he didn’t deal in contraband exclusively; it was possible he had few big-time businessmen in his pocket. If Lockjaw made deals with the right people and kept a ledger of his business-partners, this gang would prove invaluable to my career.

“I have a plan Cogsworth.” I said, brushing off his concerns, “I suspect that this group was the least loyal to Lockjaw. If they recognize me as the one who took down Lockjaw that’ll be a few trust points I have with them if what I theorize is correct.”

The name ‘Underdogs’ had some heavy implications. If the gang’s leader understood the meaning of the word, it was likely that the gang was made up of members that joined up with the Colts out of desperation, the beaten down and most underprivileged members in the gang. Orphans, runaways, people who stole to survive, people trying to look out for their families; they’d jump at an opportunity to get on top. Or the leader could be a complete bell-end, and thought that the name made them sound to be the toughest guys in Steamport. I was reaching pretty hard, I know, but based upon the names of these new gangs, the Underdogs sounded the least threatening. If I was right I’d have a new business-partner, if not it would just be a repeat of the little scuffle in the distillery.

Following the town map I had purchased on the way, Cogsworth and I made our way into what appeared to be the slum part of town. A quarter of the shops and restaurants we passed were boarded up, some looking as though they had been closed for much longer than the others. Vagrants congregated in the alleyways, passing a bottle around as they discussed their crushed dreams. The street was littered with loose trash and old newspapers, making it obvious that the street was as busy as it ever gets. To complete the district’s look, an overpass of train-tracks ran right over the street. An appropriate place for a gang called the Underdogs. As I continued to take in the depressing scenery, Cogsworth spoke up.

“Look, there it is,” he pointed with a hoof. Sure enough, I looked to where he was pointing and saw the building the colt had told me about: the Rigid Wingspan Club. The building was three stories high, and had the kind of architecture you’d expect an old-timey movie-theatre would have. The building was fancy to the point that it actually clashed with the rest of the district, though it did have boarded up windows. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of club it was back in its heyday. The two of us walked to the double door entrance of the club. As we came closer, my audio-receptors began picking up the sound of people talking and bantering with one another. This was definitely the place I was looking for. When I put my hand on the door, I heard Cogsworth speak up behind me.

“Nikolas, are you sure about this?” he asked nervously.

“You don’t have to follow he in,” I suggested, “You could always stay out here.” 

Cogsworth looked around the street, a look of uncertainty on his face. Finally, Cogsworth shook his head, obviously not wanting to tempting fate on the chance that the area might have been as dangerous as it was rundown.

With nothing else delaying us, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The place’s interior was just as stylish as the exterior, or used to be before the economy and wood-rot set in. The first thing I noticed was the bar, which was filled with liquor-bottles, empty and full. Lining the windows and dotting the rest of the club were circular booths, though these didn’t look like restaurant booths, rather places to sit around, have discussions, smoke cigars and play games. I then studied the club’s patrons. 

A little more than half of them were griffins, the next majority being ponies and least amount being dogs. They all wore similar clothes to the dregs I had knocked the shit out of, except that they all seemed to have a red bandana around their necks, an obvious sigh of their devotion to the newly formed gang. As I had anticipated, all of them looked relatively young. 

Every single on of the club’s patrons turned to look at who had just come in; in fact, a griffin that had been playing the piano had hit a wrong note before stopping to look. After a few moments of silence and bitter scowling one of the griffins sitting at the bar piped up.  

“Oy, the fook d’ you wont?” the griffin said, maintaining his scowl. In an attempted gesture of politeness, I tipped my bowler-hat before speaking.

“Good afternoon gents. I understand that this is the residence of the newly formed Underdogs. I’m interested in speaking with your boss; would they be available at this time?” I asked in a calm and friendly tone. The bird cocked an eyebrow while his expression changed to an amused smile. 

“Joo ‘ear that, boys?” the griffin laugh as he pointed, “Mr. fancy trousers ‘ere wonts to talk to Sabina!”

The clubs patrons lightly chuckled.

“An’ woy the fook would Sabina wont anyfing ta do wif th’ loikes a you?” the griffin asked further, his expression changing back to a scowl.

“I’m a business man,” I reassured him, “I’m here to make her an-“ 

The bird cut me off.

“Listen ‘ere, ya poncer. We don’t fookin’ know you. As far as we can tell, your jus’ some-“ before the bird could finish, another interrupted him

“T-that’s ‘im mates! That’s the one Oi’m on about!” he said. The entire clubs attention, including mine, was now on a griffin sitting in a booth, who looked as though he had seen a ghost. It took me a second to recognize the bird as the one that flew away from the brawl at the distillery.

“That- that… fing took out ten of Lockjaw’s boys at once with some koind of magjic!” he said, his voice still shaking from the sight of me. “Beat the piss outta all the others!” 

In response, the club’s patrons scoffed.

“You’re full of shite, Connor!” one of the ponies said, laughing at the griffins story. Connor shook his head, his expression unchanging.

“Oi swear, mates! I watched ‘im kick Brewster straight in the nob!” he said, desperate at this point. The other members still refused to believe him.

“Shut et, ya fookin bell-end!” a dog yelled. With Connor silenced, the griffin at the bar spoke up again.

“Oo do you fink you are, waltzin’ in ‘ere an’ expectin’ an audience wif Sabina? This ain’t no walk-in barber-shop, ya fookin nob ‘ead. Ya need to go frew th’ propa channels to talk to ‘er.”

The griffin stood up from the bar stood, an attempt to look imposing.

“Us Undadogs carn’t jus’ let in every sod that comes in ‘ere. For all we know, you might as well be a copper troyin’ get evidence on us. Or, maybe ya from some uvah gang, troyin’ ta make a hit on us? Oo sent ya? Th’ Black Manticores? Th’ Claw Gang? All en all, we ain’t letting ya en. So woy don’t ya turn-na round, take ya fookin butler out were ya came, or we’re gonna knock ya ovah da ‘ead an’ dump ya in th’ harbor!”

As if on queue, every member stood up, donning offensive stances. A brushing against my leg told me that Cogsworth had clung to me in fear. This was my last chance to sway their decision. Maintaining my tone from the last time I’d spoken, I attempted to reason with them.

“I understand your suspicions Gents. I can swear to you, on my mortal soul, that I’m not working for-“

I heard fast movement on my left. Time slowed to a pause as I turned to the source of the sound. I saw a dog, just around four or five feet tall, with his paws held overhead. I saw what appeared to be a blunt instrument in his paws. His intentions of doing what the griffin had suggested had become obvious. Stopping this one would be much more difficult considering the fact that I couldn’t see the whole object; hence I wouldn’t be able to calculate the arc of its swing accurately. I would have to work with calculating the distance between the dog and I to get a manageable estimate, one that should work, so long as the dog didn’t under-shoot or over-shoot the swing. Once I made my estimate, I held up my left hand, hoping that I had made a proper judgment.

*CLANG*


I was correct.

The object turned out to be an iron fireplace-poker, something that would have done damage to my head If it had actually hit me. Albeit, I suspected the worst it could have done was dent my hull or knock something loose, but it was best not to test these theories, especially if my life was on the line.

The entire club stopped in unison when they had all fully realized that I had just stopped the swing of a blunt weapon with my bare hands. The dog that had had tried to hit me stared at me with a wide-eyed expression, not sure how to react to the fact that the thing he had tried to beat the head off of had just stopped his weapon mid swing. While he and the other members continued to gawk, I pulled the poker out of the dog’s grasp.

“Everyone please relax,” I said, allowing some annoyance in my tone. I took both ends of the poker in my hand and began bending it. In a few seconds, I had gotten it to a point where both ends were intersecting with one another, “I just want to talk,”

And with that, I threw the poker to the hardwood floor, earning a loud clatter that caused the awestruck patrons to flinch. The members then realized that I was being incredibly patient with all of them meaning that I wasn’t some idiot police officer trying to infiltrate their gang, and that Connor’s stories seamed to be a bit more legitimate now that they saw what I could do first hand. I mean, feat like that isn’t that impressive, but they probably weren’t expecting it from someone that had assumed to be weakling. The griffin at the bar gawked at me for a few more seconds before looking at the dog that had assaulted me with the fire-poker.

“Er… Nigel, woy don’t ya take our friend ‘ere upstairs ta see Sabine, yeah?” he said nervously. I turned my attention to the medium sized dog. He was looking at me with eyes that looked as though they were just about to burst from their sockets. His trance was interrupted when a larger dog behind him thumped him on the back, urging him to hurry along as not to tempt my ire.

“R-r-r-r-roight dis way, Sir!” Nigel said, as he scurried passed me. Beckoning Cogsworth to follow me, I began follow the cowardly dog. As I passed the griffin at the bar, I tipped my hat again. 

“Thank you for hearing me out.” I said in a respectful tone. As I began walking up the stairs, I hear the griffin order a shot of whiskey.



The three of us made out way up the stairs, the sounds of the club beginning to return the further up we got. Once we reached the top of the stairs, I was greeted with a sight that confirmed my theories of this gang. The entire hallway was filled with what were clearly children. 

Fillies, colts, griffin hatchlings and I suppose it would be appropriate to call the younger dogs puppies. All of them wore ratty clothing, quite similar to the gang members down below. I also remembered the red bandanas around the members’ necks and saw that the children had the very same bandanas. These weren’t just orphans they were looking after, these were simply younger members. I soon concluded that they were all up here for their own protection, since I didn’t see any of them downstairs. 

The children were running up and down the halls, chatting in small circles, and I even spotted a few throwing dice for each other’s bits. I then realized that the doors in the hallway were bedrooms, each of the ones I was able to look into filled with children doing similar activities to the children in the hall. The bedrooms looked like hotel rooms, further confusing me as to what the Rigid Wingspan club was in its heyday.

We made our way up another flight to the third floor. This floor was less crowded than the first two, this one only having a few of the members standing in doorways. Looking into one of these doorways revealed what appeared to be an armory, what with all the knifes, machetes and clubs along the walls. Returning my attention towards the dog we were following. He was leading us to a door guarded by a large, black dog and a red griffin that appeared to be female.  

Our guide cleared his throat and spoke.

“Dis fella’s ‘ere ta see Sabine,” he said, still nervous about our previous encounter. The two guards looked at me with suspicion before looking back at each other. After a few moments of this, the dog gestured for us to go inside. The griffin opened the door, our guide dog hastily stepping inside.

The room we entered was clearly an office, and a rather nice one too. The room was twelve by thirteen feet, and had a window that reached from the ceiling to the floor. The furniture looked as though it had once looked like something you’d see in Buckingham palace, sofas with specially woven upholstery and wooden armrests with engravings and metal studs. The desk itself was large and made of what I assumed to be a very expensive material. Behind the desk was a figure, looking out the window so that they stood with their back facing us.

“S-Sabine! Some blokes are ‘ear tah see ya!” our guide began, “Dis one said somefing about takin down Lockjaw ‘imself! Says ‘e wonts tah make a deal wif ya!” he held out his paws toward me in a dramatic manner before backing out the door. When the door closed, the figure looking out the window turned to face us.

It was another dog, and, judging by its curves and softer facial features, it was female. The first thing I noticed about her was that her appearance was more wolf-like than her short-snouted counterparts. She had light-gray fur and blue eyes, standing around five feet six inches. She wore a black vest and white undershirt, both seeming to be very clean compared to the other gang members. There was also a belt around her waist that held an exceptionally large knife.

She managed to maintain a composed expression when she looked me down, and folded her arms.

“So… you’re ze one zat brought Lockjaw to ze police, oui?” she said in a neutral tone. I was taken aback slightly, as I had expected her to have the same heavy cockney accent the rest of her gang had, instead of a much smoother French one. Remembering she’d asked me a question, I nodded.

“That’s correct.”

She cocked an eyebrow. 

“You are zat metal creature ze other lieutenants spoke of? Ze one zat hospitalized twenty of Lockjaw’s most loyal dregs?” she said as she walked around to the front of the desk.

“Correct again.”

“So zat means you were responsible for ze gang’s entire split-up, am I correct?” her eyes narrowed as her tone became tenser. 

“Yes…” I answered cautiously.

Sabine continued to stare me down, the tension of the room getting thicker and thicker. It was just as I began thinking that she was going to sick the entire gang on me that she cracked a devilish smile.

“Well, for zat I feel zat you deserve a drink.” She said, laughing at what I assumed was Cogsworth’s expression.

“W-w-what?” he said, barely able to speak.

‘She was fucking with us; clever.’

“To be frank, you are probably ze best sing to happen in zis town in a long time.” She said, casually resting against the desk.

“So you’re not angry I took out your boss?” 

Sabine laughed at my question.

“Not at all, if fact you saved the time of pretty much any one of ze higher up’s in ze Jug street Colts looking to make a grab for power.”

The fact that we seemed to be having a casual conversation meant that she was at least willing to hear me out at this point, which I was thankful for. Before I could respond, Sabine spoke up again.

“Oh pardon moi, I have yet to introduce myself. I am Sabine, leader of the Underdogs.” She said as she bowed with her right paw out to the side and left paw on her chest. I did the same, removing my hat and placing it below my chest.

“Nikolas, inventor and businessman. And this is my associate, Cogsworth.” I said as I gestured to him, figuring that he was too overwhelmed to introduce himself.

“A pleasure, my friend. Now, if I am correct, my friend said zat you were looking to make a deal with me.”

“That’s right, but before we start, I’m going to have to ask you a few things.” I said. Sabine nodded.

“Ask away”

“Well, first,” I began “how exactly did you form your own gang so quickly? In fact how did all these other gangs form up after barely a day after Lockjaw’s arrest?”

Sabine smiled, “I was one of Lockjaw’s four lieutenants. Lockjaw couldn’t possibly manage ze entire gang on his own without mutinies. To prevent zis, he appointed four lieutenants to act as sub-commanders for all sections of ze town. He had also hoped zat they could act as ze gang’s temporary leaders in the event zat he was captured.” Sabine began to laugh, “Turns out only one of his lieutenants was actually loyal to him. Now each of the lieutenants is a leader of their own gang.”

“I see,” I said, amused by the fact that Lockjaw’s gang would have turned on him eventually even if I hadn’t come along, “As for my second question: why are their children on the second floor?”

“I make a point to recruit anyone who is in desperate need of a place to belong.” Sabine explained, “Ze ones in need of ze most help are usually ze ones zat fight ze hardest. Plus, children make excellent spies and thieves. If that is all you need to know, shall we get started on z



at deal?”

She gestured toward the one of the sofas, prompting Cogsworth and I to have a seat while she did the same.

“Now, what do you have to offer me?”

“First let me in on something…” I said. Sabine cocked an eyebrow.

“Another question?” she asked, “I’m listening,”

“What kind of operation was Lockjaw running in Steamport?”