‘I thought it was dangerous down here . . .’ I said. ‘I thought you needed to be in a gang . . .’
I suddenly realized that I might have made a big mistake. Kwin’s kissing me and holding my hand had snatched away my common sense.
‘What’s life without a bit of danger?’ she called back over her shoulder.
The steps ended and Kwin hurried off along a tunnel. I followed, noticing something strange overhead. Growing on the roof of the tunnel was a cluster of fungi, its globular white fruit suspended from thick stalks.
‘Hey, Kwin, what’s that?’ I asked.
She turned and looked where I was pointing.
‘Can you eat it?’ I wondered. ‘It reminds me of a delicacy that grows on a high cliff just north of Mypocine – though that has red fruit rather than white. Climbers risk their lives to harvest it, but they make a lot of money selling it at the market.’
‘Eat that and you’d be stone dead within a minute,’ Kwin retorted. ‘It’s called “skeip” and it’s extremely poisonous. At one time you only found it on the very lowest levels of the Commonality, but now it’s spreading upwards. Some say that it feeds upon the blood that drips into these caverns from Arena 13. Superstitious nonsense, of course, but down here superstition breeds faster than scabby grey rats. One thing I know, though: you should never stand directly underneath it. When it’s ripe, it sometimes drips poison.’
With a grim smile Kwin turned and continued until at last we reached a small open space; ahead of us I saw the entrances to three tunnels.
‘Doesn’t really matter which one we take,’ said Kwin. ‘These three all lead to the same place. The Commonality is a maze of caverns and tunnels that extends far beyond the perimeter of the Wheel, down into the very rock. When you’re down here, always keep to the tunnels that are lit by torches. That means they’re serviced regularly; if you get lost, it won’t take long for someone to find you. Anyway, we’ll take this one. It’s a longer route, but I want to show you where the lacs are stored.’
Although the tunnel was lit, there were big gaps between the torches and parts of it were very gloomy. I reflected that being lost down here in the dark would indeed be terrifying.
Kwin was walking fast, drawing further and further ahead of me. What was the rush? I wondered. We reached a very dark section of tunnel, and suddenly I couldn’t see her at all.
I halted. I could hear water dripping somewhere close, but there was no sound of footsteps ahead. Had she turned off down a side-tunnel while I’d simply gone straight on? For a moment I felt a twinge of panic and took a deep breath to calm myself.
Then there was a tap on my shoulder and my heart leaped up into my mouth. I turned round, sensing someone – or something – standing very close to me. For a moment I was terrified; then I smelled that lavender perfume and heard Kwin giggle.
I was angry. That wasn’t my idea of a joke.
‘Scared, were you?’ she said softly. ‘Maybe I should hold your hand again to make sure you don’t get lost!’
She led me off into the dark, and as we walked along holding hands again, all the anger drained out of me.
Soon the tunnel began to narrow. Kwin squeezed my hand and smiled. ‘We’re coming to one of the dormitories now,’ she said.
We passed through a small curved stone archway and I looked up, my mind reeling. For on each side I saw a matrix of stone cots lined with thin layers of straw – row after row, piled one above the other, extending from the floor to the high vaulted ceiling – hundreds of lacs could be accommodated here.
I’d spent time working with my lac and had overcome most of the fear and unease I’d experienced when I’d first seen the small lac dormitory in the Wheel. But now I was stunned by what I faced.
Most of the shelves were occupied, and I had glimpses of shaven heads, the yellowed soles of calloused feet, bellies and chests glistening with sweat, and slack mouths open to the stale air that stank of urine and wet dog. Not to mention the throat-slits, with their pink lips and disturbing hint of a deeper purple within.
There were so many of them – too many – and they were too close. The lacs were dormant now, placed in a deep trance for storage.
‘It’s not a pretty sight, is it?’ Kwin said.
‘There’s something unsettling about seeing so many together like that,’ I replied.
She nodded. ‘It’s something most of the spectators never get to see. It’s a bit like the slaughterhouse: people tuck into a steak and enjoy it, but they don’t want to think about the living animal that’s slain and dismembered so that they can fill their bellies. This is what the lacs endure. They fight and train, but most of the time they sleep.’
I didn’t feel comfortable until we were safely past the dormitory and heading down the tunnel again.
‘How many dormitories are there?’ I asked.
‘Three more,’ Kwin answered. ‘The more successful artificers, like my father, have their own facilities on the level immediately below the arenas, but the majority keep their lacs down here. Most of these fight in Arenas 1 to 12. Then, of course, there are the feral lacs—’
‘Feral?’
‘I mean wild lacs – those without owners.’
‘You’re joking!’
The lacs used in Arena 13 were bought from the Trader for that purpose. Wild lacs beyond human control . . . that was something I’d never even imagined.
‘You’ll see. It’s not much further.’
Kwin was making me nervous. Were there really feral lacs ahead or was it another of her jokes?
To my relief, we merely came to an iron grille across the entrance to a dark side-tunnel that sloped steeply downwards.
‘Look at that,’ Kwin said, pointing to a section of the grille. It had recently been repaired: the rest was rusty and much older.
‘That tunnel has been sealed off – and for a very good reason. There are lacs down there – nobody knows how many – out of control and surviving in any way they can; probably by eating rats and each other. The dangerous sections are sealed off like this. The problem is, even Cyro doesn’t know the location of all the tunnels. As I said, always keep to the ones that are well-lit.’
‘Who’s Cyro?’ I asked.
‘He’s the official responsible for the Commonality, this whole underground zone. There are kitchens down here, training areas and even illegal combat zones. Cyro rules it all. I’ll point him out to you in a few moments.’
She turned and led the way down another tunnel, and soon we emerged onto a ledge; below our feet was a big drop. We were looking down into a natural amphitheatre ringed with torches. So far we hadn’t seen a soul, so I was astonished by the number of people gathered there. Several hundred were seated around an arena and there was a low buzz of conversation; it sounded like a drowsy hive of bees on a hot summer afternoon. The air was hot and humid, and very still; it smelled of stale sweat.
Towards the back, the seats were elevated; it was clear that the highest tier would offer the best view. The light wasn’t good – this arena lacked the huge candelabrum of Arena 13, relying on perimeter torches, with the result that many of the seats were in shadow.
The arena itself was lit only by pairs of crossed torches, positioned high on the pillars at each corner. The edges were marked merely by a slight depression in the floor. Rather than bouncing off the walls, as in Arena 13 combat, it seemed to me that the combatants would keep stepping out.
‘Look at the arena floor,’ Kwin said, as if she knew what I was thinking. ‘Look at the sand.’
The combat area was spread with a thick covering of sand, while there were further piles beside each pillar.
‘The sand’s there to soak up the blood,’ said Kwin. ‘Lacs fight each other down here; they wear no armour – they merely have the throat-socket. In theory victory is achieved by endoff in the manner of Arena 13 fighting, but usually the loser dies. It’s a bloody business all right.’
‘What prevents them from stepping ou
t of the arena?’ I asked.
‘Just wait and see. It’ll shock you.’
Suddenly the murmur of conversation rose in pitch and echoed off the roof and walls of the cavern. A man stepped into the arena and raised his arms for silence. He was large, and his belly hung down over his broad leather belt.
‘That’s Cyro,’ Kwin whispered. ‘Come on – let’s stay and watch the first contest. This whole business sickens me, but I think you should see it – then you’ll realize how disgusting some things in this city are. That’s one good thing I can say for my father. Despite his money-grubbing, he has nothing to do with what goes on down here.’
‘If it’s illegal, then why doesn’t someone put a stop to it?’ I asked.
‘Because it’s all about money,’ Kwin said, her mouth turning down in distaste. ‘Lacs die here every night, but nobody does anything about it because it’s lucrative for everyone involved, the gambling houses in particular; Cyro also makes a profit that’s even fatter than his belly. Only the lacs suffer, and down here, who cares about their needs?’
I stared at her in astonishment. This practice had clearly affected her deeply.
‘But I thought they weren’t conscious like us,’ I said.
‘That’s what everyone says, but I don’t believe it for a moment, do you?’ Kwin asked.
I remembered the way my lac had looked at me – almost as if it was judging me.
‘They might not be aware as we are,’ Kwin continued, ‘but surely everything that moves and breathes has some consciousness? And don’t try to tell me that they can’t feel pain. In Arena 13 they’re protected by their armour, but down here they suffer serious injury.’
Cyro stepped out of the arena, and moments later, two lacs stepped in to take up position facing each other, each wielding two long blades. I could see the metal bands circling their necks, holding the throat-socket in position. But apart from their loincloths – one wore blue and the other green – they were naked. They didn’t even wear boots. I was seeing lac bodies standing upright and moving for the first time.
Their heads were completely hairless; indeed, they seemed to have no hair anywhere. Their skin had been oiled; it gleamed in the torchlight, and their backs, shoulders and arms were heavily muscled. The arms looked even longer without armour, but the legs were a surprise. They seemed almost too thin to support their bulky bodies. Then I realized that they were designed for speed.
Suddenly there was a swishing, rasping sound, and a circle of long blades, each over two feet high, their sharp edges facing inwards, sprang up out of the floor to mark the boundary of the arena.
Kwin was right. I was shocked. I realized what that would mean for bare flesh.
This signalled the beginning of the contest, and the two lacs started to circle each other warily.
All at once they exploded into action, whirling and slashing with their blades. I was astonished by their speed. This was much faster than anything I’d seen in Arena 13. Perhaps the rules of the Trig and their task of defending human combatants there slowed them down.
I almost missed the blade that sliced into the upper arm of the lac wearing the blue loincloth; blood sprayed upwards, drawing excited cheers and shouts from the audience. The next second the cut lac struck back, ripping open the chest of its green-clad opponent, which staggered and almost fell.
They backed away and circled each other again, their blood dripping onto the sand.
Again they came together hard in a whirl of stabbing and slashing. Blades found their targets again and again. Blood splattered and fell, glittering like red rain in the torchlight.
It was terrible to watch. They were cutting each other to pieces. I just wanted it to be over.
But the ending was even worse.
The lac in blue was pushed back towards the edge of the arena. There was no wall to stop it, and it wasn’t near any of the four pillars. It was forced to step backwards into the blades. It twisted against them, its legs cut to ribbons, then fell onto the blades as the other lac slashed at it again and again.
The spectators were on their feet now, shouting and stamping in appreciation of the carnage. Their voices rose in a great roar that resounded through the cavern. But above that could be heard a terrible sound – the shrill, agonized shrieks of the lac as it died on the blades.
Kwin turned away, bent over, and I heard her retching. I had been nauseated by the spectacle too, and the moment I smelled her vomit I was sick myself, my stomach churning in rapid, painful spasms.
When I’d finished, we looked at each without speaking, then withdrew back into the tunnel. Kwin was walking even faster than before.
‘That has to be stopped!’ I told her angrily, but she didn’t comment. ‘Where are we going now?’ I asked.
‘To the stick-fighting,’ she replied. ‘Oh, don’t worry. My father bans you from taking part, not from watching.’
Ten minutes later we were descending into a small cave where a contest was already underway. There were few spectators, probably no more than fifty or so, which was fortunate because the cave was quite small, with a low ceiling. It was hot and claustrophobic.
I could see only one blue-sashed gambling agent there; he was leaning against the wall with a bored expression on his face. The rules seemed to be the same as they had been back home in Mypocine. There was no clearly defined arena, and the fighting raged backwards and forwards, using the full limits of the available space, pushing into the crowd, which expanded and contracted accordingly.
But I saw that they were fighting one against one, something we’d rarely done. In Mypocine it was usually one against three.
We stood a little way back and I studied the fighters. It soon became obvious that there could only be one winner. Maybe that’s why the tout looked so bored. One fighter was clearly playing with his opponent, using the contest to display his skills. He was tall and muscular, with dark hair, and I felt sure I’d seen him somewhere before.
‘Who’s that?’ I asked.
‘That’s Jon,’ Kwin replied. ‘He’s an Arena 13 combatant. He fights from the min in Wode’s stable. He’s in his third year; doing quite well – though he’ll never be as good as Kern. But this is what he’s really good at. Stick-fighting. He’s the best stick-fighter in the city.’
Kwin’s final sentence was a jolt, and I felt something stir within me. It was like a challenge. How good was he really? I wondered. Maybe I was better. But I certainly couldn’t even dream of fighting him.
‘He’s allowed to do both?’
‘Of course he is. Wode doesn’t mind. That’s just my father’s rule. A lot of the younger combatants come down here to fight. Stick-fighting is fine. The Wheel Directorate doesn’t interfere. It’s better than fighting with knives. That’s what they used to do before they introduced the ban. Many young lads were killed every year at this very spot.’
The contest ended suddenly, when Jon stepped through his opponent’s guard and backhanded him across the left temple. There was little force in the blow, showing greater restraint than I’d ever seen in Mypocine. The stick didn’t even draw blood.
Jon bowed to his opponent and it was over. The spectators surged towards him and clapped him on the back. He was clearly very popular, but while he was being congratulated, his eyes were searching the crowd, as if looking for somebody. The next moment he smiled and started to move directly towards us.
His grin seemed to be aimed at me, and I was puzzled, but soon I realized that he was looking at Kwin. And then I recognized him. I had seen the man twice before, the second time when Deinon had pointed him out at the plaza café.
It was Kwin’s boyfriend.
They hugged each other, and when Jon stepped back a little, his right arm still draped across Kwin’s shoulders, I noticed how her body leaned in towards him, their eyes locked together as if there was nobody else around. I felt a sudden stab of jealousy.
Why had she held my hand? I asked myself. Was she playing with me? Was she just
a tease? Or maybe it was her way of showing friendship. After all, the kiss she’d given me had been on the cheek – not on the lips.
‘Jon, this is Leif,’ Kwin said at last. ‘He’s my father’s novice.’
It was true. As the latest recruit to Tyron’s stable I was officially the ‘novice’, but I didn’t like the word.
‘Any friend of Kwin’s is a friend of mine,’ Jon said in his deep voice. I remembered it from my first visit to the Wheel. Then, he’d looked sad and hurt; now he was beaming, as if everything was right with the world and he was the happiest person in it.
I nodded and tried to smile, but I found it difficult.
‘It’s a pity you’re working for Kwin’s father,’ Jon said. ‘She’s been telling me a lot about you. She thinks you could give me a real fight.’
‘I agree,’ I told him, ‘but he’s already kicked me out once so I daren’t risk it.’
‘I know all about that too,’ he said with a grin. ‘Anyway, Leif, would you excuse us for a moment? I need a few words in private with Kwin. We won’t be long.’
I felt hurt but knew I was being foolish: I’d built up that kiss into something it wasn’t. I was about to walk away, but Jon kept his arm around Kwin’s shoulders and guided her past the crowd, down a side-tunnel and out of sight.
As I waited for them to return, I watched another two contests, but I wasn’t concentrating. I didn’t like Kwin being with Jon. It was nothing personal: I had nothing against him. I just didn’t like the idea of Kwin being with anyone.
Kwin came back alone; she didn’t look happy.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ she snapped, and led the way back up to the surface by a quicker route.
Soon we were weaving our way through the dark streets of the city, Kwin striding along at a furious pace.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
‘Nothing! Don’t ask. It’s private!’ she said shortly.
I was annoyed by her tone. It was obvious that she’d quarrelled with Jon.
‘Look, I don’t want to intrude into your private business, but don’t take your problems out on me!’ I retorted angrily.