‘It’s all over very quickly,’ Kwin explained. ‘One blow and they’re dead. Two seconds later, the carcasses are hauled up there and they cut their throats. Then the chain begins to move, carrying them up to the butchers on the next floor. But we’re going up even higher. Down here, they never clean up properly and it’s always slippery with blood.’
Kwin seemed to delight in giving me all the gory details; she could tell from my expression that I didn’t like it. Did she intend to make me uncomfortable and put me at a disadvantage?
Bile rose in my throat and I swallowed hard, fighting to control my stomach. Hoping that I wasn’t going to embarrass myself by being sick, I followed Kwin to the far corner of the vast room and we began to climb. It wasn’t as bad as going up onto the Wheel’s dome, but it was a long way to the very top floor.
‘This is the bone room,’ Kwin told me. ‘By the time animals get up here there’s not a shred of meat left on them. There are big vats where they boil it off. Some of it gets turned into paste or soup – it’s cheap food for lacs.’
In the gloom I saw bones everywhere, heaped so high that they almost touched the ceiling; some were dry and yellow, clearly very old.
The smell of death wasn’t so strong here, and my stomach was starting to settle. I followed Kwin between the mountains of bones until we reached the far corner. Here, a broad shaft of moonlight shone through a big high opening, making it bright enough for us to see clearly.
Kwin indicated a wide wooden chute close by. ‘The bones go down two floors,’ she told me. ‘Some are ground up for glue, but most are for fertilizer. Nothing gets wasted here.’
She knelt down and untied the leather parcel she had been carrying before opening it out on the floor. ‘Choose a stick,’ she offered.
Inside it were four sticks, very similar to the ones we’d used in Mypocine. Slightly longer than a Trig blade, they were thick at the end and rounded to lessen the chance of serious injury. Stick-fighting was still dangerous, though. I knew a lad who’d lost an eye. I knelt, chose a stick, then waited for Kwin to make her own choice.
‘So this lac you downed today . . .’ she said as she stood up to face me. ‘It’s pretty good you managed that on day one, but it won’t be good enough. I’ve downed one too, but mine was the real thing, readied for the arena. Yours was just patterned for training. It would have been slow.’
‘Was that the one that cut you?’ I asked, my eyes lingering on the scar on her face.
Kwin nodded. ‘But it was worth it,’ she said. ‘Men who fight in Arena 13 only have scars on their arms. I’ve gone one better. It missed my eye because I was too fast for it . . .’
This was different to the version I’d heard from Palm – that her father had arrived just in time to save her – but she obviously didn’t want to say any more about it.
‘Let’s go over there.’ She pointed away from the chute. ‘There’s more space and it’s brighter. Nobody comes up here during the night shift. We won’t be disturbed.’
She stared at me for a long time before moving away, and my heart was beating hard.
I followed her into the shaft of moonlight where there was a clear area of floor.
As extraordinary as the circumstances were here, inside me excitement surged, as it did before any fight. It was strange to be fighting a girl, but that didn’t change the most important thing – I always fought to win.
‘Ready?’ asked Kwin. ‘Best out of three?’
I nodded, but then, without warning, she attacked.
I’d been wondering about what had really happened when Kwin faced the lac. Who should I believe – Kwin or Palm?
Within seconds I knew the answer.
I was in a real fight, and Kwin was fast. Faster than anyone I’d ever fought before.
She lunged forward, going for my head. When I moved away, she danced after me, whirling and spinning, and jabbed towards my left temple. I ducked to the right.
Too late, I realized my mistake. The stick was now in her left hand and it caught me above my right eye, bringing me to my knees. The blow was hard and made me feel sick to my stomach.
Kwin took two steps backwards. ‘First blood to me,’ she said.
She was right, I realized. Blood was running down into my eye. I brushed it away with the back of my hand and readied myself for her next attack.
This time I watched her more carefully. Moving the stick from hand to hand was a trick I hadn’t seen before, but I wouldn’t be caught out by it again.
Kwin smiled and passed the stick quickly from her right hand to her left, then back again. It was slick, really skilful; she must have spent hours and hours practising the move.
I concentrated hard, taking in everything about her: the dancing feet, the posture of her body; then her eyes, especially her eyes.
I was ready for her next attack.
Kwin lunged for my jaw. I stepped back out of reach, then reversed. She was fast, but I was the best stick-fighter in Mypocine.
Kwin didn’t retreat fast enough and I struck her on the forehead with a quick back-handed blow, just above her right eye. The wound was almost identical to the one she’d inflicted on me. She staggered but didn’t fall. The blood was already trickling down into her eye.
She smiled at me.
She was caught directly in the shaft of moonlight, and as she smiled, her face became transfigured. When I was very young, my mother had once shown me a picture of an angel in a book. The angel had huge, majestic wings, but it was the face that had stayed with me. Kwin’s face possessed that same unearthly beauty now, as she rejoiced in the thrill of the fight.
The third bout was the hardest. It went on for a long time . . . Kwin was obviously desperate to win – but then, so was I: I matched her step for step and blow for blow. Twice she got through my guard, only my speed managing to save me.
Sometimes we used steps copied from the Trig, but mostly these were moves from the street.
The end, when it came, was almost a disappointment.
Without realizing it, we’d made our way to the very edge of the clear floor space. I’d been forcing Kwin backwards, further and further, and then I lunged towards her left temple.
Suddenly she found bones under her feet and lost her balance. If she hadn’t slipped, she’d probably have avoided my blow completely, but with her body weight off, instead of catching her on the temple, my stick struck her right in the mouth.
She went down into a mound of bones and they cascaded over her head and shoulders. When I pulled her clear, I saw that her mouth was bleeding badly, her lips already beginning to swell.
I cringed at the sight, the elation of victory immediately giving way to regret. I was disgusted with myself; it wasn’t just that I hated to see Kwin in pain – I was sure the blow would cause lasting damage. I couldn’t believe her mouth would ever look as pretty again. Just as quickly, my thoughts turned more selfish. What of the consequences for me? What would Tyron say and do when he saw his daughter’s face? And what would happen when he found out that I was responsible?
However, Kwin’s eyes were shining. ‘I think one of my teeth is loose,’ she said, wiping the back of her hand across her bloody lips.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I managed. ‘That doesn’t count. You slipped.’
She shook her head firmly. ‘No. Slip in the arena and it’s over. You’d be cut in seconds. Same rules apply here. You win.’
As the winner, I bowed, just as they did in Arena 13.
‘I’ve never seen a stick-fighter bow, Leif. Did they do that back where you lived?’
I nodded. ‘My father once fought in Arena 13. He taught me stick-fighting and we used to bow when we won. I started doing it when I fought other boys; it caught on, and soon we were all doing the same!’
I’d expected her to be angry at being defeated, but all the bitterness seemed to have left her. She looked almost happy. She even twisted her bloody mouth into another smile.
‘Thanks for fighting me, L
eif,’ she said. ‘I enjoyed that.’
The way she spoke my name and the look in her eyes made me feel warm inside. We stared at each other for a moment.
Just one thing spoiled it.
Kwin was Tyron’s daughter.
11
Nobody Fights a Girl
Some believe that Nym itself is sentient; that it is the sum of all the patterns in existence.
Others believe Nym to be a goddess; one who chooses a mortal to be her champion.
All are correct.
Amabramsum: the Genthai Book of Wisdom
‘What have you been up to? What a mess you are!’
The jeering voice jerked me out of a deep dreamless sleep and I looked up to see Palm grinning down at me. I sat up slowly. My head hurt, and when I touched my forehead it came away sticky with blood. My pillow was soaked in it. The events of the night before came flooding back in a rush.
‘How did you get that?’ he asked. ‘It looks nasty.’
The other two boys had been asleep when I crept back into the room last night.
‘A stick-fight,’ I told him, trying to clear my mind. It was difficult to think. My head began to throb.
‘Looks like you lost,’ he said smugly.
‘No. It was the best of three,’ I answered without thinking, annoyed by his attempt to score points off me.
‘Who did you fight against? Did Kwin take you down to the Commonality?’
I shook my head. ‘No, we went somewhere else. I fought against Kwin.’
Immediately I realized I had made a mistake in telling him that.
I’ll never forget the expression that came over his face. It was a mixture of amazement and what looked like triumph. Then, slowly, it changed to contempt.
‘You fought Kwin . . .? You fought a girl?’
I nodded. When I moved my head, it hurt. Everything hurt.
‘Nobody fights a girl,’ Palm said, shaking his head and looking at Deinon as if he couldn’t believe it. Deinon avoided my eyes completely.
I’d assumed that Kwin had fought them both – as well as taking them to see the Wheel. Perhaps I’d been wrong and Kwin hadn’t challenged them at all.
‘Wait until this gets around!’ Palm jeered. ‘You’ll be the laughing stock of the city. You should be ashamed! You’re finished here. You’re finished even before you’ve begun! There’s no way you’ll be able to hide that from Tyron.’
With that, he left the room, no doubt planning to be first down to breakfast as usual.
I glanced at the painting of the Arena 13 combatant over his bed.
I’d probably thrown away my chance to fight there, I reflected sadly.
Palm’s prediction was soon proved correct. I was finished, and the end came even faster than he had anticipated. No sooner had I got dressed than a servant came with a message.
Tyron wanted to see me downstairs. He was waiting in the yard behind the house.
As soon as I saw his face, I knew it was bad news. When I stepped out into the early morning sunshine, he was standing with his back to me. I spotted the bundle of clothes tied with string at his feet and my heart sank. I recognized my shirt, the one I’d worn travelling up from Mypocine.
When he turned to face me, Tyron looked sad rather than angry. ‘You’ve let me down, boy,’ he said. ‘I don’t allow stick-fighting. You knew that. Didn’t you listen? I made it plain enough.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I heard myself say, knowing that it wouldn’t make any difference. Why had I let Kwin talk me into fighting her? My dream had been within my grasp and I’d lost it because of a stupid stick-fight.
‘Sorry? You’re sorry? How do you think I feel? You have talent, boy, but now it’s all gone to waste. Your career in the Trig is over before it properly began. Once you leave me, nobody else will take you on. It’s bad enough to betray my trust, but ten times worse to do it with my own daughter. The girl’s daft enough without getting encouragement from you.’
He picked up my bundle of clothes and tossed it over. Then, without another word, he went inside, slamming the door behind him.
I stood there in the yard for several minutes, unable to move. I couldn’t believe what had happened. I fought hard to stop the tears overflowing down my cheeks.
At last, taking a deep breath, and not knowing what else to do, I picked up my bundle of clothes and walked out into the street. Without so much as a glance at the Wheel, I headed south. What else could I do?
There were few people about and I felt trapped in my misery. I’d not gone very far when I heard someone running behind me, the steps getting closer and closer. When I turned round, I saw that it was Kwin.
‘I’m sorry, Leif, really sorry.’ She was fighting for breath.
‘Sorry isn’t good enough!’ I snapped. ‘I thought you said it would be all right? That you had him wrapped around your little finger?’
‘I’ve never seen him so angry. He just won’t listen. I think it’s because of this,’ she said, pointing to her swollen mouth. ‘I tried to stay out of his way this morning – I didn’t go down to breakfast – but Palm had already told him about our fight and he came up to my room ranting and raving.’
Palm . . . of course! I’d been so stupid to tell him the truth about my head wound.
‘I denied everything, but he wouldn’t believe me. Look, please don’t leave. Just give me time to work on him. I’ll talk him round, I promise. Trust me. I can do it.’
‘What will I do until then?’
‘Find work. The slaughterhouse hires people by the day. You’re big and strong for your age – they’ll take you on. Then, when my father’s cooled down, I’ll know where to come and find you . . .’
I couldn’t give up on my dream if there was still a chance, so within the hour I’d joined a queue of men looking for work outside the slaughterhouse.
I got a job collecting offal in big buckets and emptying it into a vat, and I stuck at it all through that long day. It was dirty, smelly and back-breaking. The stink of blood and excrement was everywhere, and when I finished, long after sunset, I carried that stink away with me.
As the days passed I tried not to even think about the short time I’d spent as one of Tyron’s trainees. The contrast between that and my present occupation was too painful. That had been heaven; now I was in hell. I couldn’t believe I’d been so foolish as to throw it all away.
Each morning I had to rejoin the queue to be hired again. Some days I didn’t get work, and then I had little to eat. Sometimes I was lucky and got a night shift, which paid more, but whether I had money or not, I was forced to sleep amongst the cattle pens. Because of the Trig season there was no accommodation left in the city.
I gradually got used to the stink and began to find the work easier. I could feel myself getting stronger, building muscle, and eased into a routine.
One night the foreman led me into a storage area to show me which buckets of offal needed to be dealt with first. I heard a movement in one of the dark corners and glanced over, assuming it was another rat. There were plenty of them about – big, grey-whiskered and ravenous. They fed well in the slaughterhouse.
But the foreman frowned and suddenly strode towards the noise, plucking a torch from the wall as he passed. Intrigued, I followed him, and I will never forget the sight that greeted us. A girl dressed in rags was kneeling before a bucket of offal. She was eating that raw mess, her cupped hands full of it; thick dark blood trickled down from her mouth. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
‘Be off with you!’ cried the foreman, raising his fist.
The girl rose to her feet and opened her mouth as if to speak. But then she let out a shrill cry and a sequence of sounds that might have been words but came out as a mixture of moans and gibberish.
‘Get out of here, or you’ll feel my fist, you dirty, disgusting thing!’ the man cried, stepping towards her.
I was appalled by the girl, but even stronger was my instinct to help her. What had happened to reduc
e her to this? I stepped closer, but she looked terrified and turned on her heel, running off into the darkness, leaving only bloody footprints behind.
The foreman glared at me angrily. ‘She’s vermin, and probably riddled with disease. She’s been touched by Hob, so keep well clear!’
‘Touched?’
‘Hob snatches girls off the streets. No doubt she was foolish enough to stay out after dark. And, yes, he touches them – sucks their souls from their bodies. All that’s left is an empty husk.’
This was one of the girls Kwin had told me about. ‘What about her family?’ I asked. ‘Shouldn’t she be with them?’
‘She’s no longer their daughter. She’s an animal without a mind. But don’t you worry, boy – she won’t be around for long. The tassels will come to collect her. That’s the way of things.’
‘Who are the tassels?’ I asked. I’d never heard of them.
‘The servants of Hob,’ answered the foreman. ‘Sometimes they walk the city after dark – another reason to stay indoors once the sun goes down. Some have been changed by Hob and are no longer fully human. They’re ugly as sin, and you wouldn’t believe how fast and strong they are. When they’re around, nobody is safe.’
I found it hard to concentrate on my job the rest of that night.
I never saw the girl again.
12
Your Sort
True Genthai may be recognized by their facial tattoos.
True Genthai are warriors.
Amabramsum: the Genthai Book of Wisdom
One morning, as the sun was rising, I came out of the slaughterhouse to find someone waiting for me.
For a moment I didn’t recognize him. Maybe it was because he usually wore a sad, nervous expression and now he was smiling. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and looked again. It was Deinon!
I felt a sudden flash of hope. Had he come to take me back to Tyron’s house? I wondered. Had Kwin managed to persuade her father to change his mind?