‘I doubt that,’ Angus whispered. ‘We know there’s going to be one giant spider to contend with at least.’
And then some. I took my place in the queue, eventually pulling out a small plastic disk with the number thirteen etched onto it. Unlucky for some. We arranged ourselves in numerical order and I was none too pleased to see that Tipsania had drawn number fourteen. As we filed out onto the field, she trod on my heel. ‘Oops,’ she simpered. ‘Sorry.’
I turned to look at her. ‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked her. ‘Why are you being a bully?’
She snarled, ‘Your very existence is an affront to all that the Sidhe stand for.’ Her words dripped with vile condescension but, for the first time, I saw something behind her eyes that suggested she lacked conviction. Or maybe I was just softening towards her.
We heard the roar of the crowd long before we saw them. The grandstand was filled to capacity. There were a lot of makeshift placards proclaiming support for the competitors and I was shocked to see a few Sidhe from other Clans holding signs up for me. That was unexpected – and probably dangerous for them. Maybe people liked to show that they’d backed the winner; my odds, which had been three hundred to one before the Artistry challenge, now placed me as favourite. I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased that my efforts were being acknowledged or to worry about the target that was now placed on my back.
I took my place in front of my assigned door. The field was almost covered with walls of smoky black glass – the ones that I’d seen stacked in the pallets aboard the Carnegie ship. I had visions of a crazy arena inside where we’d be forced to fight each other to the death like some bloody, warped Battle Royale. I clenched my hands. If that was the case then I was pretty much screwed.
The countdown started and Campbell Carnegie’s dulcet tones came over the loudspeaker. I bounced up and down on the balls of my feet. If I had to make a run for it then I would.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
The klaxon screamed and a heartbeat later all the doors swung open, revealing nothing but darkness within. Without looking at anyone, I stepped in. I was going to win these Games and I wanted all those Sidhe who’d spat on my father’s grave to see me do it.
I ran forward – but not into an arena. The narrow corridor lined with more of the dark glass showed that this was some kind of maze. Heart pounding with anticipation, I took the first turning to the left. The key to successfully negotiating mazes was to be consistent. Left, left and left again. When I hit the first dead end, I spun back round, almost colliding with a wide-eyed Blair Sidhe who backed away from me. I ignored him and pushed past.
After about five minutes I started to realise what an immense structure this maze was. The consistent turning and reaching dead ends then spinning back around again was more tiring than I thought it could be. Rather than continue at a pace I couldn’t maintain, I slowed slightly. I’d need some energy for whatever was yet to come. I’d all but blocked out the crowd. I just concentrated on going forward, left, back, left, forward once more.
Then I came to a stop. At the far end of the latest turn, there wasn’t just an empty corridor. A body lay prone on the floor and, next to it, a table with two flagons and a set of identical glasses. When I got closer and saw that the body belonged to Angus, my stomach tightened in fear. I bent down to check his pulse, nausea rising in my stomach. If he’d died for the sake of this stupid challenge… I let out a sigh of relief; he was still breathing. He was out for the count and out of the running, but he was okay. There was a glass not far from his hand. I grabbed it and sniffed but whatever was inside was odourless.
I stood up. I didn’t have time to worry about him, I had to concentrate on myself.
I examined the table. Both flagons contained clear, identical-looking liquid. I sniffed each one but neither of them smelled of anything. Behind the table was another door. Apparently I had to drink from a flagon: choose the right one and the door would open; choose wrongly and I’d end up fast asleep like Angus.
Written on parchment next to the flagons was a riddle.
My left is in dress and trousers and suit
No key however will unlock my loot.
My right is in feline, bold and proud
Only a fop would wear this shroud.
I read through it several times. Shroud had obvious implications – was that choice of words a red herring? I frowned, trying to work out what it meant.
‘Dress, trousers, suit,’ I muttered to myself. ‘Material? Cloth? Zip?’ My brain felt cloudy: the harder I thought, the more elusive the answer seemed to be.
The word ‘fop’ stood out, not just because it was old-fashioned but it wasn’t the sort of word a Sidhe would use. Could fop stand for something else? I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think. All I associated with the word ‘fop’ was a dandy like the Carnegie MC. A dandy feline.
‘Dandelion,’ I whispered. I opened my eyes and stared at the flagon on the right. It had to contain essence of dandelion which was entirely harmless. And the flagon on the left was… I grinned. Hemlock. That was the one to avoid.
Without wasting any more time, I grabbed the right flagon and poured myself a shot, muttered, ‘Bottom’s up,’ and downed it in one.
It tasted earthy and fragrant. I held my breath in case I’d made a mistake but the door in front of me opened and the crowd outside roared, either in approval or dismay. I couldn’t help throwing my arms in the air in delight.
‘Sorry, Angus,’ I whispered. Then I moved round the table just as another competitor ran up behind me.
I twisted my head to watch Tipsania. She didn’t even look at Angus and neither did she read the riddle – she simply poured from the same flagon that I had. She couldn’t have seen what I’d done because she’d been too far behind. I gritted my teeth. No – she already knew which one to choose. I rolled my eyes and ran on. Honour. It was a waste of breath to say the word around here.
The one thing in my favour was that the maze was too complicated for anyone to memorise. All I had to do was move faster to give myself more time at any stations like the last one and I could still do this. I ran even faster, still only turning left. Although the audience weren’t visible, they could obviously see what was going on. As I sprinted ahead, I could hear more and more people yelling my name. That was good; it meant I was doing well.
I hit another dead end and spun round, dirt flying up around my ankles. When I turned the next corner, I saw a long, long corridor stretching in front of me.
I stopped, warily. The corridor had to be a hundred feet long. I glanced from side to side. With my blurry reflection bouncing back at me from various angles, and with my white hair falling down my back, I looked a ghost. An avenging ghost, I amended.
It would be wise to be careful here. I yanked off a button from the top of my shirt and threw it forward. Immediately there was a whine and, from above the high walls of the maze, a sharp blade scythed downwards, slicing through the air and what would have been my soft flesh if I hadn’t erred on the side of caution.
Feeling like a character in a computer game, I prepared to run again. The difference between me and Lara Croft, though, was that I didn’t have an automatic save or infinite lives. Things were about to get hairy.
I watched the spot where the blade had come down, etching it into my memory, then burst forward. Three seconds before I got there, I threw myself into a roll, ducking under the great blade as it made another heavy swipe. I felt the air rush past my head. Damn, that was close. As soon as I was sure the danger had passed, I picked myself up and carried on running. I half-expected a giant boulder à la Indiana Jones to roll after me. Thankfully, that didn’t happen.
At the end of the corridor I was greeted by a smooth wall. My stomach lurched. Had I braved that damned scythe only to find myself at another dead end? Of all the shitty things to do… I cursed loudly. As I did, my breath clouded up the glass, revealin
g something underneath.
I paused, then breathed out some more. Indistinct words began to form on the glass; I breathed several times and read them quickly before they disappeared again.
Solitary life maketh me 24, my Clan maketh me 20. But add one more and beware for one extra maketh me unclean.
I smirked: this was easier than the last riddle. It helped, of course, that I’d broken similar codes in the past while breaking in to one or two homes owned by Sidhe who thought they were being clever by creating puzzles to remind themselves of their security passwords. I ran through the options in my head, checking and re-checking. The twenty-fourth letter in the alphabet was X. Put two Xs together and you got the old Roman numerals for twenty. Add one more and we were in Taylor territory with his girly magazines and dodgy porn websites – XXX.
I said it aloud but nothing happened. Pursing my lips, I breathed out to mist the glass again. I drew an X shape with the tip of my index finger, right across the entire riddle; there was a creak and the wall slid open, revealing the next section. Yahtzee.
I pelted round the corner. My palms were clammy and I could feel sweat beading my forehead. I was close now; I could feel it ‒ and when I saw what was right in front of me, I knew I’d been right. It was an open space with a small dais and smack-bang on top of it, in all its shining glory, was the red button.
Unfortunately there was another figure standing in the gap on the opposite side. Byron, panting slightly, stared at me while I stared at him. Distant sounds of skirmishes and cries could be heard from other parts of the maze. For us, however, time seemed to stop. He wasn’t ignoring me now: his emerald eyes glittered, challenge reflected in them. It was a mere six or seven strides to the finish – and victory. I could do this.
‘It’s me or you,’ he said.
I lifted an eyebrow. ‘It’s always me or you,’ I replied softly.
Something flashed across his expression, regret perhaps or something else. His muscles tightened as he prepared. From outside the maze, the audience was chanting. I couldn’t hear my name being yelled any more. They were all on Team Byron.
‘You have a lot of supporters.’
He tilted his head. ‘I’m one of the good guys.’ His implication was clear. Enough already.
I leapt forward at precisely the same moment as Byron, my hands outstretched towards the giant button. I was almost there when there was a faint rattle and a shadow appeared across Byron’s determined face. Debbie’s massive jaws lunged down, inches away from his head.
Byron realised the danger at the same time that I did. He jerked his thumb to the right and, doing as he bade, I flung myself against the smoky mirrored wall. Debbie hissed, the hairs on her gigantic legs quivering.
‘There’s your spider,’ Byron grunted. ‘Pretty little thing.’
She rose up on her hind legs, then sent a jet of silk towards me. It encircled my arm, pinning me back. ‘Little?’ I snarled, as I extricated myself, using my free hand to rip away the sticky strands. ‘Compared to what?’
Byron bunched his muscles and dived for the floor, rolling until he was behind Debbie’s massive frame. ‘Your ego,’ he said.
I scowled in annoyance while Debbie lumbered round to face him, the sound of his voice leading her away from me. I glanced at the button. It was really close; I could probably reach out from here. Instead I turned back to Debbie.
‘Go for her belly,’ Byron suggested, breathing heavily as he dodged her snapping jaws.
‘I don’t want to hurt her.’ I took a step back and considered. ‘It’s not her fault she’s here.’
‘You need to get your priorities in order.’
I thought of the red button behind me. The man had a point. ‘Hey,’ I said softly. I reached out and prodded Debbie’s arse. Her body tightened and she swung towards me. ‘Remember me? We’ve met before. I’m not a bad person.’
Her eyes glittered with hatred; clearly Debbie didn’t have much of a memory for faces. I touched my forehead, using my index finger to wipe away a drop of sweat. It dangled on the tip. ‘Sorry about this, Debbie,’ I apologised, then I flicked my finger, arcing the droplet upwards. It splashed onto Debbie above her gaping mouth. She let out a strange howl and leapt upwards, disappearing out of sight.
Byron gaped. ‘What the hell?’
‘Giant spiders don’t like salt,’ I informed him. I smiled. ‘Now it really is just you and me.’
I jumped up, somersaulting backwards until I was right behind the dais and the button. He stared at me expressionlessly as I made my move.
There was a loud rattle. The salt of my sweat had only been a temporary setback for Debbie. She appeared above Byron’s head once more but this time the look in her many eyes was rage. Her mouth opened again and she snapped.
I didn’t think. I veered off course, missing the dais completely and crashing into Byron. He staggered.
‘What the fuck!’ he yelled.
Debbie hissed, annoyed that she’d temporarily lost her prey again. She flicked a hesitant leg at me but I dodged it easily. She was scared that I might bombard her with more salty sweat and she was keeping her distance but Byron was still in her sights. I scrambled to my feet as she reared up and snapped towards him again. This time, as I pushed him out of the way once more, he fell backwards, his arms reaching out behind his body to brace himself for impact. Quite by accident, his elbow hit the button and a loud gong sounded, along with a burst of fireworks. Shite.
Byron blinked, stunned, while Debbie pulled back and scuttled away, the sound throwing her off balance. I curved round him and slammed down my own hand to register my position in second place. The gong boomed again but there were no fireworks this time. The winner had already been announced – and it wasn’t me.
Chapter Twenty
I received a warm, tight group hug in commiseration. Several well-dressed Sidhe tutted loudly at the blatant show of friendly contact but we ignored them.
‘You came so close,’ Lexie sniffed. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘It is what it is. In the end, Byron was better.’ I was being overly generous but for some reason I didn’t want my friends to think badly of him.
Brochan growled, ‘A Sidhe would never be better than you.’
I gave him a watery grin. ‘I’m a Sidhe.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘If you’d just…’ Speck started.
‘Speck, leave it,’ Lexie said. ‘Tegs doesn’t need to know the permutations of what might have happened if she’d let Debbie go for Byron.’
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.
I squeezed his arm. ‘You can tell me later.’
Taylor smiled. ‘It’s not all bad. I just won sixty-five thousand pounds.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Gambling’s not such a terrible thing after all.’
I gaped at him. ‘But I lost.’
His smile grew. ‘I didn’t bet on you.’
Lexie punched him. ‘You gambled away my money on Byron Moncrieffe instead of Tegs? You prick!’
‘I won though! Byron won! I was right to do it.’
‘So much for honour amongst thieves,’ she grumbled.
I tried not to laugh. It might have been overwrought hysteria or it might have been genuine amusement ‒ at this stage it was difficult to tell.
The lights in the auditorium dimmed and we took our seats. As befitted the runner-up, I was directed to the front. I could see Lexie and Taylor beaming as they were moved to the front of the audience with Speck and Brochan right behind. They weren’t skulking in the back row now and that was satisfying. We hadn’t achieved what we’d set out to but I’d reap the rewards from these Games for some time to come. I had sacrificed my chance of winning to save Byron from Debbie’s arachnid stomach. I promised myself that I wouldn’t be a sore loser. I was better than that.
I smoothed down the new improved Clan Adair tartan and reminded myself to maintain a proud posture. And I was proud. I might be a Clan of one – with some bloody decent friends behind me ?
?? but I’d beaten the others against all the odds. I was worthy. I had no idea how I would win back my father’s lands but there was always tomorrow. I would always be optimistic. What else was there?
The league board had been moved onto the stage for the prize giving. My name glittered near the top, with Byron’s right above it and a single point separating the pair of us. Byron strode up and took the winner’s seat next to me; it was several inches higher than mine. I couldn’t help noticing that he took considerable pains not to touch me but I tried not to let it bother me.
‘Congratulations,’ I said.
He didn’t look at me; I ignored the sharp stab in my chest and shifted away slightly. I’d respect his wishes, much as I wanted to grab him and yell that nothing that happened had been my fault. Looking at the faces in the watching crowd, many of whom were far friendlier towards me than they had been when these Games had started, it occurred to me that I’d gained many allies. But I’d lost some too. I sighed inwardly; I couldn’t blame Byron for how he felt but it didn’t stop the hurt from searing through me.
There was a dramatic drum roll, then the Carnegie MC marched out. He was wearing a bizarre cape that flowed out behind him, as if he were some kind of tartan-clad vampire. He took his spot at the front, nodded to the pixie who handed him a microphone, and started to speak.
‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ he boomed. ‘I am sure you will agree that the 2016 Games have been the best ever!’ There was a loud cheer from the stands. I noticed that the loudest cheers came from the Carnegie onlookers. ‘We have never had such a close-run race or such a nail-biting finish.’
‘Or so many clichés,’ I muttered. I felt Byron glance at me and fell silent again.
‘We would like to welcome our third runner-up to the dais to receive his medal. Clan MacQuarrie will be very proud of their son this evening. Never before have they placed so highly.’