The Empire's Ruin, page 69
The trainer had leapt out of the box along with them.
“I said it before,” Cao declared, clapping them roughly on the shoulders, raising his voice so the crowd could hear, “but I’ll say it again. It’s an outrage that you’re fighting today. You’re going to take apart whoever Vo throws against you. You’re going to turn them into fucking chum.”
The Worthy growled their agreement.
“Take your places,” ordered the crier.
The four of them strode out into the Arena. While the fighters crossed to the table, Small Cao went to the western edge where he climbed a short ladder to a wooden platform cantilevered out over the pit. The opposing trainer would occupy an identical platform on the opposite side. In theory, the position allowed the trainers to coach their warriors through the fight, but Ruc couldn’t imagine anyone hearing anything above the howl of the crowd. Most likely, all the perch afforded was a better vantage from which to witness the victory or death.
“Fighting from the eastern side of the Arena,” the crier continued, “under the training of Lao Nan, the Worthy known as Monster, Mouse, and Stupid.”
Monster twitched.
Mouse shook his head. “Fighting.”
Stupid turned to the trainer with a raised eyebrow. “Lao Nan, eh? Forgot you had a real name.”
“Goatface is my real name,” the trainer replied. “The other is just what my parents called me.”
“Fuck,” Monster said.
There was an edge to the curse that made Ruc look over. Her face was twisted with indecision.
“Fuck?” Mouse asked.
“I’ve gotta piss again,” she muttered.
Goatface gestured toward a clay pot at the back of the box. “It is not uncommon,” the trainer said. “Take the time to relieve yourself. You will fight better.”
“With all these fuckers watching?” she demanded, gesturing to the mob packing the stands.
“They are going to watch you kill,” the trainer replied. “They may well watch you die. This is considerably less intimate.”
All the same, he handed her his red parasol, which she held awkwardly as she squatted over the pot.
Only when she’d straightened up, handed back the parasol, and readjusted her noc did the trainer speak again.
“It would appear that it is time.”
“Any advice?” Monster asked as she stepped out of the box.
Goatface blinked, as though he’d never heard this question before, gazed up at the sky. “Move,” he said finally.
“Move?” Mouse asked.
“Move where?” Monster demanded.
Stupid lifted off his hat, tossed it onto the bench, squinted out into the ring. “I’d imagine that, against those three, any movement is good movement.”
“Blue Chinh has a bad knee,” Ruc offered. “Did something to it in training a few weeks back.”
“Useful to know,” Stupid replied. “Thanks.”
Monster shot a baleful glance at Goatface. “More useful than move, anyway.”
The eyes of ten thousand Dombângans followed them as they strode out onto the sand, but Ruc turned away from the spectacle, toward the clay pot in the back corner of the box. A thought scratched inside his mind, like a chick trying to hatch. For Monster, the prospect of pissing while the world watched offered nothing but humiliation. There was, however, another possibility.
Like the rest of the Arena, the wall at the back of Goatface’s box was made of wood, broad planks almost as wide as Ruc’s torso. Those planks were nailed—judging from the pattern of the nail heads—into the framing behind. As the crowd screamed and Goatface mounted his platform, as Monster, Mouse, and Stupid crossed to the table at the center of the pit, Ruc moved to lean against the back of the box. To anyone in the stands, it would have looked as though he were shifting out of the sun into the narrow rim of shade. Not that anyone was looking at him. The action, after all, was unfolding at the center of the pit, a good twenty paces away.
As he leaned against the wall, he let a foot swing back. He couldn’t hear the thud over the din, but he felt the board vibrate. Hope sliced into him, the blade so sharp he didn’t feel the pain until a moment later. There was a way out. A dangerous way, maybe an insane way, but what was crazier—attempting an escape or waiting day after day for their turn to fight in the Arena?
He tested the wall three more times, searching for the weakest spot, then rejoined Talal and Bien at the edge of the box.
Out at the center of the pit, the Worthy were choosing their weapons. Monster had the spear, which seemed good, and Mouse was holding the dagger and shield, but Stupid had ended up with the grapple and line. Which meant Cao’s men had the sickles, the net, and the ring dogs.
“Stupid doesn’t know how to use the grapple,” Bien said.
She was gripping the edge of the box so hard Ruc wondered if she meant to rip it off.
Talal nodded. “But that big bastard doesn’t know how to use the net.”
Bien glanced over at him. “How do you know?”
“The way he’s holding it.” He frowned. “I’d say they came out even with the weapons.”
“There’s a way out,” Ruc said.
Bien turned to him, confusion scribbled across her face. Talal just raised an eyebrow.
“We rip out one of the planks at the back of the box,” Ruc went on. “Squeeze through the gap. Almost all the guards are inside the Arena, making sure the Worthy don’t bolt, making sure the crowd stays under control. Once we’re underneath the stands, we find our way to a boat. Or swim.”
“What about the part,” Bien asked grimly, “where all the guards are in here. Making sure—to repeat your words—that the Worthy don’t bolt.”
Ruc shook his head. “They’ll be watching for people trying to climb over the wall, not go through it.”
“You have no idea what they’ll be watching for,” Bien countered.
“When Monster pissed,” he said, “she went behind Goatface’s parasol.” He gestured toward the edge of the box where it was leaning, neatly folded. “That parasol.”
Talal pursed his lips. “Interesting.”
“You’re the smallest,” Ruc went on, his eyes on Bien. “No one would be able to see you behind the parasol, even if they were looking, and they won’t be looking.” He gestured out toward the sand, where Monster, Mouse, and Stupid were returning to the eastern edge of the pit, about fifteen paces distant. “Every eye in the place is going to be on them.”
Bien shot a quick glance at the low wall. “How am I supposed to get through? If I were on the other side, I could kick the nails out, but they’re set in the wrong way. We don’t have any tools.”
Talal smiled, hefted the steel ball he’d been holding in the crook of his arm. “I do.”
She eyed the ball skeptically. “You’re going to smash it? That seems incredibly stupid.”
“Not smash it. Just put a crack in it.”
“Too risky,” Ruc said, gnawing back his own frustration. “If we don’t all get out and Goatface returns to find a huge hole in his wall…”
Bien shook her head. “That’s not how wood cracks.” This time she did rip a long wooden strip off the edge of the box, held it up, snapped it between her fingers. Then she narrowed her eyes, slid the splintered ends back together until it appeared whole once more.
Ruc nodded slowly. “All right.”
He had no idea if it was all right, but there wasn’t time to consider.
Bien turned to Talal. “You’re the Kettral. Is this stupid. Insane?”
The soldier shrugged. “Doing stupid, insane things was more or less the heart of my job.”
“Fuck it,” Bien said. “Let’s go.”
Out in the pit the table had been whisked away, and the two groups of Worthy were closing warily on each other. As Ruc watched, Monster and Mouse fell back while Stupid continued forward. When he was far enough away from them, he began whirling the grapple in wide loops above his head, the hooked bronze inscribing a glittering circle on the air. The move required him to separate from his three, but it also forced Cao’s men back toward the far wall. Blue Chinh took a few swipes at the grapple with his sword, but Stupid tugged it back just out of range.
The Arena throbbed with the pounding of the crowd.
Talal dropped to the back of the box, measured out a length of chain, tossed the iron ball out in front of him, then let it swing back past him into the wall. Just a pace away Ruc couldn’t hear the impact over the rest of the chaos. He glanced up at the guards but they, like everyone else, had their eyes on the fight. Casually as a fisher hauling in his net, Talal hoisted in the ball, hefted it in his hands, threw it in front of him, let it thud into the wooden planking once more.
Bien leaned over toward Ruc, her face twisted with worry. “He’s too obvious!”
Ruc was tempted to agree. The Kettral made no effort to disguise what he was doing. He was standing in the shade, sure, which would obscure the ball hitting the actual boards. But anyone who bothered to look would see him hefting it, measuring out the chain, tossing it. How was it possible that no one had sounded the alarm?
Ruc forced himself to look out over the Arena instead of back at Talal. Most of the other Worthy were at the edges of their own boxes, some screaming taunts or advice, others watching the fight in grim silence. At least a dozen of the warriors, however, seemed oblivious to the violence unfolding at the center of the pit. One man was bent over at the back of his box retching into the pot. Across the way, a woman helped her companion strap on a leather breastplate. A few boxes down, some of Other Dao’s Worthy were caught up in what seemed to be a vicious argument, stabbing their fingers in one another’s faces. Against that backdrop Talal’s hoisting and dropping of the ball seemed less suspicious. Some people paced before a fight, some prayed. It wouldn’t seem that strange for one of the prisoners to be worrying at his restraints.
And, of course, there was the violence unfolding at the center of the pit.
Stupid had managed to force a wedge between Blue Chinh and the other two with the spinning grapple. It was growing obvious, however, that he couldn’t do much more with it than whirl the thing in circles above his head. For the moment, that was keeping his opponents at bay, but they were already testing the defense, ducking beneath it, trying to snag it from the air.
“It’s cracked,” Talal said.
Ruc hadn’t even heard the Kettral approach. When he glanced over, however, he found the man at his shoulder, gazing out over the Arena as though he had no interest in the world but the fight.
“Get the parasol,” Bien growled.
Ruc nodded, took it from where it leaned against the wall, unfolded it, crossed to the back of the box. Bien made a show of lifting her noc before he lowered the parasol into place. It seemed a weak shield—just a layer of waxed canvas and some finger-thin wooden stays—but it was large enough to cover her almost entirely, especially when he held it at an angle. He felt her bump up against it as she shifted to get in position, then felt it jump. He risked a glance.
She was on her back, kicking at the wooden plank with her heels. Each blow folded it inward a little further on itself. Ruc thought he could hear the shriek of the nails tearing free of the framing, but maybe that was the screaming up in the stands. Talal stood at the edge of the box, leaning casually on the rail. Bien slammed her heel into the board again and this time it cracked, both halves folding back into the shadows.
The look she gave Ruc was one part triumph, one part horror. They were committed now. For a moment, Ruc wondered what would happen if the guards saw them, or Goatface returned before they’d escaped, or one of the Worthy in Small Cao’s box happened to sneak a glance past the edge of the parasol. They were all at the rail, however, screaming meaningless advice at their companions out on the hot sand.
By the time Ruc looked back, Bien had turned around and shoved the bottom of the broken board all the way into the gap.
“I’ll see what’s on the other side,” she said. “Wait here.”
A mad laugh bubbled up in Ruc’s chest. He forced it down. It seemed like there should be something to say, but there wasn’t. Either there would be a path to freedom or there would not. He nodded. She nodded. Then, as she wriggled through the gap, he turned back to the battle.
Things had taken a bad turn for Goatface’s Worthy. One of Cao’s men had finally managed to rip the grapple out of Stupid’s hands, which left him weaponless. He fell back behind Monster and Mouse, giving the other three a chance to regroup. Blue Chinh was grinning, and the other two looked almost as pleased. They had good reason. Three against two. Monster’s spear and Mouse’s dagger and shield against the sickles, the ring dogs, and the net.
Mouse passed his dagger to Stupid, which gave the smaller man a weapon but left Mouse holding nothing but the shield.
Talal nodded, as though that made sense.
Ruc leaned over, spoke directly into his ear. “She’s through. Checking the other side.”
The soldier nodded again.
“One of us could follow,” Ruc said. “If there are guards she might need help.”
“If there are guards,” Talal replied, not taking his eyes from the fight, “we’re dead. Either way, we can’t all disappear from the box until we know we can get all the way out.”
It made sense. The parasol provided plausible privacy for one person pissing in a pot, but there was no way two would fit behind it. Fight or no fight, there were ten thousand people in the stands. Sooner or later someone would look over at Goatface’s box and notice the strangely dwindling number of Worthy. Until they were sure of a way out beyond the wall, the best course was patience. That knowledge, of course, didn’t stop the patience from aching like poison in Ruc’s veins. Every breath seemed to stretch on forever. Every heartbeat felt loud as a gong.
He schooled himself to stillness, kept his eyes away from the guards patrolling the wall above, away from the parasol leaning up against the wall, made himself watch the other Worthy as they battled for their lives.
Small Cao’s men kept trying to close, but Goatface’s warriors refused to let them. Every time they got close Monster would trade a few blows with her spear while Stupid and Mouse fell back. Then she’d retreat to join them. It didn’t make for a very interesting fight—the crowd was bellowing its derision—nor did it seem vigorous enough to wear down Small Cao’s three. Monster was quite obviously frustrated with the progress. Ruc could see her shouting, though he couldn’t hear the words.
“Patience,” Talal murmured. “Patience, Monster.”
Ruc shook his head. “What’s she being patient for?”
“For someone to make a mistake.”
“They’re not likely to trip over their own feet.”
“But they are likely to rush. You heard Small Cao. They believe this fight is beneath them. Every moment it goes on is an embarrassment.”
An embarrassment for Cao’s fighters, maybe, but an opportunity for Ruc and Bien and Talal. They didn’t need to just slip through the gap before the fight finished—they needed to be gone. With the noise and the madness of the Arena, it would take Goatface some time from the moment he noticed them missing to alert the guards, but once those guards were alerted, things would get bleak and fast. The Arena, after all, sat in the center of Old Harbor. Mudflats surrounded it for hundreds of paces on every side. They might hide in one of the piles of trash dotting the flats, but eventually those would be searched. They would need to get clear of the flats entirely before they reached anything resembling safety. Stealing a boat was probably the best option, especially given that Talal still had an iron ball shackled to his leg, but stealing a boat would take time. If they were going to make it, Bien needed to get back. When he stole a look at the parasol, however, it was still where he’d left it, leaning against the wooden wall.
Images crowded Ruc’s mind, lightning flashes in a storm. Bien captured by guards on the far side of the wall. Bien stuck trying to squeeze through some crawlspace. Bien turned around in the darkness, disoriented, lost.… The space beneath the stands was a labyrinth, some sections open and cavernous, others a warren of hallways and locked storage. There was no way to guess what was happening back there, though the guesses kept coming, bloody and relentless.
“There,” Talal said.
Ruc looked back to the ring.
Nothing seemed to have changed. Cao’s men were still prowling forward, forcing back the other three.
The Kettral shook his head. “They missed it.”
“Missed what?”
Talal narrowed his eyes, dragged in a slow breath, then nodded. “That.”
It took Ruc a moment to see. Blue Chinh was out in front by a pace or two, obviously impatient. The next man held the net. He was clearly uncomfortable with it, letting the end drag in the dust. The last of Cao’s Worthy, the one with the ring dogs, followed another pace back, his face creased with concentration.
“The netsman’s out of place,” Ruc said.
Talal nodded. “He’s in the way. If Mouse rushes Blue Chinh, the one with the ring dogs can’t cover his flank. Not for at least a few heartbeats, which is when Monster…”
As he was saying it, it happened.
Mouse, who had been slowly retreating since the fight began, reversed direction, hurling himself forward. Blue Chinh lashed out with a sickle, but he was unprepared for the sudden attack, and the curved bronze shrieked harmlessly off Mouse’s shield. The man with the ring dogs started toward Chinh, found the netsman in his way, stumbled to a stop. The whole thing took just a moment, but Monster was already in motion, driving in from the side with her spear, plunging it into Blue Chinh’s ribs while the man was tied up trying to force back Mouse’s bulk.
Ruc couldn’t hear Chinh’s cry, but the crowd bellowed his pain for him, until it seemed the great roar of all Dombâng was pouring from his open mouth. Then came the blood, a hot gush of it, splattering across the bronze rim of Mouse’s shield.
Monster twisted the spear, Mouse shoved, and Blue Chinh collapsed.
