by T. C. Edge
"Jeez, whipped. How many, um, lashes?"
"Ten," said Dom. "And they'll be deep cuts too I suspect. They could go easy on me, but I doubt they will. Whatever Ares told my mother, I reckon she knows I had some involvement in the attack on her."
"But you didn't. You said it yourself."
"No, not that one specifically. But like I told you, Rufus and I spoke about it at length. She knows it's on my mind, and this punishment is a good way to show the people that even I'm not immune to her wrath. It's a warning and little more."
"You sound fairly calm about it. Aren't you...scared?"
Dom shook his head.
"It's just pain. The cuts will heal."
"Yeah, and leave behind scars if they're deep."
"It's no more than I deserve, Kira. After the life I've lead, this is nothing. Really."
"You keep saying that, Dom. But you've only done all this because of your mother. You're just part of a system."
Kira found her own words slightly ironic. She'd heard such things said to her before, and yet didn't fully believe them. Now, she was whispering them to the very man who stole her from her life.
"Yeah, but I'm not innocent. I could have done more over the years. I should have done more."
Kira moved straight for him. She felt he needed some comfort, and the mere proximity of her presence seemed to be enough. He smiled as she came, her hand settling on his.
"You're doing something now, OK," she said firmly. "Now listen, I don't want to hear any more about your guilt and shame. I don't want to see it in your eyes, or hear it in your voice. We have a job to do, and we can't waste time in sorrow. Now, what's next? When am I to re-enter the arena?"
Her words had the impact she wanted. Dom dismissed the self-rebuke and set his mind right back to the task.
"Not for a day or two, I don't think," he said. "With the new format, it's going to be slightly easier to predict when you'll fight. This is usually something that happens later on in the games, during the second half and, primarily, as part of the final week. When the best gladiators have set themselves apart, a more structured tournament begins."
"And that means?"
"It basically means that there will be two halves to the draw, with a series of elimination rounds until only two fighters remain. Lucius has his eight top seeds. I only have five. So, tomorrow and possibly the next day, the remaining gladiators in the draw will fight to fill those other spots."
"As in, other gladiators owned by different lanistas?"
"Precisely. Lucius has his eight, and that will be one half of the draw. I have five, so there are three spots to fill. Once they have been, those three will enter my half of the draw as seeds six, seven, and eight. You're third seed, with Malvo at four, and Lee at five."
"And Shadow one, Oom two, right? I get it. Then what?"
"Well, the draw will then see the top seed on one side fighting the bottom seed on the other. So Shadow, for example, will fight Lucius' eighth ranked fighter. Oom will fight his seventh ranked fighter..."
"And I'll fight his sixth ranked fighter," nodded Kira.
"Yeah. So sixteen fighters in the main draw, with eight bouts. Once they're concluded, there will be only eight fighters left, who go into the quarter finals. And so on."
"OK." Kira was nodding. "That sounds good. So I'm definitely seeded three on your side of the draw?"
"Yes."
"And so I'll definitely be fighting Lucius' sixth best fighter?"
"Well, yeah. But technically, he would have been seventh originally. You killed Redmane after all, and he was ranked third. So all those below him moved up a spot."
"Even better. Do we know who this person is?"
Dom thought for a moment.
"I think it's Thunderjaw."
"Thunderjaw," yawned Kira. "What is it with Lucius and these stupid names. So what's this guy's deal?"
"Um, I'm not sure to be honest. That was...Rufus' domain."
"Right, yeah. Sorry."
"No, don't be. I do know he's got a very wide jaw, hence the name. I have seen him fight, though briefly. He won't trouble you, Kira. Not you," he smiled.
"Let's hope not. And that won't be for a few days, right? As you say, the other gladiators need to fight first to sort out the lower seedings."
"Yeah, and then straight onto the main bouts, with other warm up acts as well. If I had to guess, I'd say you'll be fighting three days from now, at the end of the week."
"OK, well that gives me time to do more research, right? Oh, and when's your punishment?"
"Tomorrow, in the forum. Don't worry about that. I'll be fine."
"You're sure?" She squeezed his hand.
"I'm sure."
The day hurried along as news of the reworked format of the games spread through the streets. It had been a time of high drama, what with the storm, the attempted murder of the Empress, and all the trouble occurring down in Southside. Word of Dom's punishment also seeped out, setting tongues wagging as they competed over the various topics under discussion.
Within the villa, Kira remained hidden at the summit, searching through the pages of the dusty books within Dom's library, and those littered around his office. More rumours surfaced of Polus' fate and possible whereabouts, though only half suggested he was alive. The rest concluded that he'd never been banished at all, and that his exile was actually a ruse to trick the people.
One account was indicting, and quite convincing. It discussed a series of circumstances that went a long way towards persuading Kira of its veracity, including several 'eye-witness' reports by those who, apparently, saw Polus' body being carted from the city and cremated in the pits. She took it to Dom, who dismissed it immediately. He told her he'd read that very account before, and it had since been investigated and subsequently discredited.
"These eye witnesses were questioned," he told her. "Someone was trying to get to the truth, and tracked them down. His report is fascinating, actually, if you find it. I can't remember where it is. I might have read it in the public library. In any case, he exposed these witnesses as liars, and the entire story collapsed."
"But half the stories are similar. Half of them seem to think Polus was never exiled, but murdered instead."
"And much of that is hearsay."
"Sounds like it's all hearsay," said Kira. She was exasperated, her search turning her in circles. "What do you really think?"
"To be honest, I always thought he was dead too. Half of me thought my mother will never have let a man that dangerous live, and the other half hoped she would, but that he'd died of old age or something."
"He's not that old! Sounds like he's only in his early sixties."
"Yeah, well the average lifespan out there isn't much longer."
"But for a man that powerful, what's gonna kill him?"
"Disease. Loneliness."
"Loneliness? Don't get soppy, Dom."
"I'm not being soppy. I just know that some people just give up when they've lost it all. Maybe Polus was the same. Or maybe my mother did kill him before he ever set foot beyond the city. You know, recent developments have made that argument a bit more convincing. Or, perhaps he's alive and well, as many of the rumours suggest. We'll probably never know."
"Defeatist! Stop being morose. Come on, keep your chin up. Did you speak with Claud yet about finding this Cicero?"
"I did. He's looking into it, but he's got other important things to be doing as well. You know, managing our people in Southside, for example. Even if we find Cicero, it'll most likely come to nothing."
"There you go again, being all defeatist. Pessimism isn't a good look, Dom. Maybe you should get some sleep. The tiredness is affecting you."
Dom's lips split, amused by her forthrightness.
"Since when did you become master of this household?"
"Ever since you invited me up here," she laughed. "Go on, get some rest. I'll keep on searching."
Five minutes later, and with a certain amount
of coaxing, Kira had forced Dom down the corridor and into his bedchambers. She stopped short at tucking him in.
Returning to the library, she set back to her task, her own eyelids heavy but unwilling to relent. It would, she knew, be useful to have some support in this endeavour. She regretted, though very faintly, losing Merk and her friends to the tunnel. Right now, she could really do with their help.
86
The journey through the darkness had taken the best part of the night, the passage from the villa quite unlike Merk had expected. He'd envisaged a well manicured and well kept corridor, perhaps lit along the route by lighting fixtures. An easy walk, right beneath the streets above, that would guide them in a perfectly straight line towards the safe house at its end.
The truth of the matter was entirely different.
The tunnel was a constantly fluctuating and claustrophobic nightmare. It was occasionally wide but more commonly narrow, sometimes squeezing so tight that Merk felt sure anyone much larger than himself would have trouble getting through. It went up and down, left and right, meandering about the place as though burrowed by a blind rabbit with brain damage.
Merk hit his head more times than he could count, and scraped himself upon the rock walls and ceiling so badly he ended the journey bereft of a good portion of blood and skin. His back ached something awful, and his neck the same. He needed a good long lie down and rest, though he'd needed that after the first hour. In the end, it took several more before they finally reached the culmination of their subterranean trip.
The others fared a little better than the old man. Their youth helped in that regard, of course, and while they'd probably have some aches and pains in the coming days, nothing could compete with the frankly unacceptable strikes of agony Merk was suffering from. He'd be cramping for weeks at this rate, and his joints might just never recover.
The darkness was a large part of the problem. Merk had ventured forth with a torch, though it's power waned as they went and still failed to pick out all the obstacles that stood in Merk's path. Finn had a similar issue to face, though was highly skilled in avoiding the many jutting blades of sharp rock that stuck out of the passage from all angles.
Gwyn, meanwhile, had no trouble at all. Not only was she shorter than the others - though marginally, as she was quite a tall young lady - but she was certainly slimmer, making her a smaller target for the unpleasant and quite spiteful rocky protrusions. Most of all, however, was the benefit of her augmented sight, which allowed her to see quite comfortably in the dark. It was a fact that made Merk quite jealous the longer the night went on.
Reaching the end, Merk was a wreck, his clothes torn and bloodied and his grumbling growing to epic proportions. The others seemed quite all right, perhaps benefiting from the comparison. After all, they couldn't rightly complain given the circumstances befalling the grumpy old sailor.
Still, all were actually in a good place. When they finally reached the tunnel's end, they found a trapdoor leading up and into a simple wooden room. The air felt immediately cooler, and the map Dom had given them illuminated just why - they were on the far outskirts of the city now, right in the southwestern suburbs. It was a quiet and safe part of town, many miles from the centre and all the trouble in Southside. And on their doorstep was countryside, rolling hills and wandering woods.
They ventured from the room and into the building proper. It was a country house, not overly grand but not small by any means, and fully detached from all other buildings. The area was littered with them, all supplied with front and back gardens and some set within more plentiful grounds. A place for the middle-classes of the city, for the likes of wealthy traders and artisans to raise families and live quietly, away from the hectic bustle over to the east.
The three of them wandered through the house, inspecting their new surroundings, and made several pleasing discoveries. Prominent among them was the full larder, one that all were quite keen to ransack. Merk also had his eye on the ample stocks of wine in the cellar, though his lack of sophistication regarding such matters gave him pause. The old man was no sommelier. He might just as well open a vintage bottle as some old swill from the local market, and could hardly tell the difference between them. Accidentally guzzling on his master's more cherished bottles was a risk he'd rather avoid.
The house was, however, one that was rarely visited. That was clear enough by the dust that had accumulated, and the growing scent of damp that spread from one corner of the ground floor. Dom clearly never came here, and the house had probably been mostly forgotten by those in the neighbourhood. To that end, the three had been warned to steer clear of the windows and make as little noise as possible, especially during the daytime when the world was still awake.
There was a large living area that looked comfortable, several bedrooms to give them all space, a well fitted kitchen, a library and office, and an underground garage that gave secret access beyond the street and right out into the wilderness. Within that garage, Merk found several old motorbikes that, he assumed, were there should a quick getaway be needed.
Once they'd done the rounds, they gathered in the sitting room. Gwyn appeared partially excited by the prospect of having a proper bed, and some proper privacy. Finn, meanwhile, was curious to know just how long they'd have to stay.
"Until word comes that we can go," Merk whispered. "There might be some heat on us right now. We'll be safer here than anywhere."
"So where exactly are we, in relation to the city?" queried Finn. "I know we're towards the west, but not much more."
"There's not much more to tell," announced Merk. "As you can see from the windows, we're right on the edge of town. Further west from here are hills and woodlands, some fairly high ground. There are villages and hamlets out there, trading posts and such."
"And south of here is Ostia, right?" asked Finn. "You can get to the coast easy enough?"
"Certainly. No need to go back into the city. Though Ostia is too large and populated for any sensible route to the ocean. Better find a small port town, or buy a boat privately. Too many eyes in Ostia."
"And Dom's taking care of that, right?" asked Gwyn. "He's going to sort us passage back home?"
"That was his promise," said Merk. "He always keeps his promises."
"He can't if he's dead," murmured Finn, rubbing his head where he'd hit it in the tunnel. "What if something goes wrong back in the city? We'll be stuck here."
"No, don't be silly," said Gwyn. "We've got Merk with us. He can get us out of here himself. Right, Merk?"
Merk smiled uncomfortably. It was partially due to his aversion to taking on that responsibility, but mostly due to the pain that was flashing through various parts of his body. He needed a good wash, a good rest, plenty of plasters, and a flagon of wine. Though not in that order.
"I'd certainly try," he said, shifting his position and wincing. "I have some friends along the coast who might be able to help."
"Well that's good to know, hey Finn?" smiled Gwyn.
Finn nodded silently.
"But it's all mute," continued Merk. "Master Domitian will be just fine, mark my words. We'll just have to sit tight for now, and wait. I'm sure we can find ways of passing the time."
That would prove harder than anticipated, for the two gladiators at least. With the night late, and all in need of rest and, in Merk's case, some emergency medical work, all separated and dispersed until morning. It was a fitful night for the old man, his back and neck denying him comfort, and the many grazes upon his body sore to the touch.
He woke the following day feeling equally weary as before, and took another tour around the house. Lit by the morning light, it revealed new details. Mostly, they were of the derelict condition of the place, the true state of affairs mostly concealed by the gloom of the previous evening.
Now, all was laid bare, and the dust that coughed up from every footstep was already setting a light mist to the air. It would cause havoc with Merk's sinuses, no doubt, adding to his physical
woes. But who was he to complain? By rights he should be dead already.
The hours slipped by, the three further discussing the latest happenings in the city before their departure, and the likely turn it would take after the attack on the Empress, and with the trouble brewing in Southside. As far as Merk saw it, it would be a cloak to their disappearance. From a selfish point of view at least, that was a good thing.
Further searches of the house were then conducted to discover means of entertainment. Gwyn asked Merk if they'd have any way of watching the games, seeing as it was always being displayed upon the big screens in the arena, and outside of it too.
"Is there a television set here?" she asked. "We could see how Kira gets on? She might be fighting today."
"She may not be fighting at all." It was Finn, who was on a downer. Still. "She was meant to be executed. Vesper's just going to finish the job, and I'd rather not watch her die."
"Ah, not true," corrected Merk. "Technically, Kira defeated Rufus, so will be reinstated. She'll have a chance to fight, and won't die on her knees. So fear not, young Finn."
"I don't know why she didn't come with us," the blond boy grunted. "She should be here right now. We should all be on a boat going home."
"It doesn't work like that," said Gwyn. "I want her here as much as anyone, but I understand why she didn't come. The Empress doesn't care about us, but if Kira went missing, that would be bad for Dom. Anyway, she had this promise to Rufus. She's far too noble to ignore it."
"Noble? Rubbish. Rufus should never have asked it of her. What good can she do? She can't help Domitian when she's being sent to the arena to die."
"Finn, calm yourself, my boy," came Merk's croaky voice, like feet crunching on sand. "It's no good getting worked up. I know you like Kira, we all do. But she made her choice, and you need to accept that."
Finn went quiet, shaking his head. It was evident that he hadn't been sleeping, unleashing his irritability.
"Anyway," said Gwyn. "This TV idea? Can we watch the games somehow if we find one?"