by Kevin Hearne
There were eight fighters in all, so there would be a total of seven fights, single elimination. Nadia would have to win three fights to take the whole thing. I hadn’t seen any of the other fighters yet, but I had seen enough of them in my time to know that Nadia was undoubtedly the smallest and weakest of the lot.
The crowd had thickened during that time and I had difficulty finding Nadia and her friend again, but a gloved hand stuck up from the throng and waved at me. I made my way over.
“Saw ye place some bets with Georgy,” she said.
“I did indeed. Win your first fight and ye can have my stake.”
“Oh, aye? And what’s that, then?”
“Two thousand.”
Her eyebrows popped up. “Not bad. Anything for winning the whole thing?”
“I already promised ye tea.” I’d be eighteen thousand ahead should she win it all, but winning the first fight would pay for an expedition to Australia. I required some quokka milk for an ink recipe, among other things, and it was ludicrously difficult and time-consuming to get.
“Ha. Fair enough. I’m Nadia,” she said, though I had heard her name already.
“Aloysius,” I said, tipping my hat. “Ye can call me Al.”
“I’m Dhanya,” the taller woman said.
“Excellent to meet ye both. Would I be correct in thinking this is your first pit fight, Nadia?”
“It is. Not ma last either, but it’s the last time I’ll get underdog odds like this.”
“Do ye need the money for something in particular?”
“University. A flat that’s not a closet. A bloody bed—”
“Because futons are shite!” Dhanya said.
Nadia grinned at her and then shrugged. “The usual.”
“What are ye studying at university?”
“Gonnay be a certified management accountant. Live two lives, ye know, like Thomas Anderson. Pay ma taxes and help ma landlady carry out her rubbish. But once I’m off the clock I’m metal as fuck. Graduating in a few months.”
It was at that point Nadia became more to me than a potential winning ticket. If she could both fight and handle the financials of MacBharrais Printing & Binding, she’d be an outstanding employee.
“Are you studying as well, Dhanya?”
“Naw, I code video games and set futons on fire. One pays the rent and the other’s a moral obligation.”
A man with a microphone and a portable battery-powered amp called for attention as the first fight was about to begin, so all bookies needed to close the betting. He introduced the first two fighters, who emerged from the crowded platform as their names were called and dropped down into the pit with the master of ceremonies.
There was no referee. There was, however, Georgy Orgy’s bearded muscle, who patted down each fighter to check for weapons. It was bare-knuckle fighting until one fighter yielded or was knocked unconscious. The shouts of encouragement for the fighters were almost as loud as the shouts deriding the fighters and trying to get into their heads. The master of ceremonies had them square off on either side of him and asked if they were ready, then he picked up his amp and backed away.
“Fight!” he shouted once he figured he was safe, and the lithe, slim fighter known as Gunbarrel launched a flurry of punches and kicks at his opponent, Pisstaker. The latter was a squat man with bulging hairy arms and a broken nose, and he patiently absorbed the quick assaults of Gunbarrel, a weaker opponent who folded once Pisstaker landed a stunning blow and then finished him off by taking him down to the ground and choking him out with a hammerlock.
The second match featured the favorite, Gallowgate Tate, a tall beast of a man who was ripped and cut thanks to a high-protein diet and probably anabolic steroids; I imagined he received the attentions of Russian athletic scientists after they finished sculpting Ivan Drago in Rocky IV. Tate coolly watched his opponent, Dirty Clyde, circle him and dart in, but always reacted rather than initiated an attack. He blocked punches and kicks and waited for an opening in Clyde’s guard. When he saw one, he struck savagely three times to the body and dropped Clyde to the ground. He didn’t close but gave Clyde the opportunity to catch his breath, get up, and take some more punishment. Maybe Dirty Clyde felt he really needed a concussion to top off his proper whipping, and I’m pretty sure he got it, taking a roundhouse to the temple before collapsing in a heap. He had to be dragged away.
Both of the winners were probably double the size and weight of Nadia, but she was introduced next, and she dropped down off the platform into the pit to widespread jeers and a grinning opponent, a square-jawed blond poseur with slicked-back hair, called Hammerfist.
Georgy’s bodyguard made Nadia take off her studded gloves and jacket. She had a black tank top on underneath. Hammerfist had to outweigh her by fifty pounds or more. I looked at the two of them square up, saw the bloodlust in the young man’s eyes, and I was afraid for her. But Dhanya was grinning and chuckling by my side.
“Wanker has no idea what’s coming.”
Nobody did, except for Dhanya, apparently. When the master of ceremonies said, “Fight!” Hammerfist lunged with a lightning right cross at her head. I thought it would catch her, but Nadia dropped underneath it, spun, and lashed up with her foot, catching Hammerfist in the throat on his follow-through. He staggered back and fell on his arse, eyes wide and panicked because he couldn’t breathe. Nadia stood back and waited as he gasped and wheezed, unable to get enough oxygen through a crushed trachea.
He waved her off, surrendering inside of five seconds, and the crowd fell to a shocked silence for a moment before erupting in a chorus of holy-shites and what-the-fucks. Had that been luck? If it was skill, why the hell was she a long shot? She dropped a bastard with one kick and was completely untouched. Hammerfist had some buddies help him out of there, and I hoped they’d be wise enough to take him to the hospital straightaway.
None of the bookies—and certainly no one who had placed a bet on Hammerfist—was pleased by this development.
I was sure the odds for her next fight would be interesting. Would she still be an underdog, or was she the favorite after a fight history that consisted of a single kick? Whatever the bookies decided for the second round, they’d all be hoping that she wouldn’t win the whole thing, considering the extreme long-shot odds they’d given at the start. I had no idea how many bets had been placed—probably not many, but it wouldn’t take many to clean them out. Georgy already owed me five thousand for the first fight and would owe me another fifteen if she won through.
Nadia’s ability to stand unnoticed in a crowd and discuss the merits of assorted yogurts had evaporated forever. Everyone there would recognize her as the Weegie Goth now, the woman who ended a pit fight in less than two seconds with a single kick. Even if she wound up losing, no one would forget that first fight. That was something they’d never seen before. Word would spread, and people who hadn’t attended that evening would be looking for her next time. When Nadia came up to the platform, Dhanya extended a hand down and hauled her up, and the two of them were mobbed by men who at first appeared to be well-wishers but turned out to be curious if that was a fluke or not and if she had a boyfriend.
They were not prepared for this, but Dhanya recovered quickly. She spread her arms in front of Nadia and said, “Oi! Back off and fuck off. It wasn’t a fluke and she’s got a girlfriend. That’s all. Give her some space, ya bawbags!”
They gave her some space, but the jawing continued as the two women spied me and pushed their way in my direction.
“Help me form a bubble, Al,” Dhanya said. “We need dressing rooms or sumhin. Nae privacy around here.”
The next fight, thankfully, gave people a distraction.
The other woman in the tournament, the Paisley Terror, was an accomplished martial artist who had to fend off an extended and determined assault from the Broomielaw Kid, a ginge
r man who proved to be a smart fighter. He kept his distance and didn’t let the Terror take him down—she was probably his equal in height and weight. He was betting that eventually she’d wear out and he’d be able to get a clean shot at her head. But she caught him out of position and delivered a swift kick to the nads. He had sense enough to wear protection, but it still froze him long enough for her to spin around and whip her elbow into his jaw. Blood and teeth sprayed out of his mouth, and he staggered back. He probably could have continued, but he was already looking at significant dental surgery and saw no need to incur additional trauma when his strategy had ultimately failed. He yielded, and that set up the semifinals: Pisstaker vs. Gallowgate Tate, and the Weegie Goth vs. the Paisley Terror.
It was a half hour or more before the fights resumed, though, because odds had to be calculated and new bets had to be laid. Nadia was giving everyone fits; more than one gambler came up and asked if she could take the Paisley Terror or if she’d just been lucky. Likewise, the Paisley Terror was getting questions about fighting the new kid. In the end I heard it was scored even money; no one wanted to leave their bollocks hanging out on this one.
Gallowgate Tate was favored against Pisstaker, though, and that went as expected, though it was a grind for both men. Pisstaker could both take it and dish it out. But Tate was just too big and too fast for him, and he chipped away at the smaller man’s defenses until Pisstaker couldn’t keep his hands up and block the haymaker that knocked him out.
Tate didn’t leave the pit unscathed, however. He had a swollen eye and was favoring his left side, where Pisstaker had landed some punishing body blows.
When the master of ceremonies called out the Weegie Goth and the Paisley Terror, the roar of anticipation was genuine. Everyone—including me—was curious if it would be another fast fight.
The Paisley Terror was not stupid. She did not charge in but rather began to circle in a defensive position. Nadia just watched her, turning as needed to face her opponent, and kept her arms at her sides. Her lack of defense didn’t tempt the Terror, however. She was sure there was a trap, and she didn’t want to walk into it.
This continued for about thirty seconds and the cheers turned to boos, the crowd demanding that they get on with it. The Terror waved at the Goth to come on. Nadia smirked and shook her head, still not defending herself.
The Terror lunged forward, but Nadia made no move, and the Terror backed off, the whole maneuver being a feint to draw Nadia out. The Goth only smiled, and that enraged the crowd. They wanted action, not a staring contest.
The Terror finally stepped in to attack, a guarded strike that was little more than a jab to make sure that Nadia couldn’t take her out with a kick. Nadia finally moved, setting her feet slightly apart as the Terror approached. I thought she was going to take the hit when she dodged at the last possible moment to her right, letting the fist pass over her left shoulder, and then she grabbed the wrist and held on as she attempted to get an uppercut through the Terror’s guard. That didn’t connect, but it got her right elbow up at face level and she whipped it into the Terror’s teeth, followed immediately by a backhand fist that rocked her backward. Nadia let her wrist go so she could disengage. The Terror aimed a blind straight kick at Nadia’s midriff as she fell back, but the Goth slapped it away to pass harmlessly to the left. Then she took advantage of the Terror’s imbalance by lunging forward. The right jab was blocked, but the left cross behind it wasn’t. It crunched into the Terror’s nose and she went down. Nadia’s boot was on her neck before she could roll away, and the Paisley Terror yielded.
That fight took longer but was no less decisive. Nadia was not only undefeated, she still hadn’t taken a hit.
That set up a final showdown between Nadia and Gallowgate Tate. A known favorite and previous champion against a rather scary newcomer.
The thing I couldn’t figure out was what kind of martial art she was practicing. I supposed it was close to krav maga, but I hadn’t seen any signature moves. In terms of discipline she was outclassed by everyone, yet she indisputably won without discipline.
The next half hour was a remarkable test of evidence versus prejudice. According to the evidence we had—two wins and no damage—the Weegie Goth should have been the overwhelming favorite against Gallowgate Tate, who had two wins but was in significantly rougher shape. But Tate was huge. And he was a man. And he’d won before. Those were all facts, to be sure, but they weren’t exactly relevant. The same facts applied to Hammerfist before Nadia applied her boot to his throat.
There were five bookies total and three of them made Tate the favorite, though not by much. Their books were lively on both sides. But Georgy Orgy and one other had Nadia as the favorite, and they saw plenty of action as men rushed to place underdog bets on Gallowgate Tate.
“Lookit them all betting on Tate,” Dhanya said, shaking her head.
“That’s good. It means the bookies will be able to pay us when we win,” Nadia said.
A man pushed forward to ask the question that had been bothering me. “What style of fighting are you using?” he said.
“I fight according to the precepts of His Dark Highness Lhurnog the Unhallowed and sacrifice to him whisky and rare cheeses so that I may prove victorious.”
“What?”
“She meant to say fuck off,” Dhanya explained.
He scowled but did what she said, and I chuckled. “I haven’t heard of Lhurnog before.”
“Course ye haven’t,” Nadia said. “ ’Cause he’s unhallowed, in’t he? But ye can see him on the side of my van when we get tea after.”
“Yer van?”
“She’s got a wizard van,” Dhanya said. “Wee shrine to Lhurnog inside. Icebox full of cold ones, glove box full of dank weed. It’s pure tits. Half the people think we’re gonnay go tae hell, the other half wish in their wee coward hearts that they could have a wizard van half so fine.”
I just grinned at her, which was apparently the correct response.
“I’m just kidding about the weed. We have a box of salt in there distilled from the tears of men who try to harass us.”
That made me chuckle. “I hope I get tae see this van.”
“Oh, aye, ye will.”
“It has a scene painted on the side?”
“Both sides. On the driver’s side, Lhurnog sits on his throne of cheese with a glass of whisky in one hand, and in the other are some roasted men impaled on a lance like a kebab, about to be eaten.”
“Excellent. What kind of whisky?”
“Whatever he wants, because he’s a god. But that’s not all. Lhurnog’s in the background. In the foreground is Nadia riding a huge lizard, raising her studded fist to the sky. Eldritch energy swirls around it, because she’s the wizard, see.”
“This already sounds like the best van I’ve ever heard of, and if it isn’t real I’m going tae be very disappointed.”
“Oh, it’s real. She’s put so much money intae that thing. It’s honestly why she needs this score tonight. She’s broke because of the wizard van.”
“Shh. Don’t tell him that!” Nadia said.
“It’s true, in’t it?”
“What’s on the other side of the van?” I asked, before they could begin arguing in earnest.
“Oh, naw, ye’re gonnay have tae see for yerself,” Nadia said.
I nodded agreeably and let some other people approach and ask questions or wish Nadia well, while I tried to think of where I’d heard of a god named Lhurnog before. I’ve either read or written contracts for most of the world’s pantheons and didn’t recall Lhurnog being mentioned anywhere. They might just be having a bit of fun at my expense, which would be fine. But if not, who was this Lhurnog? It occurred to me that it could be a demon from any number of hells posing as a god, and that could spell trouble. It could explain why Nadia was so infernally good at fighting. Maybe followin
g an extremely dangerous pit fighter back to her windowless van wasn’t such a good idea.
When there was a small break in the jawboning, I asked Dhanya, “These sacrifices ye make to Lhurnog. It’s just whisky and cheese, right? Nothing else?” I saw her lock eyes with Nadia for a second, then turn back to me, all seriousness.
“Aye. I mean…ye look a mite concerned there, Al. What are ye worried about?”
“Ye mentioned that in the painting, Lhurnog was about tae eat some impaled men like a kebab. So you’re not involved in any of that, are ye?”
“Intae what? Impaling men? Or kebabs?”
“Well, delivering sacrifices to His Dark Highness.”
“Oh! Naw, that’s the sort of thing that Lhurnog takes care of himself. We do like a good kebab, though. Vegetarian, of course.”
I wasn’t entirely reassured by the answer, and my face must have shown it. Dhanya’s and Nadia’s lips twisted as they tried to stifle grins and didn’t quite succeed. They were having a laugh, and that was good. If they had been serious, I would have had work to do.
The master of ceremonies made a big fuss for the main event, calling out the fighter’s names and adding epithets on the end as they dropped into the pit and came forward. After a string of fluff for Gallowgate Tate, he called out the Weegie Goth and laid it on.
“Undefeated! Unbruised! And unknown until tonight! What fate awaits on her pugilistic date with Gallowgate Tate? Christ, that’s all the rhyming I’m allowed to do for the rest of the year in one go.”
Everyone expected a slow start, but the Weegie Goth charged immediately, which surprised Tate much more than it did the spectators, and we were damn surprised.
He aimed a straight kick at her midriff with his right leg to make her keep her distance, but she flowed around it and trapped his ankle under her left arm, then looked him straight in the eyes as she brought her right elbow down on his kneecap, blowing out all his ligaments and eliciting a howl of pain and anguish from a man who was normally a stoic fighter. She dropped his right leg, crouched and spun, sweeping his left leg and dropping him on his arse. He wouldn’t be able to get up again without help, and she wasn’t about to supply any. Nadia rose, stood over him, and said something that no one but he could hear because everyone was screaming over how fast she’d dropped him.