Krone wore his black tunic like it was a halo of gold. When he spoke his tone was one of derision.
“Do you like to lose your coin?” he said. “You can’t have that much.”
“Excuse me?” I said in an indifferent voice.
“You wagered on yourself. My esteemed colleague barely lost to Delph in the last Duelum. You won’t stand a chance. Why not just surrender and we can take you away to Valhall where you belong.” He made a show of handing Litches McGee twenty-five coins wagering on his “esteemed colleague” to beat my brains out.
“Why don’t you simply give me the coins now,” I said. “It’ll save McGee the trouble of handing them over to me when I’m finished with your precious little Wug.”
Before he could respond I turned on my heel and stalked away to the pitch.
I watched Ted Racksport skillfully dispatch a quivering Wug who worked at the Mill in just under five slivers. As his hand was raised in victory, Racksport eyed me and smiled wickedly. He pointed at me as if to say I was next.
My pleasure, I thought.
The second bell sounded and I marched toward my quad. Dodgson stood across from me, his shirt off and his muscles flexed in an intimidating manner. When the referee called us in for instruction, Dodgson eyed me, his gaze coming to rest on my broken nose, which was swollen and hurt so badly it made me queasy.
“What happened to your nose?” he asked. “Don’t remember you getting that banged up in the Duelum.”
To this I said nothing.
He finally shrugged and said, “Well, I won’t hurt you too bad.” He smiled with those cruel lips, but the smile never reached his eyes. He next spoke in a voice only I could hear. “That was a lie. I am going to hurt you very bad. You should be in Valhall. It is Krone’s wish and I serve him well.” I didn’t respond to this either. Instead I turned to look at Krone, who stood right on the edge of the quad to cheer on his Wug. I held up five fingers and opened and closed my hand five times representing his twenty-five wagered coins, and then pointed to myself.
I turned back to Dodgson. He had seen this exchange and his face was full of fury.
He flexed his muscles. “No mercy for you, female. None!”
“I don’t remember asking for any,” I said in a deadly calm voice.
My face, with all its wounds, I knew, looked awful. Even scary. And right now I was perfectly fine with that. Because, as I continued to stare over at Dodgson, I could see something I had yet to see in one of my male opponents.
I saw fear.
The bell rang, our bout began and I charged straight at Dodgson. As Delph had said, he liked to hang back and he did keep his hands too low. I leapt and wrapped my legs around his torso and arms, locking my ankles together as I had done with Cletus in my first bout. By being forced to carry my weight too, he was thrown off balance just enough that when I twisted my body to the right, he toppled over. I squeezed my legs tighter, trapping his arms by his side. I gripped his neck and pinched the throbbing pipes of blood that ran up to his head. He struggled to break my leg lock, but I was a lot stronger than I looked and my legs were far stronger than my arms.
He did succeed in ramming his head against my face again and again until I thought I might actually pass out. I felt fresh blood run down my lips and I tasted it in my mouth. I thought I felt my cheekbone crack and my good eye puff up. But I held on. I was not going to let this Wug go.
As the blood going to his head was constricted by my grip, his eyes fluttered once, twice, he stopped struggling and his arrogant eyes closed. I released my grip and stood. Dodgson remained where he was, senseless.
The book I had nicked from hospital had explained this little medical fact and I had employed it to full measure. Dodgson would rise shortly and be no worse off for it, except for his wounded pride and a splitting headache. The referee checked Dodgson’s status and then raised my hand in victory.
As I stood there, bruised and bloodied, with my hand overhead, I found Racksport’s gaze on me. I could tell by his amazed look that he had lost coin on the bout. Well, it was the git’s own fault. If I could dispatch Non, any sane Wug should realize that the likes of Dodgson might bloody me, which he had, but would not best me. Of course, I was female, which was the great antidote to all reason. How could a female beat a male not once, not twice, but thrice? It was not possible. I read those thoughts in Racksport’s beady, disturbed eyes. But like when I had first confronted Dodgson in the quad, I stared dead at Ted Racksport. Then I rubbed a bit of blood off my face and pointed my reddened finger at him until he gave a nervous, hollow laugh and turned away.
And then I turned to Krone. I didn’t smile. I didn’t laugh. I didn’t say a word. I simply stared. And then I held my five fingers up five more times and pointed to myself.
His face filled with hatred, he stalked off, leaving precious Dodgson unconscious on the dirt.
So much for “esteemed colleagues.”
After this round was completed, there would be only four combatants left standing. And after that, only two. I meant to be one of the two. And then the one of the one: the champion. I had never won anything in all my sessions. Now I was determined to win the Duelum.
I collected my winnings and walked down the High Street with many slivers on my hands, wondering what best to do with them. There was no work at Stacks because of the Duelum and it was still not yet the fourth section of light.
As I passed the Witch-Pidgy Pub, Thaddeus Kitchen ambled out, looking the worse for a pint of flame water or two or three.
“No work on the Wall this light?” I said.
He glanced at me and in that look I could tell something was wrong.
He hiccupped and said, “Me and Henry got sacked, thanks to your lot.”
“My lot?” I replied, stunned by this.
“Cause of the Wa-Wall (hiccup) tumblin’ down on D-Du … that bloke whatsis.”
“I didn’t make the Wall fall. Your lot doctoring the straps did. Who sacked you?”
His face filled with anger as though he was only now seeing me clearly for who I was. “Your brother, that’s who.” He belched.
“John sacked you? I thought he was the one who made the design change?”
“He bloody well did. But what matter is it to mister (hiccup) high-and-mighty Wug that he is? And I got me a family to su-suppo … take care of, now don’t I?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, though I really wasn’t. “But Duf Delphia lost his legs. You can always get another job.”
He wobbled about on his feet before regaining his balance. “Oh, can I now? Not with a bad reference from him, I can’t, the little g-g-git.”
“My brother sacked you because you made something weak,” I said angrily. “I’m sure when he found out what happened, he was furious with himself. He took it out on you and Henry. I’m not saying it’s fair, but that doesn’t make him a git.”
Kitchen drew closer and leaned into my face, so I could smell the flame water full-on. “He sacked us, female, ’cause we took you at your word and didn’t punch no more holes in them fancy bloody straps-a yours. When he found out, that’s when he sacked us. He didn’t care a thing for poor D-Du-whatsis. Now, in my book, that’s a git.” He hiccupped again.
I said nothing to this because I could think of nothing to say.
Taking my silence for acquiescence, Kitchen belched again and said, “A pox on the house of Jane, I say. What good are you?” He stumbled a bit and then refocused on me, a silly grin spreading over his face. “But I got a coin or two on you in the next round, Vega, so (hiccup) don’t let me down, luv. Har.”
He staggered off, leaving me to think hard about what he had just told me. At least I wanted to, but I heard the footsteps on the cobblestones and I turned to see who it was. Roman Picus looked none too pleased. With him were Cletus, Ran Digby with his nose bandaged and, bringing up the rear, Non, who looked as bad as I felt. They made a semicircle around me, armed to the teeth with their mortas and knives.
&
nbsp; “Good light, Roman,” I said. Before he could answer, I added, “And if you want a piece of advice, I would stop wagering coin against me.”
Digby of course aimed a slop of smoke weed at my boot but missed. Cletus hissed. Non growled. Roman, however, just eyed me steadily.
“Gotta question for ya, Vega,” he said at last.
“Don’t keep me in suspense, Roman,” I replied with a smile.
“You’ve beat three males, including Non here. And you done this in your very first Duelum. You done this while almost losing to Cletus here, who’s a fine Wug but not in the league-a Non or even the lad you fought this light.” He rubbed his chin with his greasy hand. “Now, tell me, how can that be?”
“I’m a quick learner and I got better.”
“And stronger. And faster. And everything, it seems. Non here tells me you laid him out with one blow. And put a dent in his metal.”
I looked up at Non, whose face still held the marks of the beating I had given him. If expressions could slaughter, I would be buried in pieces in the Hallowed Ground. “I guess he doesn’t match up well with me in the Duelum.”
Cletus snorted, which drew as condescending a stare as I could possibly make. “If you want a second go at me, Loon, I’ve no issue with that.” I made a little lunge in his direction and he fell backward on his arse on the cobblestones.
Digby laughed out loud at this before catching himself and then aiming another chunk of slop at my boot and, again, missing his target. Cletus scrambled to his feet, his face a sheet of red.
Roman was still staring at me. “Curious and curious,” he said, rubbing his chin so hard I thought he would take skin and whiskers off. “I think I’ll have a talk with Council. ’Tain’t right for no Wugs to have unfair advantage in a Duelum.”
“I completely agree,” I said. “So the next Wug who outweighs me by more than a hundred pounds with arms bigger than my legs can just stand on his hands while I hit away.”
“You’re missing my point, female.”
“Then try explaining it in a way that an intelligent Wug can understand.”
“I think you’re cheating!” he snapped. “And so does every other Wug. A female beating the likes-a Non, why, I ask you.”
The fact that I had beaten all of my opponents without the aid of my special weapons made my face flame with indignation. “I’d say the likelihood is one hundred percent, since it happened.” I turned to Non. “And next time you walk into a quad for a Duelum, you might want to remember how I used your own stupid breastplate against you. I didn’t have to employ tricks to beat you, you creta’s arse, when I used your own heavy metal to tire you first and then knock you senseless. All I needed was your being an idiot.”
I stared Non down until the oaf turned and strode angrily off. With him no longer there anchoring their defense, Cletus and Digby picked up their heels and were soon disappearing in the distance.
“I still say you’re cheating,” Roman said.
“Then take it up with Council. I’ll see you to collect my winnings after the Duelum is over. Why should I let Litches McGee have all the fun?”
“You sound pretty confident of victory,” he said suspiciously.
“If I can’t believe in myself, who can?”
I STOPPED BY MY digs, picked up Harry Two and together we walked to the Care. Since Non was no longer guarding the place, I hurried in and found Duf’s room. I was surprised because they had put him in my parents’ old quarters. I read the nameplate on the door twice to make sure.
I eased the door open and peered in. As I suspected would be the case, Delph was perched on the edge of his father’s cot, rubbing Duf’s head with a wet cloth. I opened the door all the way and Harry Two and I strode in. Delph looked up.
“Duelum?” he said.
“I won.”
“Who’d you fight?”
“Doesn’t matter. How’s Duf?”
I drew closer to the bed and looked down at him. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully. I stole a glance at his legs, or where his legs used to be. The sheets lay flat against the mattress there, them having nothing of Duf to cover.
Delph replied, “Okay I guess. Timbertoes coming next light.”
I nodded at this. With timbertoes, Duf would be able to hobble about, but that would be all. No more beast training for him. Sometimes, no matter how good he was, a trainer had to run for his life. And you couldn’t do that on timbers.
“I’m so sorry, Delph,” I said.
“’Tain’t your fault, Vega Jane. Accident. Happens.”
I struggled with what to say next. How could I tell him that my brother had redesigned the straps and that had caused them to fail? Would he go and attack my brother and be thrown in Valhall for his troubles?
In the end I said nothing. Delph’s eyes searched my face for a moment and then he looked away and started mopping his father’s brow once more. I looked from father to son.
“Delph?”
He turned again to me.
“The Quag?” I said in a low voice. “After the Duelum?”
I could see the range of emotions flitter across Delph’s face. He looked from me to his father. From me again and then back to his father. And his gaze symbolically held there. He lowered his head.
“S-sorry, Vega Jane.”
I turned away as I felt the tears climb to my eyes. I patted him on the back and said, “I understand, Delph. It’s the right choice. It’s … family.”
I wish I had some left.
I headed to the door.
“Good luck in the Duelum, Vega Jane.”
I turned to see him staring at me.
“I hope you win it all,” he added.
“Thanks,” I said. I left him there with his father. As I walked out into the warmth of the light, I had never felt such cold in my heart.
MY NEXT STOP was the Council building. I trotted up the steps, passing several Council members who were heading down them. I ignored their surprised looks at traitorous me and opened one of the massive doors that were carved with eagles and lions and what looked to be a slain garm.
This was the first time I had come in the front entrance. My only other visit here had been through the back, in shackles.
I walked in to see a great chamber with soaring ceilings, lighted torches and a temperature that felt about as perfect as was possible. Council members and their staff, more humbly dressed Wugs, most males but some females, were walking to and fro. I had always wondered why such a small place like Wormwood even required a council and along with it a building of such size and opulence. Yet like most of my queries, that one too had remained unanswered.
I walked up to a marble-topped counter where a short, prim-looking female stood dressed in a gray tunic, her white hair pulled so tightly into a bun that her eyes were catlike. She turned her nose up at me and said in an officious voice, “Can I help you?”
“I hope so,” I said. “Is Thansius here?”
Her nose turned even more upward so I could actually see down both nostrils.
“Thansius? You are seeking Thansius?” she said imperiously.
Her tone implied that I might as well be here for a consult with the Noc.
“Yes, I am.”
“And how are you called?” she asked in a perfunctory voice.
“I am called Vega Jane.”
There was a flicker across her face that indicated she recognized my name.
She said in a friendlier tone, “Course you are. The Duelum.” Her gaze ran over my battered features and she clucked in pity. “Oh my Steeples, your poor face. I’ve seen you around Wormwood, come to think of it. And you were so pretty too. So sad.”
A mixed compliment if ever I’d heard one. “Thanks,” I mumbled in reply. “So is Thansius in?”
She instantly looked more guarded. “And why do you need to speak with him?”
“A personal matter. As you know, my brother is a special assistant —”
Her lips formed a frown. �
�I know all about young John Jane, thank you very much.” She pondered my request. “Half a mo’,” she said and slipped out from behind the counter. I watched her scuttle off down the hall, twice casting backward glances at me.
I waited patiently for her return. I looked up at a painting of our founder, Alvis Alcumus, which hung over the doorway. He looked kind and scholarly, but there was a dreamy look in his eyes too, which I found interesting. His beard was so long it rested on his chest. I wondered where he had come from to found Wormwood. Through the Quag? Or did the Quag not exist back then? Or had he sprouted up from the dirt like a mushroom? Or was he the figment of some Wug’s imagination? I was beginning to think that our history was far more fiction than fact.
I wandered over to the massive paintings on the long walls that made up a side hall of the building. They were mostly scenes of warfare involving beasts and Wugs outfitted in armor. This must be the Battle of the Beasts that we had been taught at Learning. How our ancestors had defeated the creatures and driven them back into the Quag was the stuff of Wormwood legend.
As I grew closer to one of the paintings, I saw a scene depicted that was very familiar to me. It was a warrior in chain mail on a slep, carrying a golden spear and leaping over something. I observed the silver glove that the warrior wore on the right hand. I examined the spear and saw that it was identical to the one that was, right this instant — albeit in reduced form — residing in my pocket. The warrior was undoubtedly the female who had expired on the battlefield, but not before bequeathing to me the Elemental.
Yet the thing she was leaping over was a small rock. Such an obstacle would not require a leap at all. And the beast she was after was a frek. There had been no freks on the battlefield that light. She had thrown her spear, destroyed a charging male on a flying steed, leapt over me and soared into the air when her slep sprouted wings, in order to do battle in the sky with another figure on a giant adar. I knew I had seen all this. I could never forget it.
The Finisher Page 30