“You lot will go in with the felons.” A guard barked out his orders.
“Why are there felons in with us?” Alkaia frowned.
“Kronos says the more the merrier. They’re chained together just like you.”
“They’ll only get in the way.” Alkaia snarled. “The whole thing is a joke. Kronos is a weak, cheating bastard. Why can’t we have a good, clean fight?”
“Is it bad that there are others in with is?” Millicent asked.
“It will be chaos,” Hipp said. “Kronos is piling everything in at once. It’s just a gore fest.”
“It’s got nothing to do with us fighting honourably now.” Toxis was livid. “It’s all to hinder us saving you so he wins the bet. Asshole.”
“It’ll be okay.” Gallo squeezed her shoulder. “We have a plan, and we’ll stick to it.”
The guards herded them through the doors and out into the heat of the arena. The crowd howled at the sight of chained Amazons. Millicent was unprepared for the actual size of the Belly, especially from her viewpoint in the naval of it. It was dizzyingly huge, capable of holding tens of thousands. And tens of thousands were there right now. Tiers upon tiers of them, rising up to dizzying heights until lost to view in the glaring sunlight. The arena floor was a rough mix of sand and grit. It slid into Millicent’s delicate tea maid sandals and cut the soles of her feet like powdered glass. Blood, lumps of skin tissue, and glutinous human organs stained the centre, churning it up into a red mud field.
Half of the cavernous bowl baked in the heat, the other half sat in shadow. Millicent’s eyes had barely adjusted, when a movement on the far side of the arena caught her attention. A pair of doors matching those she had just come through began to open. The crowd bayed like hounds. The noise was overwhelming as another contingent of fighters entered the arena.
“It’s the felons,” Toxis said.
“Keep your backs to the sun,” Alkaia said. “Use your armour to blind any incoming.”
On the far side, the felons were being forcibly pushed from the murk of the tunnel out into the blare and light. They were chained in pairs, just as the Amazons were. The felons looked ragged and exhausted. Weapons hung from limp hands, as if they’d already accepted their pitiful fate. They stood dazed, stunned by the vast spectacle around them. Animals poured into the arena with them, running freely. Not the fierce predators that had roared all night in the cells below, but oxen, camels, mules, and horses; all skin and bone, and staggering in shock at the noise. In their clumsy, side-stepping anxiety they barrelled into each other and knocked felons aside. It was chaotic and clownish, and the crowd laughed—a great rumbling sound that scared the poor beasts further.
“I wish Sangfroid was here,” Millicent whispered. A dreadful sense of doom had descended on her. In every direction lay cruelty and bloodlust. She was surrounded by apathy and malevolence, and she could bear it no longer. She was terrified.
“Yeah, me too. She’d mind our backs all right,” Gallo said, looking around her with interest.
“I don’t know how you can be so casual.” Millicent was amazed at Gallo’s fortitude. “This has to be—”
“Oh, look. There she is!” Gallo interrupted her.
“Who?” Millicent tried to follow her gaze.
“Sangfroid.”
“Sangfroid!” Millicent squealed in disbelief. Her heart hammered in her throat. “Where? Oh, where Gallo? Show me!”
“There.” Gallo pointed across the arena into the far gate. “Chained to that elephant.” She frowned. “Poor bastard. That’s not lucky.”
CHAPTER 23
Sangfroid felt the opposite of lucky and had done so for some time. She’d landed ass first in the middle of a guardhouse game of knucklebones. It was immediately assumed she’d jumped in to steal the winnings. At first she’d been amused they thought she’d even want to steal a ratty old cloak and some copper coins. Then they pounced. It didn’t take long for her boots to be ripped off, and for her to be roughed up and dumped in a cell with the smelliest, most woebegone criminals she’d ever encountered.
“Steal yer boots, did they, son?” A grizzled old man sidled up to her as she dabbed the blood off her nose. “They oughta be locked up with us,” the old boy tutted. “They think they can do whatever they want in here. It’s double standards, is what it is.”
“Where exactly is here?” Sangfroid asked, once again parking her disbelief that her gender had been so easily reassigned. She scanned the cell, hoping for a glimpse of untidy chestnut hair and an impossibly impractical dress, but Millicent was nowhere to be seen. She pushed down her panic and prayed that Millicent was safe wherever she was. There was no sign of Sophia or Gallo either and that worried her as well. They had all travelled here together, so why were they separated now? She wanted to regroup and get the hell out of this timeline. And she wanted her boots back.
“Got big feet, ain’t ya?” The old man seemed transfixed by them. “Biggest I ever seen,” he said, not without awe.
“Where are we?” Sangfroid asked again. She added a soupçon of threat to her voice. The old guy was shrunken. He looked about a hundred years old and was as skinny as a rake. He wore what looked to be a sack tied at the waist with a bit of twine. His feet were bare, filthy, and pitifully deformed. Sangfroid’s darkened tone caught his attention, and he answered, “Why, we’re in the Belly waiting to be fed to the lions, son.” He sounded almost cheery.
“What’s the Belly?” She already knew, but wanted confirmation for the leaden feeling forming in her gut.
“You’re new in town.” This seemed to amuse the old man for he wheezed out a laugh crossed with a death rattle. “The Belly is the biggest arena in Rome. In the whole world, in fact and we’re here ’cos we’ve been rounded up for Severus Ex’s games.”
“Severus Ex?” Sangfroid frowned. This was not good. “Not Severus ex Machina?” Just her luck to materialize in the reign of one of the nastiest Emperors ever. Severus Ex was a gallstone to the gods themselves, nevermind his own people.
“That’s the shit, all right,” the old man confirmed. “What’s yer name, son? Whatya in for? You look more like a fighter than a thief.”
“I am a fighter.” Sangfroid surveyed the overcrowded cell, the solid iron bars, and the hellish noises from outside. The cries of man and animal mixed into one distressed cacophony—and at top volume. “What’s that racket? Sounds like a farmyard on fire.”
“It’s the animals they keep to feed the predators. I’m Michael, by the way. Who are you?”
“Sangfroid. What predators?”
“Sounds Gallic. Are you Gallic? That might account for the feet.”
“I’m from…the Urals.” Sangfroid thought it best not to mention moon base Alpha Zeta IV.
“Never heard of any Urals. Where’s that? Near Gaul?”
“Yeah, near Gaul. Now, about these predators.”
“They’re what we fight,” Michael said. “Man-eating beasts. Look around you. As if any of us could fight. We’ve been locked up in the city prisons for months waiting for this day. We’re nothing but a sideshow to keep the crowds happy.”
“So we’re to fight lions and tigers and stuff?” Sangfroid felt a little excited at this.
“Severus Ex’s lions and tigers, and whatever else he’s had made.”
“Made?”
Michael cackled. “Steam animals. You don’t think Severus Ex would make it easy, do ya?”
Steam animals? The thought fascinated Sangfroid, but before she could ask more questions, the cell door slammed open. Several guards pushed into the already crowded cell and wedged a way open for a fat, greasy jailer to follow them in.
“That’s Kronos, the games master,” Michael murmured. “He’s a right turd.”
“We’re low on animal fodder,” Kronos said. “Need volunteers.” He flicked a casual glance around th
e room. “Her and him and him and him.” He pointed at certain people, mostly the elderly, and his guards hauled the individuals out of the cell and bundled them away.
“Oi. That’s me missus!” Michael pushed forward.
“Get after her then.” Kronos grabbed him by the front of his tunic and tossed him out with the others. With a hard glare he backed out of the silent room. His gaze momentarily locked with Sangfroid’s and showed a glimmer of surprise.
“You’re a big bugger to be in here,” he said but kept backing for the door. One of his guards muttered something in his ear. His eyes immediately dropped to Sangfroid’s bare feet. He nodded and was gone, the door slammed shut behind him.
“Where are they taking them?” Sangfroid asked. No one paid her any attention. People squatted in small groups on the bare dirt floor or sat alone staring sullenly into space. Others curled into tight balls to try and sleep the hours away. “Where are they taking them?” she asked again and poked the nearest person.
“You heard ’im. They’re low on fodder. They’ll cut ’em up and feed ’em to the beasts. Then tomorrow they’ll throw the rest of us to ’em.” Came the surly answer. “Now piss off and let me sleep.”
So she was in a lion’s den, only with steam lions that ate human flesh? Cool. But she was sorry for Michael. That wasn’t right; the old coot had been harmless. And what about Millicent? Was she here? Sangfroid worried for her more than ever, which was a lot as she was never really done worrying about her. This was a vicious place, and Millicent, with all her high ideals, would be ill prepared for it. How would she survive in this timeline? Sangfroid could only hope that Gallo was close by to help her, and that they had Sophia with them as well.
The night was long and drawn out. No food or water was provided. No fire for warmth either, though the press of bodies kept the cold at bay. Sangfroid sat amid the hot fug of humanity and brooded over her missing companions.
Morning arrived and the guards were back. Sangfroid hoped they’d bring food; she was starving. Instead, they slung a selection of rusty old weapons into the middle of the cell floor and stood well back and laughed as the inmates clawed over each other to arm themselves.
At first Sangfroid was confused as to what was happening, until a body landed at her feet. The young man’s neck was broken, and as she watched, the lad’s fingers were peeled back and the short sword he’d been holding was ripped away. People were fighting for weapons. There weren’t enough to go around. She sprang to her feet and entered the fray, using her height and strength to full advantage. She hauled out a decent looking spear. Unfortunately, an ugly bugger was hanging onto the other end. In a blink, with a quick jab and flick, Sangfroid flipped her antagonist onto his backside and claimed the prized spear as her own.
Aware Kronos was watching her from the shadows out in the corridor, she retreated to a corner to examine her booty. Her spear was not such a prize after all. The shaft was bowed, and the point was dull and chipped, but by then there was nothing else left, so it would have to do. When she looked up, Kronos had gone.
For the next few hours, her companions sat fraught and silent waiting to be called. The only sound was the constant baying from the animal pens. Some felons tinkered with their weapons, but there was little they could do to improve the rusting junk they’d been given. Sangfroid glared at her spear in growing anger. At least let a soldier die with a decent weapon in her hand. And her boots!
“Hear that?” Someone whispered. Sangfroid strained to hear and could just about make out a muted roar, like ocean thunder.
“It’s begun,” the man beside her said. Trepidation rippled through the cell. The games had started.
Sangfroid looked at the skinny, undernourished people huddled around her. Half of them didn’t even know how to hold the weapon they’d scrabbled so fiercely for. Those who had lost out and had no means of defending themselves looked wretched and beat down already. The place stank of desperation. One man, in the far corner, lay dead. His dagger stolen from him, but not before it was used to silence him. These games are a farce, Sangfroid decided. There’s nothing honourable about them. These people could never survive in an arena; it was nothing less than murder to throw them into one. But then this is not battle, Sangfroid reminded herself, this is entertainment of the basest kind.
The guards came for them at around midday. By now Sangfroid had become accustomed to the roar of the crowd that came and went like the tide, barely breaking the monotony in the cells far below.
“Right you lot. On yer feet.” The order came. They shuffled out the cell door into the corridor. Farther on down, the animal pens were opening. Oxen and horses and even scrawny camels spilled out into the throng. They too were malnourished and nervous from being penned up too long. They skittered sideways, stomping on the hapless felons, crushing toes and knocking people to the floor or against the walls. Sangfroid side-stepped the lurching gait of an old milk cow, acutely aware of her missing boots. She hated the thought of dying without them; it was so cliché.
“You. The tall one.” A shout made her look back. Kronos waved at her from the back of the crowd. “Get over ’ere.”
Sangfroid pushed through the press and came to stand before Kronos and two of his guards. She towered over them; she towered over everybody. The guards shifted uneasily, and she liked that. They should feel threatened. Given the opportunity, she’d happily kill them and then go look for breakfast.
“Was yer mother an Amazon or what?” Kronos squinted up at her. His question seemed genuine enough. Sangfroid said nothing. She wasn’t going to discuss her mother with this scat-heap.
“I got something special for you.” Kronos continued, unconcerned at Sangfroid’s silence. He turned away obviously expecting to be followed.
“I want my boots,” Sangfroid said and stood her ground. Kronos hesitated.
“Yer in no position to make demands.” He spat out a wad of mucus and avoided Sangfroid’s gaze.
“I want my boots. They’ll be no use to you when I rip your legs off.”
The guards raised their swords, but it was a half-hearted gesture. Their feet scuffed the stone floor, ready to take flight. These weren’t real soldiers, Sangfroid realized. These were no more that hopped up jailers and animal handlers. Their job was to bully the weak and defenceless in their last hours, to be cruel and neglectful to the animals in their care. They could no more fight than their charges could. She bared her teeth and growled. She had an impressive growl—low and dangerous—that reverberated menacingly in her chest. She could mash these snivelling little pretend men with her bare hands and best they knew it.
“Get ’im his bleedin’ boots,” Kronos snarled at a guard. “They’re too big anyways.” His face was hard set, and Sangfroid realized whatever she’d been singled out for was more important to Kronos than a pair of old army boots.
The guard returned quickly. “A name fer the boots, fair exchange.” Kronos held them just out of reach. He seemed incapable of delivering cleanly on a deal.
“Sangfroid.” She snatched her boots from his grasp and shoved them on. She stomped the soles on the ground with a satisfying slap and felt immediately better.
“I has a specialty for you, Sangfroid. You’re a giant, see, and I has to make good use of you for Severus Ex. Can’t let the Emperor get bored now, can we?” Kronos walked away, and Sangfroid fell into step beside him. “See, my predecessor bored him. Just a little, but it was enough to get his nose cut off and buried up to his neck in an anthill. Not nice. I had to watch. It was part of the promotion package.” He tutted. “I was sat there for three days.”
Sangfroid looked at him sourly, not interested in his sordid little shock tactics. She’d seen ants the size of houses. She’d seen ants that shat houses.
“Where you from then?” Kronos tried a new tack. “They all as big as you back home, huh?”
Sangfroid ignored the questio
n. “What specialty?” she asked, instead.
“This way.” Kronos led her farther into the area with the animal pens. He halted by a tall wooden stall. “Her.” He nodded at the gates. “She’s your specialty.”
A serpentine tube, constructed of metal rings squirmed over the gate and tapped Sangfroid square in the chest, before worming up to her chin. It roamed over her face, only to poke her in the eye, before fumbling through her hair.
“Bloody hell,” she said, ducking away. “What is it?”
“She likes you.” Kronos laughed mirthlessly. The door opened a crack. Sangfroid looked aghast at the huge elephant looking down at her. Her skull was flesh but her ears and trunk were mechanical plates which slid and expanded over each other in a life-like synchronicity.
“What the hell is it?” Sangfroid asked again, swatting the trunk away. Her eyes told her it was an elephant, but logic said something else—something monstrous.
“An old toy of Severus’s,” Kronos answered. “But even she’s boring now, so it’s to the arena with her.” A huge blast of steam billowed out from the elephant pen and fogged up the corridor so thickly that they couldn’t see each other for a moment.
“A steam elephant?” Sangfroid was stunned. The steam began to dissipate, and she took another hard look. She had never heard of such a thing. It was amazing.
“Half and half,” Kronos said. “Part real, part machine. Powered by steam and, unfortunately, hay. Except we don’t have none of that, so she’s in foul form.”
“Yeah.” The guard who looked after the animal pens spoke up. “She weren’t cuddling you, she were sniffin’ you out fer food. She’s sneaky.”
“You want me to ride her?” Sangfroid asked. She was confused. She wasn’t sure if she’d be happy on the back of an elephant. She’d rather be on the ground doing what she did best—fighting for her life.
The Tea Machine Page 23