by O. J. Lowe
And if she reported in her suspicions, she’d be complicit in another. If Wade Wallerington was one of the men who’d chased down the Mistress, then he too would need to be dealt with. It would unlikely be her who did that. Not when she’d already found it out. Taking someone by surprise was one thing. Killing a suspected Unisco agent was something else entirely, something beyond her specialities. She’d been there with Ritellia and that loathsome Thomas Jerome when he’d told them he was pulling out due to injury. The irony, she had to note. He’d had to pull out of the greatest opportunity of his life because he’d sought to interfere with something that didn’t concern him. The Mistress’ dream trumped the vision of one puny little spirit caller.
It would make everything better. And that was all the justification she felt she would ever need as the projector fired into life and she heard the dial-up tone.
Here we go…
It felt like an age as the image of the Mistress flared into life in front of her, a neutral look on her aristocratic features. She was always hard to read, today her emotions were almost opaque.
“Yes?!”
She didn’t sound impressed. Unscheduled communications were her forte after all, not those of her underlings. Alana steeled herself and kept her face neutral. Showing too much emotion, it would be her undoing. It’d make the Mistress question what she was hearing, perhaps more so than normal. She could see the Mistress’ manicured hands tapping impatiently on her desk at the other end of the communication and she made the choice to just plunge right in.
“I have a report, my Mistress,” she said slowly. She wasn’t worried about being overheard. Not in the slightest. These lines had the best possible security wired into them to keep out eavesdroppers.
“Then report.” She didn’t just look impatient, she sounded it as well.
“Your last order was carried out,” she said. Even if nobody was going to hear it, it wasn’t wise to utter the words ‘I killed’ and ‘Maddley’ in consecutive order where it could be recorded. Even less of a good idea was owning up to it. She didn’t want the Mistress to have that sort of evidence against her. “But there’s something else. Something I think you should be aware of.”
She paused, teasing the words silently around the inside of her mouth for a moment to make sure they felt right. She couldn’t afford to slip.
“Something I should be aware of, Ms Fuller?” She could hear the amusement. “Do tell, please.”
That was when she went right out with it. “As you know, I’ve been keeping close to Mr Ritellia as per your orders. And recently I went with him to the hospital to visit someone injured in the recent incident when the ICCC building was attacked here on the island.” The building you blew up, she didn’t add. It wouldn’t add anything to the conversation other than the Mistress’ ire. “And there’s something that just keeps playing about in my head. Are you aware that Wade Wallerington pulled out of the tournament?”
The Mistress bobbed her head briefly. “What of it?”
Oh my… You really don’t see it? Are you really that clueless on this? Or is there something more to this? Alana wondered about it silently. Unisco did wear those devices that obscured their identities, maybe it left some sort of permanent psychological block on the mind of anyone who saw them.
“Wade Wallerington says he was injured when the ICCC building was attacked. I’ve seen some of the footage of that attack. There was… Someone being chased and two chasing on dragons. Wade Wallerington owns several dragons. Someone got blasted at point blank range. His injuries match up with what you’d expect from that. Burns. Partial vision loss. I asked a doctor innocently, I managed to coax it out of him that the injuries were anomalous compared to the others injured in the incident. He put it down to luck.”
The Mistress had stopped tapping her fingernails on the desk, she sat forward with her chin in her hands and looked to be deep in thought. For a full ten seconds she didn’t say anything and Alana found herself curious as to what was going on inside that head.
“Sometimes I find it hard to believe in luck,” she said. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
As the words came out, Alana couldn’t help but wonder if she’d just signed the death warrant of Wade Wallerington. If he was what she’d just voiced her suspicions as, then the Mistress couldn’t let him live. She just couldn’t. It was unfortunate for him but it would appear she’d made her choices and now they were something she would have to live with. That didn’t bother her as much as she thought it might have. Killing Maddley… Being ready to eliminate Ritellia if the order came down, it may have changed things. She found herself wondering how things had gotten so far out of hand so quickly.
This wasn’t what she’d signed up for. But it was to be what she’d ended up with. A means to an end. That was all it was.
Paradise would come. And she would be there on one of the upper echelons of that paradise, if not a queen then perhaps a duchess or something similar. Everything would be worth it.
It had to be.
She assumed that would be the end of it, at least until the Mistress spoke again to her surprise.
“One more thing. My brother made contact. Well done, Ms Fuller. You make me very happy. Thank you.”
The fourteenth day of Summerpeak.
“I’m sorry,” Pete said. “Just explain this to me one more time. I still can’t get my head around it.”
“I’ve told you like five times now,” Scott replied, his temper rising a little. Okay, so it was a little hard to believe but that wasn’t the point. It was true, he’d experienced it for himself and if people couldn’t come to accept that then there was something wrong with them. “It spoke to me. It called me bagmeat and ran off.”
“I believe him,” Mia said. She was perched on one of the chairs, her legs folded underneath her and she was fiddling about with her summoner. Pete rounded on her almost immediately, determined to call her on it. Inwardly, Scott blanched.
“I’m sorry, you’re disregarding everything you’ve seen over the course of your life and just accepting his word on it? Really? Are you sure that’s the best idea?”
“I also think it’s worth accepting that sometimes things happen in life that are new,” Mia snapped. “I mean just because it hasn’t happened doesn’t mean that it won’t. Are you really so confident that we’ve seen every new thing this life has to offer?” She continued to stare at him for a moment, until confident he wasn’t going to come out with a comeback and then went back to fiddling with her summoner.
“Forget the fact whether it spoke or not,” Scott said. “It’s not actually that important right now. The important thing is capturing it. I need to do it. I really do. And given I tried once and it gave me the run-around, I need another way of doing it.”
“Best way to trap ghosts is to use a particle barrier,” Pete said. “It stops them from, like you said, giving you the run-around. I mean I’ve never been a particular fan of using them to hunt spirits but if needs must, I’m sure we could rustle up one from somewhere.”
“Yeah because particle barriers are really that common,” Mia offered. “They’re specialist equipment…”
“They are but you can rig one up from other stuff,” Pete said. “I’ve been told.”
“Can you rig one up from scratch?” Mia asked. Pete shook his head reluctantly. “Then why are you even bringing it up?”
“Because there might be someone around here who can,” Pete retorted. “What are you even doing here anyway?”
“Pete?!” Scott exclaimed. “No need, my man. No need. I’m taking any help I can get right now.”
And besides, he wanted to add, she’s here because I want her to be here. He didn’t say it out loud. It’d bring up too many questions from Pete and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer them yet. Not that he was ashamed. There was something forming between him and Mia and he just wanted to enjoy that privacy for the moment while it was still something intimate to be celebrated.
In time he’d be shouting it from the rooftops. Maybe when he won this entire thing. He had a chance now, he could feel it. He was getting closer. The third round was starting shortly, with Pete’s sister kicking the round off. They all knew who they’d be facing now. It didn’t get any easier from here on out. In a way, it was why he wanted the ghost, he supposed. It’d be a powerfully potent addition to his squad. The way it had run rings around him and Palawi, if he could tap into that and bring out its best, it’d make him that little bit harder to beat.
Of course, even if he did manage to track it down before his bout with Weronika Saarth, there probably wouldn’t be any point in sending it straight into battle. It might be asking for trouble. Those who used untested spirits straight in at the deep end did tend to regret it. It was a chance he just couldn’t afford to take.
He was confident about it any way. He didn’t know much about Saarth. But rather her than Katherine Sommer, Pete’s opponent. He’d heard rumours about that woman, he’d seen her battle before and she was a merciless fighter. Pete was already looking worried about the whole thing. Scott knew he knew he had a tough fight ahead and while some part of him might be relishing it, he also knew Pete would have wanted someone easier.
Hey, you need to beat the best sometime, buddy. Might as well be now. Going out at this point would hurt. Going out to the same opponent in later rounds would be even more painful.
“Okay,” he said, suddenly startling himself out of his thoughts. “There has to be someone on this island who can rig together a particle barrier out of basic stuff. What say we go find them and ask them for their help? But on the sly, like. Because I don’t want this getting out. I don’t want someone else catching my spirit.”
“It’s not your spirit until you claim it,” Pete said. “Remember that.”
Scott felt a flush flare in his cheeks and he clenched his fists together, the action surprising him. That was a bit of an excessive involuntary reaction. He was right. It wasn’t his. He still needed to claim it. But… It felt like he was almost halfway there. It was his in all but reality. He could still feel the traces of their connection, he could remember how it had spoken to him and there was a part of him that felt it on the island no matter where he was.
“Not yet,” he said softly. “But it will be, Pete. I promise you that.”
The fifteenth day of Summerpeak.
“And Theobald Jameson will be facing Sharon Arventino… Arventino… Arventino… Arventino…”
That memory was going to haunt him, he knew it. The morning after the draw and he’d woken up with the words echoing through the mind. Sharon Arventino. Possibly the single toughest caller left remaining in the competition since Wade had quit. Theo had snorted when he’d heard that. So much for being tough. He’d walked away when the going had gotten tough. It hadn’t sounded like his injuries were that bad.
He hadn’t mentioned his thoughts to Anne. Not a chance that he was doing that. Not that he cared what she thought, of course. It just wasn’t relevant to any sort of interaction they’d had since then, before or after and he wasn’t about to waste words on something that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that a tough opponent had been removed from the fields of play without him needing to face him. Because Anne Sullivan’s training or not, he doubted there’d have been much he could do to stop Wade should he come out with his full force mustered against him. In the five matches he’d won so far, Wade had been imperious and in a way, Theo felt it was a shame he wouldn’t be able to try his strength against him. Except more of him was relieved that he wouldn’t have to.
Besides he’d been training with Anne. And as sceptical as he’d been back at the start that it was a good idea, he had to admit that it hadn’t been the worse one he’d agreed to. Anne was a deceptively skilful caller, she’d have to be and already he’d agreed to visit her home town after the tournament to see her preside over one of the local competitions she held dominion over.
Back there that day when he’d been in the café having breakfast… She’d come over, her and that friend of hers and he’d been in a less than welcoming mood. Still she’d persisted and he’d caught sight of her several times over the next several days. He didn’t think she was stalking him. The way she moved, so graceful and delicate, he got the impression that he wouldn’t see her if she didn’t want him to. That thought was even more impressive when you considered she had such a distinctive appearance with her soft silvery hair.
And then there’d been that one day that he’d turned and she’d been there talking to Brendan King of all people and something had shifted in him. What they’d been talking about, he couldn’t say, he hadn’t been close enough to hear but it had looked a serious discussion but he’d waited until it was over and they’d split. She’d come towards him. It felt like she had that uncanny ability to know who was in her surroundings, she’d homed straight in on him and given him a smile as he’d stood with hands in pockets.
“Theobald Jameson,” she’d said with a smile. “Hello.”
He’d seen the twitch as he savagely corrected her, anger flooding through him as she used his full name. Nobody used his full name. He hated that they used it on the draw for the competition, despite him insisting that they call him Theo. Theobald was the name his father had given him and it was a name he despised almost as much as he despised the man. He’d already changed his surname to break associations with the man. Nothing to connect them now. “Don’t call me that!” he’d spat. “Theo, please. Just Theo. Nothing else.”
When the shocked twitch had faded, he’d seen some trace of amusement on her face and if anything, it was quite soothing. When he reacted like that, people tended to avoid him. It was part of the reason he did it sometimes to break up irritating conversations. If he didn’t want to hear what people had to say, then he didn’t listen to them. Period. Sometimes it was over before it even began.
Was it a little stupid? Not at all. He didn’t think so. He only had so much time to become the best and he wasn’t going to waste it on niceties. That was for the weak. Those who wanted to be liked more than they wanted to devote their path solely to victory. He wasn’t one of them. Sure, there were those able to capture the hearts and minds of those around them, be adored and admired for not only being strong but for being nice about it as well. Yet he’d noticed something about them. They were growing increasingly few and far between. You could be one or the other, he honestly felt that and he wasn’t going to waste time on being liked. After all this wasn’t a popularity contest. It was a series of brutal battles and you couldn’t waste time with pathetic emotions like worry and a desire to be popular.
His actions would be that which brought admiration.
It wasn’t surprising that Anne seemed to disagree with his outlook. Some did. A lot did. They didn’t understand that victory took sacrifice. She said she respected his single-minded desire and sheer stubbornness. Those first few training sessions had been cause for amusement more than anything else. He hadn’t seen the point, hadn’t wanted to see what she was on about. She had a pedigree as a caller, he could respect that a lot, but as to what she was getting at here, it had escaped him.
He didn’t even know what had possessed him to agree with doing it. He’d done fine on his own for so long and why he should need it now… Except he’d remembered the bout on the boat with Nick Roper and it had put him into a cold sweat. He wasn’t ready for the best of the best. They could still beat him through a mix of sheer power and experience, tactics and willpower, all of which he could possess in theory but wasn’t quite there yet.
His strategy had always been strong attack, strong defence, press the psychological advantage. Intimidate the opponent. He’d always considered it a good starting point but Anne had put it to him another way. What happened when the opponents defence was stronger than your attack? Their power unleashed greater than your ability to resist it? What happened when they weren’t intimidated by you? Only then did he start to unders
tand the thinking behind what she was getting at. Sometimes, you need an alternative plan in case things aren’t going your way. And despite her slight figure and her youthful face, he got the impression she really wasn’t intimidated by his attempts to psych her out in battle. And he had needed to adapt to be able to bring her down.
Those first few battles with her, he’d gone with his usual strategy and he’d won. Then she’d slowly stepped up her game, adapted her own style every time so that previous engagements were useless to draw up on. If he pushed, she pulled back, made him come up short. If he hung back, she did the same, drawing on his dislike of primarily defensive tactics. If he set up to counter attack, she didn’t give him the opportunities to hit back.
The point, she’d told him, was that following the same strategy every time makes you predictable. And when you’re predictable, you’re easy to beat. She’d pointed out some of the other callers in the tournament and showed that despite their lack of power compared to him, their unpredictability and guile in the arena made them a lot more formidable than they first appeared.
Training with her, he had to admit, was dare he say it, fun. She’d come in out of nowhere and throw him a challenge, maybe put it in the form of a contest or a bet like she had the last time…
… Take me to dinner. He’d been amused by that. He’d had to do it, of course. She’d found the key to bringing down Atlas once more and that didn’t annoy him as much as it might have done. When he’d realised that, he’d almost felt physically ill with himself. What sort of effect was she having on him? Before he would have been furious with a loss like that and now he was accepting it.
Unsurprisingly she’d had words for that. Maturing. Sometimes, Anne had said, you need to accept things. You must accept that sometimes you can’t do everything. Sometimes you need to accept that the loss wasn’t anything to do with you. Sometimes you need to accept that the opponent was just that little bit better. It doesn’t do you down any less. Just use it as a spur to work harder in the future. Make sure it doesn’t happen again. Only if you refuse to learn from it, should you be angry and then only with yourself.