“As always,” said the Elder in a voice of complete satisfaction.
“I was on my way out of Pera when the message arrived,” Jaluban volunteered.
“Where were you going?”
“East…” ventured Jaluban. “I thought it would be less conspicuous to get away by land. I thought the Hunter would be looking at all water traffic and at the islands west of Pera.”
“Good,” the Elder said with approval. “I don’t want to know your mission,” he warned. “I don’t want that information. All I require from you is assistance to get to safety.”
Jaluban maintained a respectful silence. He had little to contribute, in any event.
“I am ready,” the Elder repeated expectantly.
“Then we can go,” Jaluban said.
“I smell of fish,” the Elder said with a disdainful sniff.
It could not be helped, thought Jaluban. There needed to be a disguise. “I apologize, Elder,” he said meekly. “It will be for a short time, only.” At least I hope so, he thought fervently.
“Then I think we may go,” the Elder consented. “Come, follow me. Follow my steps.” His steps echoed on the marble flooring. Jaluban remained some distance behind the sound of the steps. It would be beyond embarrassing to trip over the Elder’s feet.
The steps stopped.
“We are at the back entrance to the Dark Chamber,” the Elder announced. “This is a secret door. You must swear to keep it hidden.”
Not another secret! “I swear by the Dark One to uphold the secret of the door,” intoned Jaluban. He heard the sound of a key fiddling in a lock. Judging by the sounds emanating from the door, Jaluban assumed it must be a large key trying to negotiate a little-used, rusty lock.
Eventually, the lock gave way, and the door opened to a hallway lit by gas lamps…
37
“You are being so secretive, darling…” Cat grumbled. “Why won’t you just tell us where we’re going? If it’s much longer, I insist on getting into one of those carriage things!”
“Just a few more steps. Don’t be so impatient.”
“It’s already taken a lot more than a few steps,” Cat continued with ill humor.
“Well, just a few more,” Orion assured her. “Just a few short steps to the fights…”
“The fights? What fights? What? Like a boxing fight?” she said angrily.
“Not boxing,” Orion smiled slyly. “You’ll see… I think you’ll find the fights interesting at the very least. Besides, if you must know, the first mate of the Green Dragon is supposed to be there. You remember the ship that wanted to attack us? Well, I want to talk to him.”
“But of course–” Bruce laughed. “We’re a good cover.”
Orion said with a sly grin, “I thought you’d like a guided tour of Pera by night.”
“Guided tour my foot!” Cat cried, stamping her foot. “Fine. Tour guide: where are we now?” She flashed Orion a defiant look.
“Well, we are actually still in Shady’s neighborhood. He patrols here when he’s on blinders’ duty. And here,” Orion continued, stopping before a brick warehouse-like building, “is our destination. This is where the fights take place.”
“At the Association for the Welfare and Advancement of Fowl?” Cat looked dubious. “Is this a joke?”
“No, it’s the championships,” Shady said.
They followed Orion through black iron doors, which were decorated on either side with the stylized forms of two roosters facing each other in mid-leap.
Cat looked around her sharply. “Surely not…” she murmured.
Before them lay a large hall bustling with people, mostly men. It was overlaid with a thick haze of smoke, but what really dominated the senses were the smells and sounds of…
“A cockfight?” Father Griffith cried, aghast.
Orion laughed happily. “Not a cockfight,” he corrected, “it’s the championship.”
Cat sighed philosophically. “This certainly isn’t how I would have chosen to spend my evening,” she said, “but now that we’re here, Orion darling, I certainly hope you will do all you can to get the information you need as quickly as possible because you’re not dragging me out here again! No wonder you didn’t tell us before we got here…”
“You might surprise yourself by actually enjoying it,” Orion replied.
“I think not,” Father Griffith said gravely. “I am absolutely certain that I can never enjoy the barbarity of a cockfight. These are also God’s little defenseless creatures,” he added indignantly.
“I wouldn’t be too prejudiced, Father,” Orion said.
“What is that contraption?” Bruce asked, pointing to a web of ropes that hung from the ceiling in the middle of the hall. The web was so low as to almost graze the heads of the spectators below. A small-statured, wiry man hung idly among the strands. He appeared to be tethered from his wrists and ankles to the complex structure of ropes.
“That’s the Betsmaster’s web,” Orion explained. “It sits above the pit–” he gestured to the area below the web – barely visible among throngs of people congregating noisily, “so that the Betsmaster – that’s the man you see up there – can take bets as the fight progresses. It’s called incremental betting,” Orion continued. “It was actually specially formulated by Selcan. This is what I was telling you about. She is a gifted mathematician. She modeled the incremental betting system. She and Carl worked together as a matter of fact. He was a physicist but very practical. More of an engineer in many ways. He designed the Betsmaster’s web.
“So, incremental betting is a system in which bets are taken, not only for the ultimate result of the match, tournament, or game, but for several increments. For instance, in the fights, people will bet on how long one of the fighters will remain in the pit. You’ll see. It will make sense when the fight begins. Come on: let’s find seats before the fight starts. It won’t be long.”
The crowds parted deferentially for Orion, allowing them to approach the sandy area of the pit surrounded on all four sides by several rows of seats. Orion scanned the rows and apparently finding one to his liking, strode determinedly towards it.
“Hello,” Orion said, taking a seat next to a bald man in the front row. The left side of the man’s face had a large black spider tattooed across it. Three others who had been sitting near the man with the spider tattoo got up unobtrusively and left. Shady guided Cat to one of the recently vacated seats.
The man with the spider tattoo glanced warily at Orion and shifted in his seat.
“So?” Orion said expectantly.
“What?” The man with the spider tattoo looked defensive.
Orion shook his head and sighed. “Come on, Spider. It’s me.”
Spider looked straight ahead. “I don’t know much,” he said morosely.
Orion said nothing.
“I swear, I don’t know much!”
Still, Orion was silent.
“Damn you!” hissed Spider. He lifted up his hands submissively. “I’ll tell you everything I know. It’s not much, though,” he warned.
“Spider is – I should say was – the first mate of the Green Dragon,” Orion explained pleasantly, turning to Cat and Bruce, who were seated next to each other on the other side of the man with the tattoo. “That’s the pirate ship that tried to attack us as we crossed the Light Veil– you remember?” he continued, in the same unhurried tone.
“As I said, I know practically nothing!” Spider protested. “You know how it is– the captain tells the crew nothing. Next to nothing. You get your money… that’s it.” He looked at Orion hopefully.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Orion replied and heaved a sigh of resignation. “I expected too much. I told Patron you would know. She’s not happy, as you might imagine–”
“Patron? She – she–” the pirate blustered. “It wasn’t about Patron–” he said lamely.
“No? You were planning to attack the Flying Fish.”
Spider balled
up his fists – big, meaty, calloused things. “I wish I had known when we set out, but I swear, I swear I didn’t know who we were going to attack until Peter came out of the Veil in Patron’s lifeboat.”
“No?”
“Am I lying?” Spider turned to face Orion, slapping his chest. “You can tell. I know you can. You know I’m not lying. Right? I swear I didn’t know we were going to attack the Flying Fish when we set out–” he paused.
“But you knew when you arrived at the Light Veil,” Orion said slowly. “I see.”
“I didn’t know like that. Teodor didn’t tell me. I just knew because–” he paused, at a loss for words.
“Who else could come from beyond the Veil?” Orion said. It was a rhetorical question.
Spider hung his head. “Yeah. Who else but the Flying Fish? And I think – but I don’t know mind you, because I’m not like you, I can’t read a person’s mind. Not like you. I think someone–” he groaned, shaking his head hesitantly.
“Go on–” Orion prompted. “Just say it.”
“I think maybe… but it’s just a guess, mind, that there were people …um… connected with the mayor behind it.”
“Hmm…” Orion inclined his head noncommittally.
“I’m not gonna say it out loud,” Spider said softly. “I’m not. You can read it in my mind anyway.” He looked around furtively.
“You might have a good point,” Orion said amiably. “I must consider this carefully. You’ve been very helpful. I will tell Patron before the next meeting of the APCU.”
“Would you?” Spider looked up gratefully. “Right. I mean you know I didn’t mean to attack Patron – or you,” he added quickly. “Why would I? That’s stupid. Teodor must have been itching for a meeting with the Dark One!” He laughed uncomfortably.
“The fight’s starting,” Orion said, dismissing him with a curt nod. Spider rose quickly and left.
“So?” Cat asked eagerly, sliding to the seat Spider had vacated. “What did you find out?”
“Shh,” Orion whispered and patted her hand. “The fight’s about to start. We’ll talk afterwards.”
“Ugh!” Cat looked with disgust at the sandy square pit which was in the process of being raked by a man in a black overall.
“He’s called the Sweeper,” Orion explained, and then leaned across her to Bruce and Father Griffith. “The fight will start momentarily,” he said.
Father Griffith sighed and shook his head sadly as a tall man with fair hair stepped into the pit. He raised his arms to quell the whistles and applause.
“Welcome,” he began, standing in the middle of the pit. The applause erupted anew. The man waited a few moments for the applause to settle. Above him, the Betsmaster checked the fastenings on his ankles and flexed his legs, then attached a board to his waist that stood out at an angle.
“I have the pleasure of welcoming the two most celebrated fighters of this season,” the man announced as two men approached the pit from opposite sides, each proudly bearing a burden in his arms.
“To my right–” the master of ceremonies bellowed, motioning to a stocky, hirsute character, “is Chagatay.” The man raised his squirming bundle to the crowd. The bundle received considerable applause.
“Chagatay is a seasoned fighter. This is his third season. His record is 42 to 10.”
Chagatay’s bearer took a seat in a chair at one end of the square, holding his excited charge.
“To my left is Bora. Fighting for two seasons. His record is 20 to 5.”
A gaunt, grumpy-looking man brought out the illustrious Bora, holding him aloft for all to see and appreciate.
“Fighters in the pit!”
The men stepped into the pit bearing the two squirming birds.
“Fighters in the pit,” the master of ceremonies repeated, stepping out of the sand, “hold them!”
And when they let go, the two creatures in the sandpit dashed madly towards each other to engage in an ancient, instinctive fight.
Orion motioned them to draw closer and explained the rules of the tournament. “The fight lasts two hours with four breaks of fifteen minutes each.”
Father Griffith regarded the birds diffidently. They were unlike the familiar flamboyant creatures with their red crowns, heralding the dawn. These were wiry, long necked, short feathered, and sported stubby, scar-like headpieces. They certainly seemed eager to fight. The bird on the right, Chagatay, was bigger and taller than Bora. A useful attribute when one’s focus in life appeared to be to leap up to inflict head injuries on one’s opponent.
“It is utterly cruel!” Father Griffith retorted, watching the larger Chagatay repeatedly pounce upon the smaller Bora from a height and inflict sharp jabs from his beak and talons. Bora, for his part, fought back valiantly and was able to land some strikes of his own. “And unfair, too,” Father Griffith added indignantly. “How is the smaller one supposed to defend itself? This is absolute barbarism!”
Orion leaned towards him. “It’s not unfair. Watch and you’ll understand.”
“I have no intention of sitting through this bloodletting,” he said, rising from his seat. “I shall go for a walk. Bruce, Cat, would you care to join me?”
“I don’t really understand why we’re here either,” Bruce said. “I mean you got the information you wanted I presume. If you want to stay and watch, that’s fine, but I think Roland’s right, I have no particular taste for this either. It does seem pointless and cruel.”
“I can’t stop you, if you want to leave,” Orion replied, “but it would be a good idea if you stayed. It’s true that one of the birds has a size advantage, but the true aim of the fight is not for one of them to beat the other in the conventional sense. Watch a little longer. You can leave whenever you wish.”
Father Griffith sighed and reluctantly sat down. With difficulty he continued to watch. At the end of the first quarter, Bora had sustained a few blows to the head, which had caused bleeding, but had not slowed the bird; he had held his own and fought back, wounding Chagatay under the left eye. The owners picked up their charges and ministered to them during the short break.
The second quarter was similar to the first. The birds continued to leap, peck, claw at each other’s heads and eyes. The smaller, Bora, had fallen prey to a greater degree of gouges to his head, but the wounds had not affected his energy level. Although unable to rise as high, the little creature showed a determinedly belligerent spirit. Chagatay too, showed no signs of fatigue.
At the start of the third round, the Betsmaster came to life, as several members of the audience started shouting out bets.
“Bora to run at the end of the quarter!”
“Bora won’t run!” shouted another.
“What are they saying?” Father Griffith asked, puzzled.
“That’s incremental betting,” Orion explained. “They are betting on whether Bora – the smaller bird – will run away before the end of the quarter.”
The third quarter was different. Chagatay, with his greater size and athleticism, had established his dominance within the first half. As the minutes wore on, they watched Chagatay peck repeatedly at Bora’s head and left eye. By the end of the quarter the birds were slowing, both had grown tired. Bora’s head was swollen and bloody, yet the birds fought on without respite. Again there was a break and the birds were borne away to their respective corners to be washed and ministered to.
“That poor creature,” Father Griffith said with emotion, shaking his head. “Both of them, actually. What have they done to us that we think it’s all right to watch one of them kill the other?”
“Don’t worry, neither of them will die,” Orion said reassuringly. “I’ve never seen a bird die and I’ve been to dozens of fights. They are accustomed to this, and besides, it’s in their nature – their instinct is to fight. They are treated well. Once the fight ends, they will both be properly medicated, but right now, unless there’s an eye out, they’ll be washed and put back.”
“What h
appens if a bird runs?” Cat asked.
“The rooster that runs away from a fight… that’s the worst thing. He will never fight again. Once a runner, always a runner…”
“He will be killed then, I bet,” Father Griffith said pointedly.
“No,” Orion replied, shaking his head. “The roosters are not killed. They live out their natural lifespans, but a rooster that runs away – well, he won’t be allowed to pass on that trait, of course. He won’t be allowed to reproduce.”
“That makes sense,” Cat said. “Shush! The next quarter’s beginning. They are bringing them back.”
“Yes. This is the most important quarter,” Orion said. “At this point, the bets will constantly change. Watch the Betsmaster,” Orion advised and motioned upwards. “Selcan created the whole betting scheme here, by the way. The Betsmaster, everything.”
Father Griffith watched the owners cradle their birds, speaking to them animatedly. Then the bell rang, announcing the final round. Bora’s owner brought him to the pit and placed him gently in the sand with an encouraging “Come on son!” The birds became immediately entangled.
At first Bora could still fight back, albeit with difficulty. He made an enormous effort to jump and peck his opponent, but reeled under the blows he received. Eventually, the onslaught of beak and claw had taken its toll: Bora’s eyes were no longer visible through the blood and the swelling. Father Griffith controlled the urge to rush to the pit and run off with the small animal still valiantly standing, feeling revulsion at the jostling crowd screaming their bets. There were two men to his right who vociferously argued (and betted) that Bora would run before the end of the match. The Betsmaster above demanded that they specify when the bird would run.
“He’ll run in ten minutes,” shouted one.
“He’ll run in five,” riposted another, holding up five fingers for emphasis. Another man lunged forward from Bora’s camp with a resonant “He’ll never run!”
Of course he will not run! thought Father Griffith, indignant on behalf of the brave little bird, swaying in pain, and yet standing his ground. Never giving way.
the Dark shall do what Light cannot Page 36