Headed by Pyncheon, the Chief Marshal, the Directorate was the legal power in Gindeen that answered only to the Protector. It had jurisdiction over the whole city, but its main focus was on the Wheel. It was anautocratic system, and once charged, people were invariably found guilty. Tyron wasn’t exaggerating. To release lacs in that way was fraught with peril.
Kwin shrugged. ‘Then you’ve got until the end of the season, Father dear,’ she said with a smile. ‘So bring a lot of pressure to bear in the right places.’
Tyron nodded and rose to his feet. ‘Well, Leif, back to training. You’ve a lot of work to do before the start of the season.’
A TUMBLE
We all fall down.
Amabramsum: the Genthai Book of Wisdom
The months passed quickly. Deinon and I had worked hard and were now excited that the new Arena 13 season was underway. The mud in the streets had begun to harden and the late spring sun was warm. Now, early inthe first week of the season, we reached the evening scheduled for Tallus’s first contest.
I walked into the gallery with Deinon and Tyron, who had booked seats three rows up from the front. We’d have a really good view.
It was the first time I’d been into the gallery since the previous season, and once again it took my breath away. It was far superior to the other arenas, and not just because it held two thousand spectators. The tiers ofseats had all been re-upholstered in expensive red leather and the smell pervaded the air. The torches had been newly gilded in gold and silver, including the huge candelabrum that was lowered from the high ceiling toilluminate the arena.
It showed that combat in Arena 13 was generating as much wealth as ever. This was a rich man’s game.
As usual, the women were dressed in their finest silks, their lips painted black, while the men wore the coloured sashes that denoted their trades. Over the odour of new leather I could detect a variety of femaleperfumes on the air.
Only one smell was missing: the stench of blood that I’d smelled on first entering Arena 13 the previous year – probably because the season had only just begun. There would be time enough for that smell to be addedto the mix.
I was looking forward to seeing how the new trainees would perform, including Tyron’s. I wanted to weigh up the opposition. After all, hopefully I would be fighting against them soon. If it wasn’t this season, then itwould certainly be next. Tyron was afraid that if I did enter the Lists, Hob would come to the arena to claim my life. I didn’t dare tell him of the challenge I’d issued to Hob down in the Commonality. Even to me it nowseemed reckless and hot-headed – guaranteed to cause Hob to do exactly that.
Common sense told me that despite my need for revenge, I needed to make progress before I faced the djinni; I also needed a first-rate lac to fight with – one patterned to the highest level.
But although new young talent would enter the Lists this season, it was the contest between Tallus and Brandon that was most eagerly anticipated. It had drawn a big crowd; the gallery was full to bursting and therewas excitement in the air. The gambling houses were doing a roaring trade, and as we walked down the steps towards the front, we passed close to an agent. He nodded to Tyron, who walked on past, and then stoppedDeinon and me, thrusting a bunch of red tickets under our noses.
‘Well worth a go,’ the tout gabbled, spittle flying from his mouth as he spoke. ‘Tallus could take a tumble.’
He talked so quickly that it was hard to follow his words. But slowly I began to appreciate the full horror of what was on offer. I’d watched a grudge match fought to the death, and noted the bets that it attracted. Butthis was a novice combatant, and the tout was offering odds on a range of results, from cuts to death.
‘Bad cut gets you five times your stake,’ he said. ‘If he’s maimed, it’s worth twenty, but that depends on medical confirmation later. It has to be ratified. Death gets you a hundred. And he’s green, my lucky lads, just afirst-timer, still wet behind the ears. One in ten takes a tumble.’
We shook our heads and walked on. Neither of us was interested in gambling. It was a mug’s game – as Deinon had demonstrated using simple mathematics. I’d never been interested in gambling on stick-fighting,preferring to take part than be a spectator.
‘What does he mean by a “tumble”?’ Deinon asked Tyron as we paused at the end of our row of seats. ‘That’s what the tout said is likely to happen to Tallus. Is that just a way of saying he’ll lose?’
‘It means literally what he said, boy – that he’s very likely to fall – he’ll probably trip over his own feet. Statistics show that one in ten novices do exactly that in their first contest. And if you fall and can’t dance awayout of trouble, the lacs come looking for you with their blades. You’re very likely to get cut – occasionally very badly.’
I was proud of the fact that I’d won two contests in the Trainee Tournament. I had managed to overcome my nerves and avoid taking a tumble. However, Tallus’s first contest was to be fought under the full rules:blades would be coated with kransin, so that even the slightest cut would be extremely painful. Then, after five minutes, combatants would have to fight in front of their lacs. It would be much more daunting than thetournament I’d fought in and likely to fill a novice with nerves. The danger that Tallus faced suddenly struck me with full force.
Those red tickets were mainly on sale for grudge matches, where one contestant was likely to die – though they were also available before every contest for those who wanted them. You named a combatant, and if hewas injured, you won. Obviously, injuries were very rare or the gambling houses would have quickly become bankrupt, but it did happen. As I took my seat, I noticed that a large number of people were clutching thedistinctive red tickets.
Tallus was a novice. Statistically it was slightly more likely that he would be injured. It was as simple as that. The gambling houses didn’t offer favourable odds for such bets so that winnings were always relativelysmall. But there was such great interest in the chance of blood being spilled that lots of punters bet and when the novice didn’t take a tumble the gambling houses raked in fat profits.
At that moment I noticed someone smiling up at us from the row below.
‘Kwin’s there!’ I said, pointing her out to Tyron and giving her a wave.
‘Have you seen who’s sitting next to her?’ he asked.
At that moment her companion turned and looked up at us. I noticed that her hair was cut very short, more like a man’s than a woman’s. This had to be Ada, the artificer Tallus had bought. She wasn’t smiling, and Inoticed something else right away.
The fashion was for women to paint their lips black, but the rebellious Kwin was different. Only her upper lip was black; her lower lip was a vivid blood-red. Ada had painted her own lips in exactly the same way.
Kwin stared at me, then abruptly looked away, her attention distracted by what was happening in the arena below. Had she stared at me just because I’d been staring at her? Or was it because she liked me?
My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Tallus and his lac entering through the min door.
For a moment there was silence, and then suddenly, from high in the gallery, a male voice called out something that I didn’t catch; it must have been some sort of joke because there was laughter from the peoplearound us.
‘What did he say?’ I asked.
‘That Tallus has been eating too many pies!’ Deinon replied, laughing fit to burst.
I looked down into the arena, and one glance at Tallus showed me the reason for the jibe. I didn’t feel like laughing. Instead I felt sorry for Tallus. The regulation shorts and leather jerkin were designed to offer flesh tothe blades of the opposing lacs. Unfortunately there was a great deal of wobbly flesh on Tallus’s arms and thighs. He was no fatter than many of the male spectators, but the difference was that he had dared to enterArena 13.
You needed to be fit in order to fight here; you needed strong muscles, speed and stamina – things that Tallus lacked. He’d patterned l
acs to fight in the other arenas of the Wheel, but had never set foot in one himselfuntil this moment. If the contest wasn’t over quickly, he would surely collapse with exhaustion.
I stared down at his lac. It looked very ordinary, its armour dull and dinted in places – no different to the battered lac we used in training. But with the addition of a few new wurdes and other changes in its patterns,Tyron had so improved our lac that it had helped me to win two contests in the Trainee Tournament. I had learned that you couldn’t judge by appearances.
But how good was Tallus’s lac? Could it save him? Had the female artificer patterned sentience into it? We were about to find out.
Brandon made his entrance through the mag gate. He was a squat, thick-set man, but light on his feet, with not even a hint of flesh surplus to requirements. His tri-glad of lacs wore polished armour that looked as if ithad been bought new for the season. He was a successful campaigner and could afford it.
The candelabrum was lowered from the high ceiling, the doors rumbled shut and the trumpet shrilled. Soon the contest was underway, with Brandon drumming on the arena floor with his boots, using the sound-codeUlum to instruct his tri-glad.
Tallus looked clumsy, flat-footed and ungainly as he struggled to stay close to his armoured lac. At one point he stumbled and almost lost his balance. His own lac was being pressed hard by the three opposing lacs,and was forced back towards the arena wall.
And then disaster struck. As expected, Tallus did take a tumble. He tripped and fell full length on the arena floor – to a great roar of laughter from the crowd, followed by mocking applause.
It seemed that it was all over. All that remained now was to see how badly Tallus was injured. Brandon’s lacs would now cut his flesh to achieve victory.
But the rapid reflexes of Tallus’s own lac saved him from the razor-sharp death that arced downwards. It was no longer in retreat. Its blades moved faster than the eye could see, to stab right, left and right again, eachblade unerringly finding the throat-sockets of its three opponents.
They went down in a clang and clash of tangled metal.
And then there was utter silence. Nobody was laughing now.
A mixture of cheers, boos and catcalls followed. Some spectators were happy at Tallus’s victory; others aggrieved at having been deprived of their winnings. There was a full range of emotions: anger, astonishmentand disappointment.
‘Did you see the speed of that?’
‘That was amazing! I’ve never seen a lac move so quickly!’
‘That’s not possible. He was as good as dead.’
To our left sat a wizened old man with a 13 tattooed upon his wrinkled forehead. He was one of the aficionados, the devotees of the Trigladius mode of combat that was fought in this arena. Some of them could giveblow-by-blow accounts of contests fought years earlier.
‘Never seen the like of that!’ he exclaimed. ‘It was beautiful, but it wasn’t the Trig. That should be about a lac and a human working together in harmony. Any oaf could fight behind a lac like that.’
I watched a shower of crumpled red tickets being lobbed over the rail in disgust and disappointment – to fall around the victorious Tallus as he struggled clumsily to his feet. His lac moved forward to seal victory withthe lightest of cuts to the unprotected arm.
It was clear that Ada had patterned a lac that was a force to be reckoned with. But Tallus had some way to go. Struggling to regain his breath, he even forgot to bow to his opponent.
‘That was worth seeing,’ growled Tyron. ‘But is that lac sentient? Is it fully aware?’
The following morning he worked us hard, but at noon he had a surprise for us.
‘You can both take the afternoon off from your usual routine,’ he said. ‘You’ll be spending it in the company of my daughter. And you, Leif, had better take care not to ruin her marriage prospects. Bring her back withall her teeth.’
It was typical of Tyron’s dry humour. He was never going to let me forget that I’d once fought Kwin with sticks and ended up hitting her in the mouth.
‘Where are we going?’ Deinon asked.
‘To the dwelling of Tallus,’ Tyron replied. ‘You’re going to meet Ada. So smile and be on your very best behaviour.’
SOMETHING HAS BEEN ALTERED
Sycoda have multiple selves but a limited capacity to generate more.
The Manual of Nym
As we emerged from the narrow streets into the large sunlit open space that surrounded the Wheel, Kwin led us towards the trades area, where a small army of carpenters, caterers, chandlers and smiths worked, servicingthe arenas.
A few wagons were backed up against the curve of the wall. Inside was accommodation hired for the season by the patterners and combatants who didn’t have permanent homes in Gindeen. The wagons’ shafts layempty; as part of the deal you also got your horses stabled or your oxen put out to grass.
The rear of each wagon was bolted to the wall. The owners usually slept there, but rented a small private workshop and training facilities and kitchen just inside the Wheel. This gave them easy and cheap access to asecure area.
‘So he’s not from the city. Where does he come from?’ Deinon asked. ‘Are his family farmers?’
‘He’s from the edge of the Genthai tribal lands. He used to be a hunter before he got involved in patterning. He paid a number of city artificers to teach him Nym, but he’s mostly self-taught. And as for fighting behinda lac in Arena 13, as you saw last night, he’s had no training at all.’
‘He won’t be pleased to see us, will he? He’ll think we’re here to spy for Tyron!’ I said.
‘That’s why we’re here now,’ Kwin said with a wicked smile. ‘If all has gone to plan, Ada should be alone.’
‘Is she easy to talk to?’ I asked. ‘Your father said she had a strange accent.’
‘It’s incredible how fast she learns,’ Kwin replied. ‘At first she was hard to understand, but already her diction is almost perfect. She speaks in rather a grand manner; with anyone else you’d think they were showingoff, but it’s just her way. I like her. I think you’ll like her too.’
There was a small door set into the wall beside the wagon, and Kwin rapped lightly on it three times. A moment later it opened inwards, and she entered, beckoning us to follow.
I stepped into a small windowless workshop. My eyes were immediately drawn to the far wall. Against it was a long bench bearing pieces of armour . . . and a lac some distance away, lying on its back, all but its headcovered by a blanket. There was a torch in a wall-bracket above, and by that flickering yellow light I saw that its eyes were closed and its chest was rising and falling. It was exciting to think that this lac had astonishedeveryone in the gallery, and that I was in the presence of the woman who’d patterned it.
After glancing at the lac, I turned to Ada, who smiled at each of us and beckoned us towards a couch. On a table beside it stood a jug of water, a bottle of red wine, four glasses and two candles.
I saw that Ada was an attractive woman, with high cheekbones and a wide, full-lipped mouth, but where Kwin was fit and lean, she was curvaceous. This was false flesh, but it was impossible to detect any differenceto our own flesh. But what struck me most, once more, was her very short hair.
Most women in the city wore their hair long. Ada’s was shorter than a man’s; it would draw lots of glances, many of them disapproving. City society was very conservative. Even the fact that Kwin sometimes painted her bottom lip red rather than black brought distaste to the faces of the more pretentious ladies of Gindeen.
‘I am very pleased to meet you, Leif and Deinon. Kwin has told me a lot about you. Please be seated. Would you accept a glass of wine?’ Ada asked. She had a very slight accent that didn’t belong anywhere in Midgard.
Deinon and I shook our heads. ‘Tyron doesn’t like his trainees to drink alcohol,’ Deinon told her. ‘But thanks for the offer.’
‘Will you accept water then?’
We nodded, and she poured some into
two glasses and handed them to us.
‘You keep looking at my hair!’ she said with a laugh.
‘Sorry,’ I told her, feeling embarrassed. ‘I didn’t mean to stare.’
‘When they released me from the casket, I didn’t have a single hair on my body,’ she said, ‘but it is finally starting to grow back. I used to wear my hair very long – even longer than the women in Gindeen. I get ashock when I look in the mirror, but apart from that, this body is just as I remembered it. It’s been recreated down to the tiniest detail.’
‘When will Tallus be back?’ Kwin asked her.
‘It was not difficult to persuade him to take some exercise. He knows he needs to lose weight and get fit, so he took my advice. He has gone for a long walk. I think we have a couple of hours.’
‘Good! So we’re free to talk about anything we want!’ Kwin exclaimed.
‘Yes,’ said Ada, turning towards me. ‘Leif, Kwin tells me that you are hoping to fight in Arena 13 from the min position. She also told me about the death of Kern and Hob’s threat.’
I was surprised to hear that Kwin had divulged so much. I thought we were gathering information, not telling this artificer our private business. But even Kwin didn’t know that my father was Math and that Hob hadkilled my mother. Those were secrets that Tyron had kept even from his own daughter. As father and daughter, they were close, but there were some things that he kept to himself. Kwin thought that he was obsessed bymoney, always seeking to become richer. Little did she know the ultimate purpose of it all, which was to destroy Hob, then restore our knowledge of Nym and patterning skills to what they had been before the fall ofmankind.
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