Fighting Fit

by Annie Dalton

  It was official! Orlando had asked me out!!

  Chapter Two

  It was the most important day of my angelic existence and I urgently needed a style consultation with my soul-buddy. Unfortunately, Lola was at the dojo.

  However, after a nail-biting half hour, I managed to come up with the perfect romantic look. Denim capri pants and a white off-the-shoulder gypsy top embroidered with tiny pink butterflies.

  I put on the sweet silver charm bracelet Lola gave me, splashed on my fave heavenly fragrance (it’s called Attitude) and I was ready to go.

  I was going on my first ever date with the most beautiful boy in our school. OK, so the school library wasn’t the most thrilling venue in the universe. But who knew where we’d end up after that!! Don’t get ahead of yourself, Melanie, I warned myself. Take it one step at a time.

  When I walked in, I was surprised to see some big meeting going on. The ground floor was jam-packed with trainees. Assuming that Orlando was waiting for me upstairs, I started elbowing my way through the crowd, going, “Excuse me. Sorry, was that your foot? Um, excuse me.”

  Then I heard a familiar voice coming from the front. “You can’t believe how bad it is, until you see it for yourselves. Nero’s time is basically just a PODS’ playground.”

  Orlando

  I closed my eyes as the humiliating truth sank in. Orlando had not invited me to the library for a talk. He’d invited me to A TALK at the library.

  Next minute someone tapped me on the shoulder. “Did I miss much?” Reuben said, slightly out of breath. He was still in his martial arts clothes. He must have rushed over from the dojo.

  I shook my head. “I couldn’t tell you. I just got here.”

  “Nice outfit,” said my buddy. “Going somewhere special?”

  “Not really,” I said in a dull voice.

  “Could you have this conversation somewhere else?” said an irritated trainee. “Some of us are trying to listen.”

  “Sorry man!” Reuben gave him an apologetic grin. “I’m surprised to see you here, Mel,” he whispered. “I heard they just needed guys.”

  For the first time I registered that everyone in the audience was male. What was going on?

  We edged towards the front. Orlando was standing on a makeshift platform, looking tired but determined. “I literally got back from Ancient Rome a few hours ago,” he was saying. “In forty-eight hours I’ll be going back, and I hope to be taking a team of volunteers with me.”

  I felt a prickle of shock. Angelic missions are coordinated by the Agency. I’d never heard of agents getting their own missions together before. Orlando wasn’t even a fully qualified agent. He was still technically a trainee.

  “I stumbled on some alarming information during my last mission,” he went on. “I passed my findings on to the Agency. They admit they’re concerned, but apparently the twenty-first century is draining most of their resources.”

  I felt myself cringe. Just once, could it please be someone else’s century giving us all this heavenly hassle?

  “I’m going to level with you,” Orlando said. “This feels like I’m breaking the rules. Every day, trainees are told that the essence of good troubleshooting is team work. Nine times out of ten I’d agree with this. And in the past I’ve given some of you a hard time for trying to go it alone.”

  I felt myself go red. I had a feeling he was remembering the big fight we had on my first ever time trip to Earth. Publically defying him, I had gone on to break a major cosmic law and come this close to getting myself expelled.

  “But there’s always that tricky one time out of ten,” Orlando was explaining earnestly. “I believe this is one of those times.” He looked embarrassed. “Listen, you guys, I have absolutely no desire to be a hero. It’s not my style. But the Agency’s hands are tied, so I feel it’s my responsibility to bridge the gap. I asked the Agency for permission to take a trainee task force back into the field. They agreed.”

  “What would we be doing exactly?” asked a nervous trainee.

  Orlando shook his head. “I can’t go into details at this stage. You’ll just have to trust me. I promise to keep you informed on a need-to-know basis.”

  I heard guys muttering, “Fair enough.”

  “Will we get basic training?” someone asked. “I know zip about the Romans.”

  “Sure you do, they’re the ones who wore togas,” quipped his mate.

  “That’s not actually true,” I corrected. “Generally only men wore togas. And that was just for formal occasions.” Fashion is the one topic about which I am one hundred percent confident.

  Orlando flashed me a quick smile. “Volunteers will undergo a forty-eight hour intensive training course. This is a ridiculously short time to train anyone for such a dangerous mission, but it’s the best we can do.”

  I’d totally forgiven him by this time. My dearest wish had come true. He’d finally noticed me. Best of all, he didn’t only like me for my looks. He respected me; enough to want me fighting alongside him as an angelic equal. All these months I’d worried I wasn’t good enough for this amazing boy. Then out of all the girls in our school, he picks me to join his personal task force!

  “So do we have any volunteers?” he asked hopefully.

  A forest of hands shot up, including mine and Reuben’s.

  Orlando looked pleased and relieved. “That’s fantastic. Thanks guys. Um, are there any questions?”

  “What should I wear?” I asked anxiously.

  Some of the guys laughed, but Orlando took my inquiry seriously. “You’ll be visible throughout the mission, so obviously the Agency will provide suitable clothes.”

  Reuben and I exchanged startled glances. Trainees are rarely permitted to materialise. I’d materialised three times at most since I’d started my training, and one of those was an accident.

  As soon as the meeting was over, I raced along to Lola’s room and hammered on her door. She came out, wearing puffs of cotton wool between her toes, clutching a bottle of bright pink nail varnish.

  “You look totally luminous!” she exclaimed. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “Reubs and I are going to Ancient Rome,” I said breathlessly.

  My mate blinked. “That’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?”

  “I know,” I beamed. “I thought Orlando and I were going on a date but he actually wanted volunteers for a dangerous mission.”

  Lola’s eyes went wide with sympathy. “You must have been so upset.”

  “I was,” I admitted. “Then I told myself that an angel warrior must be like the wind with no past or future, only now.”

  My mate gave a disbelieving snort. “You mean you looked at Orlando’s eyelids and thought, ‘I will follow you to the end of Time!’”

  I felt myself turning red. A telepathic soul-mate is all very well but sometimes a girl needs her privacy.

  “So why didn’t I hear about this big meeting?” she asked.

  “It was just for guys,” I explained. “Except for me.”

  “You’re the only girl he asked!”

  I tried to look modest. “Apparently.”

  “He must have his reasons,” she said in a doubtful voice.

  My heart did a little somersault. “I think he loves me, Lollie.”

  She gave me another searching look. “Are you sure about that?”

  I felt a twinge of dismay. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s just that Orlando is a really advanced being.”

  “You mean I’m not good enough,” I said in a huffy voice.

  “That’s not what I meant,” said Lola. “Sure Orlando loves you. He also loves trees and humming birds and - and - head-lice. That boy loves the cotton-picking cosmos, Melanie. But he lives for his work!”

  I told myself that Lola hadn’t seen Orlando’s face as he came towards me or she wouldn’t have made her hurtful head-lice comparison.

  “I know he does,” I agreed. “That’s what’s so incredible about him!”


  “But you think he sees things like you do, carita, and I’m not sure he does.”

  “He chose me, Lola,” I said pathetically.

  Lola sighed. “Look, just try not to expect too much, OK?”

  “I won’t,” I promised. “I just want to help him. You should have seen him tonight at that meeting. He’s SO committed. The Agency couldn’t spare the agents to deal with this Roman problem, so he’s getting a team together off his own bat. Can you believe that!”

  “What Ancient Roman era are you going to, exactly?“Lola sounded wary.

  I frowned, trying to remember. “Orlando said something about Nero.”

  Lola looked appalled. “But that’s a cosmic war zone! I can’t believe the Agency’s letting him take trainees!”

  “He warned us it might get hairy,” I said defensively. “How come you know so much about Ancient Rome anyway?”

  “Brice went there to do some kind of dodgy business for the PODS. He said Nero was about as psycho as a human psycho can get. Half Nero’s advisers weren’t even human, Melanie.”

  Lola’s warning had the opposite effect to the one she intended.

  “We’re supposed to go where humans need us,” I said stubbornly. “That’s what we’re for.”

  I was disappointed and a bit puzzled. It was all thanks to Lola that I’d got myself fighting fit in the first place. She should have been thrilled I was putting my new abilities to good use, not pouring cold water on Orlando’s daring enterprise.

  A thrilling picture flashed into my mind. Orlando and me, fighting side by side to save the Earth from an unknown cosmic catastrophe.

  Maybe Lola was right. Maybe I didn’t know what I was getting into. But I knew one thing. This was the proudest moment of my angel career.

  Chapter Three

  You’re picking this up really quickly, sweetie. Shall we just try once more to make sure?”

  I nodded dumbly.

  The Agency stylist whipped half a dozen bronze hairpins out of my crown of braids and my hair tumbled loose around my face. “Try plaiting it tighter this time,” Tia suggested brightly. “We’re aiming for a lovely basket-weave effect.”

  It was the second day of our Ancient Roman intensive and I was totally confused. Until a few hours ago, I’d been soaking up Roman survival skills alongside the male trainees. The first part of the course was mostly theory: Roman beliefs and superstitions. And curses. Cursing was HUGE back then. If someone stole your new bracelet, you didn’t call the cops. You wrote a curse, calling on the gods of the underworld to punish the thief.

  We were all fascinated by Roman beliefs about the Afterlife. Like, after they died, Romans would expect to be met by a strong silent ferryman called Charon. For a couple of denarii he’d row you across an underground river called the River Styx, and deliver you to your specially designated area of the Underworld. Heroes went to the Elysian Fields. Ordinary folk wound up on the Plains of Asphodel. Villains were whisked off to a Hell dimension known as Tartarus.

  “But what actually happened to them after they croaked, though?” I asked the instructor.

  “They got what they expected, naturally,” he grinned. “Until they’d had time to adjust to life and realised there was rather more to the Next World than they’d thought.”

  After Beliefs and Superstitions, we had more practical sessions, like, how to conduct ourselves at banquets, appropriate behaviour in Roman temples etc. We also had to learn about the local currency. We’d be posing as humans and like other humans we’d need to pay to use the various facilities - the baths for instance.

  I still couldn’t believe I’d be expected to bathe in public! Apparently if I refused, people would think I was a barbarian. Apparently, “barbarian” was the worst insult a Roman could throw at you. They applied it to anyone who didn’t think or behave the way they did. To them, a barbarian was everything that was despicable in the human race. As an angel, I would never ever diss another person’s culture, but the fact is Romans had some pretty barbaric attitudes themselves.

  Did you know it was socially acceptable for a Roman dad to reject his newborn baby, especially if it was female and he’d wanted a son? I couldn’t believe it when the instructor told us that. And twin infants were routinely put out of the house to die. Romans considered twins to be bad luck. This struck me as deeply strange, considering:

  1. Their capital city was founded by a pair of twin brothers, and

  2. Two of their own gods were twin brothers -Castor and Pollux the Heavenly Twins. Hello!

  Talk about a double standard!

  It was a lot to take in in a short time, but, if I say so myself, I kept up with the guys pretty well. Then halfway through the second morning, a new instructor took over. His muscles bulged under his fighting clothes and he had a scar on his cheek which I guessed must be a souvenir from the PODS.

  “By this time you all think the Romans were insane for holding such bizarre beliefs,” he said.

  Everyone looked sheepish. That’s exactly what we were thinking.

  “What you need to understand is that Romans lived in constant terror. They weren’t just scared of being overrun by barbarians. They were just as paranoid about their own people. Life was harsh for the majority and there was a real danger the starving masses would rise up and murder their rich masters in their beds. The rulers decided it would be wise to divert the peoples more violent tendencies into safer channels. This is why they invented the Imperial Games.”

  The instructor said these weren’t what we would think of as games, but horrifying, bloodthirsty spectacles held in an arena, a kind of humungous circus ring. The Games were sometimes used to dispose of unwanted Roman citizens: convicted criminals, political troublemakers, or prisoners of war.

  “But the most popular games featured professional fighters known as gladiators,” the instructor explained. “A gladiator’s life was brutal and short. He had probably been sold to the ludus - the gladiator school - as a slave. Or he may have been a criminal who fought so spectacularly bravely that his life was spared by the crowd. A few gladiators became real celebrities and had hordes of female fans, a bit like rock stars in other centuries.”

  We all tittered but it was basically to relieve tension. This was unbelievably dark stuff.

  “You all have some experience of martial arts,” the instructor went on. “So, if you should end up in the arena for any reason, you’ll all be able to handle yourselves. Now there’s not much time, so I’ll only be able to teach you the most common fighting style. I want four volunteers to come down to the front.”

  I eagerly jumped out of my seat. Finally some action!

  “Not you, Melanie,” Orlando called. “There’s an agency stylist waiting for you upstairs.”

  For a moment I just stared at him in disbelief then I stumbled out of the hall, my cheeks burning. I felt angry and humiliated. The guys get to acquire gladiator skills and I’m sent to the makeover department.

  I’d now spent six hours out of my precious forty-eight, mastering Roman hairdressing skills. And I’m sorry but I could not see the relevance. Was I supposed to zap the PODS with my hairpins? I don’t think so!!

  Whatever, it wasn’t Tia’s fault, so I did my best to follow her instructions.

  Finally, she was satisfied with my plaiting. After that she showed me how to mix a home-made face-pack, helpfully suggesting Roman household ingredients that I could use in place of modern eye make-up and blusher. “Now we’ve got to teach you to dress like a real Roman girl,” she beamed.

  When she’d finished my historical makeover, Tia led me in front of a full-length mirror.

  I gazed at my reflection in astonishment. Over my tunic, I wore an outer garment known as a stola, which fell in soft folds to my ankles. Draped around my shoulders was a pretty light shawl. This was called a palla. A pair of leather sandals completed my Roman outfit. I put my hand to my throat. “It needs something here.”

  “Oops, I forgot to give you your bulla!” Tia he
ld out a bizarre little charm.

  I giggled. “I can’t wear that! It looks like a willie!!”

  Tia explained that bullas were charms worn by freeborn Roman children to protect them from evil spirits. Girls wore them until they were married. On the day of her wedding a girl would sacrifice her bulla to the god of the crossroads, to show she was now a woman.

  “Most of them were pretty rude, I’m afraid,” she admitted.

  Tia let me hunt through her charm supply. Finally I found one I could have shown my nan without blushing, with a sweet little bee design.

  Reuben popped his head around the door just as Tia was fastening it around my neck.

  “We need you downstairs,” he said. “Michael’s here.”

  “We’re all done now, anyway,” Tia told him. “I hope you enjoy your trip, Mel. If you get the chance, try that little pastry shop near the Temple of Vesta. Their walnut tarts are to die for!”

  I stared at her. “You lived in Nero’s time! I had no idea!!”

  “Yeah, well it’s all ancient history now,” she laughed.

  I raced after Reuben, skidding slightly in my Roman sandals.

  Michael looked up and smiled as we came into the hall and I felt a familiar prickle of awe.

  I don’t think I’ll ever completely adjust to having a headmaster who is also an archangel. Though, unlike the other archangels, Michael genuinely has the human touch. Lola thinks it’s because he has special responsibility for Planet Earth. His workload is so ridiculous we don’t see him for days on end. Then suddenly there he’ll be, strolling across the campus, chatting to some awed little kid. He’ll be absolutely shattered: dark shadows under his eyes, a suit that looks as if he’s slept in it. The guy doesn’t take care of himself at all. He’s even developing a bit of a podgy belly, which makes him look exactly like a big bear. But when Michael looks at you, it’s like he’s looking into your soul.