“The thing is … ya see, the thing is …” He suddenly pulled me closer. “Ain’t enough coin in all of Wormwood to get yourself killed for it, that’s what.”
“You think Ladon-Tosh can beat me?”
He looked at me as if I had a chimney growing out of my head. “Beat you, female? Beat you? He’ll knock you into the Quag. They’ll be not a bitta you left to put in the Hallowed Ground, which is where poor Newton Tilt is headed. You can’t fight him, Vega. He’ll kill you just like he done that strapping lad.”
“But I’m a combatant. I have to fight unless I’m injured like Racksport.”
“Then I’ll shoot you in the foot this night with one of me mortas and Ladon-Tosh can win the damn Duelum!”
“I can’t do that, Roman.”
“Why in the name-a Steeples? Why, female? Not for the bloody coin. You got by all this time without it.”
“You’re right, it’s not about the coin.”
If I didn’t fight, I would be right back in Valhall. And now without Morrigone’s support, I would probably end up beheaded. And if I tried to escape through the Quag, they would go after Delph, who was now staying behind. I was trapped, and I knew it. My only way through this was to fight. Then I could worry about escape. And the thing was, I wanted to fight. I wanted to win. And if I had to beat Ladon-Tosh to do it, so be it. I had never considered myself a warrior female, but right now, that’s exactly how I felt. Like Morrigone’s ancestor, the courageous female on the battlefield from so long ago. She had given her life fighting against something, something that I could sense was evil and wrong and, well, terrible. I wondered if I had the courage to die for such a cause.
Roman gripped my shoulders tighter, tearing me from these thoughts. “Vega, for the love of your mum and dad’s memory, please don’t do this.”
“I am touched by your concern, Roman. I really am.” And I really was. “But I have to fight; I have to finish this.” I paused. “I am a Finisher after all.”
He slowly let me go, but his gaze held me until he abruptly looked away and then walked off, his head hanging, his arms swinging aimlessly at his sides. I felt tears in my eyes and had to put up a hand to whisk them away.
As I walked off the pitch, I noted that the combatant board had just been updated. In three more lights, there would be one more bout and then a champion decided, crowned and coined. And perhaps the loser laid to rest in the Hallowed Ground with an eternity to think about the quality of her choices.
Vega Jane, age fifteen sessions (just), versus Ladon-Tosh, exact age unknown but definitely older than twenty-four sessions. And who had just killed a Wug twice my size with one unimaginably powerful blow that had been struck with such speed that I had never even seen it delivered.
My throat started to dry up a bit as I walked back toward my digs. I passed the High Street to get there and thus had to traverse pocket after pocket of Wugs talking about one thing only. Well, maybe two. Newton Tilt dying. And me being next.
Darla Gunn stood at the door of her shop. Her sad, heavy face told me that she knew what had happened. And her deep look of fear aimed at me also told me she was well aware I was next up for Ladon-Tosh, the killer, now.
I reached my digs, took off my cloak and lay down on my cot. Harry Two jumped up next to me and put his head on my chest, as though he could sense something was not quite right. I stroked his fur and thought about what was to come. I would have three lights to think about this. That, in itself, was a horror. I wished I could fight right now and be done with it.
I didn’t think Ladon-Tosh had ever fought in a Duelum before. The rumors of the dead gonk at Stacks who’d tried to get to the second floor came rushing back to me. I had spoken very bravely in front of Roman, but I was hardly feeling such courage right now. I had seen the look in Ladon-Tosh’s eyes. He knew that he’d killed poor Tilt as soon as he struck. And the thing was he didn’t care. He just didn’t care. Where had a bloke like that come from?
I sat up and repeated this question again. But it wasn’t just a question. It was a possible solution too. And I knew just the Wug to ask.
I had three lights left to find a path to victory and probably save my life. And I meant to take it.
I WAS TWENTY slivers early to work at Stacks the next light. This was something unusual for me, but these were unusual times. And I had an excellent reason for my superior punctuality.
“Good light, Domitar,” I said somberly as I stood in the doorway of his office.
I thought the Wug was going to fall over dead in his boots.
As it was, he overturned the Quick and Stevenson ink bottle on his tilt-top table.
He clutched his chest and stared at me. “Hel’s bells, female, are you trying to plant me in the Hallowed Ground before my time?”
“No, Domitar. I just had a question.”
“What is it?” he said suspiciously.
“Where does Ladon-Tosh hail from?”
He was clearly surprised by this query. He came around the corner of his desk to face me. “Would this be because you’re facing him in the final bout of the Duelum?”
“It would. And because he killed poor Newton Tilt with one blow.”
Domitar bowed his head. “I know,” he said, his voice shaking. “’Tis a terrible, terrible thing. The Tilts are fine Wugs. Fine Wugs. For this to happen, well …”
I ventured farther into Domitar’s office.
“You look different, Vega,” he noted as he glanced up.
“I’ve lost weight. Now, about Ladon-Tosh?”
Domitar moved closer to me. “’Tis complicated.”
“Why?” I said reasonably enough. “Isn’t it easy to tell where Wugs come from?”
“In most cases, yes. In Ladon-Tosh’s case, no.”
“So why is that?”
“I inherited him, as i’twere.”
“You mean he was here before you were at Stacks?”
“That is precisely what I mean.”
I snapped, “So how can he compete in a Duelum restricted to Wugs no older than twenty-four sessions?”
“A reasonable question you must take up with Council, I’m afraid.”
“Many Wugs have come up to me and told me not to fight Ladon-Tosh.”
Domitar dropped into his desk chair and looked at me. “And Racksport shot himself in the foot with one of his mortas? Curious. Curious indeed.”
I perked up at this change in subject. “Why? He runs a morta business. Accidents happen.”
“He has been running that business for nearly five sessions and had yet to shoot himself.”
I took this in and said slowly, “Meaning it might have been done so I would face Ladon-Tosh in the last bout?”
“The truth is, Vega, you’ve made enemies. And now the price for that is coming due.” He hesitated, glancing away and then seeming to make up his mind. “Though not on Council, I have learned a little of your situation.”
“Then you know why I must fight?”
He nodded. “And perhaps your ally is now your enemy?”
I nodded in return. “Morrigone, like Ladon-Tosh, has quite the mysterious past.”
“I cannot deny that.”
“Words and events have passed between us, many of them unpleasant.”
“She is a formidable Wug, Vega. Perhaps the most formidable of us all.”
“How do I beat Ladon-Tosh, Domitar? For that is why I am here. I believe you know how it can be done. And I need you to tell me or else I will surely perish in the quad.”
Domitar looked away for a sliver. When he turned to face me, his expression was truly strange. “You already know how to defeat him, Vega.”
I gaped. “I do? How can that be?”
“Because you’ve done it before.”
AT MID-LIGHT MEAL I didn’t go into the common room with the others. Quite frankly, we were all mourning the loss of Newton Tilt and I did not want to sit with the other Stackers and talk about his death. Soon I would be facing the Wug
that had killed him.
Instead I sat on the marble steps leading up to the second floor. I sat on the exact spot where Ladon-Tosh would stand when he was the guard here. Perhaps I felt that whatever answers I needed about the sinister Wug would be conveyed to my poor brain merely by my close proximity to his former presence.
When I finished my work that light, I met Harry Two outside and walked back to my digs. I had a bit of food, changed into my blue frock and heels and headed back out. My destination this night was not one of pleasure. All of Wormwood was heading to the Hallowed Ground. This night we would be putting Newton Tilt into the dirt.
I had not been to the Hallowed Ground since they had buried my grandmother Calliope. It was a peaceful place, granted, but not a happy one. And there was enough unhappiness in Wormwood without adding to the burden by plunking yourself down in the middle of more. I moved through the rusty iron gates with the image of a mother and a very young on them. Crowds had already started to gather around the hole.
As I drew closer, I saw the long, plain wooden box with Tilt’s remains inside. His mum and dad were sobbing next to it. Tilt had three brothers and one sister. They were all there, all crying just as hard. Tears were constantly wicked off the faces of all Wugs here because the Tilts were a kind and good family that did not deserve such a tragedy as this.
I stopped drawing closer when I saw Morrigone sitting in a chair next to Thansius as he stood by the hole that would quite soon become a grave. She was dressed not in white this night, but in black. The far darker color seemed to suit her better, I thought. Yet I had to admit I had never seen a Wug more stricken than Morrigone. Her face was a hard knot of rigid pain. She looked sessions older. Lines on her face I had never seen before now were bared to us all. Tears stained her cheeks and, while she was doing her best to hide it from us, every so often her body shuddered.
From time to time, Thansius placed a large, supportive hand on her shoulder and spoke quietly to her with words I could not hear. What was going on between those two special Wugs would take a great deal more thinking than I could give it right now.
As I continued to look around, I noted that there was one Wug conspicuously absent. Ladon-Tosh was nowhere to be seen. I wondered if charges were to be referred against him. What he had done was murder in my eyes, plain and simple. He could have beaten poor Tilt easily and with no need to kill him. It was an evil act, but then again, I wondered if the rules of the Duelum exempted combatants from any such punishments. If they did, the rules should be changed.
Wrong, after all, was wrong, no matter in what venue it might have occurred.
Everything had a moral hitched to it if one bothered to look for it.
I was surprised to see Delph slowly coming up the path. He was still limping and still holding his arm funny, yet he seemed to be getting stronger with each light and night. However, I was stunned to see Duf walking next to him, wearing his new timbertoes and using his new stick, which he gripped in his right hand. He seemed to have adapted to it well and it was hard to tell who was supporting whom more, injured son or legless father, because each had an arm around the other.
I hurried over to them and hugged first Duf and kissed him on the cheek, and then I embraced Delph, who was as cleaned up as I had ever seen him. I think he had actually used some of his winning wager to buy new clothes at the male shop next to Herman Helvet’s confectionery.
“Heard ’bout your last round, Vega Jane,” said Delph. “But we need to talk,” he added solemnly.
I shushed him as Ezekiel came forward, the only sparkle of white in a sea of dark.
He prayed out loud and then led us through another. We sang. He committed the body of Newton Tilt, a fine Wug struck down long before his proper time, to the dirt.
Then Thansius rose and said some comforting words, his huge frame quivering with emotion. All of Wormwood was distraught, but I had heard no protests that the Duelum should be canceled before the last bout was held. Our collective empathy apparently had certain limits.
After Thansius finished speaking, all heads turned to Morrigone, figuring that she would close the sad ceremony with some appropriate female commentary, but that was not to be. She never rose from her chair and never looked up at any of us. She just sat there as though cast in unyielding marble. Her grief seemed even greater than the stricken Tilt family’s.
Later, as the box was lowered by some sturdy Wugs into the grave, the crowd started to disperse. I was surprised to see Morrigone leave her perch and walk over to the Tilts. She put her arm around Tilt’s parents and started speaking to them in a low voice. They nodded and cast tearful smiles and seemed consoled by her words. She was evidently evoking kindness and sympathy and support. A more inscrutable Wug I had never encountered, because I was certain she had used her powers to try and kill me in that looking glass. Anyone who could control a maniack in order to murder was not someone I wanted as a friend.
Then I turned to Duf.
“You seem to have taken to the timbertoes and stick very quickly, Duf,” I said encouragingly. “You’re getting around like your old self.”
He seemed pleased by my words but in his gritted teeth I saw the pain behind his smile. And I noted how his hands kept clenching and unclenching. “Takes a bit of gettin’ used to, I’ll grant you that. But I’m gettin’ there, I am.” He added with a lifeless chortle, “And I’ll never have to worry ’bout me bad knees no more, will I?”
“No,” I said with a smile, admiring greatly his attitude but feeling awful at seeing his obvious discomfort.
“Still, I probably shoulda kept to me bed this night,” said Duf, his face suddenly contorted in pain. He gasped and held on to Delph for support. Then he righted himself and added weakly, “But known the Tilts for ages. So sad. Couldn’t not come, could I? Wouldn’t be right. Can’t believe little Newtie’s gone. Held him in me arms when he was just a wee Wug. Never gave no one a lick of trouble. A good lad. A fine lad.” A tear trickled down his face even as he gave a sharp cry and grabbed at his right stump.
I was becoming more and more bewildered by this. I thought with the legs gone and the timbertoes on, there would be no more pain for him. When I looked over at Delph questioningly, he explained, “They had to burn the ends of his legs, Vega Jane, to get the stumps ready for the timbers.”
His father said admonishingly, “This pretty female don’t need to hear no rubbish talk like that, Daniel Delphia.” He smiled back another bout of suffering that crossed his face and said, “Now, that is the loveliest frock I believe I’ve ever seen, Vega,” he commented. He nudged his huge son. “Ain’t it, Delph? Eh?”
Delph nodded shyly and said, “’Tis, Dad. ’Tis.”
I reached in the pocket of my frock where the Adder Stone lay. After nearly losing it I’d decided to always keep it with me. I palmed the Stone so it could not be seen by either of them. Maybe it could not regrow limbs, but I knew it could make pain vanish. When they turned and spoke to some other Wugs who inquired how Duf was doing, I surreptitiously waved the Stone over what remained of Duf’s legs and thought as good thoughts as I could. The change in Duf was almost instantaneous. I had just put the Stone back in my pocket when Duf turned to look at me, the most serene expression on his face.
“Are you okay, Duf?” I asked innocently.
He nodded. “Okay? I’m like a new Wug, ain’t I?” He slapped his thigh.
Delph saw this and exclaimed, “Cor blimey, don’t do that, Dad.”
Duf slapped his other thigh and stood totally erect without his son’s help. “Lookit that, Delph. No more pain. Bloody miracle, i’tis.”
Delph eyed his father’s legs and then he turned to me, suspicion all across his features. He knew. I could just tell he knew what I’d done. When Delph glanced away, I passed the Stone over him too. He turned once more to stare at me. His leg was now fine. His arm no longer hung funny. He was healed too. I was a git for not thinking of doing this before. But I was happy, and some of my guilt melted away.
We parted company on the High Street. Delph and Duf were headed back to the Care. But Duf felt he could head home soon, especially with the pain gone.
I heard the carriage wheels long before I turned. I was on the Low Road now and the carriage shouldn’t have been. I finally looked back to see Bogle pulling his sleps to a halt next to where I stood.
As she stepped from the carriage, Morrigone still looked awful, which made me feel immeasurably better, despite the grief she had shown at the Hallowed Ground, despite her consoling words to the Tilts. Her gaze searched mine. I merely stared back quizzically. I did notice with unconcealed relish that with my heels on, I was now taller than her. She had to look up to me.
She said, “I was glad to see Duf here this night. The timbertoes seem to be working for him.”
“I think they’ll work just fine now,” I replied tersely, watching her closely.
“And I have spoken with Delph recently. He … he seems far more assured in his speech than he once did.”
“He is,” I said. “It simply took him remembering something that others did not want him to recall.”
“I see.”
“So you can stop paying him coin, Morrigone. He doesn’t need your pity or your coin anymore to recompense for what you did to him.”
I had finally figured that one out too.
“Is that what you thought it was, pity?”
“Wasn’t it?” I challenged.
“You have much to learn, Vega. However, I came not to speak of Delph but of the Duelum,” she began.
“What about it?” I said.
“You versus Ladon-Tosh.”
“That’s what the competition board says.”
“He didn’t mean to kill poor Newton Tilt.”
I shook my head stubbornly. “I was there. I saw what happened. He didn’t need to hit him that hard.”
She looked down and I thought I saw her lips tremble. She looked back up and her features were tight and composed. “I think he sees that now.”
“Lucky for me, since I’m next. Where is he, by the by?”
The Finisher Page 33
