17
Money
Gunter was my teacher. I thought him far greater than I would ever be. Mine were just the dancing legs that served his nimble mind.
But then that changed.
In a vision, I saw Nym.
The Testimony of Math
Palm had been subdued since my return, but the following morning he was back to his usual irritating, boastful self. Every time I saw him I disliked him more. There was an anger slowly building inside me.
‘Tyron’s promised to have my new tri-glad ready before the end of the day,’ he announced as we were getting dressed. ‘I’ll have three whole months to get ready for the trainee tournament. That’s more than enough time.’
He gave a self-satisfied smirk and waited for somebody to say something. When nobody did, he sauntered over to me. I was sitting on the edge of my bed pulling on my socks.
‘What about a bet?’ he asked. ‘Fancy a wager, just between me and you?’
What was Palm up to? ‘I’ve no money,’ I told him.
‘That doesn’t matter. You’ll earn money one day. You can owe me.’
‘What’s the bet?’ I asked.
He smirked even more. ‘Just this: that you won’t win a single contest in the TT.’
I looked up and locked eyes with him, my anger growing. It was true that I wouldn’t have much time to prepare. I could be drawn against a mag combatant like Palm, who’d already received months more training than I had. Alternatively, I might face another novice. My lottery ticket had won. Could I get lucky a second time? After all, the first phase of the competition was a league where you accumulated points. Only afterwards did it become a knock-out competition. So I was guaranteed two bouts. Surely I could win one of them . . .
‘How much?’ I asked.
‘A thousand decs!’
It was a preposterous sum of money. As much as a tradesman earned in a year of hard work. You could almost buy a lac for that.
‘The stake’s too high,’ I told him.
‘Take it or leave it,’ he said, giving me a patronizing look.
‘I’ll take it!’ I snapped, desperate to wipe that expression off his face. But the one that followed was just as bad.
He looked as if he knew something that I didn’t. ‘You might be fast,’ he said, ‘but that won’t count for much in Arena 13. It’s not like stick-fighting, and nothing at all like the training floor. It’s the lacs that decide a contest, and I’ll have the best that money can buy. My father is rich; you don’t even have a father. His money will pay for my lacs and Tyron’s time. Tyron will be fully occupied getting my tri-glad up to scratch so he won’t have much time left to attend to your needs. You’ve lost before you can even get started.’
I glanced at the painting of my father. Palm’s had money; mine was dead. That was true. But my father was the greatest fighter the Arena had ever seen. I seemed to have inherited his speed and skill – but what would that count for against Palm’s superior lacs?
‘We’ll see,’ I retorted. ‘You might be in for a surprise!’
My words sounded weak and hollow, and Palm just carried on smirking. I realized that I’d been manipulated into taking up a foolish bet that I would probably lose. This world was divided into the rich and the poor. I was clearly at a disadvantage here, but I was going to do my very best to prove Palm wrong.
Breakfast was usually quiet, but today, instead of just giving his usual curt nod towards our end of the table, Tyron came over and gave Palm a friendly pat on the shoulder.
‘Your tri-glad will be ready by noon,’ he told him. ‘I’ll come down and supervise your first session myself.’
This was what it meant to have a rich father. Instead of leaving it to Kern, Tyron was going to give his duties at the Wheel a miss and help Palm.
I watched that session, sitting on the bench next to Deinon while Tyron introduced Palm to his tri-glad and began the process of forging them into a fighting unit. Palm’s face was a picture of delight and pride, and I couldn’t really blame him. The three lacs were impressive. It wasn’t just the fact that they were wearing brand-new armour that gleamed in the torchlight. They moved with a speed and fluency that matched anything that I’d seen in the arena. I looked on enviously.
After about an hour Tyron called a halt and put the tri-glad to sleep, telling Palm to join us on the bench. Then he called Deinon over.
‘Now let’s sort you out, boy,’ he told him.
He went across to a bench on the far side of the room and pulled the cover off a lac. He spat onto a socket and eased it into its throat.
‘Awake!’ he commanded. ‘Stand!’
Although Deinon’s father wasn’t wealthy enough to pay for a new lac, Tyron had provided for him generously. This one looked very good. However, I noticed that Deinon received only about twenty minutes of his time. Even so, Deinon was clearly happy, and by the end of that short session he was beaming all over his face. At one point he turned towards me and gave a thumbs up.
Then it was my turn. Tyron pulled the cover off another lac and gave it the usual first two commands: Awake; Stand.
The lac clambered off the bench and stood to attention before Tyron. ‘Selfcheck!’ he ordered, then turned to face me.
‘Well, boy, this is your lac until I say otherwise. It’ll do for now, so you’ll be using it for the tournament.’
My eyes took in the scratches and dents to the armour, the deep gash in the helmet just above the eyes. This was the practice lac we’d all used in training. I struggled to hide my disappointment.
I heard a snort of derision behind me and glanced back to see Palm struggling to contain his laughter. As I stared at him, he got himself under control, but he looked triumphant. The state of my lac proved that he had been right. I turned back to face the creature, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Tyron staring at me.
‘Try to look a bit more enthusiastic,’ he told me, shaking his head. ‘There’s an old saying – Never look a gift horse in the mouth.’
I nodded.
‘Good. Then you’ll know what I mean,’ Tyron said. ‘You’re not paying for it, are you? All you have to do is put in a bit of legwork and get yourself ready for the arena.’
‘But it’s the practice lac,’ I exclaimed, unable to hide my disappointment. ‘It’ll be too slow.’
‘Not any longer. To look this gift horse in the mouth properly, you’d need to sift through the patterning. Had you the skill to read Nym and do that, you’d see that it’s been changed and readied for combat.’
I nodded, but I must have looked doubtful because Tyron went over and drew a Trig blade from the nearest scabbard. He handed it to me.
‘Actions speak louder than words, so I’ll demonstrate the difference.’
He lifted the leather ball we’d used in training and smiled, turning to face the lac. ‘Report!’ he commanded.
‘Ready,’ rasped the lac.
‘Combat Stance!’ Tyron handed the lac the heavy leather orb.
‘When you’re ready, boy,’ he went on, moving out of the way.
I moved closer to the lac and began the dance. Two steps to the left, two steps to the right.
This time I did a reverse diagonal to the right. I went backwards as fast as I could. Now that I was moving I felt a lot better. I would show Palm just how quick I was. As I danced, I felt my body start to do my thinking for me. When the lac came after me, I went straight at it with the blade, aiming for the throat-socket. I felt confident. I couldn’t miss!
The next second I felt a tremendous blow to my head and found myself sitting on the training floor. I tried to speak, but my mind felt numb and no words came out. The Trig blade was on the floor, out of reach.
I heard Palm laughing out loud. When I glanced over, I saw tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks. Even Deinon was smiling.
Tyron hauled me to my feet. ‘That was so fast, you never even saw it coming,’ he said. ‘Maybe that’ll make you feel better.’
Palm could laugh for now, but maybe he wouldn’t win his bet after all.
To my surprise, Tyron stayed with us for the rest of the morning. He gave us a lesson on patterning in Nym, mainly for my benefit. He said it would be revision for Palm and Deinon and demanded their full concentration.
Deinon seemed fine – he enjoyed patterning – but I could tell by Palm’s face that he wasn’t happy. It wasn’t just that he was bored. He clearly felt that he was above all this and was annoyed at having to endure it for my benefit.
By contrast, I was finally starting to understand much of what Tyron was saying. I would never become a good patterner, but I could now grasp the basic concepts. And the more bored Palm looked, the more I enjoyed his annoyance and discomfort.
‘Each artificer uses Nym in a slightly different way,’ Tyron was saying, ‘but some wurdes are common to all. They can be called to bring pre-constructed sequences of patterns into play.
‘Call one wurde and you call many. You see, Nym is what’s called an “extensible language”. Each patterner can enlarge it by creating and adding new wurdes to the dictionary. Wurdes are embedded within a larger wurde. So there are wurdes within wurdes. Call one, and others leap forth to do your bidding.
‘And some of these wurdes are tools,’ Tyron continued. ‘One important one is called Newt. It’s a specialized form of the wurde called Salamander and is used to explore the mind of a lac. It probes deep into the dark recesses of its memory, reporting what it finds. The mind of a lac is a tangled labyrinth, capable of ever greater complexity. Know its twists and turns, and you can add more of your own.’
Late the following afternoon, for the first time, I was allowed an hour alone on the training floor.
Privacy was essential: I was there to begin the slow process of using Ulum to develop an understanding with my lac. I would tell my lac what to do by drumming on the floor with my feet. I still didn’t have any Trig boots, so for the time being, slaps with the soles of my feet would have to suffice.
Tyron had told me to keep it simple. I would work at this for years; sophistication would come with time.
My lac was dormant, lying on its back on a bench at the edge of the training floor. I walked up to it and gave the first command:
‘Awake!’
It eyes flickered open and regarded me without blinking, and I felt a moment of trepidation. Lacs still made me feel nervous.
‘Selfcheck!’ I ordered.
Less than a second later the creature responded with its harsh, guttural voice.
‘Ready.’
The lac had been prepared by Tyron, so its armour, including the throat-socket, was already in place. I just had to get it to its feet and begin.
‘Stand!’
It obeyed immediately, clambering off the bench to stand before me, its red eyes glaring down at me. It seemed to be staring at me strangely, and that worried me. Lacs weren’t supposed to be aware, but this one certainly seemed so. Was it thinking about me? I wondered. If so, what was going on in its head?
Now I had to tell it that we were going to develop and practise the sound-code, building a communication between us that would not be understood by anyone else. This wasn’t strictly the case, because the Ulum put together by a novice was so simple that most spectators could work it out within minutes. It would take years to ensure that my instructions were truly hidden from observers.
‘Enter Ulum Mode!’ I commanded.
‘Mode Entered.’
I had been told to begin with the basic manoeuvre, which was called ‘Basic1’. It consisted of two steps to the left, two steps to the right, followed by a diagonal right reverse.
‘Basic1 = First Signal,’ I instructed.
I had already decided what my signal for that would be, so I gave two hard slaps of the boards with my bare left foot, followed by a short sharp slap with my right.
‘Understood,’ said the lac.
‘Leave Mode!’ I told it. Hopefully it would now respond under combat conditions.
‘Combat Stance!’
The lac stepped forward onto the training floor as if facing an opponent, and I took up position to its rear. Then I slapped the boards with my feet to signal that basic manoeuvre.
My lac responded, taking the steps I had indicated. Unfortunately I was too busy concentrating on drumming with my feet, and it moved off too quickly for me to keep up. For a second I was exposed: in the arena I would have been cut to pieces. You needed to keep very close to your lac.
So I repeated the instruction and tried again. After five goes I was able to signal and then just about keep up. At this point I decided to add another signal. Two hard strikes with my right foot and a tap with my left meant the opposite, and I would finish with a diagonal left reversal.
I practised for about half an hour, dancing behind my lac until I was sweating with exertion. It was hard, slow, frustrating work, but I’d started to make a little progress. It was then that I heard three loud raps on the door. I was surprised: private time on the training floor was strictly limited and wasn’t usually interrupted.
When I opened the door, I saw Kwin standing there. I was glad to see her. I smiled to myself. Three raps should have told me who it was.
‘Want any help?’ she asked.
‘With Ulum?’ I asked. ‘I thought it was supposed to be private . . .’
‘It is,’ she answered with a warm smile, ‘but it doesn’t matter that much in the early stages of training. You’re just trying to get some coordination with your lac – and let’s face it, you’re not going to face me in the arena. I could help, but it’s up to you . . .’
I returned her smile. ‘Come in, then,’ I said. ‘I need all the help I can get.’
18
The Commonality
Beware that which lies beneath,
For you shall reap what you sow.
Amabramdata: the Genthai Book of Prophecy
After five weeks I was really starting to get into a routine and enjoy my training.
By now Palm and I had settled into an uneasy state of silent hostility. We never spoke unless our training required it. But Deinon and I were getting on really well; I looked forward to our Saturday excursions in the city. Our friendship annoyed Palm and he seldom spoke to Deinon now.
During the weekpart0000.html the training was exhausting – I usually fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.
However, on the Tuesday night of the sixth week I didn’t even get the chance to undress before I heard three loud raps on the wall.
I hesitated. Last time I got kicked out for responding to that knock – though it would be good to chat to Kwin. She’d been helping with the sound-code training of my lac twice a week. I really liked being with her, but I didn’t want to join her on another of her after-dark trips into the city. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to ignore her knock. I decided to go and explain how I felt.
Palm scowled at me, but Deinon smiled. I nodded at him, opened the door to Kwin’s room and stepped inside, closing it behind me. She was wearing her boots and her lips were painted red and black, as if for a visit to the Arena 13 gallery.
My heart sank.
‘Tonight,’ she announced, ‘I’m going to show you something that my father never even talks about.’
I didn’t like the sound of that. If Tyron never mentioned it, then he must have a good reason. It was something that would probably get me into trouble again.
‘Does it mean I’ll end up working in the slaughterhouse again?’ I asked, giving Kwin a tired smile. I braced myself to tell her that I wouldn’t be going. She wouldn’t like it, so I intended to break the news gently.
She shook her head. ‘If
my father knew where you’d been, he wouldn’t be happy, but there wouldn’t be a serious problem.’
‘That’s what you told me last time – that he always does what you say. Look where that got me!’
‘Look, trust me. This is different and it’ll open your eyes. We’re going to the Wheel again, but this time we’re visiting the Commonality beneath the Wheel where lacs are kept by owners who can’t afford to lease private quarters.’
‘Sorry, but I daren’t risk it, Kwin. Your father’s given me another chance and I don’t want to let him down.’
‘Don’t be silly, Leif! You know his rules – no stick-fighting and no alcohol. We won’t be breaking them tonight. This is just to show you something that nobody else will. It’ll give you another handle on how things work around here. Are you up for it or not?’
I was just about to say no and return to my room when she did something completely unexpected. She seized my hand and squeezed it; then, still holding my hand, she came very close and kissed me on the cheek. Our bodies were almost touching and I began to breathe more quickly.
It wasn’t a kiss on the lips, but it was definitely more than just a motherly peck. As her lips brushed my cheek, she gently stroked the palm of my hand with her thumb, and I smelled lavender on her skin.
When she gripped my hand even tighter and tugged me along behind her, I didn’t resist.
She walked beside me holding my hand as we made our way across the city, only dropping it when we reached the edge of the cinders outside the Wheel. We entered by the door that led down under the arenas.
This time there were few people about. A lone woman was pacing up and down outside, her arms folded across her body as if to ward off the chill air.
Soon we were descending stone steps, our feet echoing in the gloom. Down and down we went in a tight spiral, into increasing darkness, the wall torches less and less frequent.
Arena 13 Page 13
