by CM Raymond
From what Ezekiel could tell, Arcadians were happy to buy it.
Ezekiel smiled as they passed; a sense of power flowed from their serene forms, one which the old man was quite familiar. The demon’s mask he used was a form of magic like their own. He considered reaching out to them but held back.
Adrien had changed much in his absence. Maybe these people who he once knew so well were friends of his no longer.
Behind the mystics, a group of five men several days away from home trudged along. They pulled a cart along with them, filled to the brim with their game and pelts of the smaller animals they had cleaned in the field.
When Ezekiel was a man forty years younger, before he had left on his half-century sabbatical, Ezekiel had hoped that Arcadia would become a place like this, a place for the nations, a place that would welcome all people.
And, at least in part, it had.
But in his absence, the city had become something more. More powerful than he could have imagined, more prosperous, and unfortunately, more cruel. He had seen that firsthand.
Stretching his legs, Ezekiel stood up, stretched and then continued on his journey back into town.
He had already seen the marketplace and all that it had to give the city. It's bustling crowds and eager vendors were appropriate for a city the size Arcadia. And although it also attracted less seemly characters, it wasn't far from what he imagined a marketplace could be.
Just south of the market, he had experienced the Queen’s Boulevard, what the locals called Queen Bitch Boulevard.
Named after the Matriarch, Irth’s God-Queen of old, QBB had the lowest elevation of any of the quarters. The nobles liked to say, “All the scum runs downhill in Arcadia.” And in a way, they were right.
In contrast to Ezekiel’s hopes, not all thrived in his city.
The slums were an aberration. Ezekiel had yet to learn their cause. But its inhabitants persisted through their squalor, and, for the most part, were good folks. Nevertheless some of the dwellers, down on their luck and desperate for survival, did things that would make a noble woman blush.
Queen Boulevard was the most disconcerting of Ezekiel’s experiences in the city he once loved. The promise of magic and the hope of what it could offer shouldn’t result in a place like this.
The power of the art was meant to keep poverty and suffering at bay—to enhance prosperity and progress for all. It was clear that something had gone desperately wrong. The old man needed answers. And with the right information at hand, he could bring change.
He’d make a trip to the Academy later. Along with the Capitol, it made up its own quarter, and it was the most prestigious of all. But before making his way towards the halls of higher learning, he had something else to do, someone to find. An old friend that lived in a humble home among the nobles.
CHAPTER FOUR
She knew that the wool hat pulled down over her brow looked ridiculous on the warm summer morning, but Hannah had to hide the mark of the Hunters in some way. Walking around with the tag on her forehead was an invitation she didn’t need to make, and the ratty knit cap was the best disguise she could find.
Hannah hoped that the men who nearly stole the final shred of innocence she maintained might be in recovery after what that demon person put them through. Despite the terror she felt when his hood fell off, today, she thought of him not with disgust, but with appreciation. He saved her life.
Winding her way through the crowd, she found a spot behind a group of rearick near the front of the Pit.
The rearick were short, stocky miners and craftsmen that made their home in half-buried cities in the mountains south of Arcadia called the Heights. Although these men were adults, Hannah stood just a little taller than them.
Her dad always said that life working in the caves had made them short, but crazy strong. These men must be unloading ore and crystals here in Arcadia and decided to take a break to watch the entertainment.
There was no better entertainment in Arcadia than the fighting Pit. The audience for the first fight of the day was thicker than usual, and she wondered if her plan was going to work.
“Wildman” Hank paced the ring as the people cheered on their champion. “Wildman. Wildman.” His nickname was well deserved. He had been winning for nearly a year, ferociously tearing through anyone stupid enough to challenge him.
Hank disrupted the entire gambling system out of whack because the only way that people bet on his opponent was if they were desperate enough to hope a long shot might pay off.
Shirtless and ripped, the Wildman slapped himself across the chest, muttering words to the sky. It was a tradition the crowd had become familiar with, but no matter how many times he stepped into the ring, he still could whip them into a frenzy.
Mac, the bookie in charge of the Pit, slid between the ring’s ropes and waved his arms to quiet the crowd. Finally, the frenzy died to a murmur.
“Welcome to another day in the Pit!” Cheers rose and Mac’s smile grew with its volume. “Now, I must be honest with you good people of Arcadia. I was afraid that the Pit wouldn’t get much action today.” The crowd quieted, concerned that their beloved pastime was in trouble. “Because of the Wildman’s violent performance these past months, I’ve been finding it harder and harder to find a suitable opponent, one brave enough to step into this ring.”
“That’s ‘cause Ralph is still half-dead!” a voice shouted from the back of the crowd. The onlookers all laughed, but Hannah’s stomach turned thinking of her neighbor who might not walk again without a limp.
There was no way Ralph, who used to be a baker before his shop went under, was ever going to make it against someone like Hank. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and the Boulevard was nothing if not desperate.
“We were even close to canceling today.” Mac paused to let a round of booing pour out of the audience. “But thankfully, the Patriarch was with us! We have a newcomer who has, for good or ill, chosen to cut his teeth in the ring against the champ. Let me introduce to you, Parker the Pitiable of Queen Bitch Boulevard!”
A pathway cleared and Hannah watched a young man her own age cut through to the ring. As he made his way to the front, in his ordinary pants, shirt, and cloak covering what looked like a thin frame, the crowd hushed.
“Throw him back in the water, Mac. This one has some growing to do!” a voice shouted from the back.
Mac laughed for the crowd. “Who am I to deny such a brave lad his chance for glory? But if you all are so sure of his defeat, I will happily take your bets at my table.”
Parker stepped through the ropes and extended a hand to the goliath standing across from him. Looking the kid up and down, Hank grimaced, as if offended by the amateur in the ring with him. The Wildman reached out and grabbed Parker’s hand as if to shake, but then at the last second, he pulled Parker toward him and smashed his giant head into the young man’s.
He stumbled backward, clearly dazed from the underhanded move. Even from where she stood, Hannah could see blood dripping down Parker’s forehead.
The crowd burst into laughter. The blood was what they came for, after all.
Mac quickly separated the two combatants, but the fight hadn’t even begun yet and it already didn’t look good for Parker.
The rearick in front of her talked amongst themselves.
“Wish I put all I had on me in dis fight. Kid’s a goner,” one said to the other.
The rearick dialect always tickled her ears. Hannah tapped him on the shoulder. “How much you have?”
“I’ve still got half my earnings from dis month’s shipment, lass, but if I had bet dem all, I damn sure would be leaving Arcadia with a heavier sack.”
The stocky men flanking him laughed. “Don’t talk to da pretty girl about your sack, Kegan.”
She watched the man blush, then put her hand on his shoulder. “Trust me, I’m old enough to know you hillmen aren’t the only ones worried about the size of your sacks. I’ll take your bet if
you give me ten-to-one.”
The rearick snorted and looked at his companions. “You should run along, missy. The Pit isn’t a place for girls like ye.”
“Hmm,” Hannah sighed. “If you’re not willing to risk a bet on such a sure thing, then I’d say the Pit isn’t a place for girls like you.” She shrugged, looking at his friends before she turned back to finish her comment, “I guess you have no sack at all.”
The men surrounding him and some other onlookers laughed at her affront. She lifted and then rattled the small bag of coins she had saved up and hidden precisely for a shot like this. It was all the savings she had and took every ounce of precaution to hide them from her drunken father. It was a risk, but with the right idiot and the right odds, she could just get lucky.
“With a mouth like yours, maybe you do belong at da Pit,” the rearick said with a grin of admiration breaking through his beard. “I’ll take your bet for eight-to-one.”
Hannah nodded, keeping her eyes on the kid in the ring as he removed his cloak.
****
Parker and Hank circled each other as the crowd swelled around the ring. They were hungry for a good fight, and although they didn’t expect one, they’d gladly pay to see a nobody like him get pummeled.
Watching the Wildman for any tells, Parker kept his eyes trained on his opponent. He had spent enough time hanging around the fights that he knew Hank had seen everything—nearly everything. Parker hadn’t been in a fight for years, and that was childhood nonsense that meant nothing compared to the experience Hank had. But sometimes, if your opponent was cocky enough, inexperience could be used to your advantage. It was just about the only advantage Parker had.
“Let’s get this over with,” Hank sneered through gritted teeth.
“What,” Parker said with a smile. “No foreplay? Fine, we’ll do it quickly, since that’s what you’re used to.”
Hank’s sneer turned to rage, and he came in telegraphing a right hook from a mile away. Parker easily ducked the fist and spun out behind Hank, landing a playful kick in the man’s broad ass. The kick, plus Hank’s own momentum, carried the big man forward and he nearly stumbled into the crowd.
They responded with loud cheering. Parker turned to them and gave a deep bow.
Hank’s face turned wine red as he turned back. “All right, you little shit. Was going to take it easy on you. But no one makes an ass of me.”
Parker smiled. “Of you or your ass?” The crowd laughed again and began hollering when Parker mimed a little kick.
The man charged again, head down for Parker’s torso. With the agility of a noble dancer, Parker cleared him, using Hank’s head as a vault. The big man hit the ground, kicking up dust into the air. Parker danced around the edge of the ring, waving and blowing kisses.
The onlookers whooped and hollered in return. They were starting to enjoy Parker the Pitiable, and Parker was certainly taking the moment to enjoy them. But his bragging stopped as he turned just in time to take a left jab on the chin followed by a heavy right. Hank’s fists were like brick, and Parker’s head spun as he dropped to one knee.
Hank gloated over top of his kill. He raised his arms overhead, roaring like a pagan warrior. It was his signature move, and the crowd had been waiting for it.
But so had Parker.
As the Wildman stood over top of him, staring into the crowd, Parker put all his weight behind a kick at the man’s groin. Hank’s roar of delight turned into a high pitch squeak as the man doubled over. Parker wasted no time pushing his advantage. He jabbed a fist into Hank’s throat, then placed his foot on the larger man’s leg and pushed with all the strength he had.
The winded man fell like an oak, slamming hard on the packed dirt. Before he could catch his breath, Parker was on him. The kid delivered a flurry of blows, aiming as best he could for the soft spots beneath the man’s ribs, before rolling away to safety.
Parker leaned over Hank as he rolled on his knees. “Need a hand, Henry?” Parker asked in his best impression of a concerned friend. Mockery would get him everywhere, or at least that was what Parker was shooting for.
Hank finally pushed himself up off the ground, but it was clear that the fight had been taken out of him. His eyes were bloodshot and his breathing was ragged. All that was left for Parker to do was stay out of range of Hank’s fists until he could land the final blow.
Parker had never been strong, but growing up on the Boulevard taught him to be smart—and fast. The strong preyed on the weak, but not if they couldn’t be caught. Hank was used to fighting men who either matched his own brute tactics or who cowered in fear.
The insults, and the acrobatics, and the speed of this kid left him disoriented. But Hank was a seasoned professional, able to adjust on the fly. He hadn’t given up, yet. This time, he came in cautiously, working his feet like he almost never needed to. All Hank needed was one shot to pin Parker down and he’d be toast.
Parker offered him that chance. He stepped up to him and then dipped his shoulder as if going into another roll. Hank took the bait and bent to catch the shifty fighter. Turning on the brakes, Parker transitioned into an uppercut, clenching both hands together and putting all his strength and momentum into the blow.
****
“Scheisse! Da damned fool,” the rearick yelled as the kid swung his double fists into the man’s chin. The crowd went silent in awe and admiration. They had loved every minute of Parker’s dancing, even his cheap shot to Hank’s balls. But they never thought the kid would actually come out on top.
Not until that uppercut.
This time, Parker didn’t stop for celebration or to work the crowd. Hannah knew her bet was going to finish things right then and there. She held her breath as she watched him stomp-kick Hank’s knee, chopping him down to size. The big man buckled as his leg twisted out from under him. Stunned, the champion looked up at his adversary like a prey knowing the hunter had won.
Parker stepped forward and swung his elbow into the man’s temple in a finishing blow. The crowd went silent and then roared with glee as the Wildman dropped unconscious to the ground.
Hannah placed her own elbow on the rearick’s shoulder and leaned on him like she would lean against the side of her house. “Sorry friend, better luck next time.” She held out her hand, asking for the payment he had promised.
The man’s face turned from white to red underneath of his bushy beard. “You… you swindled me? You knew he was going tah win? You knew it all along?”
She grabbed the coin purse out of his hand and shrugged.
“Now, how could I have planned something like that? I’m just a little girl, after all.” Her look of innocence turned into a wry smile as the man from the Heights blustered in rage. She quickly snuck off into the crowd before he had a chance to try and take his money back.
As she moved away from the crowds, she counted her winnings. She had risked everything she had on that bet and it paid off. Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes locked with the rookie fighter’s. Blood trickled from Parker’s nostrils, but his wounds couldn’t dampen his smile.
She nodded, then turned and headed back down the alley away from the Pit. Hannah would let the crowd and the victor have their moment. She had a pocket full of coin and plenty of work to do.
****
“Stay seated,” Adrien told the receptionist with the wave of his hand as he crossed into the Capitol’s infirmary.
The receptionist, mouth wide, stood anyway, which was precisely what Adrien expected. The Chancellor was a damned celebrity in Arcadia, and the fact that he seldom left the Academy grounds made an encounter something common people would talk about for days.
