The chorus of song died away, and one Blue outside the circle climbed onto a rock, raising a single thin warble.
"Speeches?" Min said. "Skip to the good stuff."
Quite as if she’d heard, the Blue standing on the rock raised one hand, and produced three short notes.
Fireworks. All around the circumference of the Spire, about twenty feet from the ground, balls of light burst out in unison. But instead of popping, or arcing to the ground, these zigzagged away, leaving a suggestion of a trail behind.
The circle of Blues gave chase, the sudden intensity of movement wholly at odds with their light-hearted cheer of moments before. One woman, particularly quick to react, leapt impossibly high into the air to intercept the nearest ball.
"Shield jump!" Pan cried, while the ball curled at the woman’s touch, no longer trying to move.
A second Blue had followed the woman into the air, aiming not for the ball, but for her. He hadn’t quite connected when another woman punched at him from the ground, clipping him so that he spun away then tumbled down, slowing at the last moment as the grass and dirt bellied out below him beneath the cushion of a shield.
"Are they wearing any flags or colours to tell which team they’re on?" Min asked, frowning at the screen.
"I guess all they’d need to know is their partner. Everyone else is on another team." As the two women sprinted for the Spire, Pan leaned back, visibly resisting being caught up in the competition. "And maybe they can see something we can’t."
A different pair were trying to intercept the sprinters, gouging a channel into the bright green grass with a punch which knocked both women sideways. The one holding the light animal – dangling it by its ears – somehow angled her landing so that her shield bounced her toward the Spire. With a stumble, she ran into starry darkness.
At the end of the muddy gouge her companion lay broken. She had been a short woman, maybe twenty, with dark braided hair and bronzed skin which set off the blue of the stain. The fine drizzle dewed her skin, and glimmered in the light of blooming wings.
The Moth lifted, a slow undulation, and swam through the rain into the stars.
"There’s a leader board," Fisher said, and tilted the laptop so Madeleine could see a web page where a name had appeared in two different scripts, with the number 2 beside it. "That’s the São Paulo clan." He paused, looking across at Noi, who was grey, lips set, and added: "You don’t have to stay."
"Yes, we do," she said. "They’re showing us their limits. Their attacks."
Madeleine stared at the screen, as the image shifted to another part of the golf course in Manila, to another group of Blues chasing long-eared balls of light. The second time a Blue died, the Moth seemed to be fatally wounded as well, emerging only to slump to the wet grass, colour leaching from its blue pattern. Other Blues were merely injured, and limped or were carried away, helped by Greens stationed near the cameras.
The chase for the long-eared balls of light was quick, brutal and efficient. There were many more teams than balls, and soon the losers were returning to their home Spires, to face the widely varied reaction of their Cores. Two dozen corpses remained, human and alien, but it wasn’t particularly comforting that most of the Moths had died with their hosts.
"The garage," Madeleine said stiffly, when it seemed they were done. "Practice? If we use a look-out?"
They looked at each other, then at the screen at another crumpled, discarded shell which had been a person, and nodded.
Chapter Thirteen
"You do not understand me, gentlemen," Pan said, throwing his head back. "I asked to be excused in case I should not be able to discharge my debt to all three; for Monsieur Athos has the right to kill me first, which must much diminish the face-value of your bill, Monsieur Porthos, and render yours almost null, Monsieur Aramis. And now, gentlemen, I repeat, excuse me, but on that account only, and—on guard!"
Min made a by-play of drawing a sword, and wincing as if his shoulder was injured, but said: "When you please, monsieur," and then skipped backward as Pan feinted, fist out. Extra layers of clothing bulking their figures, they circled each other, throwing out finger-punches, and then firmer blows, not full strength, but enough that they had to set their feet or be knocked backward by their smoothly responsive shields.
"The cardinal’s Guards!" Emily called suddenly, and Min and Pan spun toward Madeleine and punched with dual force, and though Madeleine’s shield automatically reacted to the punches, there was no way to keep her footing and she struggled to bring up a second shield at the right strength before she collided with one of the support pillars.
Bouncing forward, she stumbled and dropped to padded knees, but managed to counter-punch at Min and Pan both, since they’d foolishly clumped together. Min dived to one side, leaving only Pan to be slammed into a car door. The glass had been smashed in an earlier bout, but this time metal crumpled.
"All right, Pan?" Nash asked from the east lookout post, as Madeleine held her hands out in the no attack signal.
"Yeah." Pan stepped out of the concave imprint he’d made. "I managed not to bounce! Though I’m not sure if I can claim credit, or if I just hit the right point between too hard and too soft. You weren’t holding back as much that time, Maddie."
"Meant to only step up a notch," Madeleine said, shakily. "But I think I’m getting a little better at judging." Hopefully she’d improve before accidentally killing someone.
"Rest and then we’ll swap to Emily and Fisher for a final bout," Noi said from the west lookout, and Madeleine obediently plopped down near the entry gate. Min plucked an invisible hat from his head, dipping into an elaborate, hat-twirling bow, and joined her.
It was the fourth practice session. The garage under the North Building was suitably isolated, entirely separate from the main apartment, with only one perforated metal entry gate and a few ventilation shutters offering anyone a chance of seeing what was happening. And for that they would need to walk most of the way down the wharf and peer into the gloom of the garage.
The first day, upset and angry, they’d done little more than peck at each other, limited by the unforgiving concrete and steel environment, and recognising an added hurdle: for all its privacy, the garage was cramped by a half dozen cars – and their alarms. But as dusk came on, they risked moving several out to the visitor parking between the two buildings, and disconnected the batteries of the remainder, disabling the alarms.
During the second session Pan had started turning their attempts to learn into a game, switching through an endless stream of fight scenes – Hamlet, The Princess Bride, The Empire Strikes Back, Monty Python – and falling frequently back on an evolving Blue Musketeer persona. It wasn’t till the third session that Madeleine realised that Pan was as intent on distracting everyone else as he was trying to make himself feel better. They were all facing the gap between their current abilities and those displayed during the Manila challenge, and trying to believe they had some hope.
"We’re getting better at blocking physical impacts, at least," she said, loud enough for the two lookouts to hear. "And not paralysing ourselves when we try to shield-stun someone else."