‘No, I don’t want to fight. But they’re going to make me fight anyway, so I may as well not die at the first attempt.’
‘You know of the Christian martyrs, yes? The ones that the emperors put into the arena with the wild animals? They did not fight, but prayed as they died.’
‘I’m not a Christian.’
Stanislav took a step closer, and pressed his extended forefinger into Dalip’s chest. ‘What is it that you want? What do you really want?’
‘I want them to let me go. I want to make them let me go. I want to make them give me back my turban, my kangha, my kara, my kirpan. I want to make them glad to see the back of me. I can’t do any of that if I’m dead.’
‘That is true,’ he conceded. ‘Will you fight to make them let you go?’
‘Yes.’ Dalip looked away, then back. ‘I think so.’
‘You have to more than think. You have to know. And you have to fight them, every second of every day until you are either free or dead. Can you do that?’
‘Yes. Yes I can.’
‘If this is ultimately futile, and the geomancer and her men are too powerful for us, then we might only make them pay in some small way for what they have done. Would you be content with that?’
Dalip stared at his hands and wondered if he could do it. He was a student, a son, a brother. Not a fighter. Why was he here? He was here because he was being held against his will by people who wanted to feed him to dogs. That was why. That was the answer: not ‘fight’. So they were wrong, and he’d show them they were wrong, one way or another. If that meant pretending to become what they wanted, then he’d do that, only for as long as it took to work out a way of escaping.
‘Yes.’
It was Stanislav’s turn to come to a decision. His gaze wandered up to the first balcony, where the geomancer had sat. He pursed his lips and looked pensive.
‘Yes, then. I will attempt to train you. I know the basics. If nothing else, you will leave a better-looking corpse.’ He checked that Pigface wasn’t in sight. ‘Strip,’ he said.
‘Sorry, what?’
‘Strip. Let me see what I have to work with.’
Dalip kept his kachera on. Otherwise, he was naked, and felt utterly uncomfortable as Stanislav circled him, sizing him up as if he was a joint of meat. The air chilled his skin, and what hair he had rose up.
‘I have seen worse. You do a lot of sport?’
‘Cricket, mainly.’ Dalip looked straight ahead.
‘Cricket. How very… English. Can you run, throw, catch?’
‘I’m not bad, I suppose.’
‘The ball is small and hard. Are you scared of it?’
‘I know it’s going to hurt sometimes, and more if I get it wrong. But no, not really.’
‘This mark here.’ Stanislav pointed to Dalip’s arm. ‘This is where the dog bit you?’
‘That’s where I let the dog bite me. Then I stabbed it in the back and neck.’
‘We want to avoid that. A bigger creature will break your arm, even if they do not break your skin. A dog has blunt claws, made for running. A cat◦– a big cat◦– is sharp at every corner and will slice you like one of your Sunday roasts.’ Stanislav sized up the floor space. ‘This is small. Speed will only count for so much. Once you have made contact, ending it quickly will be your only option. Do you know any judo, or karate, or wrestling or boxing?’
‘No. I never really got into fights at all.’
‘Not even with racists or neo-Nazis?’
‘I got thumped a couple of times, but I was always able to run away.’ He shifted awkwardly. ‘Can I put the boilersuit back on? I’m cold and…’
‘Embarrassed? You will not die of embarrassment.’ Stanislav kicked Dalip’s boilersuit further away. ‘No. You cannot run away in here. Against animals, predators who will be used to killing for food and for dominance, there can be no running. You must dodge, close and strike, use your mind as a weapon as much as a knife. The longer a fight goes on, the more likely you are to lose. When you are tired, you will make mistakes. Out there, you have the chance to do it again. In here, it will kill you.’
Despite the cold, Dalip found his hands damp with sweat. Of course he was nervous. He’d be a fool not to be.
‘So how do we start?’
Stanislav weighed up the options. ‘You know what this is?’
He dropped to the ground and balanced his straight body on his fingers and toes. His elbows bent, his body dipped, then he straightened them again.
‘A press up,’ said Dalip.
‘You need more strength in your back and shoulders. Your arms are like sticks. One hundred. Start now, and I will find some weapons to practise with.’
Dalip assumed the position. He was quite light, and the first twenty weren’t too difficult. He could hear voices off, away down the corridor. He raised his head enough to see Stanislav and Pigface engage in, at first, an animated conversation with a lot of gesturing, and then it escalated to a full-throated shouting match. Pigface turned to walk away: a brief struggle ensued, ending up with the guard’s head squashed against the stone wall by Stanislav’s meaty hand, while the other relieved him of his knife. It had happened so quickly, almost effortlessly, that Dalip had no idea of the order of events.
Pigface slid down the wall when released, and Stanislav re-entered the pit. He stooped to put the knife on the floor and acted as if nothing had happened.
‘How many have you done?’
‘Twenty-six.’
Pigface was picking himself up off the ground, pressing his palm to the side of his head, staring narrow-eyed at Stanislav.
‘More, then,’ said Stanislav. ‘And faster. This is not meant to be easy. While you are doing that, tell me what you saw outside: tell me about the buildings, how far away they are, how many soldiers you saw.’
He gave the details as best he could, and then talked about what he presumed was the geomancer’s stronghold.
‘There’s a tower attached to this one, by a bridge that links the first floors. If that’s where she lives, then she can just walk from there to here without going down to the ground. But the only way out of here for us is through the guard room.’
‘How high is that balcony? Three and a half metres? Four? If one of us could climb that, then there is another way out.’
Dalip’s arms were beginning to burn. ‘It’s smooth stone. I don’t think anyone could climb that.’
‘No? I will show you how it can be done. Not today, though. Let them get used to us being here, then they will take less notice of us. How many now?’
‘Forty-seven. Forty-eight.’
The strain was showing in his voice.
‘Keep going. Do not stop. You are not weak. You are strong.’ Stanislav glanced up again. ‘If the geomancer was there, we could catch her by surprise. She does not look like a fighter herself. Incapacitate her guards, and you have her.’
The pain was building, and all Dalip could do was grunt.
‘Once you have taken her hostage, we can free the others, and whoever else wishes to leave. Her dragon cannot attack us without attacking her. When we are safe, we can decide what to do with her. Remember what she is and what she has done. There may be no justice other than what we give, and if we let her go, she and her men may hunt us down, or simply go back to slaving.’
Dalip’s arms were trembling with effort. He locked his elbows to rest, but Stanislav wasn’t letting him slack off.
‘In this ring you fight until you finish. You cannot stop before then.’
The fire. He couldn’t feel his arms any more, but he kept on going for another one, another two, then he collapsed face-first on to the cold, hard ground.