I felt something touch my arm and I looked down.
I was surprised to see that it was Hestia Loon. She gripped my wrist firmly and said in a fierce whisper, “You are not to step one foot inside the quad with the likes of Ladon-Tosh. Not one foot, mind you, Vega. Your poor mum. Why, she would never have allowed it. And since she’s not here to speak up for herself, I will. I’ll talk to bloody Thansius himself if I must, but you are not fighting that … that thing.”
She stormed off, leaving me openmouthed. As Wugs began to disperse, more and more of them came over to me. They knew I was next up for Ladon-Tosh. And, like Hestia Loon, not a single one of them wanted me to fight him.
As I was leaving a few slivers later, Roman Picus came over and handed me back my two wagered coins. He eyed me nervously and then said in a subdued tone, “Listen, Vega, you saw? I mean you saw?”
“I saw,” I replied quietly.
I could see his hands were trembling and his lips quivered. “It’s not like you and me have always seen eye to eye on things, o’course.”
I managed a brief smile. “No, we haven’t. In fact, you accused me of cheating.”
“I know, I know,” he said miserably. He gazed over my shoulder at the pitch. “But I liked your mum and dad. And Virgil too, truth be known. And there weren’t a finer Wug than your granny, Calliope. And o’course John and all his good work.”
“What are you trying to say, Roman?”
“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.”