‘You’re the fucking dead man,’ he said. ‘Tough, though, I’ll give you that. Must have been to have killed two of Friedrik’s enforcers. They were good men by all accounts. Two of the best. You must have some big bollocks to have gone against the Guild like that. Or maybe you’re just frigging stupid.’
Nobul stared back.
‘Been talking about you a lot upstairs, they have,’ Toothless continued like this was some cosy fireside chat. ‘Word is you had a boy as got killed. They say it were an accident but we both know it weren’t.’ He moved a little closer, almost close enough for Nobul to reach out and bite the fucker, but he was too intent on the words to try. ‘Those Greencoats what shot him were trying to catch a killer, an assassin. And who do you think sent that assassin?’
Nobul had a pretty good idea. He’d thought about it long and hard. Wasn’t a crime committed in the walls of Steelhaven that didn’t have the mark of the Guild on it somewhere. This only confirmed a suspicion he’d had for a while now.
‘That’s right — we sent him. His mark was some merchant called Constantin. He’d took what wasn’t his, what belonged to Friedrik. And if it weren’t for him, your boy might still be around. It’s a shit one, and no mistake. I’m sure Friedrik’s frightful guilty about it. I’m sure he wants to make amends.’ Toothless glanced at the pit behind Nobul. ‘Guess that’s why he’s giving you a fighting chance.’
Denny had been the one that killed Markus, Nobul already knew that, but the lad had done it by accident, only trying to do his job. The real reason Markus had died was because this Friedrik had ordered a hit and it had gone wrong. And now Nobul was about to die himself, to be slain by the very man who was the cause of his son’s death.
Toothless went back up the stairs giggling to himself, and it wasn’t long before other figures started to come down through the trapdoor. Some carried torches, others held flagons of ale and bottles of wine. There were men and women, laughing and joking, groping each other drunkenly. It soon looked like half of Northgate was there.
It didn’t take long for the cellar to fill up with the buzz of chatter and a haze of smoke from their pipes. Nobul was right next to the pit — they’d certainly given him a decent view. Whether that was intentional or not he didn’t know, but it didn’t put him at his ease any.
Before long there was a shout at the far end of the cellar. Some fat bloke was standing on a barrel trying to get everyone’s attention.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he shouted. ‘I know you’re all here for the main event, but first we have a little warm up contest to get you in the mood.’ A cheer went up from certain parts of the crowd. ‘Now, for your delectation, we have a prime example of the pugilistic arts. Our first contender plied their trade in the cellars of Coppergate for five years before moving up to the big time. It’s their third fight in Steelhaven, and some of you’ll remember the mess they made of their last opponent. That’s right, you know who it is — it’s the scourge of the Iron Pits, the hammer fisted daemon, Gnasher Arys!’
The crowd began to cheer and boo as a path opened up. Nobul was expecting some thickly muscled brute — all broken nose and knuckles — but that’s not what came. A woman strutted in through the haze. She was broad about the shoulders, her hair greased back in a topknot. When she reached the side of the pit she grimaced at the onlookers, revealing a row of yellowing teeth, sharpened into nasty-looking points.
‘Who could be mad enough to face her in the ring?’ the fat bloke continued over the jeering. ‘What kind of woman could care so little for her personal safety that she’d take to the pit with a beast like that?’
He paused, waiting for the answer. Someone chanted something that Nobul couldn’t quite make out and before long that person was joined by another voice. Soon the whole crowd was calling the name — Lady Pain — over and over again. Another gap opened up and this time the woman who appeared didn’t look like any lady Nobul had ever seen. She was almost as big about the shoulders as he was, a leather corset holding in her girth all the way up to the bosom. Her hair was shorn short, nose smashed in, jaw jutting like it didn’t take any shit.
‘Yes, you know it,’ shouted the bloke. ‘Lady Pain — Princess of the Pit, Mistress of the Melee, Baroness of the Brawl, undefeated in twelve contests!’
The two women stood at either side of the pit eyeing one another, letting the anticipation build within the crowd. The man on top of the barrel watched them, a smile growing wider on his face as he felt the atmosphere in the cellar growing. Then, without anyone’s say so, the two women jumped in.
Nobul couldn’t see nothing then. The revellers surrounded the pit, staring down, their cheers and jeers filling the cellar with a deafening racket. Every now and again he heard grunting as the pair went at it. The spectators would occasionally give a groan or a roar as one or the other of them struck a violent blow or maybe bit something off the other. Coin was bandied around the edge of the pit as several shills ran their books on who’d win. Nobul could only watch all that shouting and wonder if he’d get cheered or booed or spat on when his turn came. And he knew his turn was coming sooner or later. Only question was what sort of bastard he’d be fighting.
There was a scream that went on a bit too long. It silenced the crowd for a moment before everyone surrounding the pit erupted as one. Once the cheer had subsided, some people started laughing, a few turned away with a grimace. Nobul could see several were spotted with blood that weren’t their own.
The man took his place on the barrel once more.
‘Ladies and gentleman,’ he shouted as one of the women crawled unsteadily from the pit. ‘Our victor this evening is Gnasher Arys.’
The spectators began to clap in appreciation as the woman rose to her feet, mouth dripping with blood. Nobul doubted any of it was hers. Her right eye was closing and she clutched a hand to her ribs, but she still smiled in her victory.
‘Let’s hear it for the gallant loser,’ shouted the fat bloke as Lady Pain was unceremoniously dragged from the pit. No one seemed too bothered about giving her a clap. She looked like her fighting days were over.
Nobul wasn’t that bothered either. He had his own problems to think on. Mercifully he didn’t have to stew on them for too long.
Almost as soon as they’d carried the woman out and the crowd had gone back to its chatter, the announcer climbed on top of the barrel once more. He clapped his hands, grabbing the attention of his audience and hushing them into silence.
‘Well, ladies and gents, now’s the time you’ve all been waiting for: the main event. A one-time opportunity to witness what has not been seen within the walls of this city for a hundred years.’ He pointed over to Nobul, and all eyes turned. ‘A death sentence to be carried out before your eyes.’ One of the ladies clapped in glee as someone began to mess with the chains binding Nobul to the post. Any thought he might have had of making a break for it were dismissed by the sharp end of a blade against his throat. When he looked he saw it was the curly haired one — Friedrik — who was holding it.
‘You’ll put on a good show, won’t you, Nobul?’ he asked, as two big ugly bastards unchained him from the post, but then quickly secured his hands behind him again. ‘There’s a lot riding on this. And I’ve got a reputation to keep.’
Nobul didn’t answer as the two thugs manhandled him to the edge of the pit. All he could think about was how good it would be to get his hands around Friedrik’s throat right now. But he forgot that as he looked down into that big hole.
‘So without further ado,’ shouted the announcer. ‘Let’s get on with the dogfight.’
There was no time to wonder what he meant by ‘dogfight’ before Nobul was shoved down into the pit. Neither was there any time to try to make a graceful landing as he went sprawling in the dirt, his shoulder crunching awkwardly.