Sasker had always loved going to the Pit as a kid, though he generally preferred the early fights, because he could get closer to the action. He hadn’t been there in a while. First he had training to deal with, and since being kicked out, he couldn’t afford it, since the arena insisted on coin up front to pay for your seat.
But his training as a soldier proved a good fit for the job of keeping an eye on the slaves between fights as a guard, plus he’d get to see the fights for free!
That last part turned out not to be true very often, as most of the guards were kept down in the dungeon area to make sure that the slaves who weren’t fighting didn’t take advantage of the chaos of the fights to try to escape. So Sasker spent a great deal of time patrolling the dungeons and escorting the fighters to the holding areas, but not actually watching the fights.
The job got really boring really fast.
It didn’t help that he didn’t get along with the other guards, because one of them was Jonas. Being last to do pull-ups was far from Jonas’s only sin as a trainee, and he was drummed out of training, but for whatever reason, Jonas decided that it was entirely Sasker’s fault. Where Sasker had taken a few months to find the job, Jonas had landed at the Pit almost immediately after being kicked out of the Guard, so he already was friends with the other guards. The moment Sasker showed up, though, Jonas poisoned the others against him, making him a pariah.
But at least they paid him. He’d settled all three bar tabs, and even started to save up his coins. He wasn’t sure what he was saving for, but it was something his mother always told him to do when he worked, so he did it.
Maybe someday he’d be able to get a better job somewhere.
“Greetings, fellow guard!” came a jolly voice from behind him as he was doing his rounds down the corridor.
Turning, Sasker saw a thri-kreen. While she wasn’t wearing a guard’s uniform-thri-kreens didn’t wear much by way of clothing-she did have a patch attached to her thorax that matched the one on Sasker’s own tunic, and those of all the others.
“I am Chrids’thrar. I just started working today. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Uh, whaddayacall-thanks. I’m Sasker.”
“Oh, yes,” Chrids’thrar said, making those weird noises that thri-kreens always made. “I’ve heard about you.”
Sasker rolled his eyes. “Talked to Jonas already, huh?”
“Yes, but I found him to be a fool, so I’m sure he was lying.”
“Wow.” Sasker was impressed. He didn’t usually get the benefit of the doubt like that.
“I hear there’s a new mul in the arena,” the thri-kreen said enthusiastically.
“Yeah, he’s, whaddayacall, in the next cubicle.”
They approached the cubicle in question, and Sasker looked inside.
The new mul was a surly sort. Sasker had heard about the bitch who owned him, who apparently was Gan’s original owner. “We got this guy and lost, whaddayacall, Gan. He was an okay guy, Gan. Liked him better than this jerk.”
The mul just glowered at Sasker, which was what he always did.
Thankfully, the mul didn’t talk. Gan talked a lot, but it was okay when he did it, because he was intelligent. Sasker had known a few muls in his day, and they were all idiots.
“Hey, after the fights tonight, come join me for a drink,” the thri-kreen said.
“We’re not allowed to drink on duty,” Sasker said dolefully. It was yet another thing he hated about the job.
“That’s why after the fights.”
“We’re still on duty.”
“Yes, but all the other guards do it.”
Sasker sighed. For the past three months his job after the fights was guard duty on the mul-prior to that, it was on Mandred, and prior to that, it was on Gorbin. He’d heard that, since he got that task, the other guards had little gatherings after the fights to eat or drink, even though they too were technically on duty. Of course, he hadn’t been invited to them. “Then I definitely shouldn’t go. I’m, whaddayacall, not welcome.”
The thri-kreen made more of those noises. “Don’t be silly. This is special wine from Yaramuke. Very rare.”
That got Sasker’s attention. He’d heard stories about the wine that they made in Yaramuke before it was destroyed, and he had been simply dying to try it.
Still, he didn’t think it would be a good idea if the others would be there. “Sorry, I gotta keep an eye on this jerk.” He indicated the mul with his thumb.
“Oh, come now. It’s a special occasion. My first day. The mul will keep.”
Again, Sasker sighed. “I’ll, whaddayacall, think about it, okay?” He had no intention of going, but at least by saying that, he’d placate the thri-kreen, who seemed like a nice sort.
Besides, he’d heard that thri-kreens were good in a fight. There hadn’t been a riot in a while, but you never knew, especially given how crazy things had been since Gorbin finally got himself killed.
The rest of the day passed in relative calm, and then Tirana posted the duty roster for the evening. Sure enough, he had guard duty on the mul after the fights ended. Everyone else had roving duty, except for Chrids’thrar, who was guarding the other main-stage fighters.
Except she wouldn’t be-she’d be sharing drinks with the others while Sasker actually did his job.
He was tempted to talk to Tirana about what was going on, but his experiences with the Imperial Guard taught him the value of telling tales to your supervisor. He kept his mouth shut and did his job without causing problems.
Besides, it was Tirana’s job to keep track of the guards. That was the task her father had given her in the arena, so let her figure it out. It wasn’t Sasker’s problem.
The fights that night went as expected. He may have been a surly bastard, but the mul was a good fighter. His arms were scarred from previous brands that arenas had put on him and then removed. Calbit would be coming in the next day with the branding iron, at which point the mul-and two other slaves who’d come in yesterday-would get the Pit’s brand on their biceps.
Along with the mercenaries that Calbit and Jago had hired after Gan and Mandred had arrived-whom Sasker hated, as they were even stupider than the mul, though he had to admit that they were handy-Sasker escorted the mul back to his cubicle.
“You should go drinking with your friends,” the mul said as Sasker pushed him into the cubicle.
Scowling, Sasker said, “You shouldn’t, whaddayacall, listen in on other people’s conversations.”
Then the mul did something Sasker hadn’t seen him do in the two days he’d been there-he smiled.
“Trust me.”
Once the door was locked, the mercenaries all went off-they didn’t say, but Sasker bet that Chrids’thrar had invited them to drink with her too-and he was alone with the mul.
About an hour passed, and Sasker noticed that it was unusually quiet. He hadn’t noticed at first, since the time after the fights usually had a sharp reduction in noise level with the crowds having gone home. But that night was far quieter than usual. The only sound he heard was the mul snoring-he’d nodded off half an hour earlier.
“Greetings, my friend.”
Turning, Sasker saw Chrids’thrar coming down the corridor holding a flask.
“You didn’t come to drink with us.”
“Yeah, I told you it’d, whaddayacall, be a bad idea.”
“That’s too bad.” The thri-kreen was offering the flask with one of her pincers. “This is really, really good wine.”
Sasker glanced inside the mul’s cubicle. He was still snoring.
“What the hell.” He took the proffered drink and gulped it down.
It was sweet and caustic, which wasn’t at all what he was expecting. The liquid also burned in his throat, but it wasn’t the good burning that he got from the liquors in the taverns.
Then the room started turning all kinds of interesting colors. Particularly the ceiling …