‘Good fight, Robert,’ Calum said with grace.
‘Excuse me, love,’ I said to Fiona as I managed to shift her from my lap and stand up, hopefully without her father noticing my partial erection. ‘Aye, good fight,’ I said, shaking Robert’s hand. ‘Sadly, old age and treachery tend to win out over youth, vigour and skill.’
‘I’m no sure about that,’ Robert said. ‘You kick like a bloody mule and I reckon you’re every bit as fast as me.’ He sounded impressed. He seemed a likeable enough kid. Alasdair looked less impressed.
To what degree had They augmented me? I felt fitter than when I’d been eighteen.
‘Aye, well I’ve been doing this for a while and, you know, experience helps.’
Robert opened his mouth to reply.
‘Robert, be a good chap. You’ve disgraced me enough for one night, do piss off,’ Alasdair said. I didn’t like this guy. I bit back a reply because I was a guest. Robert glanced at Alasdair and rolled his eyes before nodding to me and heading off. I sat back down and tried to ignore him. I was less than pleased that Fiona climbed back onto my lap.
‘The kid did well — he’s a good fighter. You shouldn’t be so hard on him,’ Calum told Alasdair.
‘I’ve invested so much in him and he’s such a disappointment. I’ve a mind to drop him back in the shithole I found him in.’
‘That kid’s victories aren’t yours because you’ve spent some fucking money,’ I said, trying to get a dangerous tone in my voice.
‘You misunderstand, Sergeant Douglas. His victories are mine because he belongs to me.’
I’d learned something with Mudge in London. When you’re mixing with people like this you couldn’t just elbow them in the face when they annoyed you. I wasn’t sure why; apparently it just wasn’t the done thing. Shame really. This guy had obviously grown up not being elbowed in the face enough when he was talking shit. This meant that he thought it was okay to talk shit. I wasn’t sure it was entirely his fault — after all his parents had called him Alasdair.
‘What can I do for you, Alasdair?’ Calum asked, sounding more than a little pissed off.
‘Yes, Alasdair, you’re being a bore,’ Fiona added.
‘You’re ex-SAS, aren’t you?’ Alasdair asked me. I ignored him. He’d looked it up but I still wasn’t giving the little shit the satisfaction.
‘He won’t talk about it,’ Calum told Alasdair.
‘Why? He made sure we could read about it on the web. Desperate for attention, were you?’ I continued ignoring him. This was good for me, I decided. It would help me build up tolerance. ‘Hardly a fair fight then, was it?’ he demanded. ‘I have a proposition. Three of my men would be happy to fight him. Mr Douglas’s dubious exploits are well known; it shouldn’t be too much of a challenge for him.’ I was trying not to look at the smug impression on his podgy face because I knew it would drive me towards violence.
Calum sighed. ‘Look, Alasdair, you lost a fight. Why don’t you leave it?’
‘What? Is he frightened?’
‘Look, will you just fuck off, you little prick?’ I suggested.
‘I think you’re frightened,’ he said in what I think might have been the most patronising tone I’d ever heard. He’d also raised his voice and I realised that he was playing to the audience. There were boos. I was determined not to bow to peer-group pressure, particularly as they weren’t my peer group.
‘Oh do it!’ Fiona was suddenly shrill in my ear. Then she leaned in close to me. ‘Do it for me,’ she whispered, pouting. ‘Put the little tosser in his place. I’ll make it worth your while.’ She ground herself into my lap. Calum was looking everywhere but at her.
‘Everyone!’ Alasdair announced, turning to the crowd. ‘Sergeant Douglas, scourge of our privacy, is too frightened to fight!’
There was a lot of booing.
‘I’m really sorry about this,’ Calum said. ‘You may want to consider doing it for a quiet life.’
‘Please?’ Fiona pouted.
I swore under my breath and stood up, almost dumping Fiona on the floor in doing so. There was cheering. Alasdair turned around and managed an insincere smile.
‘I don’t suppose you want to get into the ring, do you?’ I asked him.
‘I’m afraid my fighting days are over,’ he said. I’ll bet, I thought.
I made my way back onto the sand. The crowd parted for me. Three on one were not good odds. I wondered what I was doing. Was I trying to impress these people? The girl? Her dad? Why?
The crowd parted, forming three channels from three different directions. The two guys and the girl who came out were solidly built. They moved like they knew how to handle themselves and one of the guys and the girl had matt-black lenses for eyes. The third guy had more expensive lenses but the Royal Marine Commando tattoo on his chest gave him away as a veteran as well.
The woman carried a basket-hilted broadsword of the kind I’d seen decorating the walls of Calum’s castle. Except this one looked sharp and well balanced. She held the sword — I think it was called a claymore — in one hand and a round wooden shield reinforced with iron studs in the other. The guy who wasn’t an ex-marine had a shaved head and his face was a patchwork of scars. He carried a ball and chain in one hand and was already spinning the heavy-looking studded head of the weapon. In his off hand he also carried a shield. The ex-marine was carrying a fucking polearm. It looked like a meat cleaver on the end of a six-foot shaft. Above the cleaver blade was a hook. I wondered if he was expecting cavalry.
If I wasn’t going to risk dying for something worthwhile like murdering Rolleston then I certainly wasn’t going to risk dying in this cellar. I didn’t care what they thought of me. I had nothing to prove. I shook my head and turned to walk away. The problem was, with them all coming from different directions I had to pass one of them.
The woman with the claymore swung at me. I just managed to dance out of the way.
‘What the fuck! Are you insane?! I’m not fucking interested!’ She just smiled at me and remained poised to attack. I tried to walk into the crowd but was faced by a solid wall of screaming rich people, their features twisted in expectation. They wanted to see blood.
They did. The hook on the polearm ripped into my shoulder. It had enough boosted muscle behind it to penetrate the subcutaneous armour. The ex-marine ripped the hook down, tearing open part of my back. I almost fell to my knees. He tore the weapon out of me and then short-swung the cleaver blade at my head. I only just managed to duck out of the way.
I turned to the side as the claymore whistled through the air. The blade hit my metal arm and only succeeded in scoring it. It was a heavy blade and I was faster than her. As she readied another blow I tried to kick her in the head with as much force as I could muster. She got the shield up just in time but I heard it crack and she staggered away from me.
My IVD jumped as the studded head of the ball and chain cracked me solidly in the skull and sent me staggering forward into the crowd. My blood spattered some of them but they were baying for more and I got pushed back into the ring. I found myself missing Balor and New York. The blow to the head made me feel sick.
This was the problem with fighting three people. The minute you tried to deal with one the other got you. As quickly as I could manage, I ducked under another swing of the ball and chain and hooked a kick around the scarred guy’s leg, bringing him down on one knee. I flung myself out of the way of a downward strike from the polearm and threw myself towards the swordswoman. She hadn’t been expecting me to close so quickly and aimed a hurried blow at me, but I grabbed her shield and yanked it towards her sword arm, messing up her strike.