David Baldacci - The Finisher

Silas hurried to examine him and then waved the Mendens over. I stood there, my breath coming in short bursts, my head bloody and swollen where his fist had connected and my legs nearly numb from stomping on the metal. As the Mendens worked away on Non, Silas glanced at the breastplate, looked in my general vicinity and then glanced at the breastplate once more. He tapped his fingers against his chin. “I will have to look this up in the rule book,” he said. “As I told you, the breastplate cannot be used as a weapon.”

“By him ,” I blurted out. “He chose to wear it. It’s not my fault if he was stupid enough to let me get it off him and use it against him, is it?”

“Hmmm,” he said as he considered this.

“She’s right, Silas,” said a voice.

We both turned to see Thansius standing there. “Vega is right,” he said again. “Oh, you can look it up. Section twelve, paragraph N of the Duelum Rules of Combative Conduct . Anything that an opponent wears into the quad can be legally used as a weapon against him by his opponent. In other words, he who brings into the quad what can be weaponized does so at his peril.” He glanced at the prostrate Non. “An apt description in this case, I would think.”

“Quite right, Thansius,” said Silas. “No need to look it up. As a past Duelum champion many times over, your knowledge on the subject is far better than mine,” he added to a spot a foot to the right of the great Wug. I really thought they needed to get younger referees or at least those who could see properly.

Silas turned and held up my hand in victory.

I just stood gaping as six Wugs lifted a groaning Non onto a stretcher and carried him off. I hoped he later would be delivered to the Care, where no one would ever come and visit him. When Silas let my hand drop, I stayed there, unable to move. My paralysis was broken by Thansius, who gripped my shoulder. I turned to look up at him.

“Well done, Vega, well done indeed.”

“Thank you, Thansius.”

“Now, I think we best leave the quad. The next bouts are about to commence.”

We walked off the pitch together.

“Your fighting skills are quite ingenious,” Thansius commented. “You sized up your far larger and stronger opponent and used his own strength and tools against him.”

“Well, if I had fought him toe-to-toe, I would have lost. And I don’t like to lose.”

“I can see that.”

The way he said it, I wasn’t quite sure if he thought that a good or a bad attribute.

He pointed to my face. “You might want to get a Menden to tidy you up a bit.”

I nodded and wiped at the blood. What with the dirty shot to the face I had taken from Cletus and now these fresh wounds, it was a wonder I could even see.

“So on to the third round with you,” he said pleasantly enough.

I stared at him, wondering why he was even bothering to talk to me.

“Do you really expect me to keep winning?” I said.

“I can’t say, Vega.”

“Why would you even care?”

He seemed startled by the bluntness of my question. “I care about all Wugmorts.”

“Even those accused of treason?” I asked.

He flinched with this comment. “Your frankness is often spellbinding, Vega.”

“I’m not a traitor. I had the book and the map, but I would never use either against my fellow Wugs. Never.”

He searched my features. “You’re a fine warrior, Vega. If all Wugs could fight as well as you, we would have little worry in case of invasion.”

“Or Morrigone could simply exercise her considerable powers and vanquish the so-called Outliers in a sea of blue mist with one sweep of her graceful hand.”

I had no idea why I had said this. And I did not know what his reaction would be to my words. But his response was unexpected.

“We have many things to fear in Wormwood, Vega. But that is not one of them.”

I gaped at him, trying to decipher his words precisely.

He said, “Now, don’t forget to have your injuries sorted out. We need you at your best come the third round.”

He picked up his pace and was soon well ahead of me. I slowed my walk, eyed something, grinned and bolted to the betting circle. There was a long queue, but this light I had a patience that was inexhaustible.

When I reached the front of the queue, I held out my parchment to Litches McGee. I expected him to be very angry, but he wasn’t. He gleefully counted out a great many coins from a very fat bag of them and handed them to me. I stared down at them in wonder. I had never held more than one coin at any one time, and then only briefly as it would quickly go to pay a bill or two.

McGee said, “I made a small fortune this light, seeing as how every Wug wagered against you.”

“Not every Wug,” said a voice.

I turned to see Delph holding out his parchment.

As we put our coins in our pockets, I said to McGee, “So you’ll be changing your name now?”

“What say you?” he asked with a puzzled look. “Change me name to what?”

“To Alvis Alcumus, you prat.”

I walked off chortling with Delph.

“On to the third round,” said Delph eagerly as Harry Two sidled up next to us. My canine looked a bit sad that he had not been able to take a few chunks out of Non.

I rubbed my bloody, swollen face and looked at Delph out of the only eye I could. “I’m not sure I’ll last.”

“Just three more times and you’re champion,” he said, smiling broadly.

Only I wasn’t sure I had many tricks or strategies left.

We were both hobbling along on our gimpy legs when a Wug named Thaddeus Kitchen, who worked in the Mill with Delph, came running up. He was breathless and his face pale.

“Delph, you need to come quick!” he gasped.

“Why, what’s wrong?” asked Delph, the smile struck from his face.

“It be your dad. He’s terrible hurt down by the Wall.”

Kitchen turned and rushed off.

Delph threw aside his cudgel and, bad leg and all, ran full tilt after him, with me and Harry Two right behind.

TERRIBLE HURT.

That’s what Kitchen had said about Duf.

It still didn’t prepare either of us for what we saw.

Duf Delphia lay on a patch of dirt in front of the great and ugly Wall that to me now seemed as grotesque and evil as any vile creature I had yet faced. Delph raced to his father’s right side while I knelt on the other. We at once realized that Duf’s lower legs were smashed nearly flat at the knees. He was delirious with the pain and writhing wildly even as two Mendens worked feverishly over him with their instruments, bandages and salves.

Delph gripped his dad’s hand. “I’m here,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m here, Dad.”

“What happened?” I asked.

Thaddeus Kitchen was standing behind me.

He pointed to the Wall. “Section of timbers fell, caught him at the knees. Blood and bone, ’twas everywhere. Never seen nothing like it. Mawky it was. Why, ’twas like the most disgustin’ bitta —”

“All right, we get the idea,” I said, my worried gaze on Delph.

I looked over at a gaping hole in the Wall nearly thirty feet up.

“How the Hel did they fall?” I asked.

“Strap failed, what done it,” replied Kitchen.

I jerked so badly I nearly fell over.

A strap failed? My straps?

Kitchen said in a loud, patronizing tone, “If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a dozen times, haven’t I? We’re all rushing around like we’re mad for it, and now we’re a right pig’s ear, ain’t we? Cut Wugs. Smashed Wugs. Dead Wugs. And for what? A bunch of stacked wood that will no more keep away the Outliers than me female could waving her knickers at ’em. One cookie short of a picnic was the Wug thought that up, ask me.”