David Baldacci - The Finisher

Before he could respond I turned on my heel and stalked away to the pitch.

I watched Ted Racksport skillfully dispatch a quivering Wug who worked at the Mill in just under five slivers. As his hand was raised in victory, Racksport eyed me and smiled wickedly. He pointed at me as if to say I was next.

My pleasure , I thought.

The second bell sounded and I marched toward my quad. Dodgson stood across from me, his shirt off and his muscles flexed in an intimidating manner. When the referee called us in for instruction, Dodgson eyed me, his gaze coming to rest on my broken nose, which was swollen and hurt so badly it made me queasy.

“What happened to your nose?” he asked. “Don’t remember you getting that banged up in the Duelum.”

To this I said nothing.

He finally shrugged and said, “Well, I won’t hurt you too bad.” He smiled with those cruel lips, but the smile never reached his eyes. He next spoke in a voice only I could hear. “That was a lie. I am going to hurt you very bad. You should be in Valhall. It is Krone’s wish and I serve him well.” I didn’t respond to this either. Instead I turned to look at Krone, who stood right on the edge of the quad to cheer on his Wug. I held up five fingers and opened and closed my hand five times representing his twenty-five wagered coins, and then pointed to myself.

I turned back to Dodgson. He had seen this exchange and his face was full of fury.

He flexed his muscles. “No mercy for you, female. None!”

“I don’t remember asking for any,” I said in a deadly calm voice.

My face, with all its wounds, I knew, looked awful. Even scary. And right now I was perfectly fine with that. Because, as I continued to stare over at Dodgson, I could see something I had yet to see in one of my male opponents.

I saw fear.

The bell rang, our bout began and I charged straight at Dodgson. As Delph had said, he liked to hang back and he did keep his hands too low. I leapt and wrapped my legs around his torso and arms, locking my ankles together as I had done with Cletus in my first bout. By being forced to carry my weight too, he was thrown off balance just enough that when I twisted my body to the right, he toppled over. I squeezed my legs tighter, trapping his arms by his side. I gripped his neck and pinched the throbbing pipes of blood that ran up to his head. He struggled to break my leg lock, but I was a lot stronger than I looked and my legs were far stronger than my arms.

He did succeed in ramming his head against my face again and again until I thought I might actually pass out. I felt fresh blood run down my lips and I tasted it in my mouth. I thought I felt my cheekbone crack and my good eye puff up. But I held on. I was not going to let this Wug go.

As the blood going to his head was constricted by my grip, his eyes fluttered once, twice, he stopped struggling and his arrogant eyes closed. I released my grip and stood. Dodgson remained where he was, senseless.

The book I had nicked from hospital had explained this little medical fact and I had employed it to full measure. Dodgson would rise shortly and be no worse off for it, except for his wounded pride and a splitting headache. The referee checked Dodgson’s status and then raised my hand in victory.

As I stood there, bruised and bloodied, with my hand overhead, I found Racksport’s gaze on me. I could tell by his amazed look that he had lost coin on the bout. Well, it was the git’s own fault. If I could dispatch Non, any sane Wug should realize that the likes of Dodgson might bloody me, which he had, but would not best me. Of course, I was female, which was the great antidote to all reason. How could a female beat a male not once, not twice, but thrice? It was not possible. I read those thoughts in Racksport’s beady, disturbed eyes. But like when I had first confronted Dodgson in the quad, I stared dead at Ted Racksport. Then I rubbed a bit of blood off my face and pointed my reddened finger at him until he gave a nervous, hollow laugh and turned away.

And then I turned to Krone. I didn’t smile. I didn’t laugh. I didn’t say a word. I simply stared. And then I held my five fingers up five more times and pointed to myself.

His face filled with hatred, he stalked off, leaving precious Dodgson unconscious on the dirt.

So much for “esteemed colleagues.”

After this round was completed, there would be only four combatants left standing. And after that, only two. I meant to be one of the two. And then the one of the one: the champion. I had never won anything in all my sessions. Now I was determined to win the Duelum.

I collected my winnings and walked down the High Street with many slivers on my hands, wondering what best to do with them. There was no work at Stacks because of the Duelum and it was still not yet the fourth section of light.

As I passed the Witch-Pidgy Pub, Thaddeus Kitchen ambled out, looking the worse for a pint of flame water or two or three.

“No work on the Wall this light?” I said.

He glanced at me and in that look I could tell something was wrong.

He hiccupped and said, “Me and Henry got sacked, thanks to your lot.”

“My lot?” I replied, stunned by this.

“Cause of the Wa-Wall (hiccup) tumblin’ down on D-Du … that bloke whatsis.”

“I didn’t make the Wall fall. Your lot doctoring the straps did. Who sacked you?”

His face filled with anger as though he was only now seeing me clearly for who I was. “Your brother, that’s who.” He belched.

“John sacked you? I thought he was the one who made the design change?”

“He bloody well did. But what matter is it to mister (hiccup) high-and-mighty Wug that he is? And I got me a family to su-suppo … take care of, now don’t I?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, though I really wasn’t. “But Duf Delphia lost his legs. You can always get another job.”

He wobbled about on his feet before regaining his balance. “Oh, can I now? Not with a bad reference from him, I can’t, the little g-g-git.”

“My brother sacked you because you made something weak,” I said angrily. “I’m sure when he found out what happened, he was furious with himself. He took it out on you and Henry. I’m not saying it’s fair, but that doesn’t make him a git.”

Kitchen drew closer and leaned into my face, so I could smell the flame water full-on. “He sacked us, female, ’cause we took you at your word and didn’t punch no more holes in them fancy bloody straps-a yours. When he found out, that’s when he sacked us. He didn’t care a thing for poor D-Du-whatsis. Now, in my book, that’s a git .” He hiccupped again.

I said nothing to this because I could think of nothing to say.

Taking my silence for acquiescence, Kitchen belched again and said, “A pox on the house of Jane, I say. What good are you?” He stumbled a bit and then refocused on me, a silly grin spreading over his face. “But I got a coin or two on you in the next round, Vega, so (hiccup) don’t let me down, luv. Har.”

He staggered off, leaving me to think hard about what he had just told me. At least I wanted to, but I heard the footsteps on the cobblestones and I turned to see who it was. Roman Picus looked none too pleased. With him were Cletus, Ran Digby with his nose bandaged and, bringing up the rear, Non, who looked as bad as I felt. They made a semicircle around me, armed to the teeth with their mortas and knives.

“Good light, Roman,” I said. Before he could answer, I added, “And if you want a piece of advice, I would stop wagering coin against me.”

Digby of course aimed a slop of smoke weed at my boot but missed. Cletus hissed. Non growled. Roman, however, just eyed me steadily.