George Martin - Lowball

There was a noise behind the door, a snuffling and murmur that he couldn’t make out. It sounded like some sort of prayer.

Annoyed, Marcus said, “Whatever, Father. I’m getting on with it. Just so you know, I’m fighting tonight. Didn’t even have to, but I want to. Yeah, I do. They took Olena from me. You probably think that’s for the best, but you’ve never been in love.”

The praying cut off abruptly.

“We got something. It’s real. It’s not like you think it is. She’s the only truly good thing in this place, and they took her from me. If I don’t do anything, Asmodeus is going to…” He couldn’t get the words out. “I’m not gonna let that happen. That’s why I’m fighting tonight-for her. What else do I have to fight for now?”

Out of words, Marcus felt the urgency drain away. He sighed and pushed himself away from the door. “Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. I’m going. Guess I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

He turned and made it only a few steps away before he heard the door open. Father Squid peered through the crack, his face haggard, streaked with tears. “Marcus … You’re wrong about me. I did know love once. I would’ve done anything to keep her safe, or to punish the one that…” He cut off. He blinked and inhaled a long breath and said, “Come in, son. I’ll tell you about it. I’ll tell you about my Lizzie. And you can tell me about your Olena.” He drew back, leaving the door open for the young man to enter.

“Stupid move, kid,” Asmodeus said. “Stupidest thing you’ve done yet.”

The joker was slick on his feet. He moved as if sliding across ice, deceptive, graceful. In his skintight jeans and white T-shirt, he could’ve been a dancer in West Side Story . Only he wasn’t singing.

Marcus pursued him. He slithered with a purposeful fluidity all his own. He wanted to pound him, to feel his fists thudding against his face. Backing Asmodeus up to the ring wall, he snapped his tail around to one side, to keep him from fleeing to the left, and then he curved in from the right. He released his tongue. It shot from his mouth sopping wet with venom.

Asmodeus blocked it with the palm of his hand. The impact thwacked wetly, spraying his face and knocking his arm back. He spun away, shaking the sting out of it. Good luck with that, Marcus thought. His venom would work just the same. Skin contact. That’s all it needed. Marcus kept his sinuous curve around the joker, waiting for him to weaken. He wanted to see his face register the venom, and then he would come on swinging, beat the crap out of him, and then end it.

Asmodeus looked at Marcus. There was no awareness of his impending doom on his face. He grinned and wiped the moisture from his forehead. “Your venom’s crap,” he said. “It’s nothing to me but the stink of your breath. I’ve got a bit of reptile in me as well. I produce my own venom. Comes out in my semen.” His grin widened. “The ladies love it. Olena more than most. Says my spunk lights a fire inside her.”

Marcus lunged, swinging his fists with everything he had. Asmodeus tried to leap over his tail, but Marcus swiped his feet out from under him. As he fell, Marcus landed punches on the back of his head. It was sloppy, ugly fighting, but he kept at it, battering the joker until he was on his knees. Marcus grabbed him by the hair. He raised his head up, ready to drive him face-first into the floor.

Asmodeus began to convulse. Surprised, Marcus let him go. Maybe the venom was working now. On all fours, dry heaves racked the joker, making him look like a cat coughing up a hairball. As much as Marcus wanted to kill him, he wanted everyone to see how pathetic he was. He wanted Olena to see his humiliation.

Asmodeus, in one terrible cough, expelled something from his mouth. It hit the floor with a clank. He picked up the object, sprang to his feet, and slashed at Marcus’s chest. A knife. The blade opened a slit from shoulder to shoulder. It wasn’t deep. He punched at Asmodeus. The joker ducked under it and landed a jab on Marcus’s chin. As he spun away, his knife sliced a gash to the bone on Marcus’s forehead. It gushed blood.

Laughing, Asmodeus danced away. He gestured toward the audience, raising the knife and waving it about. “Here’s my talent, kid,” he shouted. “Give me enough time and I could cough up a samurai sword. That would be overkill in this situation.”

The two engaged again. Asmodeus slashed and dodged, landing kicks every now and then. Marcus didn’t want to risk his tongue, so he worked in close, pounding at him. He knew he was getting cut, but he didn’t feel it. He could barely see, but it didn’t matter. His own voice inside his head screamed at him to kill. It shouted and cursed and banged on his brain. The noise was incredible.

Asmodeus sank the blade into Marcus’s tail. The pain of it threw him sideways. He couldn’t see anything but blood, no matter how he tried to wipe his eyes free. In a moment of sheer panic, he realized he might lose. Ignoring the man’s blade, Marcus grabbed blindly for him. He pulled him into an embrace, bashing his bloody head into Asmodeus’s face. He pushed him down and wound his tail round and around him. Asmodeus thrashed and yelled, but Marcus got his arms pinned. His coils slid around him. He let go of him with his arms and just coiled and coiled, squeezed and squeezed and squeezed.…

When Marcus awoke, he thought, I killed a man. That can never be undone. Was he changed by it? He wasn’t sure yet. He hadn’t meant to kill him. Not really. He wasn’t sure what he felt. In the arena everything was different. Outside the arena … well, it was getting harder to tell the difference. Even Father Squid had admitted as much. Thinking of the priest, a flush of shame warmed his face.

Olena sat on the edge of the bed. She was fully clothed, leaning forward with her head clutched in her hands. She must’ve sensed that he was awake. She didn’t turn, but she said, “Baba Yaga makes a promise to you.”

Reaching out, Marcus touched her back.

Olena snapped, “No! You can’t touch me.”

“Why?” Marcus sat up.

“Because of Asmodeus.”

“I took care of him. He doesn’t matter anymore.”

“He does matter. Baba Yaga is mad. You weren’t supposed to kill him.”

“He had a knife! He was going to kill me. Everyone saw that. I was…” Marcus tried to believe his own words, but it was hard to get them out. “… defending myself.”

“But you didn’t have permission. She didn’t say you could kill him. That made her mad. Oh, she was mad. You don’t even know.”

“So what? What do I care if she’s mad at me? She’s an old-”

Olena shot to her feet and turned to face him. “Stupid! She’s not just mad at you. She’s mad at me. She thinks I made you do it. I didn’t. I didn’t say to kill him!”

“Okay,” Marcus said, trying to soothe her. “I’ll tell her that. I’ll say it’s not your fault.”

“You don’t understand nothing. She was going to kill you, Marcus! I begged for your life. You don’t know how I begged. She didn’t listen to me, but the crowd-to them she listens. The crowd went crazy. They loved watching you kill. They want more. They’ll pay so much. So much. Enough that Baba Yaga thinks again. She thinks of something better than killing you. I tell you how it is. She made a promise to you, and told me to tell it. That’s why I’m here. To tell you.” Looking through a tangle of black hair, Olena looked miserable. And beautiful. Beautiful like nothing Marcus had ever seen before. “She said you have one more fight. She said…”

When she hesitated, Marcus slipped his body forward and grasped her arms, gently. “What did she say?”

She pulled away from him. She struggled to get the rest of the sentence out. “… it must be a fight to the death. ‘You and the other troublemaker,’ she said. ‘Why not put them against each other?’ She will make big money from it. High rollers coming in from Moscow. Billionaires from China. Vietnam. They want to watch a big death match. Is the only way for you to live. Is the only way for me to live. But, Marcus, if you fight, and win, she’ll let us both go. That’s what she said.”