The Finisher Page 27

  “When do I fight?” I cried out breathlessly to the Wug there collecting coin and doling out parchment in return. His name was Litches McGee and he had the reputation of being scrupulously honest with his bets and being an ugly git in all other aspects of his life. He was Roman Picus’s chief competitor when it came to the betting business, which was reason enough for me to deal with McGee. The lesser of two pillocks, as it were.

  He looked at me. “Second set of bouts, Vega, for the good it’ll do you,” he said snidely. Then I looked up at the betting board and saw there were fifty bets placed on my match. And not a single Wug had picked me to win. My gaze went across the wood to see who I would be fighting. When I saw the name, I realized why the odds on my victory were so poor, well, nonexistent, to be precise.

  Non. I was fighting blithering, bleeding Non.

  McGee smiled at me. “Nae Cletus Loon this light, female. Say good-bye to that thousand coins, or me name’s Alvis Alcumus.”

  I trembled with rage at his words. I stuck my hand in my pocket, pulled out the only coin I had and held it out to him.

  He nodded approvingly. “You’re betting on Non, o’course. Make up for having your brains beat outta you. But with the odds so in favor of Non, it won’t be much you win.”

  “I’m betting on Vega Jane to win,” I said with far more confidence than I felt. Actually, I felt no confidence at all. Why in the Hel had I left Destin back at my digs? Why did I think it was smart to be honorable? To fight fair?

  “You’re joshing, o’course,” McGee said in an incredulous tone.

  “Give me the parchment with my name as winner,” I said between clenched teeth.

  He sighed, gave me a patronizing smile, wrote it out and handed it to me.

  “’Tis your coin. But like taking it from a nip of a Wug.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking about you.”

  I turned and rushed off before I barfed in front of him. That coin was my last. I had nary a bean to my name after that.

  The first bouts this light went by more slowly than in the first round. The competition had gotten harder as the weakest fighters had already fallen. This gave me time to work myself up into a ball of nerves so tight I found I couldn’t even speak.

  It didn’t help that word had gotten around that Delph had withdrawn from the Duelum because of unspecified injuries. I knew his absence from the field would make Non a favorite to win, as he had narrowly lost to Delph in the last Duelum. This would only give that oaf more incentive to crush me, not that he needed any. I looked down at my fist. Without Destin, it was just a fist, a female fist and nothing more.

  I walked around the pitch, swinging my arms and trying to keep loose. I wasn’t paying attention and knocked into something so hard that I fell back on the ground. When I looked up to see what I had hit, Non was staring down at me. And behind him was Cletus Loon, with his face all bandaged, several friends of Cletus, and Ted Racksport, who had already won his match this light by quickly beating senseless the muscular Dactyl who worked at Stacks. I had watched the match and come away impressed. Racksport was stronger and more nimble than he looked and had turned the Dactyl’s muscle against him and given the bloke quite a pasting. He smiled at me through crooked teeth.

  But I wasn’t focused on him. I was looking at Non. He seemed huge. As big as the cobble last night. He wore his metal breastplate, which I didn’t think was even allowed in the Duelum, not that he would need it. The dent that I had put in it was still there. As I looked at him, his gaze drifted down to the dent and then back to me.

  He smiled and bent down so only I could hear him when he spoke.

  “Luck dinnae strike twice, Vega. If I were you, I’d see to a bed at the Care before you step in the quad with me.” He put a knuckled fist in my face and said in a loud voice, “Be sure and count all your teeth. That way you’ll know how many you have to pick up when I’m done with ya.”

  Racksport, Cletus and his chums thought this the funniest thing they ever in all their sessions had heard. They roared with laughter even as I picked myself up and walked off on jelly legs. I was wondering if I had time to go back to my digs and retrieve Destin when the bell for the second set of matches rang.

  My mouth as dry as the bank of a dead river, I headed for my assigned quad. I had not previously looked up to the spectator platform, but now I did. Thansius was there, but there was no sign of John or Morrigone. Well, at least Morrigone wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing Non beat me senseless.

  Harry Two followed me to my quad and I had to tell him in no uncertain terms that he could not attack Non while we were fighting. Then I whispered in his ear, “But when he finishes me off, have at the bloke and don’t leave much behind.”

  Harry Two was now nearly ninety pounds and none of it was fat. And his fangs were nearly as long as my longest finger. He looked at me with what seemed like the greatest understanding. I believe he even smiled. I dearly loved my canine.

  As I stepped into the quad, I glanced to my left and saw Delph shuffling up with his arm in the sling and his bad leg supported by the cudgel I had given him. He smiled encouragingly, but when he glanced at Non, who had stepped into the other side of the quad, I could see his encouraging look fade to a morose resignation.

  I swallowed hard as the referee gave instructions. That’s when I noted that Non had not taken off his metal. When I pointed this out to the referee, he looked at me like I was quite barmy.

  “Unless he takes it off and beats you with it, female, ’tis well within the rules of the Duelum.”

  “And if he hits me with it and kills me?” I said angrily.

  “Then he will be appropriately penalized.”

  Non laughed. “But you’ll still be dead.”

  “Non!” admonished the referee, a small, wizened old Wug named Silas. I suspected he had very poor eyesight, because he had looked at my belly button when addressing me and had looked to Non’s left when addressing him. “Let’s have a good, clean fight,” Silas added, now staring at my knees.

  Non cracked his knuckles. I tried to crack my knuckles but succeeded only in bending one of my pinkies back so far I cried out in pain. Non laughed.

  The fight bell was rung and Non hurtled straight at me. I instinctively backed away, sidestepped Non at the last instant and poked one of my long legs out. He tripped over my shin, sending shock waves up and down my entire body, and he fell like a great tree to the dirt. I skirted away from him as he rose and whirled around, blood in both eyes. He came at me again and once more I dodged him. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep this up. At some point I would be out of puff. One punch and I had little doubt I would go down. I once again lamented leaving Destin behind.

  “Stop mucking about, female,” snarled Non. “You’re here to fight, not run like a skittish baby slep.” But as he said these words, he was also breathing heavily. It finally dawned on me. The lout’s metal breastplate was very heavy, no doubt. Wearing it and having to chase me was tiring him out faster than he had anticipated.

  He lunged at me again and I let him get within a gnat’s whisker before I leapt out of the way. My laboring with the bundles of rocks that Delph had made for me was actually paying off. I felt very light on my feet. And strong even without Destin.

  Non dropped to one knee to regain his breath and I took the opportunity to slam my boot into his arse, driving him headfirst into the dirt.

  Delph yelled, “Atta female, Vega Jane!”

  When Non regained his feet, I could see he was in a paddy, nearly foaming at the mouth. If his eyes could have harmed me, I would have been blown into a million bits. But, as with Cletus Loon, I now had a plan. It seemed that on the field of combat, I was becoming good at keeping my wits and employing my tactics on the fly.

  Non continued to chase me and I continued to keep just out of reach. I got a bit overconfident once, though, and his backhanded blow swiped across my head and knocked me more than three feet into the air. I tasted my blood as a great gash
was opened over my left eye. I also believed I felt my brain bounce off both sides of my skull. When I landed, I rolled just in time to avoid Non coming down on top of me with his elbow pointed down, like Delph had once demonstrated. Instead of colliding with my neck, his bony arm hit the hard-packed dirt and he howled in pain and toppled forward on his belly. This time I did not let him get back up.

  I tucked my hands inside the opening of the breastplate around his neck and pulled with all my strength. The breastplate came halfway off and did what I had intended it to do. It pinned his arms helplessly straight up in the air and his head was now inside the metal, so he was also blinded. I leapt up and came down on the back of the breastplate with both boots. Even though I was far smaller than he was, I still carried a big wallop when I struck. Non’s face was propelled not into the dirt but, instead, into the far harder metal of the breastplate. I did this four more times until I heard something crack and he screamed.

  I jumped off him, grabbed the breastplate, pulled it completely off and coshed him on the head with it. There was a sound like a melon dropped from a great height hitting the dirt and Non became very still.

  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.”

  “Well, nobody did ask you, Thaddeus Kitchen!” I exclaimed.

  I shot a glance at Delph. He was looking directly at me, his features a jumble of emotions including confusion, but the only one that really stood out for me was disappointment. Disappointment in my straps. I was so focused on Delph that I never heard one of the Mendens say that Duf needed to be taken to hospital.

  A cart and burly slep was brought around and Duf, now no longer conscious, was hoisted into it. I helped lift him along with some other Wugs, while Delph just stood there helplessly. I finally gripped his arm and pushed him into the cart with his father.

  “I’ll be there shortly,” I said.

  As the cart headed off, I turned to the Wall and walked over to the section that had given way. Several Wugs were inspecting the pile of splintered wood, but I focused my attention on the metal strap. I had etched my initials into each of the straps and I could see the letters of my name clear as first light. The strap was in two pieces, one large, one smaller because it had torn. I couldn’t conceive of how that could have happened. Everything had been planned out so carefully in the specifications. And I had carried out those details as meticulously as I had ever done on a job at Stacks, for the simple reason that I well knew how much weight the straps would be supporting.