“Where are they?” I growl.
“The cave!” he cries. “If you don’t go there, they have men ready to report on anywhere you roam. They’ll kill you wherever they find you. It doesn’t matter. You’re dead by morning. They’ve bought off Shank, too. They knew you were trying to form an alliance with him. The only difference is, if I fail to bring you, my life’s forfeit, too. I’ve no choice, Edmon. I didn’t then. I don’t now. I beg of you . . .”
My stomach drops. I am alone. It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Take me to the cave,” I say. “Now.”
“You’re going to let me live?”
“If we survive tonight, I won’t kill you,” I say.
“How are we going to survive?” he asks.
“I’m not sure we are, Toshi.”
The dead-end cavern. I’ve seen the place in my nightmares. Toshi shakes as he steps forward. The place is seemingly empty, and the silence only heightens his fear. I know we’re not alone, though. I can hear heartbeats. All of them.
“The hammer falls, Baldy Patch.” The snarl bounces off the walls. Toshi and I turn to see Vaarkson at the head of his gang. They flood into the cavern from behind and surround us. The bear of a man steps forward gritting brown teeth at me. “I met you here once and had my way with you. I might have been content with your humiliation, but you wouldn’t leave it alone. Now I’ll kill you.”
“What’s wrong, Bruul?” I mock. “You don’t want to have me bent over for old time’s sake?” The big man shifts nervously. “Oh, you haven’t told the rest of your gang? Haven’t told them that you can no longer get it up for anyone?”
There are murmurs within the ranks of Haulers. Vaarkson grabs me by my ragged furs. “What the hell did you do to me? I swear by the ancestors—”
“Swear all you like.” I laugh. “You’ll never be able to harm anyone again.” I call out to the rest of his gang now. “Your foreman’s a limp dick piece of whale dung.” I tap my fingers against Vaarkson’s forearms, and his muscles involuntarily fire, releasing me from his grip. I back away and address the crowd. “He’s not fit to lead, but I am.”
The crowd of Haulers bursts into laughter. “We’d never follow you as our foreman, outcast!”
“Oh?” I ask. I raise my hand. At the signal, the Pickers, hidden on their lines and cables stolen from work lockers, rappel from the shadows above. They hang over the Hauler Gang, catching them unaware. Some Haulers make for the cavern exit, which is blocked by Jinam Shank and a handful of his strongest men.
“This needn’t be settled by blood,” I call out. “Haulers, follow me, and you all live. All but one,” I say coldly and look at Vaarkson.
“Son of a whore,” Vaarkson growls. “The Haulers will never follow you!”
Nobody moves. The rivals hold shivs and chains toward one another in a deadly standoff.
“Attack this twinkfish now!” Vaarkson screams. Again, nobody moves. “Why don’t you attack?” he screams.
“They haven’t decided which of us is going to win,” I respond casually.
It’s true that Vaarkson bribed Shank to join him here. It’s also true that I knew Vaarkson would do that and made an offer Shank couldn’t refuse. Shank’s not stupid. All the Picker leader has to do is sit back and see how this plays out. If I win, I’ve offered him the leadership of the Haulers and whatever payment Vaarkson was to give anyway. If I lose, Vaarkson may be mad, but he won’t make a move against Shank. Shank will say that he was abiding by the social contract of the Pantheon’s code duelo, which echoes even here: one never interferes in a direct challenge. He may incur Vaarkson’s anger, but it’s doubtful the Hauler will seek immediate retribution. Either way, Shank wins. At least that’s what he thinks.
“I know how this is going to end, Bruul,” I say. “You’re a bully from the arcologies, always bigger and stronger. You fought in the Under Circuit, maybe won some matches. That makes you think you’re a dangerous man? You’ve never faced what real Combat has to offer. Ask Goth of the Citadel if his size mattered. You’re nothing more than a street fish. I was born for this.”
“You cunt!” he says, spitting.
“Have it your way.” I smile.
“You’re an outcast. Only one of my gang or a fellow foreman can make a challenge,” Vaarkson growls.
He’s playing on technicalities, which means he’s scared. If he were certain, he’d just kill me and be done with it. They all see it.
“I was a Picker once,” I say nonchalantly.
“I make Leontes my second.” Jinam Shank detaches from his rope and lands on the floor. “Do you accept his challenge, Vaarkson?”
“Kill him, Bruul!” hecklers from the Haulers shout. “Kill him and rape that sarfish!”
“Pipe!” Vaarkson calls for a weapon.
Challenge accepted. Might makes right on all of Tao, whether with armies or prisoners. The ability to control and kill is the only thing that allows one man to lead and others to follow.
That’s how civilization was born, Phaestion once told me. It’s almost a relief to accept this. Win or die is the nature of the universe. Then why do I feel hollow inside?
Someone, I don’t know who, puts a metal pipe into my hand. I twirl it, testing the weight. Vaarkson grins. “I’m looking forward to fucking your dead corpse before I bury you.”
I try to think of something witty to retort. I figure silence is probably better for effect anyway. The big man lunges forward, swinging the pipe like a club. He has no finesse but incredible power. I leap to avoid his swing, and the pipe connects with the ice of the ground. Chunks of dirt and snow explode with the blow. The sound reverberates off the cavern walls. The crowd gasps at the sheer force.
True conflicts are often decided within seconds. He who hits first usually wins. I don’t even want to attempt to block one of Vaarkson’s unwieldy swings lest my weapon shatter, or worse, I do.
“What’s the matter, Baldy Patch?” he sneers. “Afraid to face me head-on?” He swings for my head. I duck. He unleashes again, and I sidestep. A third swing aims for my knees, and I leap and roll. I come up, my “blade” at the ready.
The circle of onlookers tightens. The backswing of Vaarkson’s pipe catches one of his Haulers in the skull, smashing it like a melon. Blood spatters the crowd, and they whoop with delight. The big man lumbers forward, and his weight transfers heavily to his lead leg as he swings.
Gather intelligence. Hit hardest at the point of weakness. Never engage unless victory is assured. Faria’s words come back to me.
“No clever words now, Baldy Patch?”