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Somewhere in Market Scarston
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Tommy stared at the ancient sword, hands trembling slightly. A Roman spatha. But this was no replica like they used in the club. This was the real thing.
“The Colosseum, really?” Tommy asked.
His father nodded, smiling. “Warrior blood was spilled from that blade, onto the sands of the Colosseum, Tommy. Millennia ago!”
Tommy tore his gaze from the blade and looked around the vault. It was filled with artifacts. Shields and swords, spears and tridents, amphorae and chalices, coins and jewels. “These are all genuine?”
“Yes, not a replica among them. This is all history, all priceless.” His father smiled sardonically. “Although occasionally we do have to put a price on something and there’s always a buyer in the less reputable circles of wealth. None of this could be taken to Sotheby’s, of course, but we still manage to sell a piece here and there. It’s how the school remains open. And it’s also how we Arundels retain our significant influence around here.”
“So, it’s all stolen?” Tommy asked. “It’s all illegal?”
Philip Arundel sighed, shook his head. “We’re preserving history.”
“Even when you sell it for more power and influence? That’s in the best interests of history, is it?”
“Thomas, we always vet our buyers very carefully.”
Tommy knew he was pushing his luck. His father only called him Thomas when the man’s patience was running thin. “I don’t like it, Dad. I don’t want to be a part of it anymore.”
“It’s your heritage, Thomas. It’s your legacy!”
Tommy threw the sword down, wincing internally at the disrespect he was showing to the ancient weapon even though he hated it. The respect for the historical value was ingrained. “It’s not my legacy! Maybe it’s yours, but it’s not mine. I want no part of it.”
“Tommy, please.” His father’s tone had changed again. Perhaps this was a last ditch attempt to bring him around. “This world, Tommy, is a cruel and capricious place. It eats people alive. And like any animal, the human animal must fight to survive. It feeds on other life, and sometimes that means other people. Sometimes we use them to put ourselves higher and survive. The elite, Tommy, will inherit the earth. That’s your legacy. That’s your right!”
“No, it isn’t. That’s just my bad luck to be born into this family. I want to live a normal life.”
“Normal?” Philip snapped. “Normal like that tart from the village you knock around with? You want to be like her and dress up like a fool for the vernal equinox, Thomas? Oh yes, I know about your dalliances.”
All semblance of friendliness had gone from his father’s face, replaced with derision and contempt. This, Tommy realized, was his father’s true face. But mention of Katie made his blood run ice cold. “You leave her out of this!”
“Or what? You really want to prance around with her in the ridiculous rituals of this backwards village? When you could be standing tall in the glory of our ancient power?”
“Dad, it’s just a festival, a pageant.”
His father shook his head. “Not always. Not with us. For us it’s something so much more, and you want to throw it all away to be more like her?”
Tommy swallowed, but nodded. “Yes. That’s actually exactly what I want. I demand my trial.”
Philip Arundel’s face stilled, like a lake instantly freezing over. Tommy felt a gulf open between them, an irreversible chasm. His father nodded once. “Very well.”