CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Trick stood on the jetty, staring out across the water towards the smog-shrouded city. The mouth of the River Meadswill was perhaps five kilometres across, and the fast-flowing tide and deadly currents would make it a perilous swim. In the fading light he could just make out Sea Forge’s towering outline, hulking over the horizon like a sleeping stone titan. Over Trick’s left shoulder was his schoolbag, while in his right hand he gripped his quarterstaff. He shook his head wearily. He was truly a most unlikely-looking hero. This was a nightmare he’d given up expecting to wake from.

Along the shore, Trick could see smaller settlements, dwarfed by the chaotic sprawl of Mudflatt. These little shanties made the small port look like an oasis. The group had passed through a number of these camps on their approach to Mudflatt, and each time had been shocked by what they found. The poor of the Wildlands ended up in these rat-holes, eking a living by whatever means they could. Beggars, clam-diggers and bin-rummagers, and that was just the children. Whole families were living in abject squalor while the Skull Army spread their misery and their masters – the fat cats of Sea Forge – just got fatter.

Trick glanced back to where Kazumi was speaking to the ferry master on the dock. Passengers were disembarking, and the ferry would not return until the early hours of the following morning – enough time for the captain to have his feed, drink and rest in Mudflatt. Then Trick saw the ferry master shake his head, his hands buried in his leather apron, ignoring the samurai’s attempts to barter. He turned his back, clambering back on to his ferry, business with the woman concluded. His boat was the only way across and the fare was steep.

‘He’s a swindler,’ said Kazumi, returning to Trick’s side, her face set hard.

‘What’s the damage?’ he asked as they walked back up the bank, the noise of the crowd rising as they neared the gathering in the heart of Mudflatt.

‘Five gold a head.’

Trick sucked his teeth. They’d had that, and then some, in the money purse. Sadly those coins now lay on the rocky floor of Grub Gulch. His party was penniless and stranded. The cheering and jeering grew louder as they walked between ramshackle huts and tumbledown tents, the air thick with the stench of fish guts, booze and pipe smoke. Torches guttered on tall stands, marking out the space before the largest freestanding structure in Mudflatt. It looked like a big top circus tent, entirely covered in multicoloured swathes of cloth. Trick and Kazumi pushed through the throng, returning to where they’d left their companions. Toki looked over his shoulder as the schoolboy sidled up to him and Mungo, nodding a brief greeting.

‘Any luck?’

Trick shook his head. ‘We need twenty gold.’

Toki and Mungo looked at one another, before returning their attention to the arena. The raucous crowd were assembled round a large pit, the base of which was slick with mud and puddles. Coins changed hands around the pit’s edge as merchants and fishermen placed bets, and bookmakers gleefully accepted the crowd’s coins. On the far side of the pit, before the huge garish tent, a fat man sat on a raised wooden dais, clapping his pudgy hands as the money was deposited in a strongbox at his feet.

‘There’s going to be a fight?’ asked Trick incredulously, as the crowd worked itself into a frenzy.

‘Fight!’ said a wide-eyed Mungo beside him.

‘Reckon it’ll get messy too, judging by the look of that brute!’ added Toki as he peered into the pit.

The man below was tall and rangy, his face obscured by a great dreadlocked mane of hair. He was bare-chested but wore a leather kilt that was knotted with studs of metal. He held an axe in one hand and a shield in the other, which he struck noisily together. Above him, a huddle of vicious-looking and equally lanky hillmen roared their encouragement from the pit’s edge.

‘Who’s he fighting?’ asked Trick. Toki pointed towards the fat man’s tent as a figure appeared from beneath the colourful fabric. He didn’t so much walk as prowl. The fat man stood, clapping a hand on the fighter’s back as he stalked past. He wore what appeared to be a jaguar skull and pelt over his head and body; the cat’s mouth was stretched wide and the warrior’s face poked out from within. The crowd chanted his name: Zuma! Zuma! Zuma! He was clearly their favourite, and seemed content, focused, horribly relaxed. He didn’t even appear to have a weapon. He gave Trick the chills.

‘Champion,’ said Mungo. The Jaguar Warrior looked across the pit, his eyes lingering on them as he seemed to pick out Trick and his friends in the crowd. Then with a somersault he was gone, landing in the muddy pit below.

‘Was it me, or was he looking our way?’

Kazumi sneered. ‘He’s arrogant. That will be his downfall.’

‘Not so sure,’ said Toki. ‘If he’s the champion, he won’t have got the title by accident.’

‘We don’t even have anything to wager to win more gold,’ said Trick, shaking his head.

‘You know, if one of us were to fight him, we could win passage across the Meadswill with our winnings,’ said Kazumi.

‘Can you beat him?’ asked Trick.

‘The fool doesn’t even have a weapon,’ said Kazumi. ‘I expect even Toki could beat him.’

The Viking glowered at her put-down, but Trick was looking at the warrior in the jaguar pelt. He was watching Trick and his companions, ignoring the baying mob above the pit. Surely he couldn’t hear what they were discussing over the tumult and hubbub? Suddenly the crowd hushed.

The fat man on the platform rose, his jewellery jingling as he kicked the lid on the chest shut.

‘The gold is in: let the fight begin!’

The giant dashed forward, axe raised high as he let loose a war cry, his companions cheering him on his way. Zuma remained motionless until the last moment, when he suddenly dived, darting between the giant’s legs. His hand flashed out, leaving a trail of welts on the hillman’s inner thigh. The brute hit the pit wall, winding himself, before turning round.

He charged the Jaguar Warrior again, his axe scything down, only for Zuma to sidestep and rake his hand across the man’s exposed belly. Again, he left red ribbons behind. Not deep, just superficial. He did this again and again, as the slower, bigger man failed to place a blow, although it could only be a matter of time before he connected.

‘He can’t keep dancing,’ said Toki. ‘That axe will hit soon, then we’ll see the colour of the catman’s innards!’

‘New champion,’ added Mungo, the two in agreement for what appeared to be the first time ever.

‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ said Kazumi. ‘Watch as the poison takes effect.’

They all saw it now. Gradually, the giant was becoming sluggish. He seemed exhausted, unnaturally so, the axe suddenly heavy in his hands as his enemy skipped round him, still out of reach. The Jaguar Warrior’s eyes flitted to Trick’s once more, locking his gaze, as a smile flickered across his dark face. Then he was pacing round the pit in a fearless strut as the hillman dropped to his knees, wheezing, the axe falling from his hands along with his shield. His skin was shining with sweat and blood, tongue lolling out through his dreadlock-covered face.

Still the crowd chanted Zuma’s name as they looked to the fat man on the stand. He nodded and gave the signal, thumb raised to the Jaguar Warrior. Zuma leapt forward, flashing past the giant, hands reaching out as he went. He caught the man round the neck, twisting his head with a crack. The smaller man landed deftly as the big man toppled lifelessly into the gore-spattered mud. The crowd jeered deliriously, before quietening as the fat man spoke.

‘Should there be a challenger among you who wishes to face my champion, Zuma, you know where to find me!’ At this there was a chorus of shouts as numerous warriors in the audience shouted out their desire to enter the pit. The trappings of champion were enough to draw any fighter to the filthy arena, it appeared.

‘In the meantime, many thanks for your participation. And your gold,’ he added with a chuckle, turning and stepping back into his tent. Two enormous men-at-arms picked up the strongbox and followed him in, the flaps falling shut as they disappeared.

‘So who’s going to fight him?’ asked Kazumi, prompting more bickering from Mungo and Toki, each of them desperate to face the Jaguar Warrior.

‘Shut up,’ hissed Trick, his mind working overtime. He couldn’t believe any of them would be in such a hurry to meet their end. ‘There might be another way, without any of us getting hurt.’

The chanting continued as more gold was exchanged in the crowd and fights broke out among bickering gamblers. The hillmen clambered into the pit, recovering the body of their fallen brother, as Zuma stood in the centre, accepting the applause of the audience. His keen eyes remained fixed on the boy in the crowd and his three companions, as they plotted and schemed.