CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Trick was scared.

He’d suffered claustrophobia throughout his childhood, and had always feared being trapped in confined spaces – now he found himself stuck like a rat in a drainpipe. The tunnel was nearly vertical, and the rough-hewn walls provided foot- and handholds that helped him progress. However, the sewage and slurry that dripped and drizzled across the rocky surface made Trick’s progress more perilous, as well as making him gag.

He fought back the urge to hurl, the only thing really stopping him being those who followed him up from below. The last thing they needed to contend with – alongside the poop walls and narrow tunnel – was Trick’s breakfast showering down upon them. He felt a tug round his waist, as the rope suddenly yanked him from above, urging him to climb onwards, upwards.

As plans to infiltrate a villain’s fortress arena went, this one had been straightforward. Kuro had been a key player in the plotting, the ninja apparently having had previous experience in this domain. Trick and his small army would crawl up through the network of sewers and storm drains that riddled the great cliffs of Sea Forge. Maps had been provided by the Thieves’ Guild; there were few parts of the city that the band of rogues didn’t know how to infiltrate. Eventually – if the climb didn’t kill them – they would arrive in the ludus, the gladiators’ training school. Erika had assured them that this would be empty on the day of a coliseum battle, with all the combatants gathered at the gates that ringed the arena.

From there it was a short sneak through one of the disused beast pens that were situated beneath the sand. Again, the Shield Maiden had helped here, knowing the layout of the tunnels beneath the arena better than anyone thanks to her days spent fighting for the amusement of Boarhammer. On occasion, and for added spice, the Skull Army would unleash creatures upon the gladiators, but that was a rarity. Of the eight pens that dotted the arena, Erika had guaranteed them that this one would be empty, as it had been turned into a storeroom.

Adjoining the pen they would find the slave cavern and, hopefully, their friends. Then it was simply a case of freeing the imprisoned warriors and launching a surprise assault on Boarhammer from within. They wouldn’t even need to enter the arena; once they were in the marble halls and staircases of the coliseum, their victory should be a formality. Simple. Trick shuddered, still wondering how he’d found himself in this mess.

He glanced down as he climbed. His rope trailed below him, and the dim figure of a thief was visible four metres beneath him, illuminated by the hooded lantern that hung from Trick’s belt. Its light flickered, the fuel just about exhausted. That was no surprise: they had been climbing for hours – throughout the morning – desperate to reach the Upper City before noon, for that was the allotted time for the contest to begin. According to Zuma, blood would be spilled in Boarhammer’s arena once the sun was directly above Sea Forge.

Trick scrambled on, allowing his companions above to haul him upward. His thighs burned with the exertion, and his muscles ached with exhaustion. The lantern died its death now, the oil spent. High above he could hear a commotion, the sound of battle. The rope went slack suddenly, jarring Trick and knocking the lantern off the hook on his belt.

‘Look out below!’ he shouted as it bounced off the tunnel walls, shattering and showering hot glass over those who followed. There was no more progress on the rope. No more hauling from above. With a grunt and a groan, Trick dug his heels in and started to climb.

It was treacherous going. His hands were tattered, fingers useless, as all his adrenalin seemed spent. Trick used his fists, his knees and his elbows to clamber, putting every body part to work. Even his butt helped to anchor him as he wriggled and squirmed up the sewage-filled passageway.

Occasionally he felt those below slowing his progress as his rope went taut. His quarterstaff, shoved through a loop of leather on his belt, caught against the rocks. Ravenblade fared no better, the bird’s-head pommel striking stone where it was stowed in a scabbard on his hip. Then above he saw a light, the mouth of the tunnel illuminated by sunlight. Trick hurried on, desperate to cover the remaining distance to the open air and the summit.

He emerged like a grub from the ground, coated in stinking slop and scores of scratches. Trick rolled on to his back and turned his head, coming face-to-face with the fellow who had been climbing ahead of him. The thief’s eyes were wide, as was his stomach, his innards splashed across the floor. Trick squealed, shuffling clear as he looked around the chamber they’d arrived in.

The ludus was situated in a natural cavern beneath the arena, and the ground was littered with training apparatus and weapon racks. The embers of burnt-out fires smouldered in braziers around the room, the ludus having been abandoned, as Erika had said. Well, almost abandoned. The sewage chute they’d scrambled up had deposited Trick and his companions in the latrine, and there they had encountered a trio of Skull Army gladiators paying a last visit to the toilets before the glorious fight.

It had been a badly timed visit for both Boarhammer’s warriors and the luckless thief who’d been killed in the subsequent melee. Two of the gladiators lay dead, dispatched by Zuma and Kuro. Trick wriggled clear of the tunnel mouth in time to see the third drop to his knees, with Erika’s sword buried in his back. As he collapsed to the cold stone floor, she gave her weapon a twist, wrenching the blade free from her foe.

‘Nothing’s ever straightforward, is it?’ said the Shield Maiden, flicking blood from the sword as she stalked across the ludus towards a great wooden door.

‘Are you unharmed, Master Hope?’ asked Kuro, reaching down to help Trick to his feet while more thieves began to emerge from the tunnel. Zuma and Kazumi assisted, dragging and lifting a steady stream of footpads and street ruffians out of the terrible sewer.

‘Don’t worry about me, mate,’ said Trick, glancing down at the dead thief. ‘What was his name?’

‘Periwinkle,’ said another brutish-looking thief who appeared beside them. ‘And he was an idiot.’

‘That’s no way to speak of the dead,’ said Kuro. ‘That man gave his life for our cause.’

‘You’re noble all of a sudden, ninja. It don’t suit you.’

‘A man can change, Blocker.’

‘Yeah? Well, that don’t change the fact that Periwinkle was an idiot in life, and now he’s an idiot in death.’ He spat on the ground. ‘I ain’t gonna shed a tear for his loss. More booty for the rest of us to share out.’

Trick recognized Blocker now. He was one of the rogues who’d been closer to Gorgo than the others, probably a lieutenant or some such in the guildmaster’s little army. Trick wasn’t entirely convinced that Blocker shared his vision of a fairer, more caring Sea Forge for all.

‘What happened to honour among thieves?’ asked Trick. ‘Periwinkle was a brother, wasn’t he? A member of your noble guild. He deserves something more than a sneer and a spit, doesn’t he?’

‘He was a prat for going first with you and your warriors. If he’d had any smarts, he’d have hung back with me and the others, let you guys soak up any trouble in advance.’

Trick shook his head as the man strutted past. ‘Wow. Do all thieves just look out for number one?’

Kuro considered Blocker carefully. ‘They’re not all like Blocker. He has more in common with his old master than you’d like to think.’

Now the gladiators were dead, Gorgo’s former lieutenant was finding his voice and flexing his muscles, showing his fellow thieves that he was the closest thing the guild had to a new leader. He joined Erika by the wooden door, as the Viking held her ear to it.

‘This the door through to the old pen, then?’

Erika looked him up and down and nodded.

‘Stand aside then, girlie,’ said Blocker. ‘We’ll take it from here.’

Erika stepped away from the door. ‘After you, big man.’

Blocker pulled a crooked shortsword out of his belt as his closest comrades gathered round him. There were only a handful who looked up to the man.

‘Beyond this door, we’ll be into the coliseum proper. These guys want to take the fight to Boarhammer. Don’t get in their way. You see anything of value, grab it. Anyone gives you trouble, you shiv ’em.’ He gave his shortsword a twist in the air to drive home the point. ‘We regroup back here in an hour’s time. You got me?’

His cronies nodded, eyes lighting up greedily at the prospect of the booty they might get their hands on. Trick shook his head. They were better off without selfish swines like Blocker on their side. The big man grabbed the door handle.

‘With me, lads!’ he said, grinning as he threw open the door.

The grin remained on his face for only the briefest moment. An enormous scaly foot shot out from the chamber beyond, raking Blocker from head to toe. He teetered for a moment, face in ribbons, shocked and stunned, before the clawed limb seized him and yanked him into the pen. Only a fine spray of red mist remained where Gorgo’s lieutenant had stood a second ago.

Erika twirled her sword and lifted her shield. ‘Nothing’s ever straightforward,’ she repeated, and followed the dead thief into the room beyond.