Quest for the Sun (18 page)

Morning came — the morning of the gladiator tournament.

Blade and Lyulf gobbled down their bowls of burnt porridge with gusto, but no one else seemed hungry. Even Blue-bum, whose only role consisted of collecting the takings, sniffed at his little dish and pushed it away. ‘At least we've got a cast-iron excuse not to finish it today,' muttered Jamie, looking green.

‘I feel the same as before an exam when I know I haven't done nearly enough work to scrape through,' agreed Rich queasily — and from the girls' faces I could see they felt the same.

 

We cleared the breakfast things away, Lyulf scraping bowl after bowl of uneaten porridge into the glonk manger without comment, to be hoovered up by Gloom, who'd eat anything.

As we were packing to leave Richard sidled up to me, his amulet in his hand. ‘Adam, I was wondering … you know what Lyulf said last night, about luck? Well, I don't really have any — not the sort you can put in a bag, anyhow. I was awake half the night worrying about it. That … and other things.' He
flushed. ‘Then I remembered: the magic mosaic that turns salt water fresh. That was lucky for me. And I wondered …'

‘Of course you can have it.' I fished it out of my pocket and handed it over. ‘I gave it to you before, remember … you just didn't take it.'

With a grateful grin Rich slipped it into his pouch and headed off to pack his stuff, his confident swagger back in place.

Borg had been banging about impatiently, swearing and snarling and getting in everyone's way. ‘Right — gather round!' he barked when we were finally ready. All we were taking was the trailer — the caravans would stay where they were in the shelter of the trees, guarded by the men. ‘Remember, we don't know who you'll be pitted against. We'll begin with a demonstration bout to warm up the crowd; then, if we're the only troupe, we'll invite challenges from the public. In that case the combat will not be to the death — unless the challenger wins, of course.' He gave a wolfish smile. ‘If there is another circus in town, the ringmaster and I will set up bouts between evenly matched contestants, based on our assessment of your abilities.'

‘Lyulf's assessment, he means,' whispered Blade. ‘Don't worry — Lyulf won't let you fight anyone you're not ready for.'

‘And at worst, you will fight each other.'

‘
What?
' Rich was on his feet, aghast. ‘Fight each other? We
won't!
'

The crooked corner of Borg's mouth twisted. ‘It states in your contract that you will,' he snarled. ‘And remember — a carnival atmosphere will draw good crowds and loosen purse-strings. I want to see smiles and laughter, not long faces. Anyone would think you were headed for a funeral! The Whistler has his instrument, and for the rest of you …' He flung open the lid of a wooden chest on the tailgate of the trailer. A jumble of percussion instruments filled it.

Blade stepped forward and took up a tambourine; Lyulf the wooden xylophone. ‘Bags I the drum!' said Rich, ‘I can bang
that as well as anyone.' Kenta chose castanets and Gen a triangle, and Jamie the brass cymbals. Even Blue-bum scrambled up and peered inside, but all that was left was a battered-looking pair of old gourds. He picked one up and shook it, giving a chitter of approval at the unexpectedly loud rattling sound.

 

So — on the surface at least — it was a festive parade that made its discordant way towards the town. Borg stamped along at the front, twisted smile fixed in place, looking more like a crazed axe-murderer than ever; at the rear, in charge of the trailer with its grim-looking cargo of coffin-shaped caskets, strode the Masked Man, his expression hidden as always, his thoughts impossible to guess.

By the time we reached the centre of the town we'd attracted every man, woman and child in the village the way a magnet draws iron filings: they crowded round, pretty girls casting us demure glances from under their lashes, men muttering and pointing and fingering their purses, little children staring at us and giggling at Blue-bum, then shrieking and rushing away to hide behind their mothers, who stood on the fringes of the crowd tut-tutting and craning their necks for a better view.

The village green was our first real reminder that we were deep in the Borderlands, where gladiatorial sports ruled. Instead of the usual smooth expanse of grass and few scattered trees, a deep bowl-shaped depression had been excavated in its centre, its flat bottom thickly strewn with sawdust. The prime spots on the sloping sides were already taken, mostly by boys about our age jostling for position, yelling comments, whacking each other with wooden swords and generally larking about like anyone given a day off school to watch a circus.

On one side of the arena a steep-sided cutting gave access to a kind of backstage area for the gladiators, divided into two — one for each opposing team, I assumed. Makeshift sackcloth screens gave some privacy, though at any time half a dozen grubby faces could be seen peering through, hissing urgent
questions: ‘Mister, mister, who be you?' ‘What be your name, then?' ‘Can I see your sword?' and — most often — ‘What be your tally?', one it took me a moment to work out.

Borg and Lyulf erected a brightly painted billboard on top of the embankment, and in moments it was surrounded by a pushing, shoving mass of people. ‘What does it say?' Gen quavered. ‘What are they so keen to see?'

‘The names of the contestants,' answered Blade over her shoulder, busy arranging our weapons for inspection by the officials. ‘They hope to see ones that are known to them.'

‘Lyulf — I mean Wolf Flame — is his name there?' asked Jamie in a loud whisper.

‘Hush, Blunderbuss! Nay, nor has it been since he laid down his sword. The one time a ringmaster made the error of advertising Wolf Flame's presence he was gone by sundown, never to return. And he never fights now, of course, not since —' At that moment Lyulf appeared from nowhere with his customary suddenness, and Blade fell silent.

Well, I thought, if it's big names they're wanting they'll be disappointed … but I was wrong.

Soon there was a jostling crowd at the makeshift doorway, clapping and chanting, hooting and whistling. ‘What do they want?' asked Kenta nervously. ‘Why are they shouting?'

But as the chant settled into a steady rhythm, there could be no mistaking it: ‘Blade! Blade! BLADE!
BLADE!
'

Blade blushed furiously and bent her head closer to the bright array of steel. But Lyulf put his hand on her shoulder. ‘It is your moment of glory,' he said quietly; ‘and well-earned. Go to them — I will take care of the swords.'

 

Borg was striding up and down the top tier of the grandstand, bellowing fearsomely. ‘Roll up! Roll up, friends and townsfolk! This is your chance to see the skills of the most famed gladiator troupe in the Borderlands: TROUPETALISMAN! Dig deep into your pockets, my friends, for the more you give, the harder my
warriors will fight — and the more blood you will see flow! Where be the champions among you? Who has the courage to face the might of the Masked Man — the skill of the Whistler and Crystal? Who among you dares face the incomparable BLADE?'

‘He's winding them up,' hissed Rich above the roar of the crowd. ‘So far we're the only troupe — and if the villagers don't come to the party …' He was interrupted by a great clash that made the air tremble. Borg was holding up a massive circular shield; again and again he struck it with the hilt of his sword, a series of deep booms ringing out and silencing the crowd. I could see Blue-bum skipping over the crowd at head-height, hopping from shoulder to shoulder; he clambered down onto the stage dragging a leather helmet full of chinking silver coins, grinning and chittering as more coins pattered down all round him.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are ready to begin! I am proud to announce our first bout, a demonstration of skill between the celebrated Blade …' the air shook with cheers and wolf-whistles as Blade strolled nonchalantly out, raising her hand in casual acknowledgement of the uproar; ‘and the sensational, the spectacular …
Blunderbuss!
'

Jamie strutted onto the stage, pink-faced and bowing to left and right. I blinked. There was a perky confidence about him that didn't add up — even for a demonstration bout, the Jamie we knew would have been cowering under the trailer paralysed with terror, not parading about as if he owned the show.

We stood staring as Jamie and Blade took up their positions in the arena, turned to face the crowd and bowed low. ‘She won't hurt him …' Gen's voice was the merest tremble ‘… will she?'

‘Watch.' Lyulf's face was as expressionless, but something in the set of his mouth made me wonder. He knew something we didn't.

They turned to face each other, Blade slim and upright in
her customary black, poised for action, long blade in her right hand, dagger in the left. She was wearing a cloak, I noticed, which she'd never done in practice.

As for Jamie … suddenly one of the few toys there'd been at the orphanage popped into my mind. Battered and faded, the paint long gone: a chubby little wobble-man with a lead weight in his base that made him bounce back up whenever you pushed him over. One day someone threw him across the room and the weight shifted, and from that moment on the wobble-man never stood upright again. I pushed the thought away.

Jamie had a short sword in one hand and a lightweight shield in the other. Now the cocky, confident expression had been replaced by one of almost comical terror. He held up the shield and peeked at Blade over the top. There were some boos and catcalls from the crowd. She advanced stealthily, leading with her right foot, narrow-eyed; Jamie backed away. Their swords touched — left-right-left — and then Blade brought the flat of her sword down on Jamie's head with what looked like enough force to shatter his skull. Behind me I heard the girls gasp. Jamie keeled over like a skittle — and then he was somersaulting backwards like a roly-poly piece of tumbleweed, Blade — caught wrong-footed — chasing after him. Next instant, impossibly, he was on his feet again, bouncing up as if he had springs in his legs; he leapfrogged over the crouching Blade and spun to face her. Now Blade was moving more cautiously, circling him warily, keeping her distance. The crowd was utterly silent.

Then Jamie darted in, seeming to catch Blade by surprise — and he was gone. I blinked. Blade was staring round in disbelief; slowly, weapons at the ready, she circled, scanning the arena. Suddenly among the crowd there was a murmur; then a ripple of delighted laughter. An extra pair of booted feet was protruding from beneath Blade's cloak, circling in exact time with hers. A grin pasted itself over my face — and I understood.

‘It's a clown show!' whispered Gen. ‘A carefully choreographed clown show —
that's
what they've been practising all this time!' Jamie had ducked out from his hiding place, and Blade had turned and seen him. The chase was on; it was clear whose side the crowd was on — and it wasn't Blade's.

One outrageous move followed the next, Jamie bouncing out of trouble time after time with a beleaguered Blade in hot and hopeless pursuit. Gradually, impossibly, it was Jamie who was getting the upper hand. Blade was engulfed in her own cloak, groping blindly for her adversary … A wicked death-lunge from her dagger skewered nothing more fatal than an apple Jamie happened to have in his pocket … Jamie's shield, sword inserted in a special slit, was sent spinning in pursuit of Blade round the arena, Jamie puffing behind … and then too soon it was over, a beaming Blade presenting Jamie, pink-faced and victorious, to the howling crowd.

Coins rained into the arena and the cry rang out again and again, a rolling tidal wave of sound: ‘BLUNderBUSS! BLUNderBUSS!' The noise was deafening.

I guess that's why we didn't hear the rumble of wheels as the wagons rolled down the cobbled street behind us. It was only when the chant broke up and trailed away to silence that we followed the gaze of the crowd and saw the still figure silhouetted against the sky.

Another circus had come to town.

‘So — you applaud this mockery of the noble circus arts.' Scorn flooded the arena like ice water. Jamie's grin froze on his face and he dropped his upraised arms to his sides as if he'd been slapped. I glanced at Blade: there was an absolute stillness about her that sent a stab of fear through me. Instinctively I looked across at Lyulf; his face was set in stone.
They knew this man — whoever he was.

‘Are you men — or children?' His voice was a whiplash. Faces that had been open and laughing moments before were covered in confusion, eyes downcast as if they were ashamed. ‘Are you proud Borderlanders, thirsty for blood, or milk-sucking merchants of the Coastlands?'

The mood of the crowd was changing — had already changed. And Blade knew it. She was edging Jamie towards the exit, hoping no one would notice their departure.

‘So be it.' The stranger shrugged. ‘If foolery and horseplay amuse you, this is no place for me. I will move on … and take the Circus of Beasts with me.'

A ripple ran through the crowd. A voice rang out, followed by another, and another: ‘Stay! STAY! The Circus of Beasts!
THE CIRCUS OF BEASTS!'

The man raised his arms in a gesture that mirrored Jamie's moments before, and the crowd stilled. ‘Those who wish me to stay, say
Aye
.'

‘AYE!'

He put a hand to his ear. ‘Did you speak? I thought I heard the wind whispering in the tree-tops … Those who wish to see the Circus of Beasts, say
Aye!'

‘AYE!'
The barrage of sound was followed by a vacuum of silence, every eye on the stranger.

There was a hand on my arm … Lyulf. ‘We're leaving. Help pack up — quick.' Something in his voice told me there was no time for questions. Already Rich and Jamie were piling the weapons back into the chest, Kenta and Gen hustling Gloom into his harness, fastening the buckles with fingers clumsy with haste. Only Borg was still staring into the arena, Blade beside him, tense as a bowstring. But the Masked Man … where was he?

Lyulf grabbed Blade's arm and spun her round. ‘Come. We're going — now.'

‘But I —'

‘Now!'

I picked up an armful of musical instruments and headed for the wagon … and the man's voice went on, cutting across the silent arena. ‘But wait — let us not forget we have another gladiator troupe in town.
The most famed gladiator troupe in the Borderlands
, I believe: Troupe Talisman. Who here would wish to see a battle to the death between beast and human, between the invincible Candalupus and mortal man? Who here would wish to see entrails spilled — carnage and destruction — bloody defeat — glorious victory? Who here —' his voice was drowned in a deluge of sound.

‘Adam, come
on!'
Gen's eyes were wide and scared in her white face.

‘Who
is
he?'

‘Thrax.' Lyulf's single word fell like the blow of an axe. ‘We must leave, while we can.'

But it was already too late. ‘But will any among the famed gladiators of Troupe Talisman be man —
or woman
— enough to accept the challenge?'

I saw Blade step forward, as if in slow motion. Her voice rang out over the crowd, slicing the air like a sword. ‘I will.'

‘No!' I couldn't bring myself to look at Lyulf, but Blade turned to face him, her eyes burning with a terrible, fierce joy.

‘Yes!'

Already the crowd was chanting: ‘Blade!
Blade!
BLADE!
BLADE!'

She stepped into the arena, lithe as a panther, proud as a lioness … and even from where I stood there was no mistaking the flash of triumph in the stranger's eyes.

 

We had no idea what kind of creature it was that Blade would fight.

Feeling sick, Richard and I parted the sacking and peered through, but all we could see were massive shrouded cages with steel-shod wheels drawn by great beasts like shaggy oxen. They spilled out into the street behind and out of sight. And the sounds … the sounds coming from them made the hair at the back of my neck stand on end. Growls and grunts and guttural roars; the creaking of wood strained almost to breaking point by the weight it bore; the crunch of steel on crumbling cobblestones — and the stench of festering wounds and raw excrement.

We huddled together in the entranceway. My mouth felt dry; my heart had gone lopsided. ‘What's a Canda … Canda …' Richard was whispering.

‘Candalupus,' said Jamie automatically … and then a quiet voice spoke just behind us: Lyulf.

‘Circuses such as these are peopled by age-old creatures of myth and legend, and by newer forms that have mutated. And now there are yet more terrible beasts: monsters of the imagination, spawned I know not where, and the Candalupus is among them. They say it is half an armoured creature like a bear, half wild wolf-dog …'

‘Karazeel's monster!' Jamie's eyes were like saucers. ‘Remember, on the computer.'

I remembered. But nothing could have prepared me for the reality. The creature we'd seen at Quested Court had been small enough to fit on a computer screen, then — shrunk down and cloned — as tiny as a marble. There'd been no way of telling what size it would be in real life … but I guess I'd thought it might be my height at most.

There was a hoarse shout behind us and a spine-chilling rattle of chains.
‘Make way! Give way if you value your lives!'
A roar rent the air; the ground shook. I threw my arms out, pressing the others back against the earthen wall. We froze there, staring.

The creature lumbering towards us would have dwarfed a rhinoceros. It moved four-footed with an awkward, rolling gait, and as it passed it turned its head, stared me straight in the eyes and snarled. The head was shaggy and wolf-like, overlapping scales interspersed with moulting fur that hung in shreds. Black lips peeled back from yellow fangs the size of sabres. The eyes that met my own were blood-red and burning, radiating savagery, hatred, hunger — yet I recognised in them a twisted, almost human intelligence. Here was a creature in which the worst of man and beast had been merged.

A tick-infested mane of coarse hair gave way to overlapping plates that covered the rest of its body and legs. The scales were tarnished gold and rigid-looking, narrowing from the depth of a hand near their base to finger-thickness at the scalloped edge. I had no idea what they could be made of — something like tortoiseshell or horn, perhaps. But as the creature shambled past it made a squealing, grinding sound that set my teeth on
edge: a sound like a thousand knives being sharpened. The scales were metal. Armour, thick and impenetrable.

The weight of it made the ground shake. I quailed to think of the strength it must take to move that giant body, the strength that would soon be pitted against the slender form of Blade.

‘Lyulf,' I croaked as the monster vanished into the arena; ‘Lyulf — we mustn't let her. Can't you —'

We were standing shoulder to shoulder. He didn't turn his head. ‘Have you ever tried to stop Blade doing something she wants to do?' His voice was flat, expressionless.

‘No, but … she can't
want
—'

‘It is more than a want. This is in her blood, what she lives for. I am not her master — no man is. Blade will do as she pleases. All we can do is watch — and pray.'