He hit it hard, and rolled.
This time he didn’t fall far, just at the feet of the geomancer’s empty throne. He lay there for a moment, quiet and still, checking that he’d actually done it, and that he was alone.
The circular balcony wasn’t that deep, enough room for him to fit between the parapet and the chair, and the same space behind it. He could see a door, set into the wall in front of him. He pulled himself up and looked down at Stanislav. He glanced up, circled his finger and thumb for an okay, and purposefully stared in the direction of the pit door, which was merely ajar.
He wouldn’t have long. He circumnavigated the narrow balcony with its low ceiling, found no surprises, and ended up back at the only door. It was closed with a latch, which he lifted very slowly. He pushed, inching the door away from the jamb, listening at the crack he’d made for any sounds from the other side. The hinges groaned, and he ceased all movement. Nothing. No sudden clatter or shout of alarm.
He dared himself to push a little more, when he heard Stanislav’s extravagant throat-clearing. They hadn’t agreed on a warning, but it couldn’t be anything but. No one must know that he could escape the pit, until the moment he did so. Dalip pulled the door shut and sprinted for the edge. He lay on the top of the parapet, and swung himself over. His nervous fingers slid, and he fell the rest of the distance to the floor, which was where Pigface found him.
He turned his gaze between Dalip and Stanislav with an expression of disdain. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Dalip looked like he was resting, propped up against the wall. Stanislav had his stick in his hand, as if berating the boy for being weak. He snorted, and turned his back on them.
‘You’ve had enough for one day,’ he said.
‘We decide that,’ said Stanislav. He threw his stick at the door, where it clattered near to Pigface’s head.
‘Push it too far, Slav, and I swear I’ll do you.’
Stanislav shrugged, flexing his shoulders. ‘Come, then. It will end up as before, with my hand on your throat and you gasping for air.’
Pigface half-turned, and hesitated.
Dalip picked himself off the floor. ‘We shouldn’t be fighting each other. We know who the enemy is.’
‘And who’s that, little lion man?’
‘Your mate Charlie worked it out, didn’t he?’ He dusted himself down. ‘I’m just sorry I wasn’t quick enough to save him.’
Nor quick enough to save himself from waking up in the night, cold but sweating, as a phantom boar tore through his own guts.
Pigface took the apology with a shrug. ‘Stupid bastard got himself stuck the wrong side of the door, didn’t he?’
‘You know that’s not what happened,’ said Dalip. ‘She trapped him in here, held the door shut, then watched him die. Maybe you should ask her why she did that.’
Genuine fear washed over Pigface. He shuddered and shook his head.
‘I’m not stupid.’
Stanislav grunted. ‘No? Stupid enough not to realise that you are a slave like us. Can you leave the castle for somewhere else? No? Then you just have a better class of prison.’
Again, Pigface turned to leave, and couldn’t quite bring himself to go.
‘What is it? You want more?’ demanded Stanislav, but Dalip waved him quiet.
‘When’s the next fight?’ he asked.
‘No one knows. She’s been in her rooms, last few days. She’ll tell us when it’s time.’
‘What about the steward, the man with the cane?’
‘He’s around. More than usual.’
Dalip beckoned Pigface closer. After a moment’s reluctance, he crossed the pit floor, but still remembered to stand out of lunging range.
‘Is this the life you want for yourself? When you ran from whatever was trying to kill you in London, and you had your new start, is this what you imagined?’
Pigface worried at the ball of his thumb with his crooked teeth and listened very carefully.
‘Because this isn’t what I want. I want to go back home, but if that’s not possible, I won’t live like this. I didn’t run from the fire to become a pit-fighting slave in some witch’s dungeon. Do you understand?’
The guard nodded slowly.
‘You can get in the way, you can ignore us, or you can help us. Up to you. Just remember what happened to Charlie before you run off to the geomancer.’ Dalip bent down and retrieved his stick. ‘You’re as expendable as we are.’
Pigface left the room this time, shoulders slumped, back bent.
‘It will not work,’ said Stanislav. ‘I have met men like that before. They are broken. They prefer living in their own shit than the trouble of cleaning themselves off.’
‘If we don’t have to fight them too, it’ll be easier. Easier still if they’re with us.’
‘You cannot count on Pigface, or any of the others. Our plan will not include them because they will let us down.’ Stanislav punctuated his speech with finger-jabs into Dalip’s chest.
He knocked the man’s hand away. ‘I don’t know where you get this from, but not everybody is a…’
‘Bastard? There are two kinds of men. Corruptible bastards and incorruptible bastards. That is all.’
‘What are we, then?’
‘We make common cause. Pigface has already shown his true self, so we do not trust him.’
‘Why should I trust you, then? I mean, I don’t really know you. We just happened to be in the same shift. That, and we survived together.’
Stanislav walked away, ostensibly to retrieve his stick. He scooped it up, and idly scraped the thin end against the wall.
Dalip persisted. ‘Like where did you learn to fight with a knife? Some of the things you say, they’re… hard. Like nails hard.’
‘My history is the other side of the door, and that is where it will stay. The wolfman was right when he told us all that matters is what we do now. You ask me to help you train, yes? How and why I can do that, is something you do not need to ask.’
Dalip wanted to know. He wanted to know how a railway engineer with an Eastern European accent and a better command of English than most English people knew which end of a pig to stick with a knife. He also didn’t want to know, because none of the scenarios that he was constructing were ones in which Stanislav had been a good, decent man. By not knowing the truth, he didn’t have to make a decision.
And, he discovered, he was content with that.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s none of my business.’
‘That is not true. However, it is not relevant for now. When we have killed the geomancer, her dragon and her steward, freed the slaves and escaped from the castle, then perhaps we can talk more.’ Stanislav raised his stick. ‘One more bout.’
‘I’m tired.’
‘You think that matters to your enemies? You think they will wait while you have a little sleep, a meal? When you can fight exhausted better than they can fresh◦– then we can stop.’
Dalip ached. He was tired and hungry and dirty. His hair, normally washed and combed every morning, was a bound rope thick with oils. His boilersuit was becoming stiff with sweat and dirt. His kachera… he was ashamed of them. He should be clean. It was one of his sacred duties.
And this man, this gadfly, wouldn’t let him rest. Dalip wasn’t lazy. He worked hard, at everything, as was right and proper. A moment’s respite was all he wanted.
‘First strike?’
‘Then make sure it counts. None of your dabbing at me.’
Dalip assumed his stance, and so did Stanislav, and they began to circle each other. Now, the older man seemed tireless: relentless would be a better word. Driven. Determined never to lose. He was the same last thing at night as he was first thing in the morning, pushing himself, and pushing Dalip. He saw any slackening of the regime as intolerable weakness.