Erebos (17 page)

Silence. Probably Emily had identified the sudden change of subject as exactly what it was – a clumsy conversation filler.

‘Come on Nick, tell me what you really want.'

To give you Erebos. Or at least hear your voice.

‘I told you, Adrian's number.' Yikes, had that sounded snotty? ‘I'm sorry, I thought you had tutored him once, but I must have been wrong.'

‘Yes.' Emily sounded as though she believed him. He was in luck. Now he could hear noises in the background; there was a rustling as though she was covering the microphone of her phone. Then she was back again. ‘Listen, Nick, I have to go. Dad's coming to pick me up in half an hour, and I have to help my mother with something before then.'

‘Oh. Yes, of course. Well, enjoy your Sunday.'

He hadn't got anywhere at all. He had to be at the Arena by midday, and it was nearly nine already. Adrian, he had to get in touch with Adrian.

He opened the address book on his phone and went through it name by name – maybe one of his mates had some connection to Adrian.

He stopped at Henry Scott. Henry played basketball too, and he was in Adrian's class. Bingo.

Henry picked up after two rings.

‘Hi. Listen, can you give me Adrian McVay's telephone number?' ‘Sure. Wait a minute.'

Henry read out a landline number to Nick, which wasn't ideal. But never mind.

‘What did you want from Adrian?'

Since Henry had been so obliging, Nick couldn't exactly tell him to take his curiosity and stick it somewhere.

‘Oh, I've got something I'd like to give him.'

He could actually sense the sudden attentiveness at the other end.

‘Is it something you could give me too?'

Hello. Nick had to grin.

‘Well, yes. In theory.'

‘Is it square on the outside, and round and silver on the inside?'

Now Nick laughed out loud.

‘It certainly is.'

‘Then it's better off with me. Adrian has already said no once. You'll be wasting your time.'

So the messenger had been right again. Was it possible that all the candidates Nick had picked out disapproved of Erebos? Why, when they didn't even know the game?

‘All right, if you say so. I'll give it to you, then. Where do you live?'

‘Gillingham Road. But we could meet halfway!' Henry sounded exceptionally keen.

‘All right. Let's meet at Golders Green station; that's near you, isn't it?'

Half an hour later Nick's Erebos copy had changed hands. Henry had been willing to agree to everything: total silence, secrecy and discretion. No questions, no doubts, only eager nodding. He had his own laptop and was dying to get started on it. Nick had formed the distinct impression that Henry already had a rough idea what it was about, but he hadn't asked. He didn't actually care. The main thing was that he had got himself a novice. Henry would have his fun and every time Nick came across a One, he would wonder whether it was
his
One.

CHAPTER 11

‘Have you carried out your orders?'

It's exactly eleven o'clock by the time Sarius is standing in the back room of Atropos's Tavern once more. The messenger is sitting at the table and scratching bits of wax off the tabletop with his bony fingers.

‘Yes, I have,' Sarius says. ‘But I didn't pass Erebos on to any of the three people I named yesterday; I passed it on to someone else.'

The messenger's fingers cease scratching. Sarius thinks he can discern disapproval in the yellow eyes.

‘To whom?'

‘His name is Henry Scott, and he's fourteen years old. Goes to my school.'

‘Tell me more about him.'

More? He doesn't know any more. Only some trivial things.

‘He has blond hair and he's fairly tall for his age. He plays basketball as well. He lives in Gillingham Road. He was pretty keen on Erebos; I think he already knew what it was about.'

The messenger doesn't answer for a moment. He makes a little pile out of the wax he's scratched off the tabletop.

‘All right. We will consider your task to be completed. Tell me, nevertheless, why you didn't bring me one of the others? Jamie Cox? Emily Carver? Adrian McVay?'

Why is the messenger still holding him up? Sarius needs to find the Arena; who knows where it is. There'll be another labyrinth on the way if he's unlucky, or trolls will delay him. Anything's possible. Besides, he's secretly hoping for new equipment, which was what he received on his last advancement. Now, so close to the fights, it would really come in handy.

‘Jamie and Emily weren't interested, and I didn't speak to Adrian because I'd already been able to sort things out with Henry,' he explains.

The messenger's eyes glimmer like embers fanned by a gust of wind. ‘Why did Jamie Cox refuse?'

Does that matter? Sarius wants to finally get going again. He wants to see the list of all the registered fighters, wants to think about who he might have a chance against. He doesn't want to talk about Jamie.

‘He didn't like the whole secrecy thing, that's why.'

‘Did he say anything else?' the messenger insists.

Oh for goodness sake, was Nick expected to take notes on the whole conversation?

‘Yes, he said that he reckons all the sneaking around is stupid, that he thinks I'm behaving like an idiot, and that a few of our teachers think something dangerous is being circulated.' The messenger leans forward attentively and rests his chin on his hand.

‘What teachers?'

Sarius hesitates. Why would it interest the messenger? He's itching to put the question, but he doesn't want to prolong the conversation unnecessarily. Besides, it doesn't matter, because there's no way Mr Watson is interested in Erebos – being denied entry isn't going to bother him.

‘Actually it's only one teacher. His name is Watson, and we have him for English.'

The messenger nods to acknowledge the information.

‘What was the reason in Emily Carver's case?'

The memory of the conversation stung Nick.

‘She's already said no a few times and . . . didn't want to accept any gifts.'

‘. . . didn't want to accept any gifts,' the messenger repeats thoughtfully.

Is that it? Sarius would like to ask. He hopes so. It's late, he has to hurry, and the messenger's face is disturbing him more than usual today. He wants to get away.

‘Good. Let us hope that Henry Scott isn't a long time coming. Let us hope that you have brought us a worthy novice.'

The messenger stands up without letting Sarius out of his sight. ‘It is your first fight against your peers, isn't it?'

‘Yes,' Sarius says, eager for good tips.

‘I am keen to see how you will acquit yourself. How you will choose your opponent. Some of the best fighters will be there, including all five from the Inner Circle.'

Now it's about time for the messenger to answer one of his questions for a change.

‘What is the Inner Circle?'

The messenger smiles. Whenever he does that, Sarius feels chilled.

‘The Inner Circle? They are the best of the best. These fighters will contest the last and greatest quest on their own. If they triumph, they will be richly rewarded.'

Sarius doesn't need to ask how to make it into the Inner Circle; he knows already. By being more cunning than the others, stronger. Gaining victories, finding wish crystals. It's perfectly clear to him that he is still miles away from that.

The taproom door opens, and light penetrates. Grains of dust dance in the bright yellow beam.

Sarius turns around one last time to face the messenger. ‘Don't I get any new equipment?'

‘You would have got it for Jamie Cox,' the messenger answers, still smiling. ‘Good luck at the tournament. I am very keen to see what happens – did I say that already?'

There are noticeably more people milling around in front of the inn than last night. Sarius follows a group of heavily armed barbarians who are obviously on the way to the Arena. A few minutes later two lizard people, three vampires, three dark elves and a dwarf have joined them. The dwarf is an old acquaintance: Sapujapu. He's armed himself with a giant halberd, and a shield he can hide behind entirely. Sarius can't see his level – so it must be higher than Three. But there's a Two walking along with the vampires, and there's even a One among the dark elves. Sarius smiles indulgently.

‘Hi Sarius!' Sapujapu greets him.

‘Hello,' Sarius returns his greeting, amazed. ‘I didn't know that we could talk here without a fire.'

The dwarf shifts his halberd onto the other shoulder.

‘There are different rules in the cities than in the open countryside. Are you going to the Arena fights too?'

Sapujapu's talkative mood is an unexpected stroke of luck. Sarius grasps it with both hands.

‘Yes. This is the right way, isn't it?'

‘It is. I already went there last night and had a look around. The Arena is gigantic. It's an amazing sight – you'll see.'

‘Is this your first tournament?' Sarius inquires.

‘What? No, of course not! I've been to the Arena at the King's Tomb twice already. Haven't you?'

It's smarter to tell the truth if he wants to find out more.

‘No, this is my first time. I'm keen to see how it works.'

Xohoo runs past them, then Nurax, who bares his werewolf's fangs. In greeting or threat, who knows. Well, well, Sarius thinks. They made it this far too.

‘How it works? Well, you can challenge others or be challenged, and then there's a fight. It's incredibly loud all around you, everyone is yelling and screaming, they stamp their . . .'

BloodWork stomps up with giant strides and barges into Sapujapu, who immediately loses the thread of the conversation. He and Sarius stare after the giant barbarian, who bears an enormous executioner's sword on his back. His dark plait dangles down over it.

Now, where were they? Sarius still has to coax the most important information out of the dwarf.

‘What can you win? And how?'

‘That's agreed on beforehand. You decide that together with your opponent: my sword for your sword, my wish crystal for one or two of your levels. That sort of thing. I'm feeling all jittery this time. My halberd isn't great. I have to wield it in two hands, and that means I can't use the shield.'

Sapujapu's weapon must be seriously heavy. And the long handle looks extremely unwieldy; the sharpened blade at its tip shines like polished steel.

‘But if you hit someone, you're bound to do some wicked damage,' Sarius comforts him.

‘Yes.
If
I hit someone.'

They turn a corner, and Sarius sees the Arena at the end of a long avenue. It is circular, snow white, and broken up by high arches, like the Roman Colosseum. He feels awe at the sight . . . Or is that the music which is enveloping him? It must have started up again a little while ago. He never notices when it begins, only suddenly realises that it's back again, staying with him like a fortifying spell. Or calling him, as it does now. It explains everything, without words. Hence it's now completely clear to him that the Arena is his destiny, for better or worse.

A colossal copper tablet right at the entrance to the Arena lists all the registered fighters. Sarius finds himself between someone called Nodhaggr and an old acquaintance: Tyrania, his partner in the fight against the water women. While a green-skinned gnome records his presence, Sarius skims over the list, looking for other familiar names. He quickly finds Keskorian, Nurax, Sapujapu and Xohoo. Samira and LordNick are also registered – and the fighters from the labyrinth: Arwen's Child, Blackspell, Drizzel, Feniel and Lelant. How annoying. So they've found their way to the White City after all, instead of ending up as scorpion food.

‘Sarius is registered, Sarius should make his way to the dark elves' rooms to wait for the start of the fights,' the gnome squawks.

Fortunately the inside of the Arena is peppered with signposts. The dark elves' preparation rooms are situated right next to those of the cat people. For the first time Sarius sets eyes on the males of the species as well: heavy and sleek like tigers.

As expected the small room where the dark elves wait for the games to begin is overcrowded. Sarius finds himself some space over by the wall and listens to the conversation between a red-haired elf with particularly long ears and a Two with sandy hair. A Two! ‘What happens if I lose?' the Two asks.

‘Then give up quickly – otherwise you might get finished off by your opponent. I've seen that happen.'

‘What then? Am I out then?'

‘Of course you are. Don't tell me you've forgotten the rules?'

‘Nah. Got it.'

Sarius pushes on through the crowd. He's spotted Xohoo at the other end of the room – of all the dark elves he knows, he's Nick's favourite. Along the way he keeps catching scraps of conversation. ‘. . . heard that BloodWork wants to give it a try today.'

‘Yeah well, he's crazy. Yes okay, he's strong, but still . . .'

The crowd is getting denser by the minute.

‘. . . any more chances; that's why I absolutely have to win a wish crystal today.'

‘I want to go up two levels. You wouldn't believe how heavy my instructions were at the last rite. I don't want to go through that again.'

Sarius has almost reached his goal. Xohoo is standing alone in a corner adjusting his helmet.

‘Hi, Xohoo.'

‘Hello Sarius.'

‘Nervous?'

‘Yes. Kind of. You?'

‘Me too. This is my first tournament.'

‘Oh. Yeah, well, you'll see. The Arena's really something.'

Sarius looks up towards the vaulted ceiling of the room. He can hear noise coming from up there – the sounds of voices, laughter and stamping. It's the crowd, Sarius realises, his nerves throbbing. It would have been better to have a look at the fights first instead of leaping in straightaway without having a clue. What should he do if LordNick challenges him again? Or if he has to compete against BloodWork. Then he may as well give up now.