The Commodore and Mads were silent the whole way down to the prep room. As they left the lift, a company of six black-coated guards fell into rank around them, escorting them to the last door in an empty, white-walled hall. The guards remained outside, but Leroy opened the door for Mads and followed her in.
Graynard stood at a large panel of tinted glass - a viewing window - facing away from them. The room had mold-stained gray walls and smelled like acrid sweat and old socks. Mads noted scattered weights, thin mats, and a lifting bench, all which explained the smell.
Graynard turned as the door snicked shut behind them. "Well," he said, scratching his right beard. "This is a mess." He looked Mads up and down and sighed. "Shoes?"
Mads flushed, but she held her head high. "I don't want them."
Graynard turned his gaze on the Commodore. "At least you could have given her something that fits?"
Leroy glanced down at Mads, his eyes flicking over her clothes. "That wouldn't stop her from dying."
Mads scowled. "I'm here to prepare, gentlemen, so give me any instructions, and then leave me alone. Please."
Graynard gave Leroy a surprised look. "Commodore?"
Leroy shrugged. "You heard her. Give her the rules and make sure she's hydrated. You have until the next bell."
He turned to Mads. "Here." He handed her clean wraps for her hands, pulling them from one of the inner pockets of his black coat. "A courtesy, at no cost. Miss Capot, I'm not allowed to be impartial, but I admire your spirit. And unlike the Wolf, I'll be watching."
Mads tried to tell herself that this man was dangerous, but she couldn't help but like him. She grinned at the Commodore and took the wraps. "Hopefully I'll give you a good show."
Commodore Leroy just shook his head and left the room.
Graynard sighed. "Well, this is a stinking pile of space debris you've landed us in." There was no malice in his voice, just weary resignation.
Mads sank into her favorite stretch routine. "I think we both know I'm not really to blame," she said, as she let her body fall into the familiar patterns.
Graynard was silent as Mads stretched. He watched as she threw several punches and practiced her footwork. He said nothing when she wrapped her hands and shook off her overshirt.
He didn't speak until the second bell started ringing. The sound was tinny and harsh over whatever speakers were hidden in the dank prep room.
Mads sighed and wiped the traces of sweat off her forehead. "Rules?"
Graynard waved his hand at the viewing glass. "Come look."
Mads walked over to stand beside him. She saw a dark arena filled with bare metal stands. A few of the benches had faded cushions, which seemed to designate better quality seating. Centered in the space, illuminated by rusty, hanging lights, was a large cage. The inside of the cage had a padded floor, and there was a long table set up in front of the cage itself.
It was bleak, ominous. Mads shivered, and closed her eyes. She couldn't let herself think too much.
Graynard placed a many-fingered hand on Mads' bare shoulder. "The rules are few and simple. Three rounds. No weapons. If you are knocked out in the first round, it's a draw and has to be redone. You have to make it two rounds before you can try to yield. The first one to 'yield' loses, if the opponent accepts the loss. If no one yields, the fight continues until one fighter is incapacitated or dead."
There was a rap at the door. "Time," announced a muffled voice.
"Coming," snapped Graynard.
"What happens if your opponent doesn't accept your yield?" asked Mads, her voice sounding faraway.
Graynard frowned. "The fight just keeps going. Until you die, or the third round ends. More importantly, you have to expect your opponent to cheat. These people aren't trained fighters, but they're killers. Once you're in the cage, nothing matters. If you survive the first round, you have to yield immediately in the second. Then we might be able to get you out alive."
Mads frowned back at him. "Thanks for the advice. I'll take it into consideration."
The door opened, and one of Leroy's guards beckoned to them. "It's time."
Mads took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She adjusted her hand wraps and cracked her knuckles. "Let's do this."
"Good luck," muttered Graynard, under his breath, as they followed the guard out into a hall and down some stairs to the stands.
The doors must have opened while they were talking, for now there were dozens of people milling about, finding their way to seats in the metal stands. Mads tried to ignore the hum and buzz all around her. But it was hard not to notice how chatter hushed when she passed. She looked for the Commodore, and saw him talking to Spades near the lone table.
"You picked a fight with a Suit Leader," said Graynard, interrupting Mads' thoughts. "His friends and allies will both be observing the outcome of this fight. Placing bets."
Of course, Mads rolled her eyes, but she kept all sarcasm to herself as she put one foot in front of the other. She couldn't think about the crowd, about the risk, or even about what she was doing. She was a fool, Luc was right. But she didn't want him to be right, and she wanted to show them all that she wasn't cargo or extra baggage. She would think about it later - assuming she survived.
There was an eerie creak as the cage door opened in front of her. Mads stepped onto the scuffed, rust-stained blue mat and prayed that her opponent wouldn't be as big as the Commodore.
"Well, I really didn't believe it." Torrence of Clubs' oily voice drifted to her from outside the cage, and Mads finally looked up. "You really did come down here to die?"
He was lounging against the bars, his brown eyes tinged red by the low-hanging lights. He looked amused, and smug, and Mads wished she were fighting him instead. But at least the left side of his face was mottled and swollen, despite the makeup he'd used to try to conceal it.
"Your face looks great," she said, crossing her arms and trying to look careless. "If you had the guts to step in here yourself, I could fix the other side to match."
Clubs snarled and clenched the cage bars. "Brave words, for someone about to be beaten to death."
"Why?" asked Mads abruptly. "What did L . . . Phelan, do that made you hate him so much? I mean, other than being himself."
Clubs' scowl deepened. "Ask him. Oh wait—" he made a pretense of looking around. "He's not here. Couldn't stomach watching you be crushed, bone-by-bone?"
Mads shrugged. "I'm not his keeper."
"Or his 'business partner,' are you," said Clubs, his voice low. He leaned closer, so his face pressed against the bars. "We could work together, you know. I'd have my man go easy on you if you help me take Phelan down."
Mads just watched Club's swollen face, pretending that his suggestion hadn't startled her. "I'm sorry, but I need to focus. And you're irrelevant." She turned away, ignoring Torrence's cursing and sputtering behind her. He was far less frightening in this cold, dank arena, with all these people and the threat of imminent death.
Perspective always helps.
Mads stretched, tuning out the hum of people, Torrence of Clubs, the rusty red lights. For the first time since she had been abducted, she almost felt at peace. Sure, she was probably making the worst mistake of her life (she'd been piling up an alarming number of those lately), and maybe the last mistake she'd ever make. But she had always been a fighter. And this was a battle she'd chosen for herself. This was the type of fight she understood.
A bell sounded, eliciting a restrained cheer from the crowd. Lights flickered on over the table in front of the cage, and Mads turned to face it. The Commodore seated himself in the center chair. Torrence was headed, slowly, toward the chair on his right. The chair on the left was occupied by Graynard.
Interested parties? Mads looked around to see if there was anyone else dressed for a fight. It was hard to distinguish faces in the muddy shadows and red lights, but Mads did see Estrella and some of her companions, dressed for a dance but wearing solemn faces.
Luc may not be here, but he has eyes. Mads watched Estrella for a moment, and caught the other woman's gaze. To her surprise, the look Estrella gave her was full of pity. Mads didn't want that any more than she wanted Luc's condescension, so she quickly looked back at the Commodore.
"Everyone," said Leroy, speaking into a cone-shaped amplifier. The room went silent, as all eyes turned on the cage. "For the slight she gave to Torrence of Clubs, Miss Madeleine Capot has requested right of combat. As Commodore of Helen's Point, I have honored her request. Clubs has issued his proxy and he has been accepted." Leroy looked up. "Caddeus of Clubs?"
There was a gasp of recognition from the audience - from fear or anticipation - Mads couldn't be sure. She looked around, anxious to see her opponent. Now that it was really happening, Mads felt a cold fist of fear in her gut, but she shoved it down. She couldn't afford to think about it.
A man of moderate height and a lean, muscular frame, stepped into the red lights. The crowd rumbled with approval, but the Commodore held his hands up for silence.
"The rules," he boomed, staring at Caddeus. "There are three rounds. A round ends when one opponent is down for five seconds. The match ends after three rounds, or when one opponent is incapacitated, or dead. You can concede the match in the second round. Do you understand?" Commodore Leroy's eyes flicked to Mads, but his expression was blank.
Mads nodded. "Yes sir."
"Yes sir," echoed Caddeus. His voice was hoarse, as if he'd spent the whole night yelling.
Leroy gestured to a slight woman in a nondescript gray jumpsuit. "Official Daris will referee."
Daris opened the cage and waved Caddeus in, giving Mads her first good look at her opponent. He wore light pants and rubber shoes, but no shirt, baring his knotted muscles and numerous scars. There was a club tattooed over his heart, and another club shaved into the back of his buzzed brown hair. His nose was crooked, and his eyes were dark blue.
Caddeus' eyes narrowed when he saw Mads looking, and he gave her a thin-lipped smile.
A skim latte with an extra shot, and a touch of, raspberry? prompted her mind. Curious. But she didn't have time to analyze this, as Official Daris was speaking.
Daris rapped on the cage. "Take your positions."
Mads stepped back to the line on her side. Caddeus did the same opposite her. He crouched, raising his fists, and dropping into a fighting stance. He was right handed, probably not trained, but that was all Mads had time to assess because now Daris was counting down.
"Three, two, one—" a buzzer signaled the beginning of the match, and the lights went down.
Mads shook her head to clear it, and raised her own fists. Caddeus was the first to step over the line, lightly stepping from foot to foot, still smiling. It was a predator's smile, all teeth.
"You insulted the Clubs," he said. "This is what happens." He threw a jab, testing her, and Mads easily sidestepped his punch.
They were circling now, like dancers, Mads following where Caddeus led. He was fast, but the punches he threw were all play. Mads avoided him with ease, and it was at least a minute before there was any contact at all.
Thud!
His fist glanced off her forearm as she deflected his left hook, shooting pain into her arm.
Thwack.
A sudden kick just missed her leg, brushing the fabric of her leggings as she jumped to avoid him. And then he got serious.
Mads skipped about like a rabbit, desperately deflecting his blows and searching for an opening. The audience booed.
"Scared," gasped Caddeus, who hadn't stopped smiling, despite the exertion.
Mads nodded. "Of course." Who wouldn't be?
His surprised hesitation was slight, but she landed a solid kick on his thigh. It bounced off corded muscle.
Caddeus jumped back, smirking. "Is that really it?"
Mads focused harder than she ever had in her life, trying to predict his movements. He was fast, but heavy, and her best bet was not taking a direct hit and letting him tire himself out.
Still, her brain was warning her that this was a doomed fight.
Mads ignored her brain and scored a hit to his jaw.
Caddeus' head snapped back, but his foot came up at the same time, glancing off Mads' side and toppling her over.
She landed hard, jarring her tailbone and sending a streak of pain up her spine. Mads huffed, choking on her tongue and blinking back tears of pain. Caddeus was running at her.
She rolled to the side, just in time, and staggered to her feet, punching blindly.
Her fist smacked his shoulder, sending him off balance, and her foot came up, connecting with his side.
Caddeus hit the mat on his knees, and Mads sent him down with a kick to the shoulder.
Caddeus was down for two seconds, and then he sprang to his feet and whirled into a kick. Mads stumbled, barely deflecting the toe of his shoes with her arms. Caddeus ran at her, forcing her into a desperate backwards scramble.
Mads was already tired. She could hear her breath wheezing in her ears, her heart thudding in her feet, and she was sore. Years of formal training wasn't the same as a no-holds-barred fight. She wasn't sure how much more she could stand, and it was only the first round. Still, she had to keep moving.
Caddeus' eyes brightened, a hunter smelling blood, and Mads wasn't quite fast enough for his next kick. It sidelined her ribs, sending her sprawling to the ground.
She rolled to escape a finishing punch.
Mads kicked him in the stomach, and then rolled away again, dashing the sweat from her eyes and wishing she really were a psychic. It would help to sense more than coffee drinks!
Caddeus' toes glanced off her hip this time, causing her to cringe in pain, and his foot connected with her shoulder.
Everything spun as she flew backward, her body bracing for the mat, and Mads vaguely heard Daris call "Hold."
Have to get up, have to get up, can't lose . . . Mads' thoughts were incoherent, she couldn't focus.
"One!" Daris' voice broke through the fog, signaling the end of the round, and Mads vaguely realized that she should stand up. She had to make it at least two rounds. But she was starting to doubt that Caddeus would let her yield.
Mads sighed and shoved herself onto her hands. There was a murmur from the crowd. She focused on the side of the cage, and the world gradually stopped spinning. Everything hurt. Mads turned around and wiped off her forehead, her heart still ringing in her ears.
He never even landed a direct hit. This was bad. Very bad.
Outside the cage, Daris waited, watching Mads, waiting for a signal. Mads nodded, and turned back to face Caddeus.
He smiled, and though his skin was slick with sweat, he looked no worse for wear. "Done yet?" he taunted, as Mads settled back into her fighting crouch.
Mads didn't reply, she was too busy focusing on her breathing, and on years of fights against people who outmatched her. She couldn't lose, not like this.
The buzzer sounded, and Caddeus came straight at her. Mads felt strangely disconnected, as if she were watching someone else dodge his punches. He was bigger. He was stronger. But she was always just a beat ahead of him. Her head hurt, and so she didn't question it when her brain prompted left, just before he punched left, or below, just before his swinging kick would have knocked her off her feet.
It didn't occur to her that she could follow the shifts in his intentions. So when her right hook hit his jaw with all the rage of the past few weeks, no one was more surprised than Mads.
Caddeus snapped back, and Mads was on him, pelting him with a chaotic fury of kicks and punch combos that would have made her boxing instructors dismayed. Caddeus staggered, Mads hammered him with a right cross, and he fell.
Mads jumped back, waiting for him to spring up as well.
Daris, hesitant. "Five, four, three, two, on—" The buzzer sounded.
Mads staggered, sagged in relief and pain, her ears ringing and her hands and lungs screaming at her to stop. The crowd was reverberating with surprise, buzzing with confusion at how this fight was going.
Did I, was that . . .? Mads felt dizzy, and exhilarated, and suddenly, she didn't care so much about the pain.
Caddeus shifted on the ground, rolling to his feet as if nothing had happened, but Mads noted his stiffness as he slowly retook his position. When he looked up, there was murder in his eyes.
Mads gulped, thought now's the time to yield, and then the buzzer sounded. Wait, I'm not . . . Mads jumped to the side, feeling the air whoosh past as Caddeus' fist graze her hair. She ducked and staggered out of the corner, where he'd almost had her.
He was so fast. Mads realized that he'd been holding back, that the ease of the first round had made him drop his guard, and she'd shocked him in the second round. This time, it was serious.
Mads tried to ignore the sense of desperation. This man meant to kill her.
She had to focus.
Caddeus' fist flew past, dusting Mads' cheek as she whipped away, and a slicing pain burned through her face where his hand had skimmed her. Warmth flooded her cheek as she avoided his following kick, and she saw a glint of silver on the side of his hand. Her face was hot with blood.
There was a gasp from the crowd.
Mads growled. Caddeus had a small blade on his little finger, worn on a ring. Mads didn't know where it had come from, but she didn't have time to think about it.
You cheater.
She barely avoided Caddeus' next attack, and she tried to summon the anger from before. Luc, home, this place, Indi and Naia, men who sold little girls, men who saw them as merchandise . . .
Mads anticipated Caddeus' left hook and slip-stepped her way around him, driving both fists into the small of his back with an angry howl. Alan, Krill, Grandmere, the Shop, Mads kicked Caddeus with all of her strength, sending him stumbling.
Luc, she saw his face when she landed her next punch. I'm not a victim.
Caddeus' foot came out of nowhere, and Mads dodged, straight into his bladed hand.
The knife skimmed across her chest as she tried to jerk back, tearing at her tank and the delicate skin beneath.
Mads staggered, felt his foot collide with her calf and she went flying, sending a graceful spatter of blood into the air.
She curled to soften the impact, and rolled instinctively to avoid his foot. Her chest was on fire.
Something clattered onto the mat beside her, and she glimpsed the emerald pin that Luc had put in her hair yesterday. It was hanging unlatched, the sharp prong glinting wickedly in the red light.
Caddeus was above her, reaching down for her throat. Mads kicked upwards, aiming for his groin, but he jumped aside.
She snatched the hairpin and rolled onto her knees, deflecting Caddeus' foot with her right arm.
Mads staggered to her feet again, dodging Caddeus' punch before it started. Her brain was on autopilot, guiding her trained body, even though every inch of her was screaming to stop.
Mads' next punch was just a tad too slow, and Caddeus grabbed her right arm, wrenching it backwards with a growl.
Mads bit her tongue at the pain, tasting blood and seeing darkness as she managed to tear her arm away.
Everything was very loud. Her arm, her heart, her breath, they all seemed to pulse as she swayed. And her brain told her that Caddeus' fist was headed for her face, so she dropped to her knees. The air whooshed overhead as his fist missed, and Mads threw all of her weight and strength into a left uppercut, the prong of the hair pin peeking through her clenched fist.
Caddeus screamed in rage as her pin and fist connected. Where, she didn't know, because she was melting into agony.
Mads' ears felt like they exploded, blistering hot with pain, and she winced as her cheek smacked the sticky mat. There was a roaring outside, maybe water? Water to wash everything away.
Her ribs hurt, they were collapsing, and the last thing she remembered thinking was that they were all going to die.