Inti’s Watcher, Group Area 27
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Razan woke up at noon on Saturday. His muscles ached, and he felt thirsty.
He rolled to his feet, sighed, and spent a few minutes stretching. It took him a while to notice his room wasn’t cold. It was cool, but not uncomfortably so. He was perfectly warm in just the fuzzy dress thing the rostari had given him.
Finishing his stretches, he went into the main room for lunch. Sophie and Marie were eating soup, Peter was peeling an orange. All three were wearing the fuzzy dress things. Razan noticed his and Sophie’s were red-orange, while the other two were blue-green. He wondered if there was a reason for this, and decided probably not.
“So you are alive, that’s good,” Marie said, watching him.
“Likewise,” he said, getting his soup and taking it to the table. “I hope not all the contests are so…” He paused, searching for the right word.
“Cold?” Sophie guessed.
“Exhausting?” Peter tried.
Razan shook his head. “Long.”
“Agreed,” Marie said. “I think five hours should be long enough for a competition.”
“It was fun, though,” Sophie said. “I don’t necessarily want to do it again, but it was fun. I got some interesting rocks.”
“Rocks?” Razan asked.
She nodded happily. He decided she was a very strange person.
Marie got to her feet, pushing her bowl away. “I’m going to rest until five. Let me know if something exciting happens.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Peter said, watching. “Need help getting-”
“I ain’t that old, cowboy,” she snapped, limping to her door. “Eat your orange.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
Razan glanced at him, then waited for Marie’s door to close. “I was worried about her yesterday,” he admitted. “But she seems quite resilient.”
“Her reputation makes her sound immortal,” Peter said.
“I hope she doesn’t die,” Sophie said, picking up Marie’s bowl to take to the sink. “I like her.”
Razan smiled faintly. “As do I.”
“Well she did threaten to cut my balls off,” Peter muttered, softly enough only Razan could hear. He cleared his throat, raising his voice again. “She’s not half bad for a pirate.”
Sophie came back. “When you’re done eating, would you two mind helping me test how soundproof the walls are?”
“Soundproof?” Razan repeated.
“Yes. I need to know how well sound travels in this place.”
“Why?” Peter asked.
She smiled sweetly. “Definitely not so I know how much noise I can make while sneaking into your bedroom at night to steal all your things.”
He shared a look with Razan.
“Please?” Sophie asked. “You don’t have anything better to do for the next four hours, and I’ll figure it out one way or another. At least this way you’ll know, too.”
Peter got to his feet, picking up his orange peels. “Why do I get the sense that the women on this team are twenty times as dangerous as the men? Is that odd?” he asked Razan.
“Women are always more dangerous,” Razan said, finishing his soup. “They’re just clever about hiding it.” He took the bowl to the sink. “How would you like to test this?”
Sophie beamed.
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Marie steeled herself as the door opened. She walked into the common area with the confidence of a woman who knew she could break bones with a single punch. The rest of her team followed; Miyamoto was the most nervous.
There were about fifty people in the area, either watching pictures at the far end or eating at the near end. The clothes and skin tones seemed to represent every nation on Earth. She wondered how many languages were spoken here.
Not wanting to stand still, Marie spotted an empty table and walked towards it. Her team followed.
“Marie!” someone called, the voice making her stop dead. “Marie LeFleur!”
She turned, and found a stocky man with a thick mustache jogging towards them.
“Louis,” she said, looking him over. A part of her was surprised her voice hadn’t cracked. She inhaled sharply, burying emotions behind a smile. “I thought you’d gone to hell thirty years ago.”
“That’s where they tried to send me,” he laughed. “Got taken here instead.” He took his hat off with a flourish, flashing Sophie a smile. “And it’s a pleasure to meet your group, as well. Louis Goldtooth, at your service.”
“Don’t give him your name, he gave you a fake one,” Marie told Sophie, desperate to seem calm.
Louis put his hat back on. “Aye, but the only soul alive who would recognize my real name is you, my dear Marie.”
Sophie giggled, curtsying. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Peter held out his hand for a handshake. “Peter.”
Miyamoto bowed, saying nothing.
“Come,” Louis said, after shaking Peter’s hand. “I’ll be your guide. Marie, my team’s leader will want to meet you.” He strolled away.
Miyamoto moved closer to Marie. “Should we trust him?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, remembering- She shook the memories from her head. “He won’t sabotage us, he’ll be a good source of information, but there’s a strong chance he might want to kill me.”
He nodded, and they followed Louis to a table where there sat a blue-eyed woman half again as tall as he was. Marie judged her to be five years younger than herself.
Louis beamed. “Marie, Peter, you other two, this is the beautiful Ebba, my team’s fearless warrior, my indestructible Swedish flower, my-”
“Yes, I’m perfect, thank you,” Ebba said, rolling her eyes.
Marie smiled wryly at Ebba. “I see he’s still a simpering idiot. Marie LeFleur.”
Ebba paused. “The woman who broke his-”
“Yes.”
Another pause, then she kicked a chair out from under the table. “Sit. We will be friends.”
Marie grinned, sliding into the chair. Sophie sat next to her, greeting the Swedish woman. Louis put himself between Marie and Ebba, while Peter took the remaining chair. Miyamoto went to find another one.
“Broke his… heart?” Peter tried.
Marie smirked, leaning back. “Among other things.”
Louis smiled a smile she had known well. “Heart, tooth, razor, favorite mug-”
“I set fire to the mug before stomping it to pieces,” Marie corrected.
He continued, “-table, spoon-”
“Spoon?” Sophie asked. “How did you do that?”
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“Digging out of prison,” Marie said, glad the girl hadn't asked about the table.
“-skull, and I still maintain you broke my toe,” Louis finished.
Marie smiled, watching Miyamoto drag over a chair. Louis had left something out of his list.
Ebba was looking her over critically, making Marie feel self-conscious for the first time in years.
Louis looked Miyamoto over. “Samurai?” he guessed.
Miyamoto bowed in reply.
“There’s three or four of your ilk here; they haunt the sparring room.” He pointed off to a door with a drawing of two swords on it. “Go meet them if you don’t care for my company.”
Miyamoto bowed again, and turned away.
“Three or four?” Peter asked. “Don’t you know?”
“One’s a woman,” Louis said. “They call her something else, but I can’t see the difference. She’s Japanese, self-righteous, carries a thin sword, same as the rest of them.”
“Are they all poets?” Sophie asked.
Louis grimaced. “Yes.”
Marie cleared her throat. “I’d love to gossip and catch up, but I do have a few pressing questions. You offered to be our guide. So what’s this place like? How dangerous are the people?”
“We live for contests,” Ebba told her. “No one is forced to stay; some have left, so everyone who remains is satisfied. We get food, clothing and shelter in exchange for having adventures every weekend. It’s no secret we’re being watched; people who amuse the rostari get paid more. But it is fair. Anyone can be amusing.”
“Do they have a preference for any race?” Marie asked.
Louis shook his head. “We’re trained dogs to them. They don’t know or care about Earth politics. Tall, short, dark, light, skinny, fat; they just throw us all together and tell us to dance.”
“They like people to be unique, though,” Ebba said. “The easier you are to tell apart from others, the more popular you automatically become. Find a good style and stay with it.”
“Style? Is there a tailor here?” Sophie asked.
“There is, but not exactly,” Ebba told her. “In the room where we request clothes there’s a place to draw what you want. You can also buy fabric and a sewing kit.”
“Are there people to avoid?” Peter asked.
“Anyone who glares at you,” Ebba shrugged.
Louis elaborated. “We’re very expensive trained dogs. If you’re hurt or killed, that’s someone’s investment lost. Don’t test anyone, but you don’t have to watch your back.”
“That’s good to know,” Marie said, watching a thin, dark-skinned girl walk towards them.
Louis noticed her, and smiled brightly. “Ah, here comes the lovely Rani! She’s probably happy to not be the youngest person here any more.”
Rani bobbed, almost bouncing up to the table. “Hello. I’m Rani.”
Sophie beamed. “Nice to meet you, I’m Sophie.”
Marie and Peter introduced themselves. After a polite hello, the girl looked back at Sophie.
“Are you the one who climbed for your team?” she asked, motioning towards the pictures on the far wall.
“I did most of the climbing, yes,” Sophie said happily.
Rani bounced slightly, smiling. “I’m my team’s climber. I died falling out of a tree.”
“I died falling out of a window,” Sophie giggled.
“There’s a climbing room here,” Rani said. “I want to see if you’re faster than me. No one else is.”
“Certainly,” Sophie said, jumping to her feet.
The girls linked arms and bounced off.
Marie watched them go, eyebrows raised. “I almost want to see that race.”
“Rani lives in that room,” Ebba said, shaking her head. “She could climb blindfolded and win.”
“She could win any race; that girl moves like lightning,” Louis said. He pointed to three deep parallel scars above his wrist. “Two tournaments ago she gave me these before I even saw she was there. If she’d hit any harder my hand would be gone.”
Marie raised her eyebrows even further, impressed. And then her eyes went to another, older scar. It curved up his arm, under his sleeve, and she knew it ended inside his elbow.
In a flash she remembered their laughter as they tried figuring out a way of explaining why they’d been fighting with knives. Again. The unamused surgeon who stitched the wound hadn’t believed Louis’ tale of a blood sacrifice for a mosquito god, even when Marie used the one phrase she knew in Nahuatl.
A phrase Louis had taught her as they hid outside an orchard in Venezuela.
A place they’d gone to after escaping-
“She’ll be good company for Sophie,” Ebba said, pulling Marie back to the present.
Peter frowned, worried. “Is it common for people to say how they almost died? And to skip the ‘almost’ part?”
Marie glanced at him, noticing he'd switched from English to Spanish as soon as Sophie was out of earshot.
“Yes to both,” Louis told him. “It says a lot about a person, learning how they died. Or, almost died.”
“If you don’t want to say, lie,” Ebba said. “Refusing to give any explanation will only make rumors spread.”
Marie motioned to Louis. “Your ship was sunk by the French. My ship was sunk by the Spanish.” She looked at Ebba. “You?”
“Burned as a witch.” Ebba smiled at Peter. “And how did you die?”
He glanced at Marie, then looked Ebba in the eye. “Washed away in a flood."
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Sophie touched the wall, staring up in amazement. The climbing room was covered in creases and bumps, with wooden bars and shelves sticking out at odd angles. Spongy foam made up the floor; hard to walk on but it would help if she fell.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Rani asked, beaming.
“This is the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen,” Sophie said, putting her foot on a small ledge.
“Ready to race?”
“Absolutely.”
Rani bounced, pointing to a wooden swing hanging from the exact middle of the ceiling. “First one there wins. Threetwoonego.”
She jumped up, catching a crease and easily pulling herself to the next handhold.
Sophie laughed, pushing herself off the floor.
She tried to ignore Rani, focusing on the wall above her. At first it was easy, easier than most walls she’d climbed. About halfway up, though, the number of handholds dropped. Climbing required her to swing from one to the next, relying on the toe of her boot to keep her safe. Sophie thought she was doing well until she reached the ceiling.
Rani had removed her sandals and was using her toes to grip whatever handhold she found. Sophie watched her hang from the ceiling, moving as easily as if she were walking along a street.
Gritting her teeth, Sophie fit her boot into a crevice and grabbed a bar. Ignoring the possibly-lethal drop below her, she reached out for a handhold.
Rani got to the swing and dropped lightly to it, smiling. Sophie frowned, moving her foot to the next crevice.
A part of her wanted to go back down. Hanging off the ceiling like this was incredibly dangerous and the opposite of ladylike.
She paused at that thought. Her mother would go into hysterics if she saw her now. Sophie knew she’d be yelled at for doing something dangerous, for climbing at all, for not wearing a skirt, and would be ordered to get down for a beating and a lecture.
The knowledge that her mother would not approve gave Sophie the strength and courage to keep going. Her hands grew sweaty, but she wiped them on her blouse and kept going.
Finally, muscles burning, she reached the swing. She grabbed the rope and dropped down, nearly collapsing onto the plank next to Rani.
“That was beautiful!” Rani said, giving her a quick hug. “I thought you’d get stuck at the ceiling. Most people do.”
“Never,” Sophie said, panting.
“I don’t know how you managed it with shoes on,” Rani continued. “I hate climbing without using my toes. It’s much safer that way.”
“If I tried climbing without shoes my mother’s soul would appear in front of me and demand I put some on,” Sophie said.
Rani laughed. “Don’t worry. Your mother will never learn of anything you do here.”
“I hope not,” Sophie giggled. “I haven’t even been here a week and she’d already die if she found out.”
“All you did was climb a mountain, what’s so bad about that?”
Sophie leaned back, making the swing move. “You clearly aren’t an English Lady.”
Rani held her hand next to Sophie’s to compare the color. “Clearly.”
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Peter watched the pictures on the wall. They moved. No one had explained, but obviously these moving pictures were what the hawks had seen. Someone with a strange accent was excitedly explaining where each of the teams had slowed down, and any obstacles they’d faced.
He presumed every human on the ship was here, watching. The groups seemed to have usual places, since everyone knew where to look when a new team was shown.
Suddenly Peter saw himself on the wall.
“In seventh place comes our newest team, the Drifters!” the announcer called. “If this climb showed anything, it’s that they’re a lot more cohesive than most new teams. Marie is the leader, but she’s never been on a mountain before! It’s a miracle they didn’t freeze to death.” The picture showed Marie collapsing near the final cliff. “We were prepared to give them an encouraging speech about how failure is acceptable, but they split up. Razan and Marie stayed behind, sending the youngest two members, Sophie and Peter, to the finish line.” The picture switched to show Miyamoto and Marie at the bottom of the cliff, then it moved up and focused on Sophie and Peter having a snowball fight. “They gave us the most energetic finish out of any team! If we ever have a snow battle, I’m putting my money on this group.”
Marie, standing next to Peter, raised her eyebrows at him.
Peter coughed. “She started it,” he muttered.
“So that’s how you became covered in snow,” Miyamoto said.
Sophie crossed her arms. “It got us attention; that’s good, right?”
On the wall, the picture switched to a different team. Peter recognized two of the people as Louis and Ebba.
“In sixth place we have Windward! They usually do well in cold conditions, and bad in climbing competitions. That leaves them in the middle, and they landed in the middle here!” The picture showed the team pulling their masks and goggles on at the starting point. “As expected, Ebba made sure her team was ready for freezing cold weather, so they managed the walking part expertly.” It switched to show all four team members climbing the first cliff at once. “Also as expected, they stalled at the cliffs. Other than Asani, their strategy for climbing still seems to be hope and prayers.” The picture changed to show the team eating lunch. “Well, at least we know no one will hold this against them in the next tournament. No team can be good at everything, after all.”
The picture changed, showing two people pulling a sled with their other two teammates on it. This strategy didn’t seem to have helped much. The announcer doubted anyone would copy them next tournament.
The next two teams apparently had been expected to do well, and had done nothing unusual.
The second-place team, called the Masks, got a grumbling murmur from the crowd. The announcer didn't linger on them, and Peter couldn't see them in the crowd.
The winning team, named the Diamonds, got a huge cheer when they were announced. Near the wall, four people stood and bowed as the announcer called them all sorts of wonderful things.
Louis strolled up to Marie as the wall faded to black, Ebba and two others following.
“Come. Let me introduce you to some people.”