Chapter 35

Annabeth heard the footsteps from a hundred feet down the hallway and recognized Montague’s tread. She waited, flipping to the next page in her magazine.

“Excuse me, Miss Toy?” Montague knocked gently on the door.

Annabeth stood and motioned him inside. “How are things?”

“Roughly as expected. I hurt my reputation greatly by sponsoring Heyerdahl, and then turning on him. The damage is partly offset by the recognition that he wasn’t just a man. How is Chun?”

“He’s awake, and in some kind of meditation. He’s using his breath to splint his broken bones together. You can talk to him, just don’t expect him to say very much back.”

Montague walked to the bedside, pulled the guest chair up, and sat. “Can you hear me, Mr. Chun?”

Chun lifted his thumb.

“I’m very sorry you have been so badly injured. Naturally I will cover the medical bills. I also wish to compensate you in the form of the sword and armor. My appraiser says they have enough value that I don’t need to feel guilty.” He shook his head.

“When you began your bizarre duel by running laps around the arena, I was humiliated. The Countess convinced me to let it play out, rather than simply surrender. You have taught me a great deal about pride and responsibility.”

Chun opened his hand, and Montague glanced at Annabeth and raised his eyebrows.

“He wants to shake your hand,” Annabeth said.

Montague gripped Chun’s hand, then winced slightly. When Chun let go, he shook his head and massaged the hand with the other. “Even on his sickbed he is appallingly strong, and Heyerdahl was clearly stronger still. I asked the impossible, and he found a way to do it.”

He leaned toward Annabeth and whispered, “You are the same as Heyerdahl. That is why Archibald could not beat you like he beat Chun.”

Annabeth nodded. “It’s important that you keep that information close.”

“Of course. I need to ask you for a favor. I know I have no right.”

“What do you need?” Annabeth peered into his face, trying to figure out what kind of favor he was going to request.

“Heyerdahl and Archibald came in through the back door, as it were. They dealt with the families and tricked me into supporting them. Gratian Buchanan is doing something similar through the front door. He is making friends with government officials, and families that were unhappy with my sponsorship of Heyerdahl.

“I can manage the politics, but Gratian has employed a fighter named Ru. The kickboxing circuit is enormously popular with tourists and makes a tremendous amount of money for the island. Gratian is collecting large purses and using them to build power for the Buchanan family.”

He paused and rubbed his palms on his trousers.

“You’re working up to asking me if I’ll assassinate him,” Annabeth said.

He inclined his head toward her. “Essentially yes. He is enormously strong. The two men I sent to fight him in the ring died, and given my recent mistakes managing the Heyerdahl affair, I cannot simply order him shot.”

Annabeth looked at Chun. “What do you think?”

Chun put his thumb up.

“What about guarding him?” Annabeth stood and put the magazine in the chair.

“I will put ten of my men with him,” Montague said.

Annabeth thought about it for a minute. “The bureau sent us here to arrest or kill Archibald and Heyerdahl. Mission accomplished. Now we’re at war with the Buchanans on Solomon. Since I can’t be home to help out, I might as well help out here. Let’s scout him, and then I’ll decide what I want to do next.”

* * *

Annabeth sat between Perabo and Montague. Their seats were ringside, and the place was a din of noise hiding in a cloud of smoke. Annabeth didn’t care for the smoke, it interfered with her sense of smell.

Otherwise, the evening was a success. Countess Perabo was an expert on the sport and offered commentary on training approaches, the skills and weaknesses of the fighters, rules and where they might be bent or stretched.

“You know a great deal about combat,” Annabeth said.

Montague chuckled from her other side. “She is a brilliant woman. Ask her about art, history, science, or law. Virtually anything, really, and she can at least tell you the basics and where to learn more.”

“All that, and beautiful too,” Annabeth said.

Perabo laughed. “A compliment from an angel. Thank you.”

“No one’s ever called me that before,” Annabeth said. She wasn’t sure how to take that. Was it meant to be a compliment? A bit of aristocratic irony? Either way it did feel nice.

The ring was actually a square bounded by heavy-gauge chain link fencing. The fence was eight feet high, and fighters were not allowed to grip it. Pushing against it was allowed, pulling, or using it to gain leverage was not.

The fight surface was hard mats covered with canvas. There was enough give to avoid breaking knees and elbows on it, but it was a real hazard if a fighter were knocked out and fell so that their head bounced.

Seating was two rows of comfortable velvet upholstered chairs at ringside, with stadium-style bench seating extending almost to the rafters around the arena.

Ru was a younger, bigger version of Chun. They even looked somewhat alike. He stood six feet eight and weighed four hundred fifty pounds. His opponent this evening was a giant southerner named Samuelson who had Ru by four inches and fifty pounds.

The referee brought the fighters to the center and made them touch gloves. The southerner tried to stare Ru down, but the big Han just looked bored. Then the bell rang.

The giant was strong, but slow. Ru was shockingly fast for his size. He spent the first minute of the fight working his opponent’s mid-section, then gave him a bit of space when he staggered and clutched at the fence to keep from falling.

It wasn’t a kindness. The referee warned the giant not to grab the fence, and the fight continued. Ru switched from body shots to leg kicks, picking the bigger man’s legs apart one horribly bruised muscle at a time.

“He’s completely outclassed,” Annabeth said.

Perabo nodded. “Ru enjoys hurting his opponents. If you work for one of his allies, he shows a small amount of restraint, but with anyone else he maximizes the injuries.”

Ru dragged the fight out for three rounds. Samuelson never scored a solid punch or kick and left the arena on a stretcher after he collapsed trying to walk to his dressing room.

“What do you think?” Montague seemed concerned.

“Set up the fight,” Annabeth said. “Bet everything you can scrape together. Take them for everything they have. News of Chun’s fight will have made the circuit, so tell them I was Chun’s second. They’ll laugh it off. Swords aren’t the same as kickboxing, and Heyerdahl was dead on his feet by the time I got involved.”

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“You’re certain you can do it?” Montague pulled his worried gaze from Ru and focused on Annabeth.

“She sounds certain,” Perabo said, reaching past Annabeth to pat his shoulder.

“It’s going to be worse than tonight’s mismatch,” Annabeth said. “Get him in the ring. I’m going to change his life.”

Perabo sat forward and turned to look Annabeth in the face. “You didn’t say anything like that about Heyerdahl.”

Annabeth gave Perabo what she hoped was a predatory grin. “Ru is no Heyerdahl.”

* * *

It took two days to set the fight up. Chun looked worse. His left side was a mass of bruises, and where bones had broken, he was swelling. She couldn’t believe it, but five times a day he struggled into a sitting position and ate. So far it was soft things like eggs and applesauce, but despite his appearance he claimed he was getting stronger.

Tonight’s bouts were in The Atrium’s arena. The hotel had a larger room, and a system of fans brought fresh air in continuously.

Perabo and a pair of women from the house accompanied Annabeth to the dressing room where she changed into a pair of trunks and a tailored bra that mashed her down from two breasts to one big flat one.

“It’s so he can’t grab you,” Perabo said when Annabeth made a face about it.

“I suppose that’s good,” Annabeth said. She tried running in place and dancing around the changing room a bit and decided it was more comfortable than she’d first thought.

She ate some grapes and a bowl of plain yogurt, and then Perabo wrapped her hands and fitted the fingerless fighting gloves over them.

“Do you need to wrap your knees or ankles?” Perabo asked.

“No,” Annabeth said. “If not for the rules I wouldn’t wrap my hands either.”

“How do you feel?”

Annabeth did another quick footwork drill. “Great. I’m ready.”

“Daral is a mess. This is the second time this week he’s wagered Emilia on the outcome of a fight. He’s normally a very restrained gambler.”

Annabeth smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m going to take him apart. Which round would you like him to lose in?”

Perabo opened her mouth, then closed it. After a few seconds she spoke. “Don’t take any risks. Don’t get fancy, don’t show off. Just go in there and beat him.”

“Okay.”

They waited, mostly in silence, for another half hour and then Rake knocked on the door. “They’re ready for you.”

She’d always wanted the applause and lights and the cheering. What she got was boos, heckles, and some wadded napkins and fight bills thrown at her. Gratian Buchanan met her at the gate on her side of the ring.

“Shame to lose a fine piece of meat like you,” he said. His suit was perfect, a white pinstripe with wide collars. His watch was big and gold, and so were some of his teeth.

Annabeth smiled at him. “Pay close attention. What happens tonight is a prophecy for what happens later.”

“I sure hope not,” he said. “I’d rather fuck you than hit you.”

Annabeth turned her back on him and entered the ring. On the far side of the arena people cheered madly. A small marching band accompanied him to the ring. Ru slipped out of a black silk robe and raised his arms to the crowd. The cheering got louder.

After a couple of minutes of showing off Ru entered the ring, and the announcer took over.

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have an appalling spectacle. Daral Montague has sponsored Annabeth Toy, an agent of the Bureau of Antiquities on Solomon, to fight our island champion. She has a fight record of zero and zero--”

Jeering and boos from the crowd drowned him out for a minute.

“Standing six feet two inches and weighing in at one hundred and ninety-six pounds, the aptly named Toy.”

The crowd went wild for another ugly minute.

“In the other corner, standing six feet eight inches and weighing in at four hundred forty-eight pounds, you know him, you fear him…Ru.”

They waited for another minute of cheering, and the referee summoned them to the center.

“Protect yourselves at all times, listen to my instructions. Touch hands and come out fighting.”

Annabeth put her fists out. She was pretty sure Ru wasn’t going to give her a polite glove touch. He reached past her hands, going for one of her breasts. Annabeth spun into him, grabbed the extended arm, and threw him over her hip. He flew six feet and came down in a poorly controlled heap, then scrambled up.

“Bitch.”

“Target.”

He threw a jab. She slipped outside and hit him in the ribs. At least one broke, and he grunted.

“I’m taking what’s left of you back to my room when we’re done,” Ru said.

Annabeth threw a jab and hit him in the eye, knocking him back a step. Then she kicked his feet out from under him.

“Stop talking and fight,” she said.

He scrambled back up, but his eye was bloodshot and already swelling. He threw a couple of jabs and a hook, but his depth perception was off. Annabeth kicked him in the thigh and sent him to the mat again.

His pain tolerance impressed her, as he bounced back to his feet.

“I’m going to tear you apart, you--”

Annabeth hit him in the gut with a forward kick that folded him over. This time he didn’t just bounce back up.

“Get up,” Annabeth said. “This is my first fight, and you’re making me look bad. Let me do some combinations before you flop again.”

He dragged himself up and rushed her, head low and arms out. Annabeth leaped and rolled across his back, unbalancing him enough to make him stumble into the fence.

“Get your fucking ass up and do your goddam job,” Gratian screamed at him through the wire.

Ru clawed himself upright and spun.

“Fuck you, bitch,” he spat. His mouth guard fell out onto the mat.

Annabeth went for a high right cross, but he anticipated it. She switched and drove her left up between his hands for an uppercut that rocked his head back and slammed his teeth together.

“I’m done with you,” she said.

She hit him in the liver, then uppercut him again when he tried to double over. Her right fist snapped his left collarbone, then the left fist made them match. She dislocated his shoulder, broke ribs, hit him with a knee that lifted his sagging body back up, and then sent a crashing kick into his right leg that snapped the femur.

The round one bell rang.

Annabeth tried to open the gate, but they had latched it. She tore the gate open, destroying the latch, and went to the announcer. She snatched the microphone out of his hand.

“My name is Annabeth Toy, and I came here for fifteen rounds. I need fourteen of the assholes who booed me to come down here and fill out the rest of the fight card.”

She shoved the microphone back into his hands and stalked over to Gratian Buchanan.

“Remember the prophecy,” she said. “I’m going to do that to your whole family.”