I’d already gotten close to Adam. If he was the guy in charge, it was likely that he was the one holding William’s papers. I needed to find out where he lived, or where their operation was working out of. If I knew that I could go rummaging around for more information during the night. If I was lucky I might even stumble across the papers themselves. I didn’t like Adam all that much. He was slimy. I excused myself as soon as possible without coming off as rude.
“Who’s next? And how tough are they?”
Vincent took a drag, “Johnny Madsen. Last time I checked, he was a level two boxer. He’s another favourite.” Level two? That could pose a problem. The gap between me and William was extreme, I didn’t yet know the extent to which the level difference would affect the fight. I couldn’t use my spar with William as an example. Were my stats enough to overcome that advantage, or would I be seeing stars in seconds again?
The chalk board above the betting stands had been updated again. The odds were 3/1 in his favour, which meant that I needed to win. Applying my fundamentals would give me a shot at levelling my own skill – but training with William would be much faster and more efficient. Some skills couldn’t be levelled without instruction, they contained too many technical details that a beginner wouldn’t know.
I hadn’t hit that wall just yet. But relying on myself levelling up in the middle of a fight wasn’t much of a strategy.
“We’re betting on me winning again,” I said, “Hopefully my strength makes the difference.”
“Looks like it. Some of Miller’s friends might have spite-betted for Johnny to take you out, plus people aren’t going to go all-in on you after just one fight. They might think it was a fluke.” A gang member called out to Vincent, he turned back to face the voice. “Ah shit, back in a sec.” He hurried over and disappeared around the corner with the man, which must have been something to do with running the show.
I leaned back against the fence and gathered my thoughts. Though the truth was that I rarely got a quiet moment to myself these days, not least because of the schizophrenic ghost living in my head. She materialised in front of me, not flinching as passersby walked through her like she was a cloud of mist.
Stigma wasn’t happy – she strutted in and through the people surrounding me haughtily; “Why do you insist on wasting our time with these trifling errands? You did the same thing in Pascen. If you’d have left the tree alone, we could have continued to feast on giant souls without worry! Yet you were led around by the nose by that weakling Adrian.”
Stigma sure knew how to be petty. It had been months since that happened. She was choosing to bring it up now. “I can’t just live on souls Stigma,” I whispered back, “And you were the one who told me to kill that branch back there.”
“Yes, because it could have killed you. If you’d never accompanied them there in the first place…”
“I have four months left. If I can’t find anything else to kill by then, it’s my bad. But I can’t go off hunting dangerous creatures without Cali and Tahar.”
“Why not? You seemed so adamant on not involving them with your business when we first met.”
I scowled, “Are you just trying to pick holes in me right now?”
Nothing Stigma was saying lined up. She knew the score, and the way I acted. Yet here she was – insisting she hadn’t been a captive audience to everything that had happened until now. She knew exactly why Cali and Tahar were with me, and how useful they could be in a fight or on the road. I wasn’t so high and mighty to forget that. And while Cali’s straightforward behaviour and thrill-seeking manner caused me some problems, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy having her with me. I was willing to put up with those blemishes because she was mostly tolerable versus the others I’d worked with.
Stigma’s face settled somewhere between confusion and irritation. “You could slaughter all of these worms here and now! If William is so concerned about his papers – then you can kill Adam and be done with it.”
“He paid me to get the papers, not to assassinate Adam.”
“And what’s the difference?”
I sighed, “The customer is always right. He doesn’t want blood on his hands just to stay comfortable. I wouldn’t hoist something like that onto him without making it clear to him first.” It was as simple as that. William hadn’t paid me for an assassination, and he’d probably flip his lid if I did anything of the sort. Murder also had a nasty habit of complicating otherwise simple tasks.
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Stigma continued regardless, “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“He’s going to know. You don’t kill the leader of a major urban gang without everyone knowing about it.” Hell, the last time that happened when I was in the city to see it, a riot broke out. People don’t like it when ‘community leaders’ get picked off by a killer. It was another page in the long history of class-war that defined this world.
That’s why most of the guardsmen leave the gangs alone. It’s hard to catch them committing a crime and they’ll close ranks around each other. Capturing one of them for a bounty was tough. Only the best of the best had the nerve and skill to do it. If Adam was as beloved as Vincent implied thanks to his charitable deeds, he was a powder keg waiting to detonate. He definitely had a price on his head as their leader.
Stigma pouted, “When I had my body, I never once worried about what other people thought of me.”
“Oh, you remember that much?”
“A little. Nothing specific, just the way I felt back then.” That wasn’t what I meant. She had a body. Did that mean she really was a living soul trapped inside the sword? “I’d have a great many more memories if you just consumed that dagger we collected.”
“Yeah, you would.” That was the one piece of leverage I had over her. I wasn’t going to give it up that easily without a good reason. I was curious about what kind of personality was hiding inside, not curious enough to bind myself to it though.
“You’re a mule,” she grunted, “A great stubborn mule.”
“Turnabout is fair play,” I responded, “Next time, don’t blackmail me using my own body.”
Stigma sensed that the discussion was heading into delicate territory, so she ran away. Her body disappeared into a cloud of dust. What did I do to deserve a partner like her? Aside from the thieving.
Vincent returned soon after with another tankard of beer in his free hand. “Sorry about that, just a little procedural business to take care of. Let’s talk bets. Second tier fights have a higher bet ceiling, so we’re both gonna’ pony up a little more cash, yeah?”
I consented and handed him a silver bar.
“What’s a scruffy bloke like you doing with money like this?”
“String of good luck mostly. I found myself in the right place at the right time, and got paid well for a bunch of jobs.” I neglected to mention how dangerous most of them were. I didn’t want to give him any more information than what I needed to get close to him.
He spoke under his breath, “You seem like a savvy guy. Why’re you interested in fixing fights?”
“We’re in town for a while, so I thought I should at least make some money on my own before we leave.”
“Ah, I get it. Time is money, and you can’t stand having idle hands.”
“Exactly.”
Too bad that money was coming at your expense.
“You’ve been in the gang life a long time?”
He nodded, “Since I can remember. Well’s Street is one of the oldest gangs in the city, three decades gone now. When you grow up around them you realise that they’re the only people who understand your perspective, the only ones who stand to help you versus a stacked system.”
I egged him on, “True. That’s how rogues operate as well.”
“Me and some other young lads started working with them before we even hit double digits, pack of bloody nutters we are. Blew all of my money on crap that I had to throw away within the month. Adam was sixteen at the time, he took me under his wing and taught me just how valuable these slabs of metal really are. You know, sometimes I want all those rich blokes to live a week in our shoes – get some perspective on things.”
I shook my head, “They already know what it’s like. They just don’t care. Pleading ignorance is a tactic as old as time itself. You put a noble into an orphanage and ask him to live off a couple iron for a week, and it’ll only reinforce his views. We’re just being lazy, or whatever crap they come up with to justify spitting in our faces.”
“Pisses me off,” Vincent nodded again, “Eh, maybe you’re right. But it would make them miserable for a while.”
I laughed, “Trust me – they know how to make their own misery well enough. It’s just a… comfortable misery.”
I rolled my eyes internally. I may have rued the name of every noble family I could think of, but I’d rather not have this conversation for the millionth time. After two decades, waxing poetic about how the nobles didn’t understand the common folk had become repetitive in my ears. Mercifully, I was released by the coming of my next battle.
“Alright, I better go put this slab down before I forget. Go get yourself pumped up.”
We separated and I headed towards the gated area where the fighters were kept. I disrobed again and did some warmup exercises in the small pen, until Vincent returned with a slip of paper. It was the betting order, “I’ve gone all in on you, try not to fuck it up.”
Easier said than done; the person on the other end of the arena looked a lot tougher than my last opponent. For one thing, they had a much lither appearance. They weren’t a manual labourer and that meant they had more speed. They could conceivably dodge my attacks and keep out of arm’s length. The way they propped themselves up on their toes suggested a more advanced level of training.
“Alright gentlemen, the bets are now closed! The next round is due to begin! On the left side, we have Johnny Madsen! On the right, Ren Kageyama!” The crowd booed me as the announcer spoke my name. So gracious in defeat. The gates were pulled open and we both stalked into the ring like angry bulls.
As we squared up with each other, I realised that he was also slightly taller than me. That’d make things difficult, he had a range advantage. His ginger hair swayed in the breeze, he looked like he wanted nothing to do with me. “Amateurs like you should stay home,” he taunted. He bounced up and down on his feet and tensed his pecs.
I smirked, “Pride comes before the fall…”
“Alright ladies - no more yapping,” the referee demanded, “I want a good fight. No low blows, no pulling hair.” He pushed up back a few steps and raised his arm into the air to signal the start of the bout.
“Fight!”