“So what’d you say to Oliver to get him to give up his ticket?” Tarragon asked. The tram wobbled on its rails as it took them down the Trunk.

“I reminded him that I got him his new job,” Archie answered.

Tarragon laughed. “The kid has been talking my ear off about getting to see Pepper Ivy. He must have really felt like he owed you.”

Archie pressed his lips together in guilt. He reminded himself that he didn’t do it for himself. He did it for Nori. “Yeah…”

“Well, I’m excited to have you along. There’s a lot to be learned by watching one of these matches.”

They exited at The Serving Bowl, approaching the gates of the great arena.

“Tickets,” the guard demanded. A day of dealing with rowdy drunks had left a permanent scowl on his face.

“Tickets, tickets…” Tarragon looked around.

“Hold on.” The guard recoiled. “You’re the Terror, aren’t you?”

Tarragon feigned a bow. “The one and only.”

The guard’s demeanor broke into that of a fanboy, his frown turning into a big, open-mouthed grin.

“Oh, man! You were my dad’s favorite. Do you still fight?”

“Your dad, huh?” Tarragon laughed and inspected his wrinkled hands. “I suppose that’s right. No, I don’t fight anymore. Those days are behind me. I’m a teacher now at the Academy.” Tarragon nodded at Archie. “Taking him backstage to meet some of the guys.”

“Oh, that’s great.” The guard smiled at Archie. “That’s exciting for you. I remember when—oh, forget it. I don’t want to keep you waiting. Show me those tickets and I’ll get you in.”

“Oh, well…” Tarragon moved his jaw side to side as he looked at Archie. “We uh—they’re expecting us. Did they not send the tickets to you already?”

“Nope.”

Tarragon clicked his tongue. “Man. I don’t know who they were supposed to send them to. I can be forgetful, maybe I have them…”

Tarragon dug through his pockets. He pulled out a handkerchief. A couple coins. And then, as if by accident, a stack of little wooden discs that had Tarragon’s likeness burned in along with an autograph.

“Here, I’m supposed to be giving these out in there, but why don’t you have one? Give it to your dad for me.” Tarragon handed a disc to the guard and put the rest back in his pocket. He continued to feign looking through his pockets.

“Wow!” The guard marveled at the keepsake. He looked around to make sure none of the other guards could hear him. “Tell you what, go on ahead…but if anyone asks, you came in through the east gate.”

“East gate, got it. Thanks.” Tarragon patted the guard on the shoulder as he walked past.

Archie laughed and waited until they were out of earshot. “Did you not have tickets?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Here we are.”

Tarragon diverted from the main path down a set of narrow stairs. A guard waited at the door.

“This is the backstage,” the guard groaned. “You want to go that way and up to find your seats.”

“Actually, we’re expected. Let’s see, I think they should have sent you the tickets. It’s for Tarragon. Tarragon the Terror.” He pointed up at one of the statues that occupied the many alcoves of the walls. “That’s…is that me? Well, there’s four statues of me somewhere around here. That’s how many times I won, you know.”

Before going to the fighters’ waiting room, Tarragon took Archie on a tour through the labyrinth of dark, earthy hallways that ran beneath the arena floor. They arrived at a small, dirt-floor room with the most peculiar-looking tree that Archie had ever seen.

Where the trunk emerged from the ground, the tree was twenty feet across. A foot off the ground, the tree was only ten feet across. A foot higher, five feet across. At the point that the tree rose above Archie’s head, the trunk—if it could be called that—was only a few inches wide with little spindling branches and a smattering of leaves. It ended just a few feet below the ceiling.

“I wouldn’t touch it,” Tarragon warned. “That thing has so much essence that if you don’t brace yourself, you’ll get blasted through the next wall.”

“What is it?”

“That…is a tree that is over a hundred feet tall. Currently shrunk to about ten feet. When they want some new terrain for the arena, they expand this back out. The crown of it covers the whole bowl.” Tarragon laughed at a memory. “I’ve had a lot of good fights up on the branches of this thing.”

“Cool.”

They passed through rooms with all sorts of props and decorations—Tarragon explained that The Serving Bowl had as many plays and performances as it did fights—and a door with a sign that made Archie shudder.

WARNING: Gripper vines inside. Opening this door can result in death.

“If the battle starts to go on too long, they let them up through the floor,” Tarragon explained. “More restraining than any noodle I could make. At that point, it’s more man versus nature than anything else.”

Archie gave the door a wide berth. Finally, they arrived at the waiting room, a massive lounge full of places to rest, mirrors to get ready for the show, and Chefs and Veratores tending to the needs of the fighters. For as massive as the room was, it still made Archie claustrophobic, the only natural light in the room coming from small windows that butted up against the ceiling.

But what really made Archie claustrophobic were all the people in the room. And it wasn’t just the number. It was how legendary those people were.

Gristle, a fighter who could turn the air sour, was playing dice with Melo, the master of citrus, and Annatto, the human cheese wheel. Little Laurel ate a bowl of gruel unbefitting a Red Jacket fighter. Two Veratores tended to the wounds of Honovi, the fire-wielder, and a man clad in leather known simply as The Crocodile.

And in the corner mirror, Tataki stared back at his own face. Even in the reflection, his appearance was striking and hard, his black hair nearly shaved on the sides and spiky on top, his big, puffy lips seeming like they’d never held a smile. His deep-set eyes moved, catching Archie’s. Archie looked away, but Tataki’s eyes remained.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Is that Tarragon?” a shrill, feminine voice exclaimed.

Archie turned to the source, finding her in front of another mirror. For as chilling as Tarragon’s presence was, Archie found himself warmed up the moment he laid eyes on Pepper Ivy.

His eyes followed her thick, wavy hair down to her cleavage where one of her three assistants fussed at her outfit to show just the right amount of skin. She caught Archie looking and smiled at him before waving off her assistants and rising to greet Tarragon with a hug.

“Oh, you look great, Terry. How’s your wife?”

Tarragon returned the hug with a tepid tap on the back. “I’m not married, Pep. You know that.”

“Hm.” She looked Tarragon up and down with a grin. “I guess I did. And who’s this cutie?”

Archie felt the heat of a thousand suns in that dark, drafty basement. He tried to respond, but could only get as far as letting his mouth hang open as Pepper Ivy ran a finger across his shoulder.

“Careful, son,” Tarragon warned. “She’s like a fairy. Tell her your name and soon she’ll take you for everything you have.”

That sounded just fine with him.

“I’m Archie. Uh, Archie…” He considered giving his last name, but he still hadn’t come to a conclusion on whether he was proud or ashamed of it. “Yeah, Archie.”

“Well, Archie, Archie, Archie, you a student?”

Archie’s neck hurt from maintaining eye contact. “That’s right.”

“Who’s your sponsor?”

“Uh—it’s, uh, Rowan. Knapp. He, uh—he runs The Gift.”

“Never heard of it.” She put a finger to her plump lower lip, pulling it down and letting it flip back up with a little pop. “I run a restaurant, you know. Peppered Roux. We’re not sponsoring anyone right now, but in a couple years, if you’ve got the potential, come talk to me. I wouldn’t mind being over you.”

Archie’s face turned as red as her hair. Tarragon broke the hypnosis, taking Archie by the shoulders. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said. “Watch out for girls like her, Archie.”

“There are no girls like me,” Pepper Ivy said as she settled back in her chair and the assistants got back to work. “Good to see you, Terry. Come visit my restaurant. We close at midnight, but you can come later if you want.”

Tarragon shook his head and laughed. “Always a pleasure, Pep.”

“I’m sure it would be.”

Archie noticed that Tataki had never stopped staring at him.

“Tarragon,” Melo called out. “When are you going to come back to the scene? Be my coach.”

Tarragon’s roaring laugh filled the room. “Oh, no, the coach’s box is not for me. I couldn’t stand to be that close to the arena and not be in the battle.”

“Come back as a fighter, then,” Annatto said in a thick Labruscan accent. “You’d probably still be top twenty.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” Tarragon joked. “No, those days are over for me. This one, though.” He patted Archie’s shoulders. “I think he’ll be sharing this room with you in a few years. I just got that feeling.”

Gristle stood up and took a step toward Archie. He was a tall, lanky man, like a piece of taffy stretched too thin. “Is that right? Hit me with something.”

The other occupants of the room all looked up at Archie, who looked back around at them. “I don’t—uh…”

“Come on,” Gristle said, even less friendly than the first time. The air shifted, filling with a sourness that made Archie’s mouth water. “You’re gonna be a fighter? Hit me.”

“That’s enough,” Tarragon stated, his voice full of pepper. “He’s just a first-year. You remember how that was. How quickly it happens. You enter the second semester not being able to do anything out of the kitchen. You enter the second year being able to stand your ground.”

Gristle scoffed. “Come see me in your second year, then. I’ll show you that you don’t have what it takes.”

Tarragon patted Archie on the back. “Alright, well, we should be getting to our seats. Who’s fighting?”

“That’d be me, darling,” Pepper Ivy answered. “I’m gonna be teaching our lovely Gristle here some manners.”

Gristle shook his head and walked to the exit door. “I’m gonna break those nice, lovely legs, sweetie. Don’t spend too long trying to get pretty. You don’t want to be late.”

Once Gristle had left, Pepper Ivy sighed. “I hate fighting him, to be honest. All that sour. I feel like I lose control of my body.”

“Well…” Tarragon scratched his goatee as he walked up to Pepper Ivy. He stared at her assistants until they stepped away. Archie barely made out what he whispered. “So…spatula…after you swing…and then you…”

For a moment, Archie saw what he figured was the real Pepper Ivy. No seductive smile, no batting of the eyes, no clever posturing to emphasize her chest, no baby voice. She nodded as she listened, her face wracked by concentration, responding with a lower voice and asking for clarity. She was a student, not even ten years older than Archie, and a fighter. Not some manufactured sex symbol.

“I have to start going up,” she told Tarragon. “Can you walk with me and show me?”

“Yeah, sure. Hey Archie. I’ll be back in just a minute, alright? Just stay here.”

“Okay.”

Archie watched them leave before looking at Tataki.

Tataki had never looked away.

Archie considered canceling his mission. He could sit back in one of the chairs. Talk to a fighter. Have a good time. Wait for Tarragon to get back and just enjoy the fight. Sure, Mr. Ackers wouldn’t hire them again, but they’d find someone else. They didn’t need the money until the start of the second year. They could work through the summer. They’d probably be fine.

But probably wasn’t good enough. Archie took a deep breath and walked up to Tataki, maintaining eye contact the entire way. With each step, Archie legs trembled more and more. His stomach squeezed, and he had to remind himself to breathe. He stopped just a few steps away from Tataki.

“Hi.”

Tataki breathed through his nose, his eyes moving back to look at himself. He stuck his bottom jaw out, his teeth poking out.

Archie’s instincts told him to run. He was the prey, and Tataki was the predator. But he thought of Nori and took another step forward, clearing his throat.

“I’m—uh, I’m Archie. Archie—”

“Archibald Kent,” Tataki interrupted, squinting at Archie through the mirror as if saying his name had left a bad taste. He spoke methodically, reading off of some mental list. “Multiple affinities shown. Capable with blueberries and pasta. Only child. Two parents, both Chefs, both Orange Jackets in Sain. No notable affinities or achievements. One cousin of note. A Green Jacket Veratore operating in Rougamo. Pasta affinity. Never seen combat. Sponsored by Rowan Knapp, a Black Jacket of considerable cooking skill, but no fighting experience.”

Archie’s nervousness turned to fear, hardening his resolve. “What are you—”

“In case I need to know who might avenge you.”

The room shrank. Stifling air filled Archie’s seizing lungs. Sweat formed on the back of his neck. But then Archie found something deep within himself.

Courage.

“You forgot someone, then.”

Tataki turned, finally going face-to-face with Archie.

“Say it,” Archie demanded.

“Nori Harper. Orange Jacket. Affinity to seafood, but she rejects it due to a malformed pride. Proficient with citrus, particularly lemon.”

“Shame,” Archie corrected. “Not pride.”

Tataki turned back to the mirror, studying his own face. “There is no shame without pride,” he monotoned.

The courage kept building inside Archie. He realized that it was that fighting spirit that Tarragon had seen. This was his first ever fight, and it was with the best in the world.

“I need something from you,” Archie said.

Tataki took a full second to blink. “You’re making demands?”

Archie stepped forward, breathing down Tataki’s neck. “I need kulkida rice,” he whispered. “By the end of the month.”

Tataki shifted to the side and twisted to face Archie. “I could have you arrested just for saying that. And that’s if you’re lucky. You and Nori both. I know she’s in on whatever this is.”

“I’ll say it was your idea. I hear Prince Waldorf doesn’t think kindly of Urokans.”

Tataki turned back to the mirror. “Why should I help you?”

“What do you want?

“I want whatever my family wants me to want.”

“Well, if we don’t get this, then next year, Nori will be sponsored by Prince Waldorf. I don’t think your family wants to see their baby girl working for a Glutton.”

“She would come home before she let that happen to herself.”

“We’re talking about the same Nori, right?”

Tataki ran his tongue across his top teeth. He offered a conceding sigh. “And she’ll write a letter—of considerable length and quality—to her mother. She hasn’t written her once.”

“Deal.”

Tataki shook his head ever so slightly. “One month from today. At noon. She picks it up at the tram stop outside the arena.”

“She picks it up in the Children’s Square.”

Tataki snorted and smiled. “Tarragon said he expects you to be a fighter like us one day. Do you think you will be?”

Archie looked around. Somehow, the legendary fighters didn’t seem so legendary anymore. Just Chefs with experience. Archie could get experience.

“I just might.”

“Good.” Tataki nodded. “I’d like to fight you one day.”

“I thought you only wanted what your family wants?”

“Oh I do, Archibald Kent. I do.”