*sigh*
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Four
“Right, short-arse…” a rough voice roused Jan from his slumber on the morning of his and Aura’s second day there. “Come on, on yer feet.”
Jan forced his eyes open, and just blinked stupidly for a second. “Eh?”
Another mudokon stared back at him – roughly twice his age, but coarser-looking, one eye cool and critical, the other one an odd milky-white and staring off over Jan’s shoulder somewhere. He recognised him as one of the Gladiators he’d seen the other day, and the grimy bandage on his hand confirmed his suspicion. “C’mon, up!”
Jan pushed himself to his feet and stood swaying, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked, through a yawn.
“We’re going to see the Boss, that’s what,” the mudokon caught his arm and marched him out of the room while he was still sufficiently sleepy as not to offer up any resistance. Once out, a second Gladiator – this one a battered, middle-aged slig, every tentacle on his head long gone – caught Jan’s arm and held him with that typically iron grip all sligs had while the young Gladiator locked the cell-door.
By this time, the noise and movement had woken Aura, who for once was sleeping very lightly. She lifted her head and blinked, then; “Whassgoinon?” she slurred. At the lack of reply, she scrubbed at her eyes to wake herself up a bit and squinted. “Where you takin’ him?!” she demanded, all but falling to the floor and scrambling to the bars at the front of the cell.
“Come on,” the mudokon said, turning to Jan as though the little slig was still asleep, and closing his scarred hand around Jan’s upper arm they started off down the corridor.
Jan glanced back over his shoulder, to see her jam her nose between the narrow bars and watch them frogmarch him away. “Jaaan…!” the thin, whining cry chased him down the corridor. He swallowed, thickly, not daring to risk the two Gladiators’ ire by replying.
After a few hundred yards they came to the antechamber that Lar had collected the keys from on the first day; there were fewer Gladiators in there, only the older of the two mudokons and the slig with the eyepatch – Yax, Jan remembered, vaguely. Neither were speaking; the mud looked up, as the three walked in, but the old slig remained poring over his paper. The younger mud went over to his peer.
Jan tried halfheartedly to eavesdrop on the two mudokons, until he sensed someone’s stare upon him. He turned, found Yax silently watching him, with a cool, dispassionate gaze; obviously sizing him up, getting a measure of potential strengths and weaknesses… The unsettling gaze made Jan feel like an animal awaiting slaughter; he took an involuntary half-step backwards and averted his own gaze, to a dry, harsh laugh from the Gladiator.
The older of the two mudokon gladiators laughed, as well, and picked up a quarterstaff. “You obviously never fought properly in yer life before, huh, kid?” he said, idly, and with a lazy flip of his wrist threw the weapon at Jan. At the young mud’s miserable shake of the head he went on; “Well, we’ll give yer a little bit of trainin’ before we kick yer out there, so stop yer snivellin’ and we’ll get on.”
Yax still didn’t speak, just watched Jan with that cool, amused stare until he was out of the room. Then turned his head, and said, calmly, to the tall hybrid that had just walked in; “Can’t see that one lastin’ long.”
The hybrid gave him a look, and went to the battered old kettle plugged in by the far wall. “That’s what you said about me eight years ago, remember?” he said, smoothly, flicking the switch and fetching a clean mug.
“Peh,” the slig flapped a hand, disdainfully. “Boss told yer we got important guests tonight?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.
The hybrid looked up at him from the jar of coffee in his hand. “How important?”
Yax snorted. “Well, they want to see yer, anyway,” he replied, voice dripping with jealousy. “An’ Management got us some of that, uh… special payment… fer if we fight well – not that yer goin’ to be interested,” he scowled, and folded his arms, sulkily. “Don’ see why they want to see yer fight, anyway. Yer goin’ t’be lazy, if yer ain’t got an incentive fer doin’ a good job.”
“Huh,” the hybrid wrinkled his nose; clouds of steam jetted from the kettle. “Just because I’m not interesting abusing some defenceless creature in part-payment for something doesn’t mean I won’t fight well.”
“Huh,” Yax sniggered. “I bet yer go see one of the guards if yer feelin’ a bit frisky, huh, doncher?”
“Funny, Yax, funny,” the hybrid sighed, sprang lightly to the top of his cupboard, and landed in a crouch on top without spilling a drop of his coffee. Yax just shook his head, and sniggered, and went back to his paper.
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*goes back to bed*
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