want to see them bleed!’
‘They’re just animals!’ the voice called back. ‘I’m a farmer and I work hard to put meat on your table and keep your bellies full. Do you worry when cattle are cut to pieces in the slaughterhouse? What’s thedifference?’
It suddenly struck me that the man was probably Palm’s father. He was a rich farmer who ensured that Palm had the best of everything – including lacs for fighting in Arena 13.
Jon opened his mouth to reply, but then Cyro waddled out of the shadows, his belly overhanging his broad belt. Last season I’d only seen him from the ledge high above. Now, closer to, I saw that it was muscle, notfat, that bulked out his huge body.
A couple of dozen guards followed behind him, thick-set, thuggish men with broad shoulders and short, fat necks. They gripped wooden clubs, tapping them into the palms of their hands and grinning, clearly enjoyingtheir work. A club like that wielded with force could easily break a limb or cave in a skull, I thought.
‘Well, children,’ said Cyro, his voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘You’ve had your few minutes of fun. But now it’s time to go home. Go in peace, or stay and take the consequences. Time is money, and every second youstay makes me a little angrier.’
‘What you’re doing is illegal!’ Jon shouted, moving across to face him.
‘Illegal, is it?’ Cyro smiled. ‘This is my domain and you haven’t been invited. So according to the law, you’re trespassing, and I’m going to evict you. If a few heads get broken in the process, well, that’s a pity, but I’llstill sleep well tonight. So what is it to be, sonny?’
‘We’re staying,’ Jon replied, but he sounded slightly less confident.
Now Kwin stepped forward. ‘Yes, we are staying! We’re staying until everyone leaves and we’re sure that none of this butchery will continue!’ she cried, her voice full of fury.
Cyro smiled and very deliberately looked her up and down. With her lips painted in that distinctive fashion, red and black, and the 13 tattooed upon her forehead, she would be easy to identify. But it seemed that heknew her already:
‘You’re Tyron’s daughter, aren’t you? You work in the admin building.’
Kwin didn’t reply.
‘I thought so,’ he said. ‘I wonder how your father will react when he knows what you’ve been up to!’
‘He doesn’t agree with what goes on down here either. None of his lacs ever take part.’
‘What your father does best is minding his own business. He minds his and I mind mine. I’ll be in touch with him tomorrow. We’ll have words about you. He needs to keep you under control.’
‘It’s you
‘They’re just animals!’ the voice called back. ‘I’m a farmer and I work hard to put meat on your table and keep your bellies full. Do you worry when cattle are cut to pieces in the slaughterhouse? What’s thedifference?’
It suddenly struck me that the man was probably Palm’s father. He was a rich farmer who ensured that Palm had the best of everything – including lacs for fighting in Arena 13.
Jon opened his mouth to reply, but then Cyro waddled out of the shadows, his belly overhanging his broad belt. Last season I’d only seen him from the ledge high above. Now, closer to, I saw that it was muscle, notfat, that bulked out his huge body.
A couple of dozen guards followed behind him, thick-set, thuggish men with broad shoulders and short, fat necks. They gripped wooden clubs, tapping them into the palms of their hands and grinning, clearly enjoyingtheir work. A club like that wielded with force could easily break a limb or cave in a skull, I thought.
‘Well, children,’ said Cyro, his voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘You’ve had your few minutes of fun. But now it’s time to go home. Go in peace, or stay and take the consequences. Time is money, and every second youstay makes me a little angrier.’
‘What you’re doing is illegal!’ Jon shouted, moving across to face him.
‘Illegal, is it?’ Cyro smiled. ‘This is my domain and you haven’t been invited. So according to the law, you’re trespassing, and I’m going to evict you. If a few heads get broken in the process, well, that’s a pity, but I’llstill sleep well tonight. So what is it to be, sonny?’
‘We’re staying,’ Jon replied, but he sounded slightly less confident.
Now Kwin stepped forward. ‘Yes, we are staying! We’re staying until everyone leaves and we’re sure that none of this butchery will continue!’ she cried, her voice full of fury.
Cyro smiled and very deliberately looked her up and down. With her lips painted in that distinctive fashion, red and black, and the 13 tattooed upon her forehead, she would be easy to identify. But it seemed that heknew her already:
‘You’re Tyron’s daughter, aren’t you? You work in the admin building.’
Kwin didn’t reply.
‘I thought so,’ he said. ‘I wonder how your father will react when he knows what you’ve been up to!’
‘He doesn’t agree with what goes on down here either. None of his lacs ever take part.’
‘What your father does best is minding his own business. He minds his and I mind mine. I’ll be in touch with him tomorrow. We’ll have words about you. He needs to keep you under control.’
‘It’s you
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