Fade to Black by Francis Knight

across their chest or arm, blood soaking into their armour, dripping to the sand of the arena. I could see every bead of sweat that broke on thecombatants’ brows as they slashed and kicked and crunched. Two men in close-fitting leather armour, hacking away in a brutal ballet of swords. Not what I’d expected.
    Around the two men, the cheers and howls of the crowd blocked out any other sound. Viewing-boxes like this one, with blackened one-way glass, almost surrounded the arena at ground level, leaving only an entrance ramp that sloped up to a stage. Above the boxes the stands shook to the stomp of ten thousand feet. It was primal: the fight, the noise, the crowd, the blood. I loved it and feared it all at the same time.
    Pasha poured himself a stiff drink and swallowed it down in one. He didn’t look at the fight. “Welcome to the death match.” He poured another shot and knocked it back with a shudder and a grimace.
    The blond aimed an overhand slice at the dark guy and the sword bit in. Blood streaked the window and the crowd screamed its approval. I turned to the sideboard, grabbed the first bottle that came to hand and poured. I don’t know what it was, and it burned the shit out of my throat, but it was better than watching that.
    “Why did you bring me here?”
    Pasha stared straight ahead at the greyed plaster of the wall and ran a lazy finger around the edge of his glass. “Because. Because you need help, and Jake is the one who’ll give it. Because matchers have power here, more than anyone who isn’t Ministry, and you’ll need that too. Because you needed to know what life Downside is, and this shows it better thananything. Ministry controlling from behind you, pretending to give the people what they want, and pretending it isn’t them running it. But while they give with one hand, give blood to the bloodthirsty, sate the hunger, the anger of the crowd to keep them pliable – while you’re watching them give, they take double the blood with the other hand behind your back. If you’re lucky that other hand won’t have a knife in it. But most of all, because Jake is like a god here, and you need all the damn help you can get.”
    “OK, that’s the third time you’ve mentioned Jake. Who is he and what can he do to help?”
    Pasha’s low laugh made me shiver. “What can anyone do against the Ministry? But Jake will help. We both will, where we can and for our own reasons. Just don’t ask what they are.”
    His eyes were fixed on a crack in the plaster but I got the feeling he wasn’t seeing anything. His hand gripped his glass almost as though he was trying to choke it. But whatever his reasons were, frankly I didn’t care. I didn’t care if he thought I was made of cheese, as long as I got Amarie out of that damn hole. I could hear that growl as a subtle background to every thought, and Pasha’s cryptic offer of help was sent from the gods I don’t believe in.
    “So what now?”
    Pasha looked down blindly at his glass, seemed to realise it was empty again and sloshed a good slug of something blue into it. “First, we behave like good little Downsiders and watch.”
    He slumped into one of the leather-covered chairs just asBlondie brought his sword down to rest on Dark Guy’s throat, one foot casually keeping him on the ground. Dark Guy’s sword lay on the other side of the arena. The match was over. The crowd went berserk, shouting, cheering, stomping. Money rained down into the sand and a young boy scampered round, picking it up. Some thumping music started and Blondie strutted round the arena, sword held over his head in victory as he lapped up the adoration. He didn’t seem to notice the blood running down his upstretched arm.
    “So this is a death match?” I asked. “How is it that the dark guy’s still alive?”
    Blondie swaggered up the ramp and two men hurried to help Dark Guy to his feet. They each took one arm over a shoulder and half helped, half carried him up the