a fortune big enough to buy your own blasted mansion wherever you want, and pay somebody else to wash your feet and your privy and the bottoms of all the happy, spoiled, never hungry babies you or anyone else in your family ever has?” Beamer waved his hand. “Forget the money! How about knowing that you lived up to your full potential, that you reached the highest level? How about making the world think twice about judging the abilities and the character of bondsmen based on nothing but their class? Look at me, Delving!”
Venture made himself look up. Beamer was waiting for an answer. “I can’t do it, sir,” he said shakily.
“What is this?” Beamer threw his hands up in the air. “I know I can’t make you want it, and you’ll never succeed unless you want it more than anything; it takes too much, but I can’t understand how you can have no interest, no desire—”
“I want it, all right!” Venture burst out. “I never said I didn’t want to be a prize fighter! I want to be the best fighter in the world, but I just can’t do it!”
The two of them sat there, silent, staring intensely at each other, Beamer absorbing the unexpected outburst, Venture wishing he could take it back.
Then, “Where’s your fighting spirit now? Find a way!” Beamer slapped his hand on his polished oak desk. The pitcher and bowl wobbled, sloshing water onto the desk. He took a visibly deep breath, regaining his composure. “Is it your master? Your brother?” He spoke quietly this time, leaning closer to Venture with a searching look.
Venture took his hands out of the bowl and picked up a towel. He dabbed wordlessly at his hands, then the spill on the desk. Then he brought the towel up to his face and wiped at his sweaty forehead to cover his struggle not to cry. There was no way he was going to tell Beamer why he couldn’t be a real fighter. Why he couldn’t even try. No one would know as long as he could help it.
“Sir, may I go now?” he said at last.
Beamer waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, go to lunch.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In the stone dining hall, long wooden tables were laid out with pitchers of water and bowls of meat and bread and peas, beckoning to Venture’s stomach, emptier now, after such exertion, than it had been in years. But, eager as he was to heap food onto his plate, the meal did nothing to improve his mood. He sat in his assigned spot with his group of combat trainees, and they noticed the mood and exchanged looks with each other that said I’m glad I’m not Vent .
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Venture said, before anyone could ask.
Earnest yanked his chair out vehemently as he joined his boys at the table. “What the blazes happened, Vent?” he demanded, though he kept his voice low. “What did you say to Beamer?”
“About what?”
“You tell me about what. I just got done trying to talk to him, and all I know is he’s ticked off. You fought your butt off with the elites, and he was all riled up in a good way—”
“Maybe he was all riled up in a bad way,” Border said through a mouthful of peas.
“Shut it, Border! You guys don’t know him like I do! You launched Nick, Vent. Only the big guys do that to him. You choked a couple of guys out so bad they’re lucky they didn’t pee themselves. Colt couldn’t touch you. Why would he be mad at you after all that?”
“You beat those guys, Vent?” Pike dropped his spoon, eyes wide.
“Maybe he didn’t enjoy watching me kick the stuffing out of his best guys.”
“You’re his guy too, and after a performance like that, he should’ve been thinking what you could do with a few years of elite training. And that’s exactly what was going through his head. I know it. His mouth was watering at the thought of it. And now he’s ticked off at you?”
“Well, I was late this morning.” Venture smiled sarcastically and took another bite of his roll.
Earnest glared at him, purposefully conveying the extent of
Venture made himself look up. Beamer was waiting for an answer. “I can’t do it, sir,” he said shakily.
“What is this?” Beamer threw his hands up in the air. “I know I can’t make you want it, and you’ll never succeed unless you want it more than anything; it takes too much, but I can’t understand how you can have no interest, no desire—”
“I want it, all right!” Venture burst out. “I never said I didn’t want to be a prize fighter! I want to be the best fighter in the world, but I just can’t do it!”
The two of them sat there, silent, staring intensely at each other, Beamer absorbing the unexpected outburst, Venture wishing he could take it back.
Then, “Where’s your fighting spirit now? Find a way!” Beamer slapped his hand on his polished oak desk. The pitcher and bowl wobbled, sloshing water onto the desk. He took a visibly deep breath, regaining his composure. “Is it your master? Your brother?” He spoke quietly this time, leaning closer to Venture with a searching look.
Venture took his hands out of the bowl and picked up a towel. He dabbed wordlessly at his hands, then the spill on the desk. Then he brought the towel up to his face and wiped at his sweaty forehead to cover his struggle not to cry. There was no way he was going to tell Beamer why he couldn’t be a real fighter. Why he couldn’t even try. No one would know as long as he could help it.
“Sir, may I go now?” he said at last.
Beamer waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, go to lunch.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In the stone dining hall, long wooden tables were laid out with pitchers of water and bowls of meat and bread and peas, beckoning to Venture’s stomach, emptier now, after such exertion, than it had been in years. But, eager as he was to heap food onto his plate, the meal did nothing to improve his mood. He sat in his assigned spot with his group of combat trainees, and they noticed the mood and exchanged looks with each other that said I’m glad I’m not Vent .
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Venture said, before anyone could ask.
Earnest yanked his chair out vehemently as he joined his boys at the table. “What the blazes happened, Vent?” he demanded, though he kept his voice low. “What did you say to Beamer?”
“About what?”
“You tell me about what. I just got done trying to talk to him, and all I know is he’s ticked off. You fought your butt off with the elites, and he was all riled up in a good way—”
“Maybe he was all riled up in a bad way,” Border said through a mouthful of peas.
“Shut it, Border! You guys don’t know him like I do! You launched Nick, Vent. Only the big guys do that to him. You choked a couple of guys out so bad they’re lucky they didn’t pee themselves. Colt couldn’t touch you. Why would he be mad at you after all that?”
“You beat those guys, Vent?” Pike dropped his spoon, eyes wide.
“Maybe he didn’t enjoy watching me kick the stuffing out of his best guys.”
“You’re his guy too, and after a performance like that, he should’ve been thinking what you could do with a few years of elite training. And that’s exactly what was going through his head. I know it. His mouth was watering at the thought of it. And now he’s ticked off at you?”
“Well, I was late this morning.” Venture smiled sarcastically and took another bite of his roll.
Earnest glared at him, purposefully conveying the extent of
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