Furious Scribe
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13. Hull - In or Out
🕑 Added 2023-11-21 23:07:00 +0000 UTC
Chapter 13
In or Out
I hurried through the tunnel leading under the Coliseum stands, my eyes fixed on the light ahead like it would save me. My right hand kept reaching up to clutch my heart without me meaning to. It didn’t make sense; my spell lived in my Mind Home, not my heart, and covering my chest wouldn’t protect it… but I kept feeling pains there, like an old fat man about to go swimming with the Sources. When I’d seen that little shitstain of a noble holding my beautiful Nether card, knowing that Fate and Fortune had decreed it, I’d honestly thought I might die for a second.
Self-righteous prick, acting like he’s doing me a favor giving me back what’s mine. I should have smeared his nose across his cheek for him and damn the consequences. At the same time, a quieter, truer part of me said, He did do you a favor – a bigger one than you can ever repay. That card was his by law and by right. The thought rubbed at me like a tick, irritating and impossible to get rid of. With a growl, I shook my head, forced my hand down to my side, and hurried a bit faster. Fortune could crush my stones and use them for dice before I ever admitted a debt to that soft-hearted weakling.
I emerged into broad courtyard between the Coliseum and its outer walls, breathing a little easier as the sound of the crowd dropped to a less demanding level behind me. It had felt so wrong to let that many people look at me all at once. I was made for hiding, sneaking, and stealing, not grandstanding in front of the whole city.
“Hot cakes!” a vendor cried nearby, shaking a sugar-coated twist of something hot and steaming at me. “Hand pies and sweetmeats!” He was a summoned Soul, I saw immediately, and my hunger leapt up at me out of nowhere as I smelled the sweet, bready cinnamon aroma surrounding his table like an aura.
I had no business spending any money, but I was so tired, so hungry, and so wrung out from the loss and miraculous recovery of my card that I walked over to him in a haze, digging into my pocket. “What can I get for a silver clip?”
The bearded, jolly old fellow smiled at me kindly. “A competitor, eh? Fortune favor you, lad. No need to waste your money: the Coliseum feeds and houses the contestants so long as they haven’t fallen out of the running. Head back into the tunnel and watch careful-like on your right side – there’s a staircase leading up into the halls that run beneath the bleachers. Ask around and someone’ll point you to the competitor’s mess hall and your resting quarters.” He looked me up and down and his smile faltered. “Here’s something for you as you go, though. To keep up your strength. No charge.” He reached into a basket, pulled out a hand pie as big as both my fists together, wrapped it in paper, and handed it to me.
The sad look in his eye tugged at my already wounded pride, but I hadn’t survived this long by turning down free food. “Thanks,” I said grudgingly, taking it. I bit in immediately and my knees nearly buckled. The hot, flaky pastry was full to the brim with tender bits of beef soaked in gravy. Another chew revealed whole potatoes no bigger than a fingernail hiding in the mix. It was warm and filling and full of flavors I’d never even tasted before. A tiny moan escaped me, embarrassing me even further.
The baker Soul beamed. “Not bad, eh?” He motioned me off to one side and kept talking to me even as other folks filed up and pointed out the sweets they wanted. “That recipe was the one that formed my Soul card, you know. I remember: I finally got the recipe right, baked ‘em up, took a bite, and felt the card spring into being inside my heart. Tarragon, that was what it had been missing. Just a pinch of tarragon. Does me good to see a young man enjoying it.”
“How long have you been a card?” I asked him once I could take my face out of the pie. I’d eaten nearly half of it already.
“Two hundred years,” he said cheerily. “I’m a Rare, ‘course, or else this wouldn’t be much of a conversation. They tell me I spent a hundred some-odd as a Common and then another eighty as Uncommon. Drives me a little crazy to think of all the thousands of recipes I likely dreamed up during that time without being able to tell anyone, write them down, or remember them every time my summons expired.” He pointed to a woman sitting in a chair against the Coliseum wall reading a book and spoke in a lower voice. “That’s my Summoner these days, Gracinda. Says she’s my fourth great-daughter, and I don’t doubt it. I could run a whole restaurant for her, but she says we make enough here at the Coliseum to get on with. You think that pie’s good? You should taste my venison tartare.” He harrumped into his beard. “Young folk these days. No initiative.”
I crunched on the buttery rind of the pastry and was surprised to find the paper packet empty already. “I’d eat at your restaurant, old man. Well… probably not, but I’d steal from it, at least.”
He laughed, a hearty, clean sound. “That’s the worst compliment I’ve ever heard. Thank you, young man. Go win yourself some more cards, and maybe a new outfit while you’re at it.”
He said it so kindly that I almost didn’t bristle at the jab at my clothes. Maybe people aren’t so bad once they’re dead and living as summoned Souls. Can’t remember the last time anyone in the Lows handed me good food and talked to me like a real person. I nodded to him as graciously as I knew how and left the cart behind, walking toward the front gates.
This was the great front entrance, not the little side gate where I’d ducked in to escape Harker, and a steady flow of folks from all walks of life streamed past, most heading into the arena, but a surprising number milling about the tables and stalls of the courtyard, shopping, chatting, and enjoying their day out. I spotted a couple of boys who looked more like me lurking about the edges picking pockets and keeping their distance from the guard folk. So many lives gathered in one place, and nearly all of them better than mine.
I didn’t dare try to find the scribe Soul to get my gold crown. Either he wouldn’t be at the table where I found him before and I’d have to argue that he’d promised me the money, or else he would be at the table and he’d talk me in circles until I found myself in an even worse bind than the first time. This was rich-folk territory. Nice baker or no, I was out of my depth, and I needed to leave. Harker and her boys would be watching the back gate where I walked in, but so many people were coming and going through these wide portals out the front that all I’d have to do is slip out in the middle of a group of common folk. I’d be halfway to the harbor before anybody caught on.
Basil’s words snagged in my thoughts. “You have a good combination. You could catch someone by surprise and win.” I hated the thought of tucking my tail and running off with a stadium full of fools laughing at me. Could I really win some matches in the loser’s bracket? Basil was a noble. I likely wouldn’t face many other competitors with decks as large and hard-hitting as his… Several of the vendor tables in sight were laden with cards, and there was a healthy, vigorous trade happening both across the table and between the customers themselves. I doubted anyone would want the ridiculous Fire card I’d stolen from the tailor, but if I won a few matches, who knew what treasures I could trade into? I was never going to get close to my monster of a father without a deep, impressive spread of cards.
No. It was too much, too soon. My heart still kept stuttering of its own accord, and I felt like a mouse under the cat’s eye. Staying here meant losing the thing I’d nearly died to get, and the city beyond the Coliseum wasn’t safe for me. Time to head to another city and start over. From there I could marshal my resources, build a deck, and come back as someone entirely new. It was the smart move.
Mind made up, I turned to the gates. It was time to go.
That was when I saw Ticosi standing right there chatting casually with one of the gate guards. He was staring right at me even as he carried on his laconic conversation.
I froze. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when he saw he had my attention. He flicked a card into his hands, playing with it, leaned back against the gate, and said something to the guard that made the idiot laugh. He made no move toward me, but his bloodshot eyes bored into me like a dog looking at dinner.
The message was crystal clear. He couldn’t get to me in the Coliseum, but he wasn’t going to let me leave, either. He was chummier with the guards than I liked, flaunting an illegal Chaos card out in the open, but maybe he didn’t have the kind of sway it took to march in and snatch someone right from under the Palace Guard’s nose. Beyond the no-summons zone that had been set up for the Tournament, though… I was as good as dead.
Heart hammering, I turned and headed back to the tunnel. I couldn’t bear that gaze one more second. The incredible pie I’d eaten sat like a brick in my gut, and I suddenly feared I might chuck it back up and waste it. Every time I saw the reddened whites of Ticosi’s eyes I remembered shaking and bucking on the ground, totally helpless and sure I was about to die. I swallowed sour bile and concentrated on the ground in front of my feet.
When I reached the mouth of the tunnel, a harried-looking boy in official-looking robes trotted past, out of breath. Then, catching sight of the painted ‘27’ pinned to the back of my shirt, he stopped and doubled back. “Excuse me, uh… sir? You’re 27, right? Hull? Your next match begins in ten minutes on platform 9. We’ve been looking for you. Come with me?”
He was a good five years younger than me, but he’d mastered that officious air that made my feet start moving before I’d thought about it. Realizing what going back in meant, I stopped. He looked back, saw that I wasn’t following, and his lips thinned. “Sir?”
I hesitated. Can’t go back, can’t go forward. “Who’s my next opponent?”
He flipped through a tiny booklet in one hand. “Lily somebody. Number 22. Water deck, if I’m not mistaken.”
I’d never felt so indecisive in my life. “Is she a noble?”
“What? No, I don’t think so. Has the look of a merchant family, if you ask me. Come, please?”
Leave now and die for sure. Stay and maybe lose your cards… probably die later. When I boiled the situation down to the bone like that, it wasn’t a hard decision. My hand crept up to my heart again and I let it stay. Gritting my teeth, I stepped back into the tunnel, toward the sound of the raging crowd.
Comments
Furious Scribe
Ohhhh, that is some interesting theorizing! 👀 It's gonna take a while for some of these things to pay off, but I'm definitely planning on addressing every single point you mentioned. And as for the joke card, for *sure* he'd put it in his deck if only his Mind Home would accept it. You have to develop the affinity first, though!
RainbowPhaze
A lot to comment on in this chapter. First of all, it just hit me that it would actually be beneficial for Hull to add the joke fire card to his deck as a chump sacrifice. Shame he doesn't have the affinity for it. As for the rest, no wonder Everyone (except idiots) forms their soul card. It's a chance at immortality, if one spent in service, even if you don't get it to a high rarity while alive. Admittedly if you only form a common you're probably going to end up as shards for someone else's upgrade, but the higher you get yours the more sentient you are and the better chance someone will decide you're worth upgrading. Baseless prediction: If Hull is the king's kid there's a chance his soul came out as a high rarity even when he first formed it, which would give his mother the incentive to steal it... although there's obviously more at play because soul-stealing is supposed to be impossible.
Furious Scribe
Fate's a bitch and Fortune is fickle! Life's pretty rough when those are the only two gods available. 😂
Brandon Baier
I’m enjoying how much fate is forcing his hand in this.
