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Now, the ludus happened to have one goblin in its kennel, but one goblin wasn’t going to be a match for the Tiger’s Sister. It was time for her to fight Apia the Bee. And the fucking goblin. Oh, and a great big brown bear as well.

So it was to be Galva with a short sword and a past-her-prime tiger against a goblin with a spear, a woman with a lightning-quick slakesword, and a fuck-off big bear.

I don’t know what the new marshal said, but I could tell the crowd didn’t like it—remember, they loved this fierce little kynd woman and had no reason to think well of the goblin embassy the king seemed so eager to please. But I heard the name Agraias in the address to the crowd, so the king’s name had been invoked. The king’s word was law, so nobody was going to boo whatever the marshal said in his name; but that doesn’t mean they were going to cheer with any enthusiasm, and so they did not. In response to the introduction of the uneven teams, the crowd made a sound like a child learning that it was going to have to eat cold vegetables instead of hot meat pie; not “RAHHHHH!” but “Aaaaah,” like “Ah, this shyte again, fuck me.”

First the tiger and the bear decided they’d sort out who was the best four-legger, which started with circling and swipes. The goblin tried to flank the tiger and have a poke at her with that hooked spear they use, but Galva got between them and drove the goblin back with a kick of sand in its face and a sword-rap on its wee helmet, which would have taken the thing’s head off had it not turned its head into the blow by good luck or good training. But no sooner had Galva struck than Apia came at her with a sort of skip and a deep lunge that Galva barely rolled her waist around in time. Apia danced backward before Galva had time for a counter.

The bear and the tiger had both charged and stood up, clawing and biting at each other while seeming to dance drunkenly, and hadn’t we all seen our ma and da do something similar?

The goblin and the slakesword dam tried again and again to get Galva between them, but the Spanth was too canny. Galva tried to come at the goblin several times, but Apia managed to drive Galva back each time by threatening to flank her, or by driving a low lunge at her middle. It was an impasse, a life-and-death dance where the first one to step wrong would die.

And then it happened.

I’m sorry to tell you, for I know we all love noble beasts, that Jubel the tiger died. She was old and tough and beautiful, but a sneaky shyte goblin managed to do for her from the side while she wrestled with a bear. I tried to think of a lie to tell you, but there isn’t one that would explain how the beast fell. I won’t describe it. I’ll just say the goblin stabbed the tiger, and then the bear and the goblin killed each other. See, the bear didn’t know what fucking team he was on, did he? He rushed the goblin, taking in the chest the same spear that killed the tiger, but he got that wee kark’s head in his jaws and you could hear the crack in all parts of the Bone Palace.

And now the other thing happened.

Apia had been using a vicious slakesword high guard that leveled the point at her adversary’s eyes such that the thin blade seemed to disappear. Every time Galva tried to engage it with her shorter, heavier sword, Apia just flicked her own sword out of the way and replaced it, no contact made.

She was too fast.

But when the tiger died, she looked, and Galva noted that. When the goblin and bear killed each other, Apia looked again, and that was her undoing. Galva struck. Had she tried to knock the woman’s blade away with her spadín, she might have managed it, but then the Bee would have simply darted back out of range before Galva’s sturdy shorter sword could reach her.

So Galva didn’t use the spadín.

She used her hand.

She slapped out hard, impaling her own left hand on the blade, turning that hand out to expose Apia’s sword arm, which she cut off with a brutal downstroke an eyeblink before she used a lateral back-cut to also take the lead leg off at the knee. Apia started screaming, and never stopped until she lost consciousness, or at least I think she didn’t as her mouth stayed open, the sound swallowed by the noise of the crowd. They had never seen the like of this before, I guessed, and I certainly never had. Nor would I again. I lie sometimes—you may have noticed—but take this for gospel; Galva dom Braga was the best fighter I ever knew, quite probably the best of her day.

Now, while the crowd roared for the longest time I’ve ever heard a crowd cheer, Apia and the tiger both bled to death, the latter with Galva curled around her, matching her breaths to the last one.

It wasn’t until she stood up again, slowly and with effort, that I saw the wound.

Her shirt was dark just over the leather girdle she wore, and she was holding her hand there. Galva had been stabbed in the belly by that slakesword, so quickly I hadn’t even seen it happen.

She looked at me, or toward where she knew I was, at least, and canted to me with a bloody hand.

You must kill them.

Then she fell and was carried out.

37Fortune’s Crumbs

“What the karking hell am I going to do?” I said. “Those shyte biters are guarded from the outside of their quarters by Erydoni and on the inside by goblins almost as big as me. I don’t think Galva and I together could have done for them, and I certainly can’t on my own.”

Bully Boy turned his wee blind head toward the sound of me talking and said rao in a way that suggested empathy if not actual understanding. I peeled off another piece of cheese for him, and he bobbed his head at the smell; he was a nutter after cheese. He took it from my hand as gently as you could want, despite his not having eaten anything for months, trapped in the tattoo as he had been.

“Now it’s evening, and getting dark, and I’ve been battered by the princess, and I’ve watched her father harf up eagle and monkey soup or whatever abomination they served, and some of that is no doubt still in his beard, and my friend is likely dead besides. And if she’s not dead, sure and she’ll kill me if I don’t find a way to kill those well-guarded little karks. That or she’ll stop talking to me and I think I’d rather be dead, strange as it sounds, because how do I live with myself if I don’t at least try to stop them? If you’ve got any ideas, I’m not too proud for listening to them.”

Rao, he offered, and I swear he looked like he was trying to help.

“Yah, I thought you might say that. Now listen. I don’t know if I’m coming back tonight, which is why I let you out of my arm. No sense you going to death and ruin with me. Would you die if I did? Or would you come free? Did that big fucking bird come out of the Spanth if she was piped off? We’d hear about that, wouldn’t we? Ah, gods gathered, I hate everything about this day and place, and I have to shyte besides, and smell it ’til the boy comes for it in the morning.”

And so I wandered over to the night-bowl and had a poo, and Bully paced the room using his whiskers to take its measure, but still I kept talking to him, which I hate when other people do to me because you hear that little catch in their voice when they push, don’t you?

“Now if I don’t come back, they’ll open the door in the morning. There’s a … uh … black cat—though what do you care what color she is—named Butter, or at least I call her Butter, I don’t know her real name. Do you have real names? You don’t seem to care for names, as a race, I mean. Anyway, Butter. She seems a good sort, maybe she’ll get you sorted as a palace cat. Show you a good place to sleep, bring scraps back for you. She doesn’t look like she’s missing any meals. I’m talking too much, yah? You just tell me if it bothers you. I’m just afraid if I stop talking, I’ll start crying, and then what will you think of me? Will you think I’m weak for crying over my friend, or a coward for crying about what’s going to happen to me? Well, either way, I’m not having it, so you’ll just have to listen to me blather.”

But then I found I was out of blather and didn’t feel like crying anyway.