The Enemy (37 page)

“He’s ful of it,” said Achil eus.

“Hey!” John was yel ing again. “Gay boy? You coming out to play?”

Achil eus sniffed, stepped away from the crowd, and swung his own spear through a couple of gentle arcs.

“Ready,” he said, and strol ed casual y into the center of the yard. He moved graceful y, like an athlete. Stil holding it back. Unlike John, who was pulsating with wired-up energy, his head bobbing, his muscles jittery.

“I’ve never fought a gay before,” he said, and spat at Achil eus’s feet.

“What’s with al the insults?” said Achil eus.

“Oh, sorry,” said John. “Am I upsetting you, darling?”

“If you fancy me, why don’t you just say?” said Achil eus affably.

“That the best you got?” said John.

“It’s al you deserve, loser. Now, are you going to talk, or are you gonna fight?”

David pushed forward from behind his line of guards, chin up, a snooty expression on his pale freckled face.

“When I give the word, the fight wil begin,” he said. “And let’s not forget that this contest wil decide what—”

But Achil eus and John weren’t listening. Before David had finished speaking, they ran at each other, roaring, spears at the ready.

W
ait!” David shouted. He was wasting his breath. John and Achileus clashed together, their spears thudding into one another’s shields.

Achil eus looked at John’s spear. It was undamaged. The tip of his own weapon, however, had broken off. He had sharpened it too much. He wasn’t used to fighting someone with a shield. No matter. It would stil do some damage if he made contact.

One – nothing to John, though.

He didn’t have long to think about this as John launched a furious attack; evidently he had the same idea as Mick—go in hard and get it over quick.

He ran at Achil eus, driving him back with a series of short, powerful thrusts. Achil eus used his shield to block the assault. He soon found that he didn’t have the muscles for it. Holding it up used a lot of energy. He held on, and in the end he saw a gap and managed to get in a counterstrike. Jabbing beneath John’s shield at his legs. John saw it coming and skipped out of the way, but it broke his rhythm, and he stopped his assault. Achil eus grabbed the breathing space and moved away, dancing around the ring, loosening his muscles. He had tensed up under John’s attack and needed to work off any cramps before they took hold.

The attack had given John some encouragement. He strutted around the ring with a sneer on his face.

“Had enough, batty boy?”

In reply, Achil eus suddenly lunged at John with an overhand downward stab that took John completely by surprise. He got his shield up only just in time and managed to knock the blow aside. Achil eus was left wide open, and John came straight back at him, slicing his spear upward. The triple blades slashed across Achil eus’s chest, ripping his T-shirt and drawing blood. Achil eus swore and spun away, but John didn’t leave him alone for one moment, fol owing in hard with a wild low sweep that took Achil eus in the side of his shin and sent him tumbling to the gravel. John was on to him, thrusting quickly down again and again, like someone trying to spear fish in a barrel. Achil eus rol ed and squirmed on the ground so that the blades dug harmlessly into the dirt.

It wasn’t going wel for Achil eus. John was good. He was constantly getting the upper hand. Achil eus was looking like a fool. Wriggling on the ground at John’s feet.

At last John came too close and Achil eus smashed the rim of his shield into his lower legs so that he too fel over. Landing heavily on his face. The two of them scrambled up. John’s bandage had come loose, and there was blood dripping from his nose, but he barely seemed to notice it. For a while nobody had the upper hand, and they circled each other, panting and sweating. There was a wicked glint in John’s bruised eyes, however. He was enjoying himself. He had rattled Achil eus, and they both knew it.

The crowd had become deathly quiet. Intent on the battle. Wil ing their champion to victory.

Achil eus’s T-shirt was drenched with blood, and although John’s mouth was bloody and he was limping slightly, there wasn’t a fresh scratch on him.

Achil eus was wary. Not wanting to let John inside his defenses again.

There began a long stretch of cautious fighting, as first one, then the other, would lunge forward and the blow would be blocked. Their grotesque distorted shadows fought around the wal s of the palace like some violent puppet show. They were taking stock of each other, checking out their fighting styles, their strengths and weaknesses. If they had wanted it to be over quickly, they were disappointed.

There was no doubting that John’s reach was longer. Both his spear and his arm were longer than Achil eus’s, and he was tal er by a good three or four inches. More of his strikes were getting through. True, most of them clattered harmlessly off Achil eus’s shield, but one or two found their mark.

Achil eus had a gash in his scalp and another on his shoulder. It was looking more and more like John’s size was going to win the day.

And he knew it. He just had to work away at Achil eus, wear him down, weaken him, then move in for the kil .

He nudged his assault up to the next level, attacking with such force that Achil eus’s shield rang out like a cracked bel .

Then John swore as one of his blades shattered and broke in half.

Achil eus smiled. Seeing that John was distracted, he seized the moment, barged into him, pushing his shield aside and bringing his own shield up with a straight left punch to the side of John’s head.

John was tough.

He barely flinched, and shoved Achil eus away with his spear arm, too close to use the blades. He was wounded, though. His right eye was bleeding and swel ing shut.

Lewis nudged Mick. “That’s good,” he said. “Johncan’tsee so wel now; he can’t judge distance with one eye. He’s blind on that side. Akkie needs to concentrate on his left. Keep on hitting him from there.”

That was easier said than done, though. The injury had made John furious, and he was advancing on Achil eus like a berserker, knocking him back with a series of spear thrusts and smashes with his shield. Achil eus tried to hold his own, but he was tired. Final y John cracked him on the jaw with the shaft of his spear, and Achil eus staggered across the yard, stunned.

“He’s faking it,” Lewis drawled.

“You think so?” said Mick, unconvinced.

“Yeah,” said Lewis. “He’s my dog! He’s leading him on, man, hoping John gets cocky and makes a mistake.”

If Achil eus was faking, he was doing a very good job of it. He looked dazed, cross-eyed, unsteady on his feet. His spear wavered in the air and his shield was low.

“Here it comes, gay boy,” said John, and he lifted his spear and drove it downward from shoulder height, aiming above Achil eus’s lowered shield.

Achil eus just managed to jerk his head to the side in time. One of the knives raked his cheek, though, and cut his ear half off. Then some instinct told him to lift his shield, and in the tangle, another of John’s blades broke.

He was down to one now.

But one was stil enough to kil .

Achil eus shook his head and blinked. His eyes were red and burning. Feverish. He was losing a lot of blood. His ear was hanging off.

He was a wreck.

John was grinning, showing his little jagged teeth.

“Had enough?” he asked. “You want to surrender? You want to give in?”

Achil eus smiled back at him. John didn’t know it, but he had shown his first hint of weakness. To offer Achil eus surrender meant that somewhere in the back of his mind he maybe didn’t want to take this fight al the way. There was something making him hold back just that tiny bit.

He didn’t want to kil Achil eus.

Fil ed with a fresh burst of energy, Achil eus gripped his spear under his arm halfway down the shaft so that it was perfectly in balance, the point toward John. He arced it up from his knees toward John’s heart. John blocked it, but the momentum of Achil eus’s swing brought the point back and around so that the blunt end of his spear was now toward John. Achil eus swung the spear quickly back in the same arc as his initial thrust, sweeping in toward John from his blind right side. The side that was unprotected by his shield. The pommel punched into John’s shoulder, and he cursed. It wasn’t enough to make him drop his spear, but he was rattled.

Achil eus now set up a regular attacking rhythm. A slice up with the point, a punch down with the pommel on the return swing. Steady and solid like a machine. Not giving John time to gather himself and respond properly. At first he was thrown, blocking, ducking and weaving, always on the back foot. It gradual y dawned on him, however, that Achil eus’s attack was the same each time. His swing the same length. Holding the spear halfway along the shaft meant that his reach wasn’t too great. John only had to step back each time and the spear swished harmlessly past in front of him. Achil eus could keep it up for as long as he wanted. He’d get exhausted long before John. John let him come on, swinging away. Then he would step lightly back to keep out of reach. He had always known that he had the longer arms.

He didn’t smile now. He didn’t want Achil eus to know that he had the measure of him, that Achil eus’s strikes were useless.

“What’s he doing?” said Mick. “He can’t get near to John. He’s just walking out of the way.”

“That blow to the head must have shaken his brain loose, man,” said Lewis. “I can’t watch. It’s embarrassing.”

Stil Achil eus plodded on. Slicing up and clubbing down. Like a nerd with a playground bul y, goaded to fight, and swinging his arms in useless sil y punches. John was growing more relaxed with each swing. More sure of himself.

Sure of victory.

Even Maxie could see that Achil eus’s plan wasn’t working. John was playing with him, letting Achil eus wear himself out, hardly even bothering to counterattack, just offering the odd contemptuous poke with his longer spear. Maxie closed her eyes. She couldn’t watch any more. She knew it now.

Achil eus was going to get kil ed.

Stil Achil eus swung away—up down up down. He stumbled, blood pouring down his face, his ruined ear flapping.

John smiled at last as his cockiness got the better of him. He lowered his shield and spear, mocking Achil eus, exposing himself, as if to say, “Look at me. You can’t get anywhere near me.” He sneered at Achil eus and gave a dismissive click of his tongue.

Achil eus was ready. It was time to finish it. On the upswing, as the point of his spear lanced back over his shoulder, he loosened his grip, letting the shaft run through his fingers. As it slid to the end and he felt the pommel, he gripped tight again. He now had the ful length of the spear in his grasp and he swung it around in a wide circle.

Instead of Achil eus’s reach being a yard, it was now nearer to two, and the sharp end of the spear easily reached John’s head.

It happened too fast for John to react. He had no idea what Achil eus had done. He stood there, casual y expecting the spear to be out of range. And then the spear slammed into the side of his head. He staggered drunkenly, shocked and stunned, with no idea where the blow had come from. Achil eus quickly choked up on his spear and moved in for the kil . He knocked John’s shield and spear out to either side with his own weapons, stepped in, and brought a knee up sharply between John’s legs. John grunted and buckled, bent double. Achil eus raised his shield and brought it crashing down on the back of John’s head. John went down fast and heavy, his face smashing into the dirt.

“That was for Freak,” said Achil eus.

John lay there without moving.

A great cheer went up from the palace kids, and a groan of disappointment came from the little knot of squatters. It was over so quickly in the end.

Achil eus stood over John, sucking in oxygen, his chest heaving. He rol ed the body over with his foot.

John was conscious, but his black eyes were swol en shut. The bandage had fal en completely off his nose, which was a horrible flattened mess.

Achil eus put the point of his spear to John’s stomach, pushing it into the soft flesh.

John winced.

“Do it, then,” he said. “Kil me.”

“Nah,” said Achil eus. “You’re already dead. Nobody remembers a loser.”

“Kil me!” John yel ed.

Achil eus gave his spear a little push, and John gasped.

“You real y want me to? You know how slowly you’l die if I stick you in the stomach? You real y want me to shove my spear into you and spil your crappy guts al over the ground? Hmm? Do you? You real y want that, big man?”

“No,” John said quietly. “No, I don’t. Please don’t. I don’t want to die.”

“Who does?” Achil eus knelt down. He put his face very close to John’s. Dripping blood onto it.

“And this is for me,” he said, and kissed John ful on the lips.

The palace kids laughed as Achil eus stood up. Carl the pirate went over to John and helped him to his feet. His legs were like rubber.

Achil eus looked at David.

“You got what you wanted, David. They ain’t backing out of this.”

David shouted at the squatters.