“He’ll make it.”
“I’ll talk to Beamer. I’ll see what they do to keep their boys safe, and what chance Venture has of succeeding, but I don’t know. I still don’t know.”
He couldn’t believe his ears. Justice was actually considering allowing him to be a prize fighter. And then Jade’s words, the reason she gave for kissing him, came back to him, and his heart sank with doubt.
Because I love you and I want you to be a great fighter
. She was a clever girl. Had she kissed him just so they’d get caught? Just so he could go away and do what he wanted with his life? She’d said she loved him, but he’d always known that she loved him. That didn’t mean she was
in love
with him.
He couldn’t decide which was worse, to have the unhappy, yet certain knowledge that he couldn’t be a fighter, and yet believe that Jade loved him, as he had just moments ago, or to have the precarious hope of being a champion, with no assurance of Jade’s feelings for him. Having a chance at one or the other wasn’t good enough. He wanted both. He needed both. And that was all he was asking for. Just a chance.
“You are not to be alone with Jade Fieldstone, ever,” Justice said.
It had been two long days since Venture had listened to Justice and Grace discussing his future, two torturous days of wondering, and Justice had just broken the news that Venture would be allowed to train to be a prize fighter. Venture had been on the edge of his seat, intent on his brother’s eyes, his words, determined to show the appreciation Justice expected. But then he’d started in with this.
“You will come straight home when your work is done, and you will not leave this house without my permission. You will not carry on any sort of friendship with that girl. If I find out that anything, any little thing at all, has happened to indicate that you aren’t behaving appropriately, you’ll be done with your career, completely. Do we understand each other?”
Venture wanted to scream. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that simple. He couldn’t break things off with Jade, not now. “Yeah, Justice,” he said, with absolutely no intention of keeping his word this time.
He hadn’t had the chance to talk to Jade about her getting caught, why she’d done it, or to tell her about the conversation he’d heard between Justice and Grace. She’d been avoiding him, probably because she was afraid of getting him into trouble. But he had dared to start hoping again. Her words may not have meant that she was in love with him, but they may not have meant the opposite either.
“Vent,” Justice said, “Look at me and promise me you won’t have anything more to do with Jade Fieldstone than is absolutely necessary in order for you to do your job.” Then, he invoked a reminder their mother had often given them. “And remember, you’re a man of honor.”
That Venture knew those words were intended to induce his guilt did nothing to diminish it. Their mother had been a woman of deep faith and integrity, who’d done all she could to pass that on to her boys.
“Justice, how can I?”
“Grace took Tory to the Big House this morning. Mrs. Bright’s been wanting to see her. She also had a private talk with Jade Fieldstone. She explained the conditions under which I’m willing to let you fight. She asked her to promise to abide by them herself, so there wouldn’t be a problem for you upholding your end of the bargain.”
“Grace? Did you—did she?”
“She agrees,” Grace said, barely above a whisper.
Venture turned his face to the fire, blinking hard. So Jade didn’t love him, not the way he wanted her to. If she did, she’d never be able to agree to something like that. That was probably why she’d really been avoiding him. He was being an idiot and she was just being smart, finding a way to help him do what he wanted to do. Justice had played right into her plan.
“All right then,” he said resignedly, “I promise.”
It was pitch dark outside, but early enough that Grant would still be up. Venture would take the lantern and go straight back to the Big House and get this change of plans set with him, before Justice could change his mind.
Before I can change my mind
, he thought, with a pang of memory—Jade, in his arms.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The next morning, Venture arrived at Beamer’s early. He hadn’t slept at all. Beamer was still in his office and the door was open, but he knocked anyway.
Beamer raised his heavy eyebrows at him, then pointed at one of the chairs in front of his desk. Venture sat down, and Beamer kept making notes in the margins of the training log he’d been looking over. Though Venture had better things to concern himself with than whose progress the log documented, he couldn’t help noticing that Beamer wasn’t pleased with what he saw. Great. He’d caught him in a bad mood. But there was no more time to waste.
“What, Delving?” Beamer said, without looking up.
“I was wondering, sir, if you still want me with the elites.”
Beamer straightened up. Slowly, he shut the log. “What are you trying to say, Vent Delving?”
“Coach, I found a way.”
Beamer cracked a smile. His eyes lit up the shadows under his brow.
“I talked to my master about it, and he wants me to do it, but he’s concerned that I’ll be starting out behind the others, so . . .”
“So?” Beamer pushed the log aside.
“So he offered to pay a trainer to work with me one-on-one, to help me get caught up.”
There was limited space at Champions Center. Not only could they afford to be choosy, but they prided themselves on it. Only boys who placed in the top three in either the grappling or the striking divisions among the youth in their quarters of the nation were eligible to go. Twenty-four boys in all of Richland. Fewer, actually, since the same boys tended to place in both divisions. He’d have a lot of work to do if he wanted to rank among them before he was too old to qualify.
Beamer’s mouth twitched into a half smile. “That makes sense,” he said. “And I think I know just the right trainer for the job. Would Earnest Goodview be all right with you?”
Venture returned the smile. “Earnest would be perfect, sir.” He scooted his chair back a bit, though he wanted to jump right up and run into the training room and tell Earnest.
“I’ll get someone to take over his other boys as soon as I can. Within the week, I hope.”
Venture’s face fell.
Beamer laughed a deep, low laugh. “You’ve been waiting long enough, I guess. But you’ll have to endure one more day. I think I can get some temporary arrangement in place by tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Coach.”
Earnest didn’t wait for Venture to adjust to the intensity of training with the elites; the very next morning he met Venture an hour early with a list of training exercises several pages long.
“A little something extra,” he said.
Apparently he was determined to give Grant his money’s worth. Venture smiled nervously and wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him the extent of the torment Earnest could come up with when finally given the chance to train an elite fighter. He’d undoubtedly been dreaming this stuff up for years. And thanks to Venture’s brilliant plan for bringing Earnest into the elites with him, there was only one fighter for him to focus those designs on.
Before anyone else arrived for warm-ups in the main training room, Earnest took him into the elites’ training room. He wrapped Venture’s hands, had him do a hundred push-ups and fifty squat-thrusts, then pointed at the peg board on the wall. Venture had heard about the dreaded peg board, but he’d never tackled it himself.
He wiped the sweat out of his eyes with his hands, then his hands on his shorts, eyeing the wooden strips attached to the wall, shoulder-width apart, just above his reach. Parallel holes had been bored in the wood, ten on each side, each about a hand’s length above the last. In the bottom holes were worn wooden pegs that Venture was expected to pull out, one at a time. He was to pull himself up, using only the arm whose hand was still gripping the peg that remained in place, and insert the peg he’d removed into the next higher hole. He would have to repeat that process until he’d placed both pegs in the highest holes.
The peg board was just slightly above his reach, so he had to jump up to grasp a peg in each hand. He hung there for a second, wondering if he should use his dominant hand to pull out the first peg, or hang from it while he pulled out the peg in his left hand instead. He made his decision and started to pull out the left peg. It looked so easy, but the peg wouldn’t slide out; his own weight seemed to be holding it in. He shifted his weight onto his right arm as much as he could and worked at the peg on the left. Finally it slipped out—so fast, so hard that he hit himself right in the face. His nose stung, then throbbed, and he felt warm blood trickle onto his lip. Below, a laugh escaped Earnest.
“You okay, Vent?”
“Fine. I got it.”
“Maybe you should—”
“I got it.” He tried to pull himself up with his right arm, but he couldn’t pull quite high enough to reach the next hole up. It was impossible! He jumped down and held the peg out to Earnest in challenge.
Earnest took the peg, reached up, and put it back in the lowest hole. “You have to pull yourself up first, like this.” He grasped both pegs and did a pull-up. “Now I can reach the next hole. Put the peg in just far enough that you can hang from it, and it’ll be easier to get out.”
Venture watched in awe as Earnest worked his way to the top of the peg board, then all the way back down, hole by hole.
“Just like that,” Earnest said, dropping to the mat.
“Yeah,” said Venture, “Just like that.”
He jumped up and tried again. He fell twice and Earnest had to boost him back up, but eventually he got the job done.
Venture shrugged in satisfaction. Well, that hadn’t killed him, and now he was done with this personalized torment. It had to be about time to join the others for warm-ups in the main training room. It seemed like they’d been in here forever.
But Earnest said, “All right. Thirty minutes left. On to the striking bag.”
Earnest showed him the striking series he wanted him to drill—a simple set he’d learned during his first few months at Beamer’s. But as he worked through it, Earnest informed him that his hands were powerful, but too sluggish and too hesitant. His feet were fast enough, but his kicks lacked precision and balance. Once Earnest had Venture’s faith in his ability to perform even the basics torn down, he directed him to the climbing rope, suspended from the ceiling.
Venture was halfway up the rope when his arms gave out. He hung slack for a moment, as he had several times through the previous trips Earnest had made him take up that rope.
Earnest said patiently, “Come on. Pull it back up,” just as he had before, but this time Venture lost his grip and grasped at the rope with his hands. His palms were protected by their wraps, but his fingers burned as he slid down.
He cried out, let go, and tumbled to the mat. He managed to turn the fall into a roll, as he’d been trained to do, but it was a clumsy, bumpy one. He knelt there and looked at his bleeding fingers. The sound of muffled laughter drew his attention to the training room door. Pressed up against the glass was Border’s pointy face. Colt was right behind him, grinning. Earnest swore at them loudly and they bolted so fast that the door rattled behind them.
Venture looked up at Earnest ruefully. His first day with the elites, and he was going to start it bloody and exhausted, again.
“Today wasn’t going to go the way you planned anyway, you know,” Earnest said.
“What?”
“They all studied what you did last time. Compared notes. Prepared for it, just in case it ever happened again. I’m here to help you get up to their level—and past it—as soon as possible, not to show them what you can do. Not this time. Not today. Understand?”
Venture got up, wincing. “I liked my plan better.”
Earnest grasped Venture’s wrist, avoiding his skinned fingers as he helped him up. “You’ll like my plan well enough when you win the Quarter Championship.”
Part Three
CHAPTER TWENTY
The warm scent of woodsmoke, of roasted meat and nuts, of hot spiced wine, filled the crisp winter air. Venture’s stomach rumbled. It had been a long ride to Lightward, capital of the Western Quarter; they’d left in the middle of the night in order to get here by afternoon to register for the Youth Quarter Championship, and he’d devoured the biscuits and cheese and apples that Grace had packed him during the early hours of the trip.
Beamer nodded at the food vendors. “After we register, boys.”
“Yes, Coach,” they all said.
Venture stopped looking at the food and studied the other boys, boys he’d never seen before, who were working their way through what was left of the half-frozen, trodden-down grass of the city green to the registration tent. He’d been competing for a year now, but never at this level, and he’d be one of the youngest fighting in this event. But he’d have two shots at placing, since youth tournaments were all point tournaments, where striking and grappling were separate competitions. Points were awarded for the techniques they used, for who was in control. In the grappling competition, chokes and joint-locks were allowed, and that meant that whether they were behind in points or not, they could win Venture’s favorite way, by tap-out.
Many of the trainers and coaches were stopping at a table set up just outside the registration tent. A couple of men stood behind it, and a couple more quietly held up signs next to it. Protestors of some sort.
“I wonder how long they’ll manage to last here before the lawmen chase them out,” Earnest said.
Beamer said, “They’re probably pressuring the lawmen to find an excuse to remove them right now.”
“Who is?” River leaned closer to Beamer and Earnest.
Venture peered around the cluster of men beside the table and read one of the signs:
Save our sport! Stop the tyranny before it starts!
He crossed his arms. “Cresteds.”
“What’s going on?” Nick pressed up against Venture’s back, and he shrugged him off.