In the Shadow of Lightning

14

Lechauri was true to his word, and by morning Demir’s office was filled with files on the Ivory Forest Glassworks. He enlisted Breenen, Montego, and even the hotel’s master-at-arms, Tirana Kirkovik, to comb through everything. He did not tell them why they had to extract Thessa, just that it needed to be done. He could afford little time, and he himself focused on the owners of the Ivory Forest Glassworks.

“I don’t mean to complain,” Tirana said quietly after several hours of reading, comparing notes, and discarding useless information, “but do you do this sort of thing a lot?”

Demir flipped through the documents in front of him – what looked like internal Magna spymaster reports on their own family members – and was amazed that Lechauri had even gotten his hands on them, let alone handed them over. He must have been terrified of Harlen. “When needed,” he answered.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Tirana grimace down at yet another ledger outlining the glassworks’ financial records.

“Oh. That’s, uh…”

“A waste of time?” Demir guessed.

“I was trying to come up with a more polite way of saying it.”

“When I was young,” Demir explained, “I had a very particular method – I would gather every single piece of information I could get my hands on, then use high-resonance witglass to analyze it. I could fully understand this much content in about ninety minutes, taking into account the fact that I’d have to remove the witglass periodically for my own safety.”

Tirana’s eyes widened, though it hadn’t been Demir’s intention to show off. “You did all this by yourself?” she asked.

“That’s what happens when you get a genius who isn’t driven mad by high-resonance witglass,” Montego rumbled. His own stack of missives and reports had been set aside so he could read the morning newspaper. He held a large glass of wine in one hand, his fourth of the morning, though he showed no effect of intoxication.

Demir allowed himself a demure smile. “That was before I … broke at Holikan,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “I still like to use the same method, but it takes much, much longer.”

“And this is really useful?” Tirana asked.

Demir said, “The more you know, the better you can plan. Primary plans, secondary plans, tertiary plans. Plans for failed plans. Plans for the failed plans of failed plans. Information is not just useful, it is everything.” He glanced at Tirana. “You think I didn’t look into you within hours of our meeting? I memorized your military record and everything I could find about your personal life.”

Tirana glanced sidelong at Breenen, but the majordomo just shook his head. Demir could read that silent message – Get used to it, he’s in charge now. She said, “You couldn’t have possibly memorized everything about me.”

“Everything I could find,” Demir answered, flipping to the next document and running his eyes over it.

“Oh yeah? How could–”

“You were engaged to Sandri Vorcien for six months. You both seemed happy with the match, but Johanna Vorcien canceled the marriage at the last minute because she didn’t want Sandri marrying a woman, despite how well that would have worked out for two non-inheriting granddaughters. Some bullshit about wanting proper great-grandchildren and not adoptees.”

Tirana gasped and half stood, her hand going to her sword. “That is not public information!”

Demir immediately felt a stab of guilt. That time he was showing off. He rubbed his eyes and gestured for her to sit. “I apologize, I took that too far.” He glanced at Tirana and saw that her shoulders had slumped as she fell back into her chair.

“I joined the army because of that,” Tirana said quietly.

Demir’s guilt grew deeper. He tried to stave it off. He did, after all, have more important things to worry about than hurt feelings. “Again, I apologize. Information is very important to me. The world is a great big calculation. I did not keep you on when I returned because my mother hired you, or because your grandfather and I are friends. I kept you on because everything about your history showed an independent but loyal woman I could depend on to guard my hotel.”

Tirana glanced up at him shyly. “You’re not just saying that?”

“No. Now read that glassdamned ledger to look for more information we can use to rescue Thessa.” Demir rubbed his eyes again. “I think I may have something. Breenen, how long will it take you to find Ulina Magna?”

“Thirty minutes?”

“Do it.”

Breenen left the room with a nod, stepping carefully through the stacks of documents. Demir continued his studies until the majordomo returned. “She’s at the Castle Hill Arena,” Breenen reported, “enjoying the afternoon fights in her private box.”

Demir selected a few pages from the spymaster reports and stuffed them in his tunic pocket for further study. He plucked up a newspaper, found the arena schedule, and grabbed his jacket. “I used to be very good at layered plans,” he told Tirana. “I may have lost that skill, but let us hope I’m still good at primary plans. Now I must go introduce myself to a Magna. Baby, I will need your help.”

Montego folded his newspaper and joined Demir without a word, and they left Breenen and Tirana in the office, hurrying down to the lobby, where a carriage was prepared for them in minutes. They were soon trundling down the road at speed.

It was Montego who broke the silence. “Why are we confronting Ulina Magna at the Castle Hill Arena?” he asked. He didn’t seem particularly bothered by the prospect of meeting a Magna – Montego was hard to ruffle at the worst of times – but he leaned forward curiously.

Demir showed Montego what he’d been studying back in his office. “This,” he explained, “is a spymaster report on Ulina Magna. She’s one of forty-seven Magna grandchildren. She’s twenty-eight, by all reports quite pretty and charming, and she owns a sixteen percent share in the Ivory Forest Glassworks.”

Montego took the document from Demir and studied it, his beady eyes darting across the page rapidly, his expression growing thoughtful. He handed it back. “Looks like a lot of funds enter and leave her personal bank account every month. Hundreds of thousands at a time.”

“Exactly. Could be debts. Could be corruption. Could be gambling. We need to find out what, and then use it.” Demir tapped the paper against his cheek. “I think Ulina is exactly what we need to save Thessa.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Sort of. I might have to wing it.”

Montego rolled his eyes. “The old Demir always had five plans.”

“I’m not the old Demir,” Demir answered. Montego waved his hand as if to concede the point.

Their carriage rumbled across the Assembly District and up Castle Hill, soon depositing them at the base of the old castle that had long been gutted and converted into a cudgeling arena. A massive sign hung over the gate, declaring that the arena was sponsored by the Glasstop Cudgelists, a popular Fulgurist Society for retired athletes. Demir loosened his jacket collar, tousled his hair, and prepared a thick wad of banknotes. He needed to look like someone who attended early-afternoon cudgeling matches on a regular basis.

“I’m sorry, sir,” a porter said as Demir exited the carriage, “but the arena is full for the afternoon. No more entry.”

Demir had never wanted to use the phrase “Do you know who I am?” so much in his life. Instead, he peeled several banknotes off his wad and pushed them into the front pocket of the porter’s tunic. “You’re sure?”

The porter gave Demir a regretful smile. “I’m sure, I…” His eyes widened as Montego exited the carriage, nearly tipping it over onto himself as he stepped on the running board. Montego put one hand on the porter’s shoulder and tripled the amount Demir had tipped him.

“Baby Montego and Demir Grappo,” Montego rumbled. “Surely you can find some room for a retired world champion and his friend?”

“Oh … oh! Of course, sir. Let me see what I can do.” He scurried off without another word, leaving Demir to gaze after him ruefully.

“Did I undertip?” Demir asked.

“No. You’re not a dues-paying member.” Montego nodded to the sign over the front gate. “You may have the run of the provincial cudgeling arenas, but there’s a different language spoken in Ossa.”

“Do I have to eat you to gain your powers?” Demir asked flippantly.

“You’d have to eat me to get this big. There he is, come on.”

Demir fell back, allowing Montego to cut a path through the crowd. Those that didn’t move out of the way were gently but forcibly pushed to one side, and Demir could hear a trail of whispers in their wake as they passed.

“Holy shit,” one woman said, “is that Baby Montego?”

“I had no idea he was back in town!” a man replied.

“Do you think he’d sign an autograph?”

“Piss on an autograph,” another woman cut in, “what hotel is he in? I’ve heard he’s an absolute monster in…”

Demir chuckled to himself as they met up with the porter, who led them down a narrow hallway, leaving the whispers behind them. Montego had a point. Demir was famous in his own right, but in a cudgeling arena, Montego was a god.

“You found a place for us?” Montego asked the porter.

“Yes, sir! It’s not a perfect view but if you make arrangements for next time we will absolutely clear a box for you.”

They emerged from the hallway into the back of a packed crowd in the courtyard of the old castle. The actual cudgeling ring was on a raised platform in the center of the courtyard, with some tiered seating on the east side, boxes built haphazardly into the north and west walls, and more people watching from a handful of windows and lining the tops of the castle walls.

The porter led them to a spot about halfway between the walls and the ring. As he’d said, it was not a good position to see the actual match, but Demir barely glanced toward the ring. He scanned the walls, windows, and boxes, searching for a woman in her late twenties. He found one, but she was a Nasuud blonde. He kept looking until he spotted an eager-looking woman staring down toward the ring from the window of the corner tower.

The porter shoved people aside until there was room for Montego and Demir, then stationed himself at Montego’s shoulder with the clear intent of someone who’s ready to serve and plans to make some very good tips doing it. Demir hadn’t been to a proper Ossan cudgeling match for over a decade, but Montego acted as if this was all to be expected. Even when people began edging away from him, staring in wonder, he didn’t really seem to notice.

“Why is it so crowded?” Montego asked.

“Special exhibition match,” the porter shouted above the noise of the crowd. “Do you know Fidori Glostovika?”

“The Balkani champion?” Demir asked. “I didn’t see his name on the schedule.”

“Oh, he’s the very last match,” the porter said. “Everyone packed in here will watch the whole afternoon just to get a glimpse of him. Very exciting! He might have even been a match for you in your heyday, Master Montego.”

Montego grunted noncommittally, but Demir could see the way his eyes narrowed. Perfect. Demir didn’t like going into these things on so little information, but he could use this. “Who’s his sponsor?” Demir asked.

“That would be the Magna.”

“Oh? I haven’t spoken to any of them since I returned to town. Is anyone here to watch the match?”

“Lady Ulina Magna,” the porter answered, pointing up at the tower Demir had already suspected was Ulina’s private box. “She’s here almost every day.”

Demir turned toward Montego, feigning surprise. “Weren’t you just saying you wanted to meet Ulina?”

“That I was!” Montego replied, playing along.

The porter made a tutting sound. “I’m afraid Lady Ulina doesn’t like being disturbed during the matches, I…”

Montego leaned over suddenly, putting his arm around the porter’s shoulder as if to take him into his confidence. He said, “I have heard Ulina is very pretty. My friend and I would very much like to meet her. If you could arrange it? As a personal favor to me?”

The porter’s face went red. “Of … of course,” he stuttered, “Master Montego, I’ll do what I can!” Once again he hurried off, and Montego turned to Demir with that same smirk.

“I’ve still got it.”

“Of course you’ve still got it, you big oaf,” Demir responded, “you’re glassdamned Baby Montego. Can you see a damned thing?”

“Enough to see that both the men fighting right now will never get further than regional exhibition bouts. Bah, is the quality in the capital slipping so much?”

Demir stood on his tiptoes, trying to get a view of the arena. He could see the fighters’ heads moving back and forth, the occasional raised cudgel, and nothing else. He gave up and waited for the porter to return. The young man was back soon, looking very pleased with himself, and shouted to be heard, “Lady Ulina has graciously offered to share her box with you today. This way, please!”

Demir allowed himself a flicker of a smile. Perfect.

Once again Montego plowed through the crowd, cutting a path that Demir followed gladly. They were taken back the way they came, through a series of narrow passages, and then up an original stone spiral staircase that Montego barely fit through. They arrived at the box to find what looked like Ulina’s entourage standing outside, pushed out to make room for Montego and Demir. The small group wore unhappy glares that were immediately replaced with surprise.

“It is him!”

“Montego, I saw your last fight! I can’t believe it’s you!”

Hands reached out, touching Montego as he passed. One of the young women actually swooned, while the men stared in awe and fear. None of them objected as Montego entered the box. Demir gave them a smile as he shut the door to the box behind them.

Ulina Magna was a statuesque woman, well over six feet tall, with long, curly black hair that cascaded over a crimson-and-white tunic. She spun away from her view as Demir and Montego entered, somehow managing to sweep across the narrow box. “My dear Master Montego, what a pleasure it is to meet you! I cannot believe my luck!”

“Lady Ulina,” Montego responded, grasping Ulina’s hand in his and kissing it gently. “My friend, Demir Grappo.”

“Ah! The new patriarch of the Grappo guild-family. A double pleasure indeed!” Ulina’s tone cooled noticeably upon greeting Demir, her eyes giving him a quick up-and-down and a silent judgment that indicated she did not think much of either him or his minor guild-family. Her gaze dipped toward his glassdancer sigil, the corner of her eye twitching. Demir pretended not to notice. Her smile remained warm through it all, and she quickly turned back to Montego.

Demir did not mind. He didn’t need attention right now. He needed to observe. The box was small, with just six seats all crammed in together. Ulina deposited herself between them, leaning against Montego’s arm, pointing down to the cudgeling ring below them. The last fight had just finished and Demir could see the two new fighters preparing themselves while blood was mopped up. He settled in to watch, glancing through the newspapers available in the box as well as a pamphlet printed up by the arena for the day’s fights.

He’d heard the names of several of the fighters. No one of particular skill or fame, but men and women who put on a good enough show to get fans into seats. Fidori Glostovika was clearly the draw for most of the crowd.

Ulina talked nonstop, seemingly without bothering to take a breath, a constant stream of anecdotes that was interrupted only by demands for food or drink from the attending porter. Montego danced through the conversation skillfully, interjecting witticisms and occasionally challenging her knowledge of the sport. This was clearly not the first wealthy young fan that he’d watched a cudgeling match with.

Only one thing broke up the conversation, and that was when Ulina ordered a second porter to run to the bookie in the arena foyer to make bets on her behalf. The bets were rapid-fire, sometimes contradicting a previous bet with even more money as the fight wore on. She discussed each decision with Montego in detail, occasionally changing her bet upon his advice.

Demir remained silent, studying and thinking, and it was by the fourth match that Ulina excused herself for a moment, stepping just outside the door to the box to berate one of her porters.

“You seem to be getting along well,” Demir commented.

Montego shrugged. “She’s quite knowledgeable, but too arrogant for my tastes. Do you have a plan yet?”

“I believe I do,” Demir replied. “Do you remember that little con we used to do when we were kids?”

Montego snorted. “Of course.”

“How do you feel about resurrecting it?”

“Here? Are you serious?”

“If I can make it work, yes.”

“I am not properly dressed.”

“If you were, the con wouldn’t work.”

Montego considered this for a moment. “The last time we did it, we were chased out of the Blacktree Arena by six angry bookies and their enforcers.”

“We gave fake names. This was before you were famous.”

“We’re both famous now. If we get caught…”

Demir nodded in understanding. If they were caught he would lose what little standing he had with the other guild-families. The cudgeling league would begin to tail him, and his whole operation throughout the provinces could be at risk. Considering that that operation was funding his aboveboard purchases for the Grappo, it was a dire risk indeed. But he needed access to the Ivory Forest Glassworks immediately. “Let’s do it,” he finally said.

“Fine.”

Ulina reappeared a moment later, another drink in her hand. “The porter was being too slow,” she explained sweetly, “so I sent her to be flogged. Are we about to start yet?”

“Ulina,” Demir said, raising a hand.

“Hmm?” She turned to him as if only just remembering that he was here. “Yes, Demir?”

“I’m getting the gambling itch.”

“Hah! Of course you are. Please, feel free to make use of my runner.”

“I don’t want to get involved with bookies so soon after returning to the capital. How about a friendly wager between you and me?”

Ulina regarded him for a moment, looking at him closely for the first time in the last hour. “What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know the next fighters, but I’m feeling lucky. Who do you favor?”

“It’ll be close, but I think Blago.”

“Then I’ll take Wasti. A thousand ozzo?”

Ulina’s face split in a grin. If she feared his glassdancer tattoo, she had now forgotten all about it. “You’re on!”

The fight went much as Demir expected. He did, in fact, know both of the fighters. Blago had been indirectly on his payroll several years ago, and though Blago was older and losing energy, it was an easy win for him. Demir pulled out his wad of banknotes and peeled off ten of them as the match ended with Wasti’s forfeit.

“Good fight, good fight,” he said to Ulina. When she reached for the money, he pulled it back slightly. “Give me the chance to win it back?”

Ulina’s attention had shifted from Montego now. She smiled slyly at Demir. “Double or nothing? I’ll give you the choice of fighter.”

He had her now.

Demir won the next match, and then lost the following three, then won another. Ulina sent one of her entourage to the closest bank and a hefty stack of banknotes began to build on one of the empty seats in the box. Montego looked on in bemusement, refusing to participate in the betting despite Ulina’s repeated invitations.

By the eighth fight, Demir’s blood was pumping and his mouth was dry. Over two hundred thousand ozzo had bounced between them, and even he had not guessed that it would escalate so quickly. He looked at the schedule. Just one more fight: the exhibition match between Fidori and a local champion that Demir did not know. Demir reached for the pile of money.

“Uh-uh!” Ulina said, slapping his hand playfully. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Collecting my winnings?”

“There’s still one more match.”

Demir laughed and shook his head. “Fidori is on the Magna payroll and for good reason. I’ve been having fun but I’m not going to bet against him.”

“Oh, please?” Ulina pouted.

Demir pretended to consider, then shook his head again. “Not a chance.”

“I’ll give you good odds.”

Again, he hesitated. “No. I’d be a fool.”

Ulina glanced down at the pile of money. From her personal ledgers, Demir knew that she won and lost piles like this on a monthly basis, but it was still a lot of money. A very tempting pot for anyone, no matter how rich. “Suit yourself, I suppose,” she sighed. She managed to maintain her composure, but Demir could see the frustration in her eyes.

Preparations were made for the last match. The crowd was noticeably excited, pointing and waving, screaming Fidori’s name as he strolled out among them and entered the ring. He was truly a specimen: almost as tall as Montego, light skin sun-bronzed, muscles oiled. He held a cudgel in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other, which he threw to the audience as he gained the ring.

Demir glanced sidelong at Montego, who rolled his eyes. “He stole that from me,” Montego grumbled.

Ulina was noticeably muted, though still a gracious host. She leaned forward, putting in an extra-large bet with the arena bookie, no doubt hoping to recoup some of the losses she’d made to Demir. Instead of putting his winnings in his pockets, Demir left them on the chair beside him. Ulina glanced in their direction every so often.

The fight was, he had to admit, very good. Fidori and the local champion sparred back and forth across the ring with astonishing speed and strength, blows connecting that would have felled normal fighters.

“You’re sure you won’t bet?” Ulina asked Demir. “The local chap is doing quite well.”

Demir waved her off, and it was a good thing too. The local fighter was soon bashed across the shoulder, staggering to one side and failing to protect himself as Fidori whaled on his useless arm. He fell to one knee, clearly trying to signal the referee for a forfeit.

“Come now!” Montego roared, leaping to his feet. “End the fight!” It was his first display of real investment the whole afternoon.

The referee scrambled into the ring, pushing Fidori back, while the local fighter was quickly carried away. Montego turned to Demir red-faced. “That was not a good fight.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Ulina said dismissively, “you’ve killed dozens of fighters in the ring.”

“I never swing once the forfeit signal is given.”

“He didn’t signal.”

“He was trying to. Always give a fighter the chance to back out. That’s good sportsmanship.”

“Fidori only does that with fighters he considers worthy,” Ulina laughed.

Demir pushed his way between them. “Hey, hey. It was a good fight. Sit down, Baby, that fighter will be good to go after a week on cureglass.”

Montego rumbled angrily to himself as he sat down, and Demir could tell it was not an act. “I’m sorry,” Demir said to Ulina, “he feels very strongly about these things.”

“Hm. Fidori is at the top running for champion next year. Unofficially, of course. The season hasn’t begun.”

“He’s not that good,” Montego snapped.

“Hah! He’s incredible. Don’t be sore. Fidori has a long career ahead of him. I bet he could have even beaten you in your heyday!”

It was the second time someone had said that, and was the moment Demir had been waiting for. “You really think so?” He turned to Ulina curiously.

“Yes, most certainly.”

Demir pretended to think hard about this, letting a grin sneak its way onto his face. “All right. I’ll give you the chance to win your money back. Another match here and now, Montego against Fidori.”

Ulina gasped. “You’re kidding!”

“Not at all. Baby, how are you for a fight?”

“I don’t have my cudgels,” Montego complained. He drew out the words like a petulant child, though Demir could practically feel how badly Montego wanted to put the younger fighter in his place.

Ulina practically leapt at him. “We can get you cudgels. Oh, this will be the most glorious match of the century! And all for just us! We’ll clear the arena, pay off the manager. Old champion against future champion!” She actually squealed, an ecstatic sound that made Demir’s ears hurt.

“Let the audience stay,” Montego rumbled. “Give them a show.”

“Of course! Whatever you want to make this happen!”

“What will you bet?” Demir asked.

“Cash. Just tell me the amount.”

“Come now, let’s make it interesting. I have a new lumber mill I just purchased the other day. Put down some property.” Demir spoke casually, but every inflection was purposeful and chosen with care. He wanted to pull her in like a master fisherman, not scare her away. From her file he knew exactly what properties she had.

“I could put down a mine in Fortshire,” she said.

“What kind?”

“Copper.”

“Done. How will we validate?”

Ulina gestured dismissively as if she’d done this many times. “The manager and porters will be our witnesses. And Montego, of course.”

The arrangements were made in a secret whirlwind. The arena manager was paid off, a new referee summoned, and the porters cleared a large area immediately in front of the ring so that Demir and Ulina could watch from the very best seats. There was an announcement about the surprise fight and Demir could feel the excitement ripple through the crowd. People who’d grown tired from standing all afternoon were back on their feet, cheering and laughing at the prospect of seeing Baby Montego step into the ring once more.

Demir consulted with Montego while Ulina did the same with Fidori. Montego did not, Demir had to admit, look great. In a cudgeling girdle he seemed even more obese, his arms flabby, his stomach drooping. Montego reached down and touched his toes while Demir eyeballed Fidori.

“You are,” Demir asked quietly, his words almost drowned out by the roar of a reenergized crowd, “sure you can win?”

“Eh,” Montego responded.

“What the piss is that supposed to mean?”

“He is actually quite skilled,” Montego admitted. “It will be a good fight.”

“Even if you lose?”

“Even if I lose.”

Demir groaned. “Please don’t. Aside from the money, this is our best chance to rescue Thessa.”

Montego didn’t answer him, pulling himself up onto the raised ring and taking a few experimental swings with his cudgel. Fidori watched him skeptically – and so did Demir. Montego was not a young cudgelist anymore, many years retired, and Demir wondered if he’d made a mistake.

Forgeglass was handed to both men. Montego examined his distastefully before fixing it to his ear, and the match began slowly, the pair circling each other. There was no time limit and the crowd did not seem to care. It was clear both fighters wanted this to happen in its own time. Demir took up a spot beside Ulina and glanced at the arena manager, who held a promissory note for both properties and the pile of cash from earlier.

“You really think Fidori could beat Baby Montego in his prime?” Demir asked Ulina.

“Well,” Ulina said, watching intently as the first blows were exchanged. “Perhaps not in his prime, if I’m being honest. But now? Look at Montego. Your friend can barely move his cudgel without wheezing.”

Demir resisted the urge to defend Montego. It wasn’t that bad. On the other hand, he couldn’t actually tell whether Montego was acting as he barely blocked a flurry of blows from Fidori. The Balkani champion pressed the attack, putting Montego on the back foot, hammering at his thighs and shoulders mercilessly.

Montego took the beating without so much as a groan of pain. His own ripostes were slower, stronger. When they landed they certainly staggered the younger Fidori, but they did not put him down.

“Up the bet?” Ulina asked slyly.

Demir responded with a negative gesture.

“Two-to-one odds,” Ulina said.

Demir let her hang herself on that rope. “How could you possibly back up a bet like that?” he asked. Fidori was practically chasing Montego around the ring now. On any other day it would be a good fight – it was always fun when an outmatched fighter refused to back down – but for a world champion it was comically pathetic.

“I have a sixteen percent stake in the Ivory Forest Glassworks. It’s a big complex just outside of Ossa. I’ll put down my whole stake.”

“And what would I have to answer that with?”

“Let’s say four hundred thousand.”

“Fine. A coal mine in the Glass Isles.” He glanced at the manager and the accompanying porters, who nodded that they’d heard the bet.

Montego stumbled and fell heavily to one knee. The crowd screamed – some in jubilation, some in anger. A group of women just behind Demir shouted for Montego to get back up. He managed to get his cudgel up between his face and Fidori’s, but the barrage of blows was so withering it looked like he might drop it.

“Forfeit, Montego,” Fidori shouted between blows. “There’s no shame in it. I don’t want to kill you in an exhibition match.”

Montego’s arm drooped, but he did not go down.

Fidori backed away a step and glanced at Ulina. “He won’t forfeit.”

“Then finish him!”

In that moment, Montego’s eyes met Demir’s. Demir gave the slightest of nods, and Montego took a deep breath. Fidori turned back toward him and raised his cudgel. “Last chance, old man!” He waited half a second, then swung with all his might.

Montego surged to his feet, catching the haft of the cudgel in his left hand. With his right, he swung low, the weighted bulb of his cudgel catching Fidori on the side of the knee. It did not look like a powerful swing, but it was impossibly precise. Fidori’s knee shattered sideways, collapsing unnaturally in a way that almost made Demir throw up. Fidori fell, screaming loudly. Those screams were immediately swallowed up by the crowd, who went absolutely wild at the reversal.

Demir glanced sidelong at Ulina, doing his best to keep the smile off his face. He climbed up into the arena, ignoring Fidori as the referee, the arena manager, and Ulina hurried to help him. Demir clasped Montego by the hand. “Very good fight.”

Montego stifled a yawn. “Amateur,” he muttered, glancing at one of the welts on his arm as if it bored him. The exhaustion had left his eyes, and his breathing was no longer heavy. Glassdamned showman. “How did I do?”

“I am now the proud owner of sixteen percent of the Ivory Forest Glassworks.”