CHAPTER TWELVE
What can I do to find the truth? At first, the answer doesn’t seem obvious. What can I do against a conspiracy that involves senators and nobles? I lie awake that night, thoughts of what might be happening in the city making it impossible for me to relax.
Aetheria is becoming so dangerous, so corrupt, now. The games are becoming more deadly by the day, and if Domitian is still disguising his actions, I’m sure it won’t be long before he calls openly for death matches.
I dream of Alaric. Alaric in the Colosseum, fighting against foes who usually looked far more dangerous.
I dream of him using illusions, deceiving them, never letting them see the truth of him.
I'm sure he must be out in the city somewhere, probably plotting the next step in his campaign to stop the renewed games.
I wake, wondering if I should join him in that campaign, but no, that’s not who I am now. I’m a senator of Aetheria, a figure of authority and respect.
And that’s the key to what I need to do about Domitian and the others. I’m a senator. I can go where I want, look into what I want. I can demand answers from anyone employed by the city. Will there be answers, though? Domitian has been careful to cover his tracks so far.
But he also works within the structures of the games. He uses its servants and its trainers. I know from my work in putting on the games that they require messages and requisitions, records of equipment inspections and safety measures.
The Republic keeps records, and it does so in a place that seemed conveniently empty: Ironhold.
I leave the palace, not wearing the toga of a senator, but still making sure I’m dressed well, in an elegant grey dress with lighter embroidery.
I strap a dagger to my waist, and take a short staff with me, both to lean on for the walk over and because I’m worried about my safety now that Domitian seems to be acting so openly.
I walk from Aetheria across the space between it and the dark form of the fortress. The sun is rising higher in the sky by the time I get there, the heat of the day drawing beads of sweat to my brow. As I reach it, I hear the guards training the way they were the last time I came up here.
Only it isn’t just guards training within Ironhold when I walk into the fortress.
There are gladiators there, training with the weapons they might use in the games.
I recognize Sorrel working at a practice post, while Cesca is sparring with some of the guards, apparently amusing herself by stunning them with her lightning, one after another.
“Why are there gladiators back here in Ironhold?” I ask one of the trainers.
He shrugs. “Now that the games are back on, the gladiators need to be trained properly. The trainers at Ironhold have the skills for that. Besides, it means they get to train with the guards and help them become better fighters.”
He makes it sound like something simple and neutral, when this place still features in some of my nightmares.
It's as much a place of blood and death as the Colosseum ever was.
It's a place where gladiators were harshly treated, even killed, in the name of producing the strongest fighters for the arena.
Seeing gladiators training here again makes anger bubble through me.
“Who ordered this?” I ask.
The trainer shrugs. “Senator Domitian said it was the most obvious thing to do.”
Domitian again. It seems his hand is on everything to do with the games now.
I’m sure he made all kinds of arguments about why Ironhold was the logical choice to train the gladiators for the new contests, but I imagine far more of it had to do with simply getting gladiators back into Ironhold, returning the fortress to its old function.
Domitian seems determined to return every aspect of Aetheria to the way it was.
“Are you here to inspect the training, Senator?” the trainer asks.
“I am,” I reply, “but I also want to check the records here. I take it Ironhold has held onto everything to do with the new games?”
The trainer nods. “Of course. The archives are up in what used to be the noble quarters.”
I head up through the fortress, pushing aside old memories as I do so.
This isn’t an easy place for me to come, but I need to be here, if I’m going to find anything that will help me.
I pass by quarters that are now reserved for guard officers, and every time I see one of them now, I wonder how much control Domitian has over them.
I manage to find the archives, with shelves filled with ledgers and boxes of parchments, scrolls set neatly in place.
There’s so much here that I wonder how I’m going to find anything to incriminate Domitian and the others.
There aren’t any administrators here, no one I can ask for the material I require.
But then, what would I ask for? I can’t just come out and tell someone that I need to find something that will prove the existence of a conspiracy.
I start to look through everything I can find, instead, looking at notes on the payments made within the games, trying to find anything that doesn’t fit.
“What are you doing here?”
I turn, expecting to see a guard or administrator there, but instead, it’s the gladiator, Sorrel.
“Shouldn’t you be down on the training grounds?” I counter. I can’t explain the true purpose of my presence here in the archives.
Sorrel frowns. “Maybe. The guards don’t like any of the gladiators coming up here.”
“So what are you doing here?” I ask him.
Sorrel hesitates. “I saw you, and I wanted to thank you for what you did with the lizard before. And… and also for helping in the arena yesterday. No one deserved the beatings the guards were giving people yesterday.”
That catches me by surprise. I wouldn’t have expected a gladiator like Sorrel to care what happens to Alaric’s people. If anything, I would have expected him to want them to suffer for interrupting his fight.
“They say you hate the games,” Sorrel says.
I consider what to say for several seconds.
“I hate what the games were,” I say. “The death and the violence, the corruption and the control over Aetheria it gave to the powerful. I’m trying to stop them becoming what they used to be.
There are people who are happy to send a dangerous creature out to try to kill you, not caring if it hurts people in the crowd. ”
Sorrel stands there, looking a little uncomfortable.
“Some of the nobles who sponsor the games have met with me,” he says. “They’ve invited me to their villas, offered me fine foods. And they’ve all suggested that I should make my fights as entertaining as possible.”
“Do they say what they mean when they ask for them to be entertaining?” I ask.
Sorrel shrugs. “They don’t have to spell it out. They want it to be more dangerous. They want more blood. They want me to hurt or kill my opponents. When I killed that lizard, they were very pleased with me.”
He looks as though he might say more, but the sound of booted feet marching in step comes from outside the room.
Guards are heading this way. Sorrel looks suddenly afraid, and I remember what he said about gladiators not being allowed up here.
As in the old days, Ironhold is divided into the spaces for the ordinary gladiators and the spaces for those who think of themselves as their betters.
“There,” I say, pointing to a set of shelves. Sorrel nods, then ducks behind them, just as a pair of guards comes in.
“Senator, what are you doing in here?” one of the guards asks, in an unfriendly tone.
"I'm auditing the records of the games," I say. "As I'm entitled to do as a senator on the committees connected to the Colosseum."
“Yes, of course,” the guard says. “But we weren’t told you were coming.”
“An inspection like this wouldn’t be much use if I told you I was on my way,” I say, trying to project as much authority into my tone as possible, trying to mimic Alaric’s old arrogance. “Tell me, is there a reason you don’t want me here? Is there something you’re trying to hide?”
The guard looks taken aback by that, hesitating for a second or two. My guess is that he’s taken money from at least one noble or senator, probably Domitian. The guards seem to do what he says far too readily.
“No, of course not,” the guard says. “There isn’t anyone here with you, Senator, is there?”
“You can see there isn’t,” I reply, with a pointed gesture at the rest of the room. “Are you suggesting that I’m doing something I shouldn’t here?”
Again, I put authority into my voice. It’s enough to make the guard take a step back.
"We… didn't mean to disturb you, Senator. Please investigate as much as you wish. When you're ready to leave, we'll escort you back to Aetheria."
The guards turn and leave, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Sorrel steps out from his hiding place, looking nervous, as if expecting the guards to come back at any moment.
“That was close,” Sorrel says. “If they found me here, where I’m not meant to be, it might cost me a beating, or worse, see me thrown out of the games.”
“You really love being a gladiator?” I say.
Sorrel considers the question. “What else am I meant to do? Fighting is all I know, and I’d rather not fight for some gang.” He sights. “I should go. But look, if you’re really trying to find out about corruption in the games, head to the Gilded Swan.”
“What’s there?” I ask.
“It’s a gambling den some of the nobles like,” Sorrel says. He’s already heading for the door. “I can’t say more. Just go there.”