Chapter Twenty The Third Lesson
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE THIRD LESSON
T HE MONTH OF Kalijean marked the delayed onslaught of autumn. Summer faded almost overnight, sun-bright red conquering the green in the foliage of the kataka flats.
Besides exciting headlines of successful Phantom heists and heroic cats, and mind-numbingly tedious political journalism, Kalijean brought, too, the seventh match of the Rose and the Golden Thorn.
A pair of kaebinas were their foes, small, twee creatures with round, protruding bellies and stubby limbs.
Yet much like Lythlet, what they lacked in strength, they compensated with speed and wickedness.
They bolted around the arena, using their tails to whip merciless bruises into Lythlet and Desil, then vanished into thin air, roaming the arena invisibly until their next attack.
Although quite possibly the most irritating match thus far, An Annotated Compendium of the Modern Beast had taught Lythlet how to lure the beasts into a distracted stupor.
Knife in hand, she dragged the blade across her forearm, wincing as a trail of blood appeared.
In an instant, the kaebinas were upon her, feasting on her offering.
Desil then snatched them by their tails and sent their heads tumbling to the yellow sands with a swipe of his blade.
“Up and up,” Desil whispered into her ear as the spectators cheered.
“Up and up,” she echoed in agreement, heart light, head giddy.
That was the way her year had been progressing, one victory leading to another, an infinite unfolding of coin spilling into her jackpots.
Praise, endless praise, for the Golden Thorn—she had a legion of fanatics calling her name now.
Never before had her life been so gratifying, her hard work being rewarded on a monthly basis with deafening hoo-rahs and plentiful coin.
As Desil washed himself by the alcove, Master Dothilos arrived. She rose in greeting, glad to share her celebration with him.
“May I borrow your company for a moment?” he said with a thin smile.
Something sharp in his gaze made her falter. “Is something the matter?”
“Just a little business I wish to discuss.”
She trailed after him in silence, disappearing through the warren of corridors. He may have been genteel with his words, but she knew a practiced smile when she saw one. Something was bothering him. Perhaps another demand from the Eza?
Soon they emerged into the spectator stands, not too far from his pedestal, his speaking-trumpet resting upon it.
“My dear girl,” began the match-master, the endearment lacking the usual affection, “I thought I’d inform you that the Eza was very pleased with how the Khavi Monul affair was handled. He’s paid his dues and seemed adequately humbled by you and Lorent.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Relief seeped into her, but she held it at bay, yet sensing a tension to the man.
He did not continue, staring at her with an inscrutable expression. It may have been a trick of the baltascar light, but his eyes appeared unsettlingly bluer then.
Hesitantly, she spoke, “Yes?”
“Although the ringmaster was repentant to the Eza, he did have one complaint. He discovered an empty cage in his kennels, and deduced it was your deed.” His baritone was as sharp as a blade fresh from the forge.
She said nothing, uncertain where this was going.
“Did you let loose a cage of pups when you visited the kennels?”
At length, she answered, “Yes.”
“Did I tell you to do that?”
Lythlet had thought the truth harmless, yet something intangible had clearly fractured between them. She drew back an inch, fearing that temper of his she’d only ever seen brief glimpses of thus far. “You told me I could cause a ruckus to threaten the man—”
“Then scatter his papers and knock over a vase or two—why upon the Sunsmith and the Moonmachinist would you take it upon yourself to free a bitch’s litter?” he snapped. “My instructions were to find proof of Monul’s misdeeds and threaten him, not to impact his ring’s bottom line.”
“I didn’t know you cared for his operations—”
“To hell with him, I don’t give a damn what goes on in his kennels.
But my opinion doesn’t matter as much as the Eza’s.
” He turned away from her, pulling his dress shirt out of his trousers and up to his neck.
Layered over the intricate lacework of age-old scars, four ugly, fresh streaks of red threaded across his back, the skin bruised black and yellow where it had been broken.
“I was flogged four times for your impudence.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, horrified. “I had no idea—”
“No idea?” He pulled his shirt over the lacerations, laughing in a way that made her feel small. “You had no idea there would be repercussions for meddling in the business of a man who’s making the Eza plenty of coin? Lythlet, I think it’s time for your third lesson.”
Despite the palpable tension between them, she couldn’t help but listen eagerly. The third lesson—she’d been looking forward to this, wondering if it were ever coming. Poetry in motion, poetry in wisdom, it was here at last.
“First,” he said, a finger springing out of his fist, “you learned conviction, to know with every fiber of your soul that you deserve what you want. Then, you learned momentum, the importance of not looking back and letting things get in your way. Now, you must learn the most vital lesson there is if you want to abandon the stench of the slums and join the circle of elites: you must learn not to cross the line. You must never violate the hierarchy you exist in.”
“Isn’t that contradictory?” she said hesitantly. “How can I rise in the world without violating hierarchies?”
“When you rise in status and clout, you naturally shift your position up the hierarchy in a sensible fashion. That is natural: a child becomes a man, and in doing so, gains the abilities afforded only to a man. But if a child tries to prematurely assume the respect granted only to a man, he will be ridiculed and punished for it. Thus must you always be aware of your position in this world relative to the position of others. Let’s use this situation with Monul as an example.
You were sent as a delegate of mine, so you must consider my ranking.
Am I above or below Monul in the eyes of the Eza? ”
“Above?” she guessed.
Master Dothilos laughed acerbically. “Wrong. Dogfighting is an extremely profitable and stable venture all year round, as I’m sure you learned from rummaging through his records.
Meanwhile, conquessing has its seasons of profitability—when my roster is beset by a string of poor performers, I have less to offer financially to the Eza, though I remain in his favor by providing my services as a middleman for his odd jobs, introducing the right people with the right skills for whatsoever he requires.
Only when I’m blessed by better contestants who draw in more spectators do my profits balloon to the point that Monul’s steady cashflow looks meager in comparison.
In the grand scheme of things, I am of equal importance to Monul in the eyes of the Eza.
We both provide him with very generous dues in exchange for his protection, so there is a limit to what I can do to Monul.
The Eza would have forgiven the actions you took to investigate Monul’s accounts, given the circumstances, but his pardon vanishes once you meddle with Monul’s profit-making ventures. ”
“But those pups were trapped in a tiny cage, covered in their own filth,” she defended herself. “Had I left them there, they would’ve been tortured or used as bait for the fighting hounds to tear apart. How could I have turned a blind eye?”
“Silence! Now is the time for you to learn, not to argue. By stealing from Monul’s kennels, he was able to lodge a complaint against me.
He spent a fair amount of coin on those pups, apparently, and it’ll cost him a pretty penny to replace them.
Obviously, this expense will impact his profits, which means his future dues to the Eza will shrink. ”
He leaned forth, grabbing her by the shoulders threateningly. “And do you have any idea how foolish it is to take coin out of the pockets of those above you?”
“I’m s-sorry,” she said, trying to keep her re-emerging stutter under control. His rage was becoming bitterly familiar, harkening to all those in the past who had found pleasure in watching her shrink before it. “I just felt bad—”
“What did I tell you last time?” he snapped.
“Leave mercy to the realm of folklore and fiction. Look at you. So clever with cheap tricks, yet so foolish with the world. Let me guess: you had mercy for those innocent little pups, you felt you had a duty to save them, and you thought you’d bring justice to a nasty, wicked man like Monul by freeing them.
You fool. It seems all your success in the arena has gone to your head, and you’ve forgotten you live in the real world, one that has no place for those fanciful myths. ”
“They’re not myths,” she said quietly.
“I’m terribly sorry, you must be right,” he condescended. “You certainly would know better than I. Why wouldn’t you? Look at how marvelously your life went the last time you worked so hard to uphold those virtues!”
She stared at him questioningly.
“Once upon a time,” he began, “there was an ugly, stuttering girl stumbling her way through the slums. Oh, she was wretched, oh, she was poor! But she had good morals by her side, a merciful heart, a strong sense of duty, and a great love for justice! She was in great need to earn a living, however, and blessings upon blessings, she found a marvelously paying bookkeeping job at a high-class brothel—”
Her heart stopped. She turned to stare at him in horror.
“—owned by a woman named Madam Kovetti.”
“How do you know this?” Lythlet demanded, terrified. “You said you didn’t bother looking into the work I’ve done.”