Nick glanced at the bigger boy.
“You got work to do.”
Leroy pointed to the middle arena, where the Devils had dumped all their gear in their rush for the food line. There were swords, staffs, spears, all manner of helmets and pads.
“Stack the weapons in the holders along that wall.” He pointed. “Stack the gear over there. And I better not see you at the table until it’s done and done right.”
Cricket picked up two staffs and headed toward the racks.
“Uh-uh,” Leroy said, shaking his head.
Cricket looked at him, perplexed.
“Nick’s doing it all himself tonight.”
“That’s not fair,” Cricket said. “He shouldn’t—”
“Shut up,” Leroy said.
Cricket began to say more, but bit her lip. She leaned the staffs against the wall and headed toward the table.
“Well, you can stand there all night if you want,” Leroy said to Nick. “But you ain’t gonna eat until everything’s put up.”
Leroy waited another minute until Cricket and Danny were out of earshot. “And one more thing, you little suck-up. You ever embarrass me again and I’ll make you pay for real. For fucking real.” He jabbed Nick in the chest. “Got it, fuckhead?”
BY THE TIME Nick put the weapons away, most of the Devils had already finished eating. He was so tired he almost didn’t bother, but the growling in his stomach won out.
He walked over to the iron kettle, shooed away two pixies, then lifted the lid. There were only a few dry clumps of the stew left. Nick scraped off what he could from the walls of the pot, about enough to fill half his bowl.
Leroy sat alone on the far end of the table. Cricket and Danny sat near two Devils in the middle. Cricket looked his way and smiled. Nick sat his bowl down as far away from everyone as he could and collapsed onto the bench.
He couldn’t remember ever being so worn out. Yet in a way it was good. He hated to admit it, but the training had been very satisfying. He’d never been much good at sports, especially team sports, never stuck with anything other than skateboarding. It didn’t take too many times being the last kid picked before he found the whole team bravado to be a load of bullshit, just another place for kids like Leroy to knock him around.
As the Devils finished up, most of them dumped their dishes in the barrel of sudsy water and began to spread out about the chamber, some migrating over to the shelves of books and comics, others picking up darts, checkers, cards, and various board games.
A soft melody caught Nick’s attention, and he watched a girl with dark, curly hair tune a fiddle over by the fireplace. Within a few minutes, two boys joined her, one working out a primitive rhythm on a pair of tall drums while the other plucked at an acoustic guitar. It was just noise at first, then the girl tapped her bow three times and they began to play for real. The chamber filled up with the sweet, haunting wail of the fiddle. The girl played with her eyes closed, as though the fiddle was her voice singing a sad, slow song, then the drum joined in, a deep, steady beat, like a funeral dirge, and finally the guitar, melodic, along the lines of a spaghetti-Western score. Nick was stunned to see these savage kids playing such a beautiful song, and playing it with such heart. He found himself lost in the deep melancholy tune as he ate.
The stew tasted about like the gruel he had for breakfast. As a matter of fact, the only real difference was that the stew contained chunks of mushrooms and wild onions instead of berries. The mushrooms were amazingly sweet and very chewy. Nick plucked one out for closer inspection. When he did, a pixie flew down and dropped to the table just out of arm’s reach. This one was a young boy with a jet-black mane of hair. He strutted and cocked his head, staring at the mushroom between Nick’s fingers. Nick was struck by how oddly human he appeared. Nick flicked the mushroom to him. The pixie snatched up the morsel, hissed, and flew off. A trace of a smile touched Nick’s lips.
Nick watched the Devils going about their evening activities. There was a lively game of poker going on in one corner, punctuated with plenty of cheering and profanity. A kid was working away on a horned-skull tattoo on some Hispanic boy’s shoulder, using a needle and string to push the ink under the skin. The boy was biting down on a piece of leather, trying to look tough, but to Nick, he looked like he was about to pass out. Nick was surprised to see several Devils with cigarettes jutting out of their mouths, looking like delinquents as they puffed away. He watched three kids engaged in a light game of hoops, tossing a small ball into a makeshift basket. Even though they were just goofing around, Nick was amazed by how agile and quick they were.
The boy pixie was back. He landed on the edge of the table, a bit closer than before. He stared up at Nick with tiny, slitted eyes.
Nick tossed him a crumb.
“You don’t want to do that.”
Nick glanced around and found Cricket standing beside him.
“They’ll never leave you alone if you feed ’em,” she said, taking a seat across from him. A moment later, Danny slid down and joined them.
“So,” Cricket said. “Where you from?”
Nick didn’t answer.
Cricket leaned over. “Don’t let Leroy get under your skin,” she whispered. “He treats us all like that. Just take it easy around him. He gets wound up pretty tight sometimes.”
Nick didn’t need to be warned about Leroy.
“So, where’re you from?” Cricket asked again. Nick started to tell her he didn’t feel like talking when there came a loud crash.
“You moved your battleship! I saw you!”
“Did not!”
“It was on B-12. Right there. I called it. It counts.”
“Does not!”
“You’re a no-good
The room fell quiet.
“It’s Redbone again,” Danny whispered.
“It’s always Redbone,” Cricket said.
“Take it back!” Redbone said and pulled a knife.
Everyone scrambled out of the way as the two boys squared off in the middle of the chamber.
“Oh, man,” Danny said. “Here they go again.”
All the Devils dropped what they were doing and formed up a loose circle around the two boys. They began chanting
“First blood?” Nick asked.
“Yeah,” Cricket said. “It’s how they resolve disputes. Whoever draws first blood, wins the argument.”
The two boys flicked their knives at each other and began a dangerous dance: weaving, jumping, howling, as each sought an opening. They rushed each other, leaping, spinning, their blades mere blurs as they drove past.
“
“
Everything stopped. Sekeu walked up and examined the boy’s forehead. She wiped her thumb on the mark, then held it up so everyone could see the small smudge of blood.
The crowd murmured approval.
“So,” Cricket said matter-of-factly. “The thinner the mark, the smaller the amount of blood, the more prestigious the win. Shows superior skill.”
The blond kid let loose a string of profanity but lowered his knife. It was over. The Devils returned to what
