“What do you mean?” Seth asked.
“Those of us who study the Games dream of accessing the competitors’ quarters. Who knows what secrets Humbuggle has hidden down there where only the gladiators, trainers, and a few members of the senior staff can venture?”
“You think I have access?”
“Only one way to find out,” Virgil said.
“What would I look for down there?” Seth asked.
“Humbuggle once said, ‘The dullest part of my Games happens on the arena floor,’” Virgil recited. “That is a direct quote.”
“Then where do the most exciting parts happen?” Seth said.
“Perhaps he was boasting or trying to misdirect,” Virgil said. “Or maybe the smarter action is behind the scenes at the arena and hidden around Humburgh. Could there be other ways to win? Secret contests? Like the game you played at Stormguard Castle.”
“Just about anything sounds better than a hundred gladiator fights,” Seth said. “Let’s see if we can get behind the scenes.”
“Hold on,” Virgil said. “Be forewarned, it may be easier to get in than to get out. The combatants are not allowed to leave.”
“I didn’t sign up to be a gladiator,” Seth said. “And I’m not going to jump into the arena and join a fight. Would they have any claim on me?”
“I don’t think so,” Virgil said.
“We’ll ask the guards,” Seth said. “I’ll see if I can get you in, too.”
“Are you sure about this?” Virgil asked.
Seth leaned close and lowered his voice. “I came here to beat Humbuggle. That won’t happen if I don’t do some things others haven’t. It’s going to involve risk. Compared with fighting to the death in front of an audience, I’d rather explore the coliseum.”
Virgil rose from his seat. “This way.”
They climbed the stairs and exited past a guard into a hallway. Virgil turned right, passing some food stands.
“Hungry?” Virgil asked.
“I could eat,” Seth said. “Do you have money?”
“Enough for some food.”
Virgil bought them each a skewer of meat and vegetables. As they continued along their way, Seth bit off a juicy chunk of beef that was almost too hot to chew.
They reached a black gate where a heavyset troll stood, resting a club on one shoulder. Above him, a sculpted insignia of a skull wearing a gladiator helm adorned the gate.
“Ordinarily we couldn’t pass beyond this point,” Virgil murmured.
Seth gave a nod, sliding a hot mushroom off the skewer with his teeth. After chewing and swallowing, he approached the troll. “Can we go through here?”
“You, of course,” the troll said. “Him, absolutely not.”
“Not even as my guest?” Seth asked.
The troll gave a grunt. “What are you playing at?”
“But I can go in and out?” Seth asked.
“Unless you sign on as an active combatant,” the troll said.
Seth turned to Virgil. “See you later.”
“If you’re certain . . .” Virgil hedged.
“Don’t wait up,” Seth said.
“I’ll be here when you’re done,” Virgil promised. “Southwest below-ground access gate.”
Seth gave Virgil a little salute, then patted the troll on the arm. “Keep up the good work.”
The troll elbowed Seth roughly. “Hands off.”
“You’re worried about me?” Seth asked. “Keep your eyes on the goatman.”
“He’s a comedian,” Virgil said with an uncertain smile.
The troll sneered. “The best comedy leans on truth.”
Seth hurried through the checkpoint. As the hall curved away from the gate, sloping downward, it rapidly became bleak and bare. Gone were the food stands, statues, fountains, and architectural flourishes. The floor grew uneven, and Seth noticed cracks and water stains on the stony walls.
The arena crowd roared, the exuberance now above and behind him. A new fight must have started, because he had not heard the audience respond with such enthusiasm to any of the other entertainment.
Natural light faded, and the passage branched. Seth took the steeper way and soon found stairs that wound downward. He came out into a torchlit corridor where a minotaur with his arm in a sling stood in close conversation with a warty brown ogre. Both stopped talking and turned to face Seth. The minotaur exhaled sharply.
Seth walked by them, avoiding eye contact. From far above, he heard the noise of the crowd surge again, too distant to carry much volume. Louder, from up ahead, Seth heard overlapping conversations, punctuated by laughter.
The corridor emptied into a dining area full of benches and long tables. Behind a counter, a quartet of cooks attended to grills laden with meat and bubbling stewpots. The powerfully built diners must have been gladiators, though none wore armor or carried weapons. Some were dressed in simple tunics, others in shirts and pants, mostly browns and grays. The homespun clothes were of such similar style that Seth assumed they were provided by whoever ran the coliseum.
A large hand clapped down on Seth’s shoulder. “Aren’t you a tad young to dine here?”
Seth looked up at a handsome man, clean-shaven, middle-aged, with intense brown eyes, a slightly receding hairline, and a cleft chin. “I participate in the Games.”
“I can tell,” the man said. “But not as a combatant here in the Titan Games. Have you come to enlist?”
Some warriors at a nearby table chuckled at the question.
“Still deciding,” Seth said.
“Give it a few years,” the man said. “We’re always looking for able candidates.”
“Are you a gladiator?” Seth asked.
“In another life, perhaps,” the man said. “I’m Fenrick, one of the trainers.” He gently hit Seth on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “Maybe we’ll work together one day.”
“Boy!” a woman at a nearby table called. “Come here.”
She was a plain woman with a sparkle of mischief in her gaze. Of average height and slender build, she didn’t seem suited for the kind of combat Seth had watched from the stands. He approached her table. Beside her, a thickset guy with an orange beard watched him curiously.
“What brings you down here?” she asked.
“Snooping around,” Seth said. “Trying to figure out the Games.”
The guy with the orange beard laughed. “Why not start young?”
“Because he’ll die young,” the woman said.
The guy waved away her words. “The boy isn’t here to fight. He’s scouting. What’s your name, lad?”
“Seth.”
“I’m Per
