Chapter Three
POV: Ludovic Robertson (15), Male Tribute, District 4
The District 4 Tribute's Train, en route to the Capitol
3.30 pm, Sunday 8th July, year of the 66th Hunger Games
The train begins accelerating immediately and the speed throws me to the back of the car, hitting the door separating me from the next car. Having had the wind knocked out of me, I stagger to the handrail and regain myself before taking a good look around the train. Even in this car, the servants' quarters, everything is so clean and perfect. There are blue carpets on the floor, and silver shines everywhere else. I think all the cars are like this, and they also have vast windows on both sides to let in vast amounts of the overcast light that's currently flooding through. I notice that the acceleration is slowing, and I'm able to stand without the handrail. We must be nearly reaching 250 miles per hour. I look out the window, and just find a green and blue blur. I've never travelled this fast before. In District 4 we usually travel by foot, and I've only ever been in a car a few times, travelling at most sixty miles per hour. This is my first time on a train. I'm amazed how smooth it feels, there's absolutely no sensation of speed, no vibrations from movement, nothing. The only time you notice that you're moving is when you look out the window. I decide I like it here.
I turn away from the window and walk into the next car, where Flavius greets me.
"Now, I'm sure you've got lots of questions to ask about your schedule," he reassures me. He's right. I do want to know what's going on, I'd like to know exactly what I'm meant to be doing. "But all you need to know is that we'll be spending the night on the train and arriving in the Capitol at ten tomorrow morning."
Great. This could be a long trip.
"Your room is the second room in this car," he continues. "You've got an hour until supper in the dining car, so I suggest you run a shower and get ready to meet your mentors again."
Great, Finnick will be here. And Maddie. Just like old times, only two of our lives are at stake. I'm not sure if I'll be pleased to see them or not. I'll certainly be in no hurry for supper. I want some time to myself.
"Finally, there's a TV and entertainment in the dining car, and you can have breakfast whenever you like tomorrow, providing you're up for nine thirty. Of course, I'll be around to help you if you need anything." says Flavius eagerly. I thank him and head to my room. The door slides open for me and I head inside.
It's small, a snug fit, but it's still better than my bedroom at home. The bed is covered by crisp, white, thick bedsheets and looks so enticing. There is a wooden chest of drawers and a large square mirror hanging above it.
Opposite the bed is a door to what appears to be a bathroom, and the space in between is filled by a large window, just like those on the other side of the train.
After taking in my surroundings for a minute, I succumb to the bed and fall onto it, enjoying the quilted feel and warmth coming from wrapping myself in the covers. I guess it's not all bad, being a tribute. For a few days, at least, we get to live as Presidents would. Until the arena. But I try to push that to the back of my mind, and enjoy the moment, wrapped in my own silk cocoon. After about twenty minutes or so, I remember Flavius's reminder about supper, and force myself to get up. I explore the chest of drawers, and find many sets of clothes. I pick out a simple white cotton shirt, and some loose-fitting trousers made from a blue fabric I don't recognise. Still, I think it'll look better than my formal clothes from the Reaping to Flavius, and I'm eager to win his favour after the kindness he has shown me so far today.
But before I get changed, I head into the second room of my compartment, which is, as expected, an en-suite bathroom, or should I say shower-room? The room is covered with white tiles on the floor and all four of the square walls, and the white light that illuminates the room appears to be emitted from the ceiling.
In the room itself, there is a toilet, a sink with a mirror above it, and a shower. A shower! Such a luxury. Back home in District Four, nobody has showers. The lucky few of us who'd done well for ourselves have baths, but the majority that live in the docklands don't even have running water.
I strip and try to use the shower, but I'm immediately overwhelmed by the amount of options available to me. There must be a hundred buttons on the control panel. After what seems like eternity, I deduce what setting must be as close to 'normal' as you can get, and let the shower run. I like the shower. It feels like soft, warm rain. I think we should get them installed at home if we ever have the money, which is unlikely.
After five minutes, I'm out, and I dry myself using the soft, white towels that seem to have materialised on the floor of the shower-room whilst I was in the shower. Yet again, they feel very nice to use. Everything here, from the lighting arrangement to the towels to the beds seem superior to their equivalents at home. I guess I should make the most of them while I can. I clothe myself in the shirt and the trousers made of the unfamiliar fabric. They feel strange on my legs at first, but by the time I leave my compartment for supper, I feel very comfortable in them.
The dining car is even more luxurious than my compartment. It is one open room, which seems to be divided into three sections. In the nearest section, there are several leather chairs and sofas arranged around a glass coffee table. There's also a large flat-screen TV on the wall, showing news broadcasts from the Capitol. As we never hear news of anything that happens outside of Four, none of it means anything to me. Maddie is talking quietly and quickly to Mags, her mentor, in hushed tones across the coffee table, mugs of steaming drinks in their hands, a plate of biscuits on the table.
The end section contains two long wooden tables, running horizontally to the direction of the train. Both are fully laden with all sorts of food, most of which I couldn't name. There are many types of meat, which is something we hardly ever eat in Four, as well as more familiar alternatives, mackerel, haddock and tuna, for we pretty much live off of fish in District 4. There are all sorts of fruit, most I can't name. Many breads, grains, vegetables; everything, really. It's all there. And all looking so much more appetising than it does at home. And at this point I realise I haven't eaten all day, and I'm absolutely starving. I was woken by Finnick before I could feed myself breakfast, and missed my lunch because I was still in the forest with him. At least there's enough food on the tables to feed a small army; I won't sleep hungry tonight.
In the middle of the room, there's a large wooden table with five seats round it; one each for me, Maddie, Finnick, Mags and Flavius. Flavius and Finnick are deep in conversation over what appears to be a rather appetising meal of beef (at least I think it is), assorted vegetables (most of which I don't know) and potatoes, all of which is covered in gravy. As I walk over to them, Flavius gestures for me to join them, and I pull up a chair next to Finnick.
"Ah, Ludovic, we were just discussing the plan for the next week until the start of the games," starts Flavius.
"Please, it's Ludo," I say to Flavius. Nobody really uses my full name anymore.
"As you wish, Ludo," he replies, emphasising my name.
"As I'm sure you know, a key factor in winning the games is the input from sponsors, who give you gifts while you're in the arena," says Finnick, picking up Flavius' train of thought. Now, in order to get many sponsors, you have to get people to like you. In order to get a good image, you need to trust that me and your stylist know what we're doing." finishes Finnick.
"What if I don't like what my stylist's doing?" I say, getting up to grab a drink from the table.
"You will," Finnick say, giving me a reassuring smile. "You've got the same stylist I had last year."
I'm not sure what to make of this. Maybe Finnick will be able to help me know what to expect, maybe he won't. On one hand, he'll be able to predict what the stylist may do. On the other, this year they might try a totally different approach.
"You'll first meet your stylist, Julia, tomorrow morning in the Remake Centre," continues Flavius briskly. "You'll spend the day with her getting prepared for the tributes' parade during the opening ceremonies tomorrow evening."
I've seen the parades on TV before. All the tributes paraded on chariots through the centre of the Capitol to the City Circle, where President Coriolanus Snow officially opens the Hunger Games. All the tributes are dressed according to the main industry of their district, which for District 4 is fishing. Many a year has gone by with our tributes being paraded through the Capitol dressed as fishermen. All the tributes seem to be caricatures, as though the Capitol stylists are making a mockery of the Districts. And yet the Capitol citizens love it. I hope Julia has different plans for my parade attire.
I grab a mug from the end of the table and pour myself some coffee from a large kettle. I take a sip. I've always thought I loved coffee, but this is in a different league to the coffee I have at home. This is the proper stuff made from ground coffee granules, from the actual plant. It's so rich, so much nicer than the version of coffee we have back home in District 4.
I take the drink back to the table, and enjoy a hearty dinner of mackerel fillets, rice and mushrooms all covered in a thick, creamy white sauce.
I try to keep the conversation over the dinner table to small talk, and avoid mentioning the games, or, in particular, Maddie. I'm relieved when both Flavius and Finnick finish before me and retire to bed.
By now, the sun has set in the clear Panem sky, and a purple tinge is left faintly hanging just above the horizon. Mags has gone to bed too, leaving Maddie alone playing solitaire on the coffee table.
I can't just leave her alone. I have to go and talk to her again. I've most likely only got a few days to live, and I'd rather spend them with her than without.
"Hey," I say casually as I sit down on the sofa next to her.
"Oh, hey Ludo," she says, looking up at me. Ludo. At least she's not so distant to stop using my nickname. Maybe all our friendship hasn't been lost.
"What a long day..." I venture, trying to get a conversation going.
"Tell me about it." Some of then old sarcasm. Maybe she hasn't changed so much.
"Well...-"
"-It was sarcasm, dear."
Alright, all the old sarcasm's there, and I'm hit by such a burst of regret over what has come between us that my mind goes numb. I find that, no matter what my body might tell me about survival, even if I had to, I wouldn't be able to kill the girl sitting next to me. She means too much.
"Got any ideas about the arena yet?" There. It's done. I've brought up the games, the overhanging pressure. This probably won't end well.
"Yeah, me and Mags have a rough plan worked out. Of course it all depends how well I adapt to certain things in training."
Well, that's more of a plan than I've got. I haven't even begun to think about my arena tactics. I was hoping Finnick, having been in the arena before himself, will know which of my traits will be of the most use. Thinking about it, it might not be that simple.
"What sort of plans have you got, then?" I ask cautiously.
"Sorry, Ludo. Can't tell you that. Mags said not to tell anyone my strategies, to keep as much as possible to myself. After all, we're all enemies in the arena, right?"
I feel like I've just been slapped. I'm so stunned I find myself staring at the coffee table in shock. She doesn't trust me. Not only doesn't she trust me, but if it came to it, she wouldn't have any difficulty killing me. And I thought we might be able to stay friends.
Just as the silence begins to get awkward, all the lights in our car dim to almost nothing, and the TV turns on, displaying the Capitol seal and blaring out the national anthem of Panem. This must be some sort of compulsory viewing. And then I remember that this will be the replay of the Reaping, so that all the district people can see the Reapings in the other districts and get a first look at the tributes for this year's Hunger Games. And, sure enough, I'm soon greeted by Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickermann, the perpetual faces of the Hunger Games, the commentators and announcers.
"Good evening, and welcome the 66th Annual Hunger Games!" began Templesmith.
"Well, this year's reaping has thrown it all out for us, and tonight we'll be showing the highlights of the Reapings from right across Panem!" added Flickermann. Well, I guess that could be worse. I guess that if the Reaping has 'thrown it all out," there's a varied group of tributes. Not too many powerhouses then. Hopefully just one. I look across to Maddie, and although it's difficult to see in near-dark, her face seems expressionless. Maybe she hasn't read as far into Flickermann's words as I have.
Now the highlights from the Reaping in District 1 are being shown, and, oddly, no volunteer comes forward in the boy's Reaping. This is incredibly odd as each year, Districts 1 and 2 both train one boy and one girl each to volunteer at the Reaping. Along with our tributes, the tributes from One and Two make up the careers, so these tributes more often then not end up as Victors. That's why District 4 has had 15 Victors in 65 Hunger Games, including the very first Games. Only Two has had more Victors, at 17. In Two, there are the usual two volunteers, though they look like less of a threat than to previous years.
Fortunately, Three holds no real threats, two small, shy, ashen-skinned children, both of whom are fourteen and could pass for eleven.
Then it's our district, and I find myself watching my own Reaping. It seems just like the one I had to watch last year, only this time, no young bronze-haired boy runs out to volunteer for me. From the commentator's expressions, my Reaping has been more of a talking point than I expected. Not because of who I am, but because I have been chosen twice in two years. Maddie is barely spoken about in the brief analysis of our Reaping, before they move on to District Five.
District 5 has two tributes that barely make an impression on me, as does Six. A brother and sister are chosen from District 7, a man-mountain in Nine, and a twelve-year-old boy in Twelve. Other than that, none of the remaining tributes to be shown make much of an impression.
I look across to Maddie. "Anyone you're watching out for?" I ask.
"The usual suspects. One and Two, the lad from Nine. Other than those, I should cope fine."
I nod back, not wanting to talk any more. Suddenly I feel weak. She isn't threatened by me. Maybe she's worked out I'll never manage to kill her. Maybe she sees me as a weakling. Or maybe she's calling my bluff, and just won't admit to being to being threatened by me. Whatever she thinks, I should stop thinking about it. And I should stop thinking about her, too. Compassion is a weakness in the arena.
By the time I return from my thoughts, Caesar Flickermann is now interviewing the Head Gamemaker, Tiberius Greenwood, and the two Assistant Head Gamemakers, Seneca Crane and my namesake, Ludovic Fawkes. Little they say matters to me, except that they say that they took a radical approach to designing this year's arena. I guess that means the possibilities are almost endless, especially if they're trying something new. I always expected this year to be hard, though. We had everything our way last year. That's why Finnick made it back.
The interview draws to a close, and both me and Maddie get up and head back to our own rooms to get some sleep for the night. I can't imagine I'll get a good night's sleep after all the stress I've been through today, but I can only try.
I feel so tired that I don't bother to change before wrapping myself up in my bedsheets, and let sleep take me.
