Chapter Six – A Fiery Dinner
Immediately, the four of them were guided by Peacekeepers through the Justice Building doors behind them. Hamish didn't have a chance to say goodbye to Aberforth as he was whisked away alongside Bruce the brute and Adina Gala into cars. Hamish and Ella were also divided and directed into rooms where they would dwell for an hour with visits from loved ones.
When the door slammed shut behind Hamish, he turned and felt his jaw drop slightly. The room was beautiful and he almost forgot that he was now a tribute and should be planning some sort of strategy for the Games ahead. That could wait for later, for his eyes were now feasting on the velvet carpet and chairs the colour of royalty, the gold-bordered portraits of faces Hamish knew not and the smooth, shiny, wooden table.
Again, he heaved to rid some of the tension, but found most of it had already passed; this did worry him slightly but at the same time, he wasn't going to complain too much.
He'd barely taken a seat on one of the plush couches, when the door banged open and his mother stumbled in, supported by Made and Damon. Hamish pushed himself up and brought his shaking, sobbing mother into a hug. She clumsily put an arm round him, her mouth chattering as she tried to contain her crying.
'Mum, please, please stop,' Hamish said because he himself was threatening to break down: the reality of being a tribute had only just hit him. There was only a one in twenty-four chance of him being able to see her again. He held her out at arm's length, his steady hands on her shoulders.
'Don't worry, Mum,' pleaded Hamish. 'I'll be back before you know it.' He wished he could believe those words himself. She nodded and sniffed.
Hamish turned to Damon and Marge. They were both pale with shock. Without a word, Hamish hugged them each in turn, feeling his eyes burning up again.
'Please don't leave her.'
'Don't be stupid, dear,' said Marge with a small laugh and rubbing his back. 'Do you really think we'd leave her?'
'Of course we'll take care of her still,' murmured Damon. 'You just worry about yourself, OK?'
'Thank you,' whispered Hamish. The doors were thrust open and Peacekeepers escorted the three of them out. Hamish managed to give his mother his love, and then they were gone.
He shut his eyes, enclosing that image of his mother's face in his eyelids, trying to print it forever in his memory. It would give him something to hold on to in the next few weeks, something to spur him on. Something to help him survive.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. Who else would come in to say goodbye? He could only think of Aberforth, but he was already on his way to the train station as his mentor. There was no one else that loved him.
The minutes ticked by. He simply stood there, thinking. Of course no one would come in. He had trust issues and always struggled meeting new people. Maybe it was his father's fault, the way in which he'd left Hamish to live within the confines of his home. He was the reason Hamish couldn't go to school and make friends.
This is what hurt the most so far. Not being handcuffed to a chair. Not the pain of walking into the square on Reaping Day. Not being chosen as a tribute to kill or be killed. But that he was going to die alone, with only a handful of people weeping over his coffin. And if by some miracle he did come out the Games alive, how many friends would that win him? None. Except in the Capitol, where the victor is praised and loved for putting on such an entertaining display.
A wave of anger hit him from nowhere as he remembered how the people of District 12 rolled their eyes and snorted when he'd chosen Aberforth to mentor him. And if District 12 had laughed, how on earth would the other districts react? They probably see this year's Games already as a competition between twenty-three tributes. Well, he'd show them. Hamish would be the one sniggering when they all found out how worthy Aberforth was.
He sighed: no wonder he was bad at making friends.
The hour passed and the doors opened again. Hamish had been unmoving the whole time, simply standing there, gazing at the door behind which all the terrors of the next few weeks were kept, the gateway to the next nightmare. He followed the Peacekeepers out, down a few corridors and straight into the waiting car.
The journey to the train station was short. Hamish barely had time to admire and run a finger along the glossy leather seats when they pulled up again. He could hear the clicking and see the flashing of cameras at the station as they filmed the live coverage of the journey to the Capitol. Hamish ducked out the door that had been opened by a security guard and put on what he hoped was a casual half-smile. He saw Ella waiting in her grey dress in front of the train. The dress was notably unattractive but Hamish couldn't help but think Ella would still look good in virtually anything. She was smiling widely at the cameras and Hamish saw her teeth. White. Even. Dazzling.
The cameramen where screaming enthusiastically at Hamish to get a shot of the two of them and Hamish obliged. Ella spotted him approaching and grinned mischievously. He simply had to return it. Alongside each other, Hamish found he was only an inch or so taller than her. The two of them waved a few times before backing into the train. The doors slid shut and the paparazzi where closed off. The train zoomed off immediately.
'Wow,' whispered Ella. Hamish looked at her and followed her gaze, which scanned the whole carriage.
'Wow' summed it up. The room in the Justice Building seemed like nothing compared to the luxury of this train. Hamish supposed this was simply a downtime chamber, a place to relax and talk. Small mahogany tables were surrounded by squashy velvet armchairs. There were also glass bowls of nibbles that accommodated salted nuts, flower-shaped crisps and cubes of cheese of every colour. Vases of incredible flowers decorated the sills and other tables. Outside the window, District 12 passed almost in a blur.
'Ah, here they are!'
From the bottom of the carriage emerged Adina in her bright-blue coat. She toddled over to them, beaming. On her way she plucked a purple cube of cheese from a bowl and popped it in her mouth.
'Mm, I love it! Ella and Hamish, my darlings, there's so much you need to see! I'll take you to your rooms, where you can have a nice wash in time for dinner in an hour. How does that sound? But make sure you're not late. Come on, quickly!' she exclaimed breathlessly, clearly shocked that they weren't as thrilled as she was. Ella and Hamish exchanged amused expressions but followed Adina with some anticipation.
Their escort was right. There was so much they needed to see. It turned out each tribute and mentor had they own section of the train. Not only did Hamish have a deluxe bedroom with a double bed and huge en suite with an actual shower, but his chests of drawers were bulging with brand new trousers and shirts made of fine material that must have arrived straight from District 8. He had his own dressing area, which had so many mirrors it made the room look twice as large. Everywhere he looked there was a new type of exotic flower or weird glass ornament. Yes, it was sickeningly beautiful and overly-glamorous, but he couldn't help but love it.
For the first time ever, he stepped into a shower and fiddled with the brass knobs and dials until a relaxing temperature of water gushed out. He hadn't washed for quite some time in fact and it felt so good to see all the grubbiness falling down the plug. He slapped on what could well have been every brand of shampoo and lotion and rubbed his skin clean. Then he just stood there in the hot rain as it washed away some of his nerves.
He wrapped himself in fluffy white towels and entered his dressing area again, plonking himself on a seat as his body cooled off. He wondered how long it would take for him to take all this for granted if he were to stay in the Capitol permanently. Not long, he supposed. After all, it was easier to adapt to a luxury than to an austerity. He entertained himself for a few moments as he pictured Adina living in a shack in District 12.
On his dressing table was an array of hair styling products. They were in a range of colours, but he opted for a brownish hue to match his hair, just in case they turned out to be dyes as well. He had some fun arranging his hair into different shapes and moulds, but he was no beauty expert. In the end he chose what he trusted to be a fashionable wavy style, though it could have looked as though he just got out of bed. He slipped into some beige trousers, fastened on a black belt, and put on a plain white top.
Adina knocked on his door at this point, telling him that dinner was about to be served. He answered the call and at the last second remembered his wand, which was still in his Seam trousers. He fished it out the pocket, glad he hadn't thrown the trousers away yet, and slotted it into his new pocket. Luckily these pockets were deeper and buried the whole wand. He smoothed his top and made his way to the dining room.
The dining room was more magnificent still. A glistening chandelier overlooked the long wooden table, which supported more enchanting flowers and pristine cutlery. The windows were higher and now displayed fields of plump cows and a pinking sky as evening approached.
It turned out Hamish was the first here but he had barely taken a seat when the doors opened again and Ella and Aberforth strolled in. Ella looked stunning in a flowery pink dress, her hair even blonder and wavier. Despite this, Aberforth had caught Hamish's eye more. His beard and hair was like cotton wool and he was in a spotlessly white suit. Add the smile, and he looked twenty years younger. He continued his light conversation with Ella as they approached and Hamish was relieved to see they'd broken the ice so soon.
'Sometimes it's more mind over matter,' Aberforth was saying. 'Sometimes you forget that the other tributes are faking a personality to make themselves look a threat. Which is why, no matter what you get told to say and act like, your mindset never changes. Isn't that right, boy?' he said to Hamish.
'Absolutely,' said Hamish, who had been listening as intently as Ella to that last snippet.
'I love your hair, Hamish!' Ella suddenly exclaimed, taking the seat on his left.
'Thanks,' grinned Hamish as his stomach flipped. 'You look great yourself.'
'Aw, thank you!' she said with a huge smile. Aberforth took the seat opposite Hamish, who caught his wink.
'But as for Aberforth, I think he look beautiful,' said Hamish, which sobered up Aberforth at once. He snorted and said, 'I swear, no one will catch me in a shower for that long ever again.'
Hamish burst out laughing but stopped almost at once, for the doors had opened once more. Bruce and Adina entered. It looked as though they'd had some sort of heated argument outside, for Adina's smile wasn't quick enough to hide an irritated expression that was there moments ago, and her wig was slightly lop-sided. Bruce was looking as formidable as ever in a bulging black suit with no trace of happiness at his new lifestyle in the train.
The two took seats and a terrible silence settled over the carriage. They all began slurping the hot orange soup, with only the noise of Adina blowing on every spoonful to listen to. She also kept giving Hamish nervous glances for some reason and he did his best to ignore her. Eventually, she came down in all of a fluster and hastily muttered something about needing the toilet.
When the following silence became too unbearable, Aberforth decided to break it.
'So tomorrow we prepare for the interviews. Now I'm no expert at this, but I suggest you each go for a personality that suits you well. We're not redesigning your character, just enhancing it. Hamish, I'm thinking calm and casual, possibly mysterious –'
'Yeah, mysterious would work just fine,' butted in Bruce. 'Maybe we should have him stealing the interviewer's microphone or something, huh?'
Hamish's heart dropped. What he'd feared would happen was now a reality. He couldn't continue like this. He had to condense all his worries into the arena. He couldn't afford petty things like this outside of it.
'What do you mean?' queried Aberforth, but Hamish could tell Aberforth was putting two and two together. He surely recognised Bruce as the local butcher and knew Hamish had nearly stolen from him in the market, because Hamish had told him himself. Ella had looked down, embarrassed by her father's outburst. How much did she know?
'Nothing,' said Bruce, glaring down the table at Hamish. 'Mysterious is perfect for him. All thieves are mysterious –'
'Look here, pal,' interrupted Aberforth impatiently. 'We have to start cooperating, because, actually, I want District 12 to have a victor, and I really believe this will be our first year. I'm sure Ella wants to win as much as Hamish and –'
'Yes, I expect Hamish would love to win, so he wouldn't have to steal from the market and he can feed his mummy and –'
'You leave my mother well out of this,' spat Hamish, his fist balling around his spoon.
'Oh, found a soft spot have we?' taunted Bruce, his fat face smug. 'Not as brave as you were a few weeks ago are you?'
'Dad, shut up –' began Ella angrily, but Hamish had slammed his spoon down and began storming out the dining room. On his way, Bruce stuck out a leg and caught Hamish's foot. He kept his balance and spun on his heel. In one motion, he grabbed the neck of Bruce's shirt in one hand, picked him up and literally threw him across the room. He crashed into a table of vases which shattered into a million pieces. All the aggravation and sorrow that had built up inside Hamish, all the thoughts of meeting his death soon, the taunt about his mother had now reached a level he couldn't deal with.
'I'M NOT YOUR ENEMY!' he bellowed in a voice that made the chandelier shimmer. He saw with some satisfaction that Bruce's cheek was bleeding. 'The enemy are in those trains ahead of us, planning on how to kill me and your daughter!'
Bruce climbed his way into a standing position so quickly that Hamish, now acting upon a defensive instinct, drew his wand from his pocket; just as Bruce did exactly the same.