Chapter 7

The day the knights and squires returned from the coast, Will was out with Laughing Nell. Aram Sklaw had obviously decided that his apprentice needed to let off some steam. Will had been restless since he had flown back into his room. Things of consequence were happening, he was certain, but he didn't know what. The Dark was plotting. It frustrated him.

That evening out, though, he was determined to enjoy himself. It had been more than a week since their last meeting, and he had been looking forward to seeing her again.

They'd gone to the weekly horse race, because Will had said he wanted to be involved in something local and Nell was just pleased that Will had come to her to be his guide around Corus.

"Plonkhead's the favourite to win," Nell was telling him, "And Leapfrog's a rising star."

"What about Bantanamo, over there?" asked Will, pointing at a very ordinary brown-haired gelding.

Nell shrugged, "Bantanamo's been in the races for as long as I can remember. He was never much of a racer that I know of, and he's gettin' t'wards th' age where he'll go t' th' knacker's any day now."

"Oh," said Will, and frowned, which made Nell smile.

"Aw, he's just a horse, it's th' way of th' races, ye know."

"Yeah. C'mon then, who're we going to bet on? Quick before the heat starts."

Minutes later they were sitting down in the common people's stands with fish and chips and a joint eight nobels on Plonkhead.

The horses trotted into their booths. Will tried to make out the riders, but their faces were hidden by makeshift cloth helmets. He supposed modern reinforced helmets hadn't been invented and knights' helmets were too inconvenient.

"Which booth's Plonkhead in again? Is that him in number eight?"

"No, he's in number four, next to Bantanamo." Will could see him now. He felt sorry for the horses who had to be next to the favourite. It must be pretty depressing, he thought.

"If it isn't Laughing Nell," a voice broke into their thoughts, "I thought I recognised your delicious self here. I don't suppose I might join you?"

"Mister Gideon," greeted Nell pleasantly, shooting Will a warning look, "how nice t' see ye. I thought ye were on border patrol this month?"

Will took a good look at the man now. He was lean and of average height, with surprisingly clean, floppy, golden hair. Will instantly disliked him, for his attitude towards Nell and the arrogant way he stood, displaying his myriad scars as though they were medals.

"We were, but the horses all caught some foreign sickness, so we were ordered back so they could be treated. I thought I might come visit you and your lush ladies. My luck must be in, for here you sit, waiting like a gift to be unwrapped."

"Ye're better off goin' t' th' flat if ye're in that mood, Mister Gideon. I'm afraid yer luck's just evaporated, if I'm any judge. I'm on my night-off."

"Funny way you have of showing it, one way or another you seem to be with a man. Though now that I look at him proper-like, he's more boy than man. Any other woman would switch if she had the chance."

Nell smiled disarmingly, and Will pretended not to seethe. "Ye're a joker, for sure, Mister Gideon, but I assure ye a better welcome awaits ye at th' flat than I can give ye."

"A crying shame, too. And a pity to leave you with this mouse. You'll be wanting to set a cat on him before the week's out, that's how boring he looks," with that Mister Gideon departed.

"See ye around then, Mister Gideon," Laughing Nell waved at his retreating back, then turned to meet Will's dark and smoulderingly angry gaze.

"Why do you let him treat you like that?" asked Will, his voice hard and cold as nails.

"Coz he's a customer, Will." Nell took his hand, "He's a regular as well. Politeness is part of our policy. Besides, ye gotta make some allowances. He ain't used t' bein' inferior t' women."

"Inferior?"

"Sure. He's a brutal sorta guy, all he knows is how t' hurt people t' get his way. Since he knows we'll stop servin' him if he dares lay a finger on any of us, well, he says stuff instead."

"You're telling me he's never tried to hurt you then?"

"Damn straight he ain't. He don't dare."

"If he doesn't get what he wants, why doesn't he just move on?"

"He's addicted." Seeing the disgusted look on Will's face, she hurried to explain, "look, what we do, it's kind of like an art. The action side of it, that's just one aspect, I mean there's th' atmosphere and th' location–" she stopped, "alright then, put it like this, why eat mint chocolate over dark or white or milk chocolate? It's coz it's yer favourite, get me? But it's more than that for our Mister Gideon, more powerful. It's an addiction, and on account of that he can't afford t' get himself banned from our flat for bad behaviour."

"Whatever."

"Will, listen t' me. I'm sorry that my way of life upsets ye, and that evidence of it seems t' be just about everywhere, but I can't help it."

"Why don't you get an honest job?"

"Coz all th' big trades only want men for labourers, and th' others won't pay so well. I mean, I make th' most of th' whole flower-sellin' business, but th' money's not exactly brilliant. At th' end of th' day there's only so many flowers people want, y'know? Women aren't s'posed t' work. They're s'posed t' be wives, do what their hubbies tell 'em, and have little kiddies. And help other women have little kiddies, come t' that, but otherwise not do anythin' much 'cept look pretty and tell stories."

"That's rubbish," said Will, appalled.

"Ye been livin' under a rock since birth, have ye then? If my choice is between death, or life and dishonour, then I'll always choose t' live in disgrace. I'm sorry if that makes ye unhappy, but I'm only human, and this life's all I got. I don't want t' lose it so soon."

"It's just so different, I can hardly get my head round it," Will declared, and sighed, "At least explain to me why you put up with pricks like that – that bastard."

"Mister Gideon? Will, ye're not stupid, what kind of a question is that? It's only th' less than honourable men that'll even consider comin' t' see my girls and me. All them moral, upstandin' men, all them as care for their ethics and their immortal souls, they ain't gonna set foot near our flat. We ain't never gonna get the decent sorts, so we gotta make do."

"That's not fair," said Will, disheartened. "Death or dishonour? That's not a choice. What kind of life…? God, and this is real. This happens here. This is happening. It's just not fair."

"Will, life's not fair. Besides, it may not be a good or easy choice to make, t' live th' way I do, but at least th' choice was there. And who knows? I still have time t' make somethin' out of this life, out of myself. Ye watch me."

"I'll see what I can do."

Laughing Nell smiled. Then,

"Ooo look! Old Bantanamo's givin' Plonkhead a run for his money!"

"Really? I thought you said he wasn't much of a racer?" Look at him racing now -

"He ain't, I swear, but every now and again when th' others are tired he pulls off a hat-trick like this. It's what his owners keep him for."

"But we bet on Plonkhead!"

"Don't worry, Plonkhead won't lose."

"Nell, they're tying." Will said, turning away from the race to look at her. A second later he regretted it, as Laughing Nell's eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open:

"Whoa, Goddess! Damn! What a way to end the race!"

People in front of them had stood up so it was a while before Will saw what had happened. When he did, he felt his stomach wrench in distress.

Bantanamo had fallen, whether a shoe had come loose or he'd tripped in a slippery stretch of track-mud or something fundamental in body or mind had given way, Will couldn't know. His rider had been tossed to the ground, but he had already stood up unhurt and was dusting down his jacket and breeches.

No one came to Bantanamo until after the race was finished; until all the other contenders had rushed past his eyes, coating his flank in thrown-up flakes of dust and mud. He lay forlorn, heaving for breath, gasping when it wouldn't come fast enough.

Will, who watched from his place by Nell, was sick to his soul. Another life that was faced with dead-ends, and paths that led their walker nowhere. Except that Bantanamo's looked to be much shorter than Laughing Nell's, and much less hopeful.

Finally, as stable-hands came to treat Bantanamo, Will could no longer find it in himself to stand by and watch.

"Back in a minute," he told Laughing Nell.

"Where're ye goin'?" Nell asked, as the fingers of their hands untangled and fell apart.

"Just to – to take a look at Bantanamo. See what's what."

"Alright. I'll go get our winnin's. Just don't get too, y'know, caught up in it. It's not yer business whether that horse lives or dies, so it ain't worth gettin' sad over."

Too late for that. I've already made it my business. Will thought darkly as he made his way over to the fence separating the track from the viewing area and vaulted easily over.

"Hey, mister, what're ye doin'?" asked the first stable-hand who saw him walking towards the fallen Bantanamo.

"Is he OK?"

The second stable-hand stared at him, then sighed, "Does he look OK?"

No, saw Will despondently, he looks like he may be dying. Will knelt down beside the stable-hands, at Bantanamo's head, and laid his hand on the space between his ears. And willed himself inside. And felt Bantanamo's life as clearly as if he might see a candle, flickering at the end of its wick, the wax all melted and made one with the darkness. An unquenchable darkness that had sucked all of Bantanamo's memories, all of his youth into its maw.

Bantanamo had reached the end of his candle.

But you weren't even that old. Just so tired. Is this how we die? When we are so tired with life that all that's left to us is death? Is it a choice to die?

I won't let you die just yet. I'm sorry for my selfishness, but I can't let you go. Not while it's in my power to make you stay.

With his power, Will breathed oxygen to Bantanamo's sputtering candlelight, and out of age made new wax, and out of fatigue, new wick.

"Hey what're ye doin', mister?" asked a stable-hand nervously.

"Nothing," muttered Will, concentrating.

"Then get your filthy hands off my horse!" ordered Bantanamo's red-faced owner.

Will pried his mind away from Bantanamo and took away his hands.

"Sorry," he said, turning away and walking off, even as Bantanamo's feverish eyes fluttered open and he rose to his hooves.

You're living on extended time. Will thought to the horse. He wanted to tell him to make use of it, but what would that mean to a horse?

He ignored Bantanamo's owner's exclamations of amazement, and returned to Laughing Nell. She looked at him inquisitively, but he shook his head and she smiled.

"Sentimental old twit."

"Shut up."

Laughing Nell kissed him instead.