Beetee is no better by reaping day, which makes none of us happy. Mother and I drop by his house on the way out to refill his water and give him another dose of the antibiotics, for all the good they seem to do. He musters enough energy to raise a hand in greeting, but his attempt to sit up and say hello turns into another fit of the hacking cough, at the end of which he falls limply back into the cushions.
"I'll call and…and tell you…"
The words fall away like usual, but he flicks his fingers in a shooing motion so I assume he understands, and step back to help Mother with the stack of empty water bottles.
"I'll stop by on the way back with some of that apple puree and toast," she tells him as he takes the white pills that should help bring down the fever.
He pulls a face, at the taste or the thought of trying to keep down food I'm not sure, and murmurs something that might be thanks before another coughing fit takes him. I hate seeing him so weak, the man who saved my life and has played a major role in dragging me back to sanity. I wish more than anything that he could be there beside me during these Games to catch me when my tribute falls. Instead I mutter a goodbye and hurry downstairs where the others are waiting.
Two gleaming black cars are standing by manned by Games drivers to ensure we get to the reaping on time. By the time we reach them they have already loaded my small case of clothes and much larger case of tools and toys and sketchbooks into the boot. Cupros gives an unintelligible grunt of greeting as we pass him loading his own luggage into the second car. Father will ride with him so that we're not all squished in our car. The two of them get along surprisingly well considering I never pictured Cupros being friendly with anyone. My father is the quiet, introspective sort, not that much younger than the surly, lonely old victor, and occasionally spends an evening playing checkers or backgammon with him in the cluttered house full of empty bottles.
Cupros is doubly sour this year because he thought he was finally getting a break in the mentoring, a well deserved break that Beetee and I have both promised he will have next year, and several more after. Hopefully he won't take it out on the tributes.
No, I won't let him take it out on the tributes.
As we pull away from the house that has become home I realise Balia is trembling next to me. She has two entries in this year's reaping but surely, surely fate wouldn't be that cruel. She and Malcy will never have to take tesserae, but that won't necessarily save them from being drawn. Odds are odds and a low probability isn't the same as zero.
Malcy is squirming a little in the boosted seat on the other side and she instinctively reaches out to him, humming softly to calm him down. I join in the counterpart tune and her shoulders visibly relax. Her hand slips into mine as we pass through our old neighbourhood, eerily silent and empty as the buses will have already departed for the square. The drive is a lot quicker in these sleek black cars, a few shortcuts through side-roads too narrow for the buses and no wait in line sees us there well before the 11 o'clock ceremony. We park in the narrow road behind the Justice Building, in one of the yellow-marked reserved spaces, and I feel a bit giddy when I step out, as though I really shouldn't be here in this special area.
Malcy manages to restrain himself to a few sniffles and a kiss on the cheek when Balia leaves for the sign-in desk, and kisses me also when I head off for the stage. The rest of the family will stay near the back here so I can see them one last time before I go, and so that they don't have to fight back through the press of the crowd to the cars when the ceremony is done.
Mayor Redden greets me by name as I slip onto the stage area and clasps my hand for an uncomfortably long time, smiling all the while.
"Terrible shame about Beetee. The poor fellow'll be right soon I'm sure. We'll look after him while you're away, don't you worry about that. You just keep an eye on…"
"Oh you must be WIRress. Oh I'm so excited to meet the reigning victor! Though of course you won't be soon, no no NO! That title will belong to someone new, isn't that exCITing?"
A flash of green and yellow dances across my vision and for a moment I'm back in the Arena, back in the maze where everything was fuzzy green and deadly. As my breath catches, something taps my shoulder lightly, then settles and I hear Cupros' wheezy whisper in my ear.
"Easy girl."
I look down and start to lower the upraised hand, fingers wrapped around an imaginary knife-hilt when it is grabbed and pumped up and down excitedly.
"Ooh you're taller than I thought, so skinny though. But it's a pleasure all the same."
The blur of color refocuses in the form of a short woman with a puff of sunflower-yellow curls twirling out over layers and layers of green frills. A vivid red flower perched on top of the garish yellow hair bobs and sways with her jittery excitement as she peers around.
"It's very drab out here isn't it? How do you manage without a splash of color? Oh and you must be…er…Copperis? Yes a pleasure too. And where is …erm…Bertie? He must be here soon or he will miss all the FUN!"
"Ahem."
Mayor Redden's face contorts as he tries to force off the grimace in favour of a smile.
"I don't believe Beetee will be making it today. He's quite unwell. Wiress, Cupros, this is our new Capitol escort-"
"Gloria Goldacre," the woman interrupts again, squeezing my hand so hard that my fingers begin to tingle. "I'm so excited they let me take a victor's district, I'm new you see. My very first year, oh I can't WAIT!"
I can feel the low panic starting to rise again at her continued clamping grip and try to draw my hand free, but she clamps down harder. My breath catches in my throat and I yank my fingers free, half stumbling back into Cupros who catches me instinctively and re-settles my balance.
Gloria turns back to me and opens her mouth to say something, but Mayor Redden interrupts.
"Ahem, well we should probably take our places."
This grabs Gloria's attention and she flounces of, flower hat and frills bouncing to the centre of the stage. Mayor Redden heaves a long-suffering sigh and follows after her to where the crew have finished adjusting the microphone stand.
Cupros articulates a grunt of disgust and shoves forward to his own seat, where he slumps with his face in his hands, shading his eyes from the occasional flashes of bright sun through the thinned smog layer. Suddenly I'm all alone standing off to the side of the stage, looking out over the rows of children filing into their roped pens. I can't see Balia in the thirteens area yet; she's probably still in line. The tiny twelve-year-olds are huddled to the front, quaking with fear at their first reaping.
The shadowy figures get a little bigger as they go back, still undersized compared to the children of so many of the districts. With the Career pack gunning for them more than usual, how will any of them have a chance? I'm half-hoping that the tributes this year are somewhat helpless. It's cruel and cold, and I hate myself a little for it, but realistically we aren't going to have another victor this year and it would be a waste of a strong contender to such a fate.
Better to let the Careers have their revenge, let them see our weakness and leave us alone again in future Games. A shame for this year's tributes, but something has to give.
I don't much care for the reappearance of the callous voice inside me that got me through my Games, but I can't deny it will be helpful to get through the next few weeks. I shudder and wander to my seat, where I discover the reflected glare from the nearby building shutters is incredibly unpleasant and quickly copy Cupros's pose.
"Terrible, ain't it?" he mutters, throwing a glare towards our new Escort, who has started in about the ugly chimney stacks visible on the factories ruining the uninteresting skyline. I bury my face further into my hands and lose myself in imaginings of the inner workings of my improved miniature solar car until I hear the clock chime.
The roped areas have swelled full of shifting, dark-haired figures, with thousands more cramming the edges of the square to form a sea of glistening black hair and gray shirts that spills into the side-streets. The whistle of conversation dies down as Redden steps up to the stand and begins his annual spiel. On the far side of Cupros I can hear Gloria's impatient shifting and excited breaths as she waits on her introduction. The mumbling winds down with an introduction of the previous victors. Cupros as usual ignores the scattered applause which continues over to the mention of the absent Beetee. My announcement is greeted with a more enthusiastic cheer; the months of food from my victory and the extra jobs from the new factories has meant a good year for most.
When Gloria is given her cue she bounds to the microphone, nearly stumbling in her enthusiasm.
"Yes, hello hell-LO District Three, I am so excited to be your new Escort. I'm sure we will have a wonderful time together cheering on our tributes and soon to be victors! So let's get down to it and meet our wonderful, brilliant tributes for the Forty-ninth Annual Hunger Games! Ladies first of course!"
She delivers the words so fast that I don't have time to worry about Balia before she has the name out of the bowl. My breath catches for a second while Gloria clears her throat and unfolds the slip to reveal the girl who will pay with her life for my victory.
"Allasan Pinto."
We all look out over the rows of heads where the stillness is broken near the middle of the ranks. The crowd parts to let Allasan through and I breathe a half-sigh of relief when I see her trembling, tear-stained face. Fifteen, smaller than even our undersized average, unattractive and clearly terrified. She would never have made it anyway.
"Lovely, lovely, yes. Come up here dear. Congratulations! And now for the gentlemen."
Gloria claps her hands twice then bounces over to the other bowl.
"And our other tribute will be….Elmett Tam. Wonderful, up you come."
She bounces on her heels, grin plastered to her face while Elmett makes his way from the back of the square. Cupros grunts as the boy climbs the steps and stands centre stage for the reading of the treaty. Elmett looks to be average in every way: Around my height and age, flat black hair, unassuming features, blank expression. Thin wire glasses held together with electrical tape rest on a short, flat nose; long-fingered hands clench and unclench, then wipe the sweat on the back of his shirt.
He might have had a chance in another year. Maybe still does have a chance to escape the bloodbath.
"..one boy and one girl…"
I wonder if they are thinking what I was thinking this time last year? One last look at the district they will probably never see again. Trying to spot their friends and family in the crowd. Plotting their strategy already perhaps.
Once the treaty ends the pair shake hands and are hurried off into the Justice Building to say their final farewells to their loved ones. The crowd below begins the slow process of dispersing back to their homes, the wash of sudden chatter filling the air. Mayor Redden is piling up his cue cards and speaking to an assistant until his son runs up from the front roped area to hug him.
All the while we're just sitting here doing nothing. I turn to Cupros, who gives another grunt and hauls himself to his feet.
"I suppose you want to see your folks now before we go. Better get out quick before canary-curls corners you again."
I snuff a laugh at his nickname and take his advice, slipping down the steps away from the approaching Gloria back to where the cars are parked. Everyone but Balia is there already, including Ezra and Laney. The farewells are so much easier to say now that we know I'll return in one piece, at least physically, and once my sister fights her way through the crowd to join us it feels like just another Sunday with the family. Until Cupros joins us, looking even more sour from half an hour of being talked at by Gloria and reminds us we should probably be on our way. One last round of hugs and kisses and a quick shift of luggage and Cupros and I are off to the train station, to begin our unwanted journey escorting two children to their deaths.
Cupros dodges the small pack of reporters and heads straight for the bar carriage while the attendants haul our luggage on-board. I pretend not to hear the handful of shouted questions and slip on-board after him, puttering about my room for a bit, until I see the car carrying our tributes pull up.
Allasan is still trembling as she makes her way aboard, Elmett is still ambivalent blandness and outwardly calm. Gloria is bouncing between them, revelling in the flash of the cameras and blowing kisses that will never be seen on screens showing far more interesting districts.
Much as I'd like to hole up in my room and play with my toys until we reach the Capitol I have a duty to this girl whose death will be added to the blood on my hands. Cupros is nowhere to be seen as I slip into the dining car. Two attendants are at work putting the final touches to a pile of fruits that will serve as a table centrepiece. From their silent nods I assume they are Avoxes and wave at them to continue on while I take a seat. Already the gray blocky strip of buildings has faded away amidst the surrounding wastelands, our scenery for the next hour or so.
The carriage door clatters open and Gloria marches in, still talking nineteen to the dozen.
"Oh and I do hope…ah yes, good the food is ready. Oh, Wiress, you're here already. Good good. I've told the children to change and come meet us for lunch, but where is Cappus? He must be here soon. Oh he must have lost track of time, I'll go fetch him. Don't you move a muscle dear! I'll do it and be right back! A team, that's what we need to be. And…"
Still nattering, she bustles out the other door and I restrain the impulse to follow and see how annoyed Cupros is when she corners him. I go back to staring out the window until the rattle of the door, much softer this time, catches my ears. Allasan looks terrified as she peeks around the frame, her ill-fitting gray-green dress replaced with a long, sweeping affair of pink and white silk.
While I know she is headed to her death, I can at least fulfil this part of my mentoring duties and force a smile.
"Come in."
She smiles shyly back and scurries to the empty seat to my right. As she sweeps out the skirts to sit she spots the piles of food sitting out ready and stops, mouth open.
"Is…is it all for us?"
I nod and she sits with a soft thump, stomach rumbling audibly at the smell. Soft footsteps precede Elmett's entrance, and for the first time I see a flicker of emotion cross his face as he looks around at the opulent spread. Disgust, that such splendour can't be shared with those who need it far more than two children being sent to their deaths.
He too has changed from his graying shirt and too-loose trousers into a smart dark suit and silver tie. Bland and ordinary, but the cut suits him well. Smart boy, doesn't want to obviously stand out, but knows how to get subtly noticed. Unlucky enough to be picked in completely the wrong year. Unlucky to be picked at all, I guess. He sits silently on Allasan's other side as the nasal chirping reaches our ears from the other corridor.
"…it's really all a matter of presentation, you see. I've been watching what the Escorts from Districts like One and Four do, and it's mostly a matter of putting the extra effort in and…oh, you're all here, lovely. Well, don't stint yourselves my dears, you could both do to put on some weight. As I was saying, presentation, presentation! The sponsors won't back them if they don't look like they'll last you know."
She flashes her unnaturally white smile around the table, seemingly not bothered by our silent response. The unspoken anger at a woman who I know doesn't know any better, and probably honestly thinks she's doing the best she can for these poor children. No-one moves for a few seconds, so I take the lead and reach out for one of the plates, loading it with salad and stew from a steaming silver dish. Hesitantly the pair follow my lead, and for the next hour we pile down food while Gloria continues to yammer.
Allasan eats like the food will vanish off her plate if she looks away for a second, and I try to be a little gladdened that she'll get a few decent meals before she dies. It doesn't help. I tune out Gloria and alternate between staring at my food, swirling patterns of sauce and smeared vegetables on the plate and staring out the windows where the dry wasteland is slowly replaced by forests, then quarries as we pass through the outer reaches of District Two.
They'll already be in the Capitol, disembarking to the raucous cheers and adulation that follows their volunteers, whoever they are. The way their system seems to work suggests a pre-selection of sorts, and if the selectors are previous victors then I suspect the tributes will be a little less honorable this year. Had Halifax killed Jasper when he had the chance last year, instead of letting him sleep and waiting for a fair fight he would almost definitely have won. I doubt I could have taken him, and I'm fairly sure he would have handled Sparrow, regardless of projectiles. It was his honor that got him killed in the end. That and being distracted by me at a critical moment.
So we'll have both Districts One and Two gunning for our tributes. And Four of course because of what I did to Francis and Damian. Wonderful.
Once the table is exhausted and the plates are removed Gloria claps her hands loudly and sends the children back to their rooms to 'prepare themselves for the most wondrous disembarkerment in a just a few short hours.'
Elmett rolls his eyes, looking momentarily like a taller, older version of my deceased district partner Stuvek that my breath catches for a second. They both go, probably as much to escape our Escort as to actually prepare, leaving the Capitolian to focus her conversation in on us.
"..and of course we'll have to get some new suits made up. That style went out of fashion years ago, you won't be winning any sponsors with that, no, no, no. Oh, and if we could get them to do your hair like you had it during the Victory ceremony, yes with the curls and the flowers. Oh it really did make such a difference to your public appeal. Not that you needed it right after winning the Games. But you will now, I mean that was last year and you want people to remember you in your moment of glory."
I nearly ask whether I should find myself some torn clothing and a bloody knife to help remind them too, and go back to drawing smeary brown stew spirals until the impulse passes. Finally Cupros shifts to his feet, grunts something that might contain the word 'shower' and leaves me to her tender mercies. Thankfully she either gets the hint or takes his leaving as a reminder of her own preparation needs.
"Oh yes, I suppose I'd better go touch up. Now don't you go neglecting yourself either now that you don't have your prep team. Oh no, we couldn't have that. Just remember if you need help, come and ask, I'll be happy to help anytime!"
She waggles her fingers in a pretentious wave that seems popular in the Capitol as she makes her exit and I let out a sigh of relief at the sudden silence. I could go back to my room and read a book or draw, but getting out of the chair with all this food sitting in my stomach feels like too much effort. Instead I go back to watching the scattered trees and rocky fields flashing by, listening to the gentle humming whirr of the train, the soft clatter of the Avox servers clearing up our remains. The smell of the strawberry icing on the buns, the taste still fresh in my mouth lingers even after they are gone.
The gray and green flickers by as my mind wanders, and it's not until I see the flash of sunset of the distant high plateau that I realize we're nearly there. Gloria returns to marshal the children and make sure they're presentable, because "Presentation is everything! And they won't want to miss seeing the Capitol, it might be their only chance, you know."
Allasan apparently doesn't hear this, but Elmett shoots our new escort a withering glare, and she contents herself with pointing out the few buildings you can pick at this distance until we hit the slope. The sudden black of the tunnel is momentarily disorienting until the lights flicker back on, and Gloria hustles both tributes to the windows in preparation for their grand entrance to the crowd.
"Other window," snaps Cupros as he enters, the stink of liquor more pronounced than before.
"Less you want to show them off to the slummers. The poor and filthy, who probably still earn more in a week than their families do in a month combined."
Royan and Terry's people. The waiters and drivers and servers who struggle and rely on the generosity of others to make a decent living. Gloria purses her lips, but doesn't comment as she shifts the tributes by their elbows to the other side of the carriage. Seconds later we burst out into the light, where a small crowd of on-lookers gives something resembling a cheer.
I keep watching out the other side, where the Capitol's poor live in their 'slums', two and three storey houses holding maybe half-a-dozen tenants. Where families have siblings forced to share a room and can only afford to attend fancy parties or large events a few times a year, usually in out-of-date fashions.
As the train rolls to a halt, Gloria bustles them off to the door for their grand 'disembarkerment', leaving myself and Cupros to trail behind.
"I want the other one back," Cupros grunts as we wait for our turn to exit. "At least he shut up when he was eating."
Gloria's misguided rambling is frustrating, but at least she's not cruel. I shrug and he pulls a face and downs the last of his drink.
"I suppose it's illegal to gag her," he mutters as he shoves the empty glass at an Avox and heaves a sigh, stepping out into the bright light of the Capitol. I decide it's not worth responding where a reporter might hear and follow him.