The Gender Game (18 page)

* * *

V
iggo parked outside Head Office
. I followed him as he swept up the granite stairs, through the steel-gray reception room, and headed directly for an elevator. He punched the button for the sixth—and highest—floor. The doors shuddered and pulled closed. The cables creaked as we ascended and we listened to the sound of each other's breathing until the doors dinged open.

Viggo stepped out into an empty corridor and led me down to a room at the very end of it, a large room with windows that spanned the length of an entire wall. Drawn to the windows, I stared out at the view of Crescent River, the city on one side and the palace on the other. We still weren't high enough for me to be able to see beyond the walls of the palace, though it was the closest I'd ever gotten to the building. I gazed at the windows, and spotted the occasional shadow moving behind them.

I remained standing while Viggo took a seat behind his table and began sifting through a pile of papers. I gazed outside a while longer before joining him. Pulling up a chair opposite him, I took a seat.

I picked up a shiny black pen from a holder and tapped it against the table surface while my feet fidgeted.

"Anything I can help with?" I wondered.

"Nope," he said, not looking up.

I leaned back in my chair, stretching out my arms. Then I took another turn about the room.

"What sort of money do you get paid as a warden… assuming you were getting paid?"

He glanced up at me, raising a brow.

"What?" I asked.

He shook his head and returned his eyes to the papers. "That's not a question you should make a habit of asking around here," he said. "It's not considered appropriate for a woman to ask a man about his earnings."

I narrowed my eyes on him. "So you're not going to tell me?"

The shadow of a smile crossed his lips. Viggo's rebel smile. "If you really want to know, it works out to about four ounces of gold per month."

"And that's considered, like, good pay?" I asked.

"It's, uh, about the highest pay you can expect to receive as a warden."

"I see…" Admittedly, his answer didn't mean a lot to me. I’d never really had a chance to earn income. I'd been locked away too early in my youth. I just remembered getting the occasional silver piece thrown my way by Ms. Connolly when I'd done chores around the orphanage. I'd stored it in a tin box I hid beneath my bed. I wasn't even sure where that was now.

"So you earn double that as a fighter," I went on, leaning against the desk and gazing down at his papers.

"Yeah."

"Hm." I sank back into my chair. Removing my shoes, I lifted my legs and laid my feet to rest on the table.

Viggo looked up again.

"What?" I asked, feigning innocence. "Is this not considered ladylike either?"

At this he chuckled, shaking his head in mild disdain.

Well, I was comfortable like this, and Viggo didn't
actually
mind, so I kept my feet where they were.

In spite of the warden's hardened and usually brooding demeanor, I picked up on a leeway with him that I doubted existed in many other men here. The only way I could think to explain it was the fact that he had been married to a Matrian girl. Marrying her must say quite a lot about him. That he liked a woman who could think for herself. A woman who could challenge him. One whose nature wasn't to be a doormat.

"Do you have any friends?" I found myself asking, interrupting his work again.

"Depends on what you define as a 'friend'," he replied.

"Well, someone you can trust, I guess. Someone you feel comfortable around. Someone you know has your back."

There was a beat before he answered, "Does that really matter to you?"

I shrugged. "Nope."

He clenched his jaw. "Then I'll ask you to keep quiet while I finish this paperwork."

I
stopped annoying
Viggo at his request. I moved to the window and sat down cross-legged on the floor. I gazed out at the city and what I could see of the palace for the next half hour. When I got bored with that, I took the liberty of helping myself to a few spare sheets of paper and a pen. Resuming my position by the window, I sketched the city out of boredom until Viggo announced that he was done.

As we headed out of the building and returned to Viggo's motorbike, the sun was on the verge of setting. He stuffed a couple of papers he had carried with him from the office into the compartment beneath the seat before retrieving two guns and stowing them into his belt. He covered them with his trench coat and then set his sights on the parking lot exit.

"We'll walk from here," he said. "There's a major fight on tonight. A 'big league' fight," he added, using air quotes. "So there may be some accompanying rowdiness."

"Where does the fight take place?" I asked, thinking back to Lee's scientist friends' conversation outside the restaurant. I didn't recall them mentioning the venue.

"Starkrum Stadium. We'll head there now."

We headed to the river bank and walked along the promenade before turning into a street and winding our way toward a giant dome-shaped building. Its walls were white, and at its base was a long set of glass doors, outside of which was a square where a crowd of people had already gathered to wait in line.

"Rosen versus Cruz"
was the headline fight, according to the poster that hung above the entrances.

"How often are there big events like this?" I asked Viggo, my eyes running over the long line of people.

"Sometimes as many as five in a month," he said.

Approaching the building, Viggo led me around its wall, away from the crowd. We stopped outside a back entrance, a single, solid metal door. Viggo pressed a button on the intercom board and a voice crackled through it a few seconds later.

"Your name, please?"

"Croft."

"Okay. Come on in, sir."

The door clicked open and we moved inside. A staircase stood directly in front of us, which took us up to the first floor of the stadium. Surrounding us on either side were row upon row of red seats. I wasn't even sure how to start guessing how many were in here. The stadium held seven such levels altogether.

We moved to the barrier and gazed down toward the center of the building, where a huge cage was fixed. Employees in blue shirts ran about the floors like mice, scurrying to make final preparations before the doors opened. There were food vendors set up strategically, causing a scent of frying oil and fresh bread to pervade the arena.

According to the poster I'd spied outside, the fight was due to start in about fifty minutes. So I guessed that meant people should start being allowed in right about now…

Sure enough, the sound of heavy doors drawing open drifted up from downstairs, followed by thundering footsteps and chattering. There were large groups of men, but also a fair number of couples and families.

I remembered I had to be careful not to make myself too visible, in case Cad was here. I reached into my jacket pocket, where I found the cap I'd been wearing earlier while in my manly disguise. I pulled my hair into a bun before placing the hat on my head and tucking my hair beneath it. Then I lowered the cap so that it shaded my eyes.

Viggo noticed, and gave me an inquisitive look. I didn't need to explain my every action. I let him go on wondering…

He soon repositioned us so that we stood directly opposite the main entrance. I imagined he looked quite intimidating from the ground, in such clear view of everybody entering… this big, towering figure, face stern, eyes sharp, like some kind of presiding deity of the cage.

After about half an hour, Viggo moved us again. He led me down to the ground floor, where he moved with purpose, his eyes fixed in one corner of the room, near the men's restrooms. The next thing I knew, he was running forward toward a bearded man in a faded brown coat, who also suddenly sped up.

The man yelped as Viggo's hand closed around the back of his neck and shoved him up against the wall. Viggo's hand dove into the man's right coat pocket where he pulled out a black wallet.

"I don't think this belongs to you, does it?" Viggo asked, his voice dangerously low. He opened up the wallet, revealing cash and an identity card which, indeed, pictured an entirely different man.

The thief's eyes bulged.

Retaining his grip on the man, Viggo pulled him away from the bathrooms and back toward the exit. Two other wardens were waiting outside the doors. Viggo shoved the thief toward one of the wardens and said, "Thief." He held up the wallet. "Take him downtown."

The warden nodded grimly before taking charge of the man.

Viggo returned with me to the building and headed straight to the front row, where he stopped in front of the man who matched the photo in the wallet. Viggo cleared his throat to get his attention.

"Oh!" the man said, leaping to his feet and patting down his coat disbelievingly. He took the wallet. "I didn't even realize it was missing. Thank you, sir!"

Viggo nodded curtly before turning away and heading back down the aisle to stand at the end of it, where he continued his perusal of the room. Dozens of people eyed Viggo and whispered among themselves, obviously having recognized him. This made me feel even more so that Viggo's excuse for not fulfilling his full potential as a fighter was a load of bull. He was already recognized practically everywhere he went. I couldn't imagine that moving up a league would make that much of a difference in his life when he was already used to being spotted and stared at. There was a deeper reason for Viggo's reluctance to fight, but I knew better than to bring up the subject again.

I turned my thoughts back to the thief. I hated to imagine what lay in store for him. One thing was certain, he wouldn't be going pickpocketing again in a hurry.

Finally, the main doors closed. The lights dimmed, and the spotlights shone down on the cage in the center, as well as two aisles on either side of the stadium where, presumably, the fighters were soon to emerge. Large magnifying screens that I hadn't even noticed before lit up around the arena.

Stirring music blasted from speakers and the screens mirrored the two brightly lit, yet still empty corners of the stadium. Not empty for long though. The first fighter, Rosen, stepped out to a round of cheers. He was dark-haired, six feet tall, and wearing bright red shorts. He beat his fists together, protected by stiff fingerless gloves. He stalked down the aisle, climbed into the cage, and bounced around, flexing his jaw and baring his tooth guard as he waited for his opponent.

Next was Cruz's entrance, to a much lesser welcome than Rosen. Half the crowd booed as he made his way down to the cage. His skin was tanned, and he was also about six feet tall. As the two fighters leveled with each other in the cage and the fight began, I looked discreetly in Viggo's direction. His jaw was set firmly, his expression stoic as he watched the fight begin. Though his eyes still roamed the audience, he was obviously interested in watching the fight.

I wondered what he was thinking. Not even the slightest bit of longing? Of reconsideration?

Who knew? His expression wasn't letting on, so I resumed my focus on the fight.

Cruz, the underdog, was already proving himself to be a very worthy opponent. As the first round progressed, he dominated at every turn, sending Rosen spiraling into defense mode. I found myself clenching my fists as I yelled out instructions to the losing fighter (in my mind).
Come on, get out of the corner! Watch his leg! No! He's going to—

At the beginning of the second round, Cruz took Rosen down, where they began grappling.

I became so wrapped up in the fight, I only realized Viggo had been closely watching me at the end of the second round. As our eyes met, I felt an odd flurry in my chest. It was the idea of him taking interest in me enough to study me, when until now, his general instinct had been to look anywhere but at me.

His expression was curious, with a hint of amusement, his olive eyes reflecting the bright lights. "You really like all this, don't you?"

I nodded, grinning in spite of myself.

He went quiet as the third round began—Cruz still dominating—though I couldn't help but keep glancing at Viggo to see if he was still watching me. He stopped, or at least, didn't get caught by me again.

By the end of the fourth round, Cruz scored a knockout. The stadium erupted in cheers, claps and whistles. Cruz had won himself some new fans.

"Do you want a drink?" Viggo asked me, flexing his shoulders.

"Yeah," I said. The atmosphere was hot and tense.

We moved over to one of the food stalls, where the vendor handed Viggo two bottles of water, free of charge. A perk of being a warden here tonight, apparently.

The water was deliciously cool as it glided down my throat. I breathed out in satisfaction as I downed the whole bottle in less than a minute. I scrunched it up in my hand and aimed it at a trash can. Viggo was slower in finishing his bottle. Now that everyone had a break before the next contenders entered the cage, he was alert again to monitor the crowd.

I joined him in examining the audience… and that was when I noticed a child. A girl wandering down one of the aisles by herself. She looked no older than five. Her blonde hair in bunches, she was clutching a stuffed bear to her chest and looking quite frightened as she gazed around.

I nudged Viggo with my elbow, drawing his attention to the girl as I began to move toward her.

Approaching, I bent down to her level before Viggo could, as I figured she'd take my advance better than his. "You okay?" I asked. "Where are your parents?"

The corners of her lips turned downward at my question, tears filling her eyes. She shook her head, clueless.

"Okay," I said, picking her up. "Come with us."

"We'll have an announcement made," Viggo said, leading me down the aisle. We circled the outskirts of the ground level until we arrived at a wide desk, behind which sat two men in smart black suits.

One of them picked up a microphone and made an announcement for the child, his voice filling the entire stadium. About three minutes later, a young couple came racing toward us, their faces glowing with relief.