Balm’s fingers touch the purple bruise. The boy groans and makes a fist.

  I slap his hand away. “Shut up, be polite and you might live through this.” Hard to believe a crybaby like that gets picked to be a leader of a bully gang.

  “Skull’s not cracked,” Balm says as he stands up. “Badly bruised though. Best to keep him here for a day or two.”

  “Keep your stinking conjurer’s paws away from me!” the bully leader hisses.

  “Don’t let them get to you,” I tell Balm.

  He smiles. “I’ve been called worse.”

  While Balm treats the next patient, I turn to the other members of the bully gang. All are bruised but none worse than their leader. “Your friend best stay here for a while. I don’t suppose any of you would be interested in joining up permanently.” I can see the prospect alone gives them the shakes. I didn’t expect them to accept but I have to start somewhere.

  I do a head count. None of them are in real danger, at least not with these healers around. Unless a man were struck dead in an instant, they could save him. It’s hard to kill someone with a blunted weapon if they’re wearing full armour. The only one who is in any real danger is the Legion veteran due to his age. I leave him in Balm’s hands; the old geezer still wears that creepy smile on his leathery face.

  Those that made it out of the fight unscathed sit around the Barracks, waiting for their pay. Some are still shaky from the ordeal - no one can say Arena life is easy. The Wolf Team is nowhere to be seen. No doubt they’re sulking somewhere for being beaten just when they thought they won.

  I address them all. “What you experienced today was the worst that could happen. You survived, which means you can survive anything else that comes. I’m offering everyone here a permanent job in the Arena.”

  I have them line up before the paymaster’s desk. At the weight of coin in their hands, five of my citizen army agree to join despite the aches and throbs. I’m grateful for it. My hopes, however, hang on the three mercenary brothers. “You three could make a viable career here,” I tell them as coin exchanges hands.

  They exchange a glance. One of them is badly bruised, the other two are fine. “We’ve had our share of oaths in Infantry Guild,” says the battered one. “We aren’t interested in that kind of commitment again,” says another. “We just wanted to see if we still have what it takes.”

  I nod. “What do you plan to do now?”

  “Enlist in Hegemony’s Legion as auxiliary units.”

  “The Incursion is over,” I say.

  “We know, that’s why we’re joining. Hegemony will pay well to keep the provinces obedient.”

  The brothers take their pay and walk out. So much for that.

  Slowly, the citizen army files out of the Barracks. Some that turned me down will return tomorrow, that much I’m sure, but I can’t know how many.

  All the effort today has bought me a single day of respite. Even if those that got food poisoning are fully recovered tomorrow, the amount of people watching today would not generate enough income for me to be able to pay off the loans in time.

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  I feel the desperation returning. I need to busy myself before I do something embarrassing.

  I hobble to the weapon racks where a mess awaits me. Returning from the Dance Floor, my beloved citizen army dumped their weapons like garbage. I should be thankful they bothered to bring them this far, I could be collecting pieces from all over the tunnels.

  My mind drifts off as I sort the weapons and place them on designated spots. Eventually I come to my senses and find my hand clutching a single-handed axe. I turn it, notice the mark on the handle. This was my axe once. My thumb caresses it briefly.

  A metallic sound stirs me. The beastling is there, alone, among the suit racks. Everyone else is already gone. As the suit comes off, I see it without clothes. It’s lean and graceful, nothing slow or clumsy about it. I notice the flow of muscles under that white fur. One does not develop such lean muscularity with fieldwork. That there is battle fitness and I can recognize it in the middle of the night. Why didn’t I notice it before?

  I have seen many things in my sixty-four years. A battle-fit beastling is not one of them. Everyone knows beastfolk don’t have any kind of violence in them. It’s the main reason most of them are enslaved by Harths, Hegemony’s anti-slavery laws be damned.

  What is this beastling?

  I wait until it’s fully dressed. It notices me then, still holding the axe.

  “You wouldn’t happen to be interested in a job, would you?” I say, expecting another disappointment. To my surprise, the beastling nods. “You serious?” Nods again. “You realize what I’m asking you?” Another nod.

  I am without words for what feels like an eternity. “You should… find yourself another weapon,” I finally manage and point to the racks around us. “Since a claymore doesn’t seem to be your thing.”

  The beastling looks over the racks I just sorted. Its eyes go to the axe in my hands. “It’s an old one,” I say to break the awkwardness of the moment, “but it’s been forged sturdy. All it needs is new leather for the handle.” I offer the axe to the beastling. It takes it tenderly, like handling a suckling.

  In the exchange, its fingers brush mine. The hair on my forearm rises up in a wave, travelling up to the shoulder and down my back.

  The memory of my visiting the Underworld stabs at me. The white rat struggling in my hand as if it knew what was about to happen.

  A white rat.

  A white beastling.

  Nothing’s changed from a moment before yet everything is different. It’s as if I didn’t truly believe the beastling was real until now.

  “I’ll get the paperwork,” I mumble and start hobbling toward my office. I stop halfway to the stairs and turn around.

  “I’ll need your name for the records,” I say. The beastling looks at me and shakes its head. No name?

  I hobble closer. “I’m going to have to put in something. No one but me will know what it says on this paper. Most people here know each other by their call signs anyway.”

  The beast shrugs its shoulders.

  I’m partly annoyed, partly intrigued by this. “They didn’t give you a name where you come from?” It just stares back at me. “Guess I’ll make something up then.”

  I turn and hobble for the stairs. My leg is starting to act up again, it seems.

  I manage to make it in my office. I take a deep breath. “Well, that was interesting,” I mumble to myself.

  I make fresh ink, take a blank sheet and begin scribbling the enlistment form. My fingers tremble. I have to discard two pages of parchment, expensive stuff, before I can bring the shaking under control.

  I need a name. A dozen come to mind, most of them lame or just downright stupid as call signs tend to be. Then a word sticks out in my mind.

  Snowflake.

  It’s perfect. At first impression, it suggests something gentle and puffy. But first impressions are often wrong. This beastling appeared harmless at first, now I know better. Snowflake has just the right amount of playful dread in it.