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The overwhelming sounds of a raucous crowd and their deafening cheers filled the meat-scented air, the anticipation palpable. Bart’s larger friends had formed a shield with their bodies to keep him from being trampled by the Valrossians as they shouldered their way to the front row of the stadium, craning their heads to get a better view. Between the heavy wax masks and the crackling mirages of heat it was hard, but they could see enough to make out the wide arena in front of them.
The huge colosseum in the heart of New Valros was wide and built of stone, studded with goblets of fire and stands lined with cheering Valrossians. A thin river of flames separated the crowds from the basin below, the arena a vast open snowscape littered with drifts and spindly winter trees built to mimic natural terrain, and above it, just near where the interns were watching intently, was a stone platform decorated with large blue banners. A broad Valrossian stood in the centre of the stage, his frame swaddled in a patchwork of different animal furs. He smiled benevolently at the crowds.
“Come one, come all,” he began, his voice booming. A hush fell over the crowd like a blanket, muffling them as they listened. “Who can face my fearsome snøbeist in a contest of strength? I myself have hunted far and wide for a challenge such as this. Come see an example of its ferocity and decide if you can take on this challenge.”
By the Valrossian’s feet was a small iron-grate cage, metal sheets across the sides hiding the contents. He bent down and seized the cage, making no effort to be gentle. He unlatched the door and tipped it over the edge as though pouring a pitcher of water, and a pile of orange, black and green fell out ungracefully, moving too fast to determine what it was. It landed in the snow, and it became apparent that they were looking at a crumpled pile of animals. They separated, revealing an anxious looking fox, a snake with a cannonball sized weight strapped to its tail, worming across the snow with its head raised warily, and, stumbling dizzily away from the pile, a striped, stocky badger. Everyone sucked in a sharp, involuntary breath as they recognised Gumbo and Hannibal.
Uh oh, Bart thought. Beside him, he could feel Mudd’s entire body go still, drawn up to his full eight-foot height, his fists furled tightly and trembling with rage. Bart had known him for a good while now, but he didn’t think he had ever seen him this angry before. He didn’t need to see it to imagine the look on his face. Across the arena from the small, helpless animals came a low, throaty rumble, rising menacingly.
The snøbeist.
“Oh no…” Kyborg breathed. Mudd strode forward, stopping as close to the fire as was possible without burning himself, heat licking at his fur costume.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” he yelled, his voice carrying above the roars of the Valrossians. “GUMBO!” Bart had been watching Mudd intently, worried that he might catch fire. So intently that he had forgotten to worry about his much more fire-prone friend-- he didn’t notice Gum Gum running up beside him until he barrelled past, directly through the flames. He watched, bewildered, as he dashed through the wall of fire, the heat singing his clothes and his feet kicking up a flurry of embers-- before he disappeared over the side. Kyborg and Bart hurried to Mudd’s side as well, craning their necks as Gum Gum landed brokenly in the snow, staggering unevenly before he righted himself.
“Oh, I can’t watch,” Bart groaned, rubbing his palms over the thin slat in his mask that allowed him to see. A gasp passed around the stadium, people turning to each other and murmuring. A mass of Valrossians descended on the three interns still in the stands.
“You can’t do that!” came the voice of a Valrossian now standing in front of them. It was the broad-shouldered Valrossian who had given the announcement, his fur capes now askew as though he had rushed his way towards them down in the stands. “We already have a player in the arena, that’s highly, highly against the rules. He didn’t even pay the entry fee, it’s one gold to enter.” Mudd sifted through a pouch fastened to his belt and produced a gold coin that he flipped to the man, who caught it clumsily in his huge hands.
Bart stared up at the Valrossian, looking at him through squinted eyes. There was something about him, something hovering at the edges of his memory. He knew him, he was sure of that. But from where…?
Out in the arena, a roar echoed through the stadium as a great, white beist thundered out from the snow, a shower of snowflakes dripping from its fur like water as it shook itself out. Razor sharp claws unsheathed from its hands, its body somewhere between that of man and a bison. Thick coats of icy pelts, huge, twisting horns, and dark eyes glaring out dangerously behind a fringe of white. Staring right at Gumbo and Hannibal. The Valrossian spoke up again.
“There are rules involved. Make sure you tell your friend who’s in the arena that he cannot use any magic, and if he wants any non-magical weapons you can take some, up to two, from this rack over here.” He gestured to a rack behind him bearing an array of sparkly, mundane weapons: javelins, swords, shields, handaxes and an assortment of others, all next to a ramp leading down to the proper entrance into the arena. “And make sure he doesn’t kill the snøbeist, he just needs to incapacitate it.”
“Alright,” Mudd said, nodding. He yelled out to Gum Gum with his hands cupped around his mouth, his voice muffled a little by the mask. “Gum Gum! Only hugs! Only strong hugs, no magic!” Beside Bart, he could feel Kyborg practically itching to be down there, his hands fidgety and moving back and forth reflexively to his bow and quiver. Mudd took notice as well and produced another coin. He tossed it to the announcer who caught it, but he tossed it back.
“Like I said, normally it’s only one contestant at a time in the arena, your friend in there has already broken the rules by jumping in.”
“You look really familiar…” Bart noted, trailing off. The announcer looked down at him and gave a small start, seemingly not having noticed the smaller person staring up at him. He was taken off guard for a moment before he continued, his hand on his chest and his eyes closed self-righteously.
“Well of course you would know of Osman the Hunter, my deeds are known far and wide. I am the mightiest hunter in all of New Valros!”
“Hunting… Valrossians, perhaps?” he prompted. He looked horrified at his suggestion.
“Hunting Valrossians?” he repeated, “Never!” Kyborg leaned down and whispered in Bart’s ear.
“No, they’re the Valrossians,” he hissed, “The polar bears.”
“The polar bears,” Bart corrected himself confidently, “The baby polar bears.” Osman’s expression relaxed.
“Oh, polar bear pelts, they fetch a high price. Lots of fat, very good fur, very good insulation.”
“Did you ever think about the soul and the personality and the being that lives inside these cuddly little furs?” Bart tried, hoping for maybe some kind of empathy from this person, but his efforts were seemingly in vain. He had a strong feeling that he didn’t like Osman very much.
“Personality? Of these simple animals? Pah.” He scoffed at the very idea of Bart’s suggestion. It was at this statement that Bart noticed the pristine white polar bear furs that had made up Osman’s lavish attire, and his stomach turned. By Diya, that was horrible. He wondered briefly if those furs had belonged to either of those polar bear cubs from Spectril’s dream, or worse still, if it was Yumi. Bart decided to stop thinking about that before he made himself any more nauseous than he already felt.
“Aren’t we all simple animals? Really? Buddy?” Down below in the arena, the beist huffed a cloud of sparkly, icy breath and its dark, livid eyes turned to glare at Gum Gum. Gumbo and the fox gave out minute squeaks of terror, causing Mudd’s fists to clench up again, and the three animals skittered aside to put Gum Gum between them and the raging beist like a shield. Gum Gum braced himself and drew up his greataxe, but he turned his head half to the side to yell up at his friends.
“No weapons?” he called, unsure. The beist raced towards him, glancing over the snow with lightning speed and threw out one razored paw, slicing it cleanly across Gum Gum’s shoulder. It reared back and let out a thunderous bellow, blaring like a warhorn in his face, before slashing the other paw at him and catching his arm leaving behind a painful looking wound. Bart felt his heart jump into his throat and he hissed out a pained breath as though it had been him who was struck. It didn’t matter how many fights they were in together or how well Bart knew Gum Gum could handle himself, it never got easier seeing his surrogate younger brother get hurt like that, especially when he knew there was nothing he could do to help.
“Just don’t kill the beist!” Mudd yelled back, “Make it go nonnies!”
“Okay!” he yelped, dodging out of the way of the beists’ flashing claws. His spine went rigid and even from far away, Bart could recognise the stance he took when he went into rage. He wondered for a moment what bizarre, magical effect would happen this time before, almost as though his thoughts had summoned it, a small, floating tentacle monster appeared above Mudd’s head.
“What the hell is that-?” Mudd squawked, batting it away like a bothersome fly.
“What’s your friend doing?” Osman interjected, “We said no magic!”
“Listen,” Mudd explained, “Sometimes it comes out of him like an instinctual kind of thing, it’s not exactly something that he’s in control of.”
“I’ll fix this,” Kyborg declared, stepping forward with an undeserved level of confidence, “I’ll just shoot him a message through my arrow.” Osman looked at Kyborg, back to Gum Gum, and then back at him with an uncertain shrug.
“Well… I guess a quick message couldn’t hurt.”
“Okay, lemme write that out,” he said. Kyborg knelt down, shouldering off his pack and his quiver. Bart knelt with him, which wasn’t much closer to the ground than he already was, watching as Kyborg sifted frantically through his bag for a small scrap of parchment that he laid out on the stone, the corner of his quiver rested on the edge to prevent it from curling up at the sides. He slipped out an arrow and sliced it sharply across his fingertip, grimacing as beads of blood leaked out. As fast as he could, Kyborg dipped the arrowhead in his own blood and began scrawling out a message in shockingly neat cursive writing, the feathers atop the shaft bobbing with the movement.
“I don’t think Gum Gum can read cursive,” Bart noted.
“It’s the only thing I know, it’s the fanciest,” he replied seriously. He took the paper that now read: ‘No magic,’ in quickly drying blood and rolled it up around the arrow, smiling at his own ingenuity. He stood and nocked the arrow, drew it back, and fired it straight into the beist’s neck. It roared in pain and staggered to the side, trying to shake the pain off. It’s head whipped back and forth, bewildered and confused as to where the sudden attack had come from.
As the arrow flew by, the parchment fell off the arrow and fluttered aimlessly to the ground where it landed lightly on the snow at Gum Gum’s feet. Bart didn’t need to see his face to perfectly visualise his expression of searching confusion as he stood there with his head cocked slightly to get a better view, trying his best to decipher Kyborg’s calligraphy quality cursive. Gum Gum, after having realised that he had no hope of reading that, took advantage of the beists’ confusion and swung his axe in a wide arc, digging his blade deep into its wintry coat and soaking it with a fresh stain of crimson blood. As he drew it back out and stepped back, the odd creature above Mudd’s head exploded with a wet splat sound, sending down a shower of icy sparks that covered the Firbolgs’ head and shoulders with a painful covering of frost.
“Every moment I live is agony,” came the creature’s high-pitched voice as it vanished again. The snøbeist, reeling from the pain, let out a threatening rumble like the distant call of thunder and rose up onto its hind legs, staring Gum Gum down with a horrible, terror-inducing look in its eyes. Enthralled by its gaze, Gum Gum appeared to be frozen over. No wait, he was actually being frozen. Bart watched with fear building in his chest as a thin sheen of frost spread across his skin, freezing him in his position, unable to move and now at the mercy of the beist.
“Could I send my friend a word of encouragement via an arrow?” Kyborg asked.
“Ooh, I don’t know if your friend is going to be able to read,” Osman said, “the snøbeist has used his chilling gaze to stop him in his tracks.” With Gum Gum now unable to move, the beist threw another flurry of attacks at him. One struck him hard enough across his side that Bart was pretty sure he heard the snap of ribs breaking, its claws raking against his side and tearing open new wounds. Bart winced, torn between not wanting to watch and not being able to look away. If Gum Gum didn’t get out of there soon, he might not get out of there at all. He looked anxiously up at Mudd. Mudd noticed, and enough light spilled into his friend’s mask for Bart to see the understanding in the firbolg’s eyes, realising that Bart wanted him to help. Mudd looked back up, his eyes trained on the half-orc below them. Bart could hear him mutter a near-silent incantation under his breath and he followed his gaze just in time to watch some of Gum Gum’s wounds heal over. It wasn’t much, but at least now he was bleeding out into the snow at a less rapid rate.
The beist raised its claws to bring them down over him again when a sudden battlecry sounded from behind it, and it whirled around to see a young Valrossian huntress shoot out from the snow much like it had. Heavy winter furs and strings of animal-bone jewellery adorned her torso and in her hands she wielded a huge pickaxe, sharp and gleaming on both points. She readied the weapon to swing and charged at the beast.
“You will not steal the glory from Melheart today!” she cried, swinging her pickaxe in a wide arc that narrowly missed the beist. She’s the original combatant, Bart realised, the one that Gum Gum interrupted. Bart wondered how long she had been lying in wait in the snow before making her move, or if maybe he just hadn’t noticed her. The beist growled and turned fully to face her, distracted, at least for now, from the very vulnerable half-orc boy it had just been intent on ripping to shreds. Gum Gum was still frozen solid in his battle stance, unable to move. Gumbo whined and tried to headbutt his leg to prompt him into moving but to no avail.
“Osman, are we able to swap out our players, is that a possibility?” Kyborg asked hopefully, still shifting his weight restlessly back and forth between his feet.
“Mmm, this is highly unusual, even to have two contestants in the arena to begin with.” He rubbed his fist thoughtfully against the scruff on his chin. He looked down into the arena where Gum Gum was still frozen helplessly, the beist turned away from him as it tried to get a hit on Melheart.
“Ah, but wouldn’t it make for a good show? Osman?” Bart tried. He made his statement and gave a little flourish of jazz hands to accentuate his point.
“Mmm, it would be a good show…” he agreed reluctantly. He made an array of long, painfully drawn-out thinking noises as he considered, and with every passing moment Bart’s winning smile felt more and more taught as he imagined Gum Gum slowly bleeding out as a result of Osman’s indecisiveness. “Well,” he said eventually, “we could perhaps sweeten the deal with a slightly higher entry fee. Perhaps two gold for two contestants, for the swap.” Kyborg turned to the others.
“I’m happy going in, do you guys want me to go in or does anybody else feel up to the task?” Bart looked at Mudd, and then shrugged.
“I think you’re probably our best bet,” he agreed, nodding. Kyborg began inching towards the part of the flames that Gum Gum had leapt through, but stopped.
“So are y’gonna get in there?” Mudd asked.
“So… here’s the thing,” he began, looking down awkwardly with the same demeanour of a child asking their parents for pocket money. “I don’t know if you remember, but way back when you were buying this badger, someone offered you a lot of money to help pay for said badger.”
“Yeah, it was you,” Mudd said plainly, not catching Kyborg’s thinly veiled meaning.
“Yeah, so like, if you wanna like… help me pay…”
“Oh, yeah, I’ll pay,” he said, handing over the two gold to Osman who pocketed it hungrily.
“Okay, alright,” he said bashfully.
“Thanks dad! I mean- uh, Mudd,” Bart said, smiling. He fluttered his eyelashes the way they seemed to do every time someone around him offered up gold and he sidled a little closer to Mudd’s leg. Osman glanced up from the gold with a guilty look that suggested he had momentarily forgotten they were there, and he turned back to the crowd. His voice lapsed back into its former, booming, announcer voice as he tried to spin this turn of events to the boisterous Valrossian crowd.
“In a first for the arctic arena, we have a new contestant tagging in for our frozen contestant down below!” He beckoned for Kyborg to head towards the proper entrance into the arena, and while his back was turned, Bart called out:
“Boo! I- I mean: go Kyborg!” Mudd laughed, and Kyborg turned back to give him a scathing look as he left. Before Kyborg was swallowed back into the crowd, Mudd darted forward and gave him a hard slap on the butt for good luck, adding a little spring into his step as he staggered forwards from the surprise attack from behind. The sounds of chains rattling and metal groaning sounded as the portcullis was raised over Kyborg’s head, the jaw of the stone archway opening wide to allow the archer to leave through it and enter the arena. From this height, he looked a lot smaller and much less intimidating. The cheers rose as he walked through, drawing and nocking his bow in one fluid, practised motion and he promptly disappeared from view, slinking around the fringes of the arena to get a better angle on the beist. Bart stood on his tiptoes, trying to get a view of his friend but he had simply vanished, melting easily into the woodland environment he was used to. After a moment, a flurry of arrows lashed out and hit the beist around its face and neck and it let out a hounding growl of pain, two new trickles of red further dirtying its already bloodstained fur. Bart followed the direction the arrows had come from and immediately spotted him, well camouflaged in the shade of a snow-heavy cypress tree.
Unfortunately for him, the beist had spotted him too. It quickly forgot about Melheart who was furiously swinging her pickaxe around and it charged its hidden assailant, every footfall thumping loudly with its monumental weight. Kyborg’s eyes grew wide as he realised he had given away his position and he started running away ungracefully through the carpet of thick snow.
“You can do it, Kyborg!” Bart yelled. Mudd turned to look at him curiously.
“How are you doing with like, spell slots?” he asked casually, “I’m low, we’re kind of screwed at the end of this whole thing.”
“Oh man, I am tapped out,” Bart nodded.
“I have nothing.” Mudd said.
“Oh same. I mean- go! Go Kyborg!” Somewhere in the distance, Kyborg let out a terrified yelp accompanied by two sets of footsteps wading through the snow, one much heavier than the other. “Kyborg, I’ve always been your biggest supporter!” He really didn’t think Kyborg could hear him from this distance, but it was worth a try. He was busy watching Kyborg make his escape when he became aware of a very loud crunching sound beside him, along with a warm, comforting scent. Mudd noticed seemingly at the same time and they both turned in unison to see Slique standing beside them cradling a very large box of popcorn. Bart recognised him not by his stature or his voice, but rather by his mangled, blood crusted hand that he was using to shovel popcorn in his mouth under his mask, purple and green and yellow bruises already forming on his remaining fingers like a watercolour stain.
Has he been here this whole time? Bart wondered guiltily. He hadn’t noticed him since they’d left the prison, and he definitely hadn’t noticed him slip away to buy popcorn. He seemed unbothered by it though, his popcorn crunching obnoxiously as he watched Kyborg skitter around the arena with the beist hot on his trail.
“Oh, this is really exciting, I can’t wait to see how my best friend Kyborg does in there. This is really good guys, I really like this.” Mudd and Bart shared a look.
“Hey Slique,” Mudd asked, “how you doing on spell slots?” Slique let out a hearty laugh that was entirely too cheerful for the situation.
“Oh no,” he said around a mouthful, “I am all out, they beat the spells out of me in the dungeon room.” Bart felt an odd mix of pity and irritation, along with a better understanding of Kyborg’s constant disdain of him. The poor guy, alone, beaten up, stuck on a doomed diplomacy mission with a bunch of interns, but then again, for a world-renowned hero, he certainly wasn’t acting like it.
“Then what are you doing here? What are you doing!” Mudd burst out, exasperated.
“I’m here for moral support, if anything else,” he said, “I heard my best friend was entering combat and I wanted to see how well he does.” He took another mouthful. “I mean, I may not have my lute, but perhaps a little bardic inspiration may be in order. La da da da, la da da da.” He began singing a song that quickly broke away into an exhausted sigh. “I’m really tired.”
“Yeah, I bet you are,” Bart said, turning back to the fight. The snøbeist let out an enraged roar and spun around, frustrated that it couldn’t make sense of Kyborg’s erratic zigzags and spun to face Melheart, swinging a massive paw at her and catching her across her side. She took a few broken steps to the side, struggling to regain her footing. Bart still had his eyes trained on Gum Gum. His heart soared when he noticed the frosty sheen across his skin start to melt away, the warmer tones returning to his frozen fingers as he managed to draw shaky breaths back in, a cloud of icy vapour billowing around his face with each heave of his chest. Gum Gum shook himself out like a wet dog, hefting his axe back and forth to bring back his blood circulation into his limbs before he charged the beist again. His axe swung in a wide arc and buried deep into the beist’s back. It hadn’t noticed him before, preoccupied with dodging nimbly out of the way of Melheart’s pickaxe, but it definitely did now, letting out a broken howl of pain. Bart was starting to feel bad for this creature. It was just as stuck here as Gumbo and Hannibal were, but he was glad that Gum Gum was killing it and not the other way around. Bart reached over and took a handful of Slique’s popcorn, who tilted it slightly for him to get a better grab. Warm, delicious taste hit his tongue. “Mmm. This is really good,” he said, mildly surprised. “Is there butter on this? Say what you will about those Valrossians, they can pop a good corn.”
Suddenly, Kyborg leapt up from the snow on the other side of the arena. Bart had been too focused on the beist to notice him vanish, melting away into the environment like it was second nature to him. No one else in the arena had taken notice of him yet. He drew from his quiver an arrow with a large, comically-sized boxing glove installed on the end in place on an arrow head and set it against his longbow, the string pulled back to his chin as he aimed it straight at the unsuspecting beist, his back muscles pulled taught with effort. It whirled to face him just as he let his fingers slip and the arrow shot directly at the beist. As if in slow motion, it struck the beist in the centre of its forehead and its eyes crossed, swaying drunkenly before it came crashing down like a falling tree. Clouds of snowflakes poofed up with the impact, the white fur blending into the snow visible only by the faint, shaky breaths that rose and fell on the unconscious creature's back. Cheers rose in a thunderous wave across the stadium and Bart joined in. He cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled out to his friends. Down below, Gum Gum turned and waved cheerily up at Bart, who waved back. Relief flooded him as he smiled down at them. His friends were all okay.
“No!” Melheart cried, throwing her axe to the ground with a furious grunt of effort, “That was supposed to be mine!”
“Who are you?” Gum Gum asked, still confused. Up on the stone platform, one of the other Valrossian judges stepped forward. As soon as he began talking, Bart recognised him as the announcer from before who had introduced the hundra-feast-- Judge J.
“Congratulations!” he said, earning more cheers from the crowd, “Looks like we have two champions, folks. Step on up here and claim your prize, brave warriors.”
Suddenly Mudd, who had been standing at attention by Bart’s side for the whole fight, crossed over to Osman in two strides and seized him by his collar, hefting him up effortlessly into the air and pressing him into the nearby stone wall that made up the base of the stage. A low, menacing rumble rose in Mudd’s throat like a threatened animal. He leaned in close.
“Why the hell. Was my badger. In that arena.” Osman looked him up and down with outrage.
“Put me down this instant!” he demanded. Around them, people had fallen silent, staring, but Mudd hadn’t yet noticed. “I use any animals that are available for the snøbeist.”
“No. No, you don’t. That’s my badger.” His fingers tightened around the fur of Osman’s collar.
“It’s a simple wild creature,” he said, waving his hands around liberally, “Who cares what happens to it?” Mudd sucked in a breath heavy with self-restraint and let go of Osman, pulling back disgusted like he was shaking something filthy from his hands. Despite being a tall man, he dropped a good few feet back to the ground after he was released. Bart stepped up between Mudd and the Valrossian and leaned in.
“That’s his badger,” he said. Osman had been unphased by Mudd’s threats, but he recoiled from Bart, startled.
“Okay, call your little friend off, get him out of here,” he said, stumbling over his words. He stood back up and adjusted his fur coats, ruffled. Mudd shook his head.
“No, no, there needs to be retribution or compensation for you taking an animal that was not yours, that was mine, and you put him in an arena where he could die by a beist.”
“I’m supplied animals every day to feed the beist, are you here to call justice for all these animals?” he accused.
“Nope,” he replied, crossing his arms, “Just m’badger.”
“What’s the difference of one badger?”
“You did not- you did not--”
“Did I take your badger?” Osman asked challengingly. Their voices were raised now. Bart was painfully aware of the fact that almost half of the stadium had gone quiet and was looking at them. Normally he liked attention, rarely did he get stares other than ones of admiration. He wasn’t sure he liked this kind of attention.
“Well who put the badger in the arena?” Mudd yelled.
“I was given the badger,” Osman said, clearly dodging the question.
“By who?” Bart interjected. For a very uncomfortable moment, silence returned. Osman glanced around, taking note of the fact that their conversation now had an audience. He huffed out a sigh of defiant resignation.
“Listen, if you care that much about it, you can have it,” he said, in a way that suggested that he was doing them a favour, “Take it. The snøbeist doesn’t have to eat it.”
“Damn right it’s mine,” Mudd said, pleased, “and the fox.” Osman gave another drawn out sigh like a kid being told he can’t have any more dessert.
“Fine, take the fox, take the badger, take the snake, but don’t interfere with any of my future feedings.”
“Oh, you’re really…” Mudd growled with the tone of a man who was trying very, very hard not to hit someone. Bart could see his fist ball up again, his spine going rigid with restraint, his jaw set. Bart took a step closer to him and put a hand against his knee, which was shoulder height to him. Mudd’s fist unfurled. As much as Bart would have loved to see his very large, emotionally-pent up firbolg friend punch someone who very much deserved it, this diplomacy mission didn’t need any more complications. They had maybe an hour to fix this whole mess before poor, lovesick Spectril showed up and tore this city to the ground, something that wouldn’t help anyone, and if they wanted to have any chance of doing that they needed to not expose themselves by punching a Valrossian noble. Although he did want Mudd to get all his anger out by punching someone who wasn’t Kyborg, because that reality seemed closer every day. For another few seconds, that awful, stare-filled silence returned, broken only by the crackling of the flames and the occasional shuffling of feet nearby.
“Uhhh… Anyway!” said Judge J at last, “We have our champions to congratulate!” Cheers rose again to fill the quiet. Gum Gum’s head whipped back and forth, trying to find who the champion was. When he concluded that there was indeed no one behind him, he looked back up and pointed to himself quizzically. “Yes, you dear boy! And where is your archer friend?” Kyborg had crossed over to where Gum Gum had been before and was busy scooping up the animals and stuffing them into his shirt. He straightened up and looked up at Judge J, hugging the large, misshapen lump in his jacket close to his chest to keep them warm. Bart was glad that Kyborg had had the foresight to get Hannibal out of the snow-- he didn’t know much about reptiles, but he was pretty sure that they didn’t fare well in subzero temperatures. Judge J beckoned for them to join him and the two interns obliged, heading back into the dark mouth of stone that led into the arena and appearing up on the stage beside him. They were followed by Melheart who stormed out and disappeared, clearly fuming that they had taken her assumed victory. “Welcome and congratulations, snøbeist champions!” More cheers. “Go on and tell us your names.” He leaned in and looked at them with a wide, performative smile.
“Gum Gum.”
“Kyborg.” Puzzlement flashed briefly across Judge J’s face.
“Gum Gum and Kyborg, what unusual and exotic Valrossian names you have.” Oops, Bart thought, wincing. He had forgotten that they were supposed to be Valrossians. But luckily, no one seemed to have become suspicious yet.
“Well, you two win the pot of fifteen gold pieces, and of course, the immense honour of dining with none other than V-king Gørn at his hundra-feast in the throne room.” The V-king, Bart thought. That was who they needed to talk to, and Kyborg and Gum Gum had just won free tickets straight to him.
“Shoulda been me.” Bart looked over with a start to notice Melheart standing near him. She kicked a rock with her foot and pouted defeatedly. Bart turned away and back up to his two companions up on stage. He caught Kyborg’s eye and did a couple of prompting hand gestures, trying to send him a message through sheer will.
“Can we bring plus ones?” he asked the judge after a painfully long, silent conversation of vague hand gestures and confused looks. “I’m afraid not,” Judge J said, shaking his head, “only the champions have the pleasure of meeting the venerable V-king.”
“Okay!” Gum Gum said cheerfully.
“Which reminds me,” Judge J said, “there are still two slots open for our tremendous talent show located at the centre of the beer-garden. The show will be starting shortly, so make sure you find a seat soon.” Two slots for two interns, was what Bart heard. With this announcement, the spectators began to file out, the crowds dissipating as they made their way to the beer-garden. Melheart left, her feet dragging miserably, followed by Osman who sped up just slightly as he passed Mudd, seemingly in a rush to get away from him. Mudd scowled at him as he went by and Osman pretended not to see it. Families passed, little Valrossians with pretend swords in one hand and their parent’s hand in the other, friends whispering excitedly and couples with arms linked and laden with hundra-feast merchandise. Before long, they stood alone in the arena, the stands empty save for forgotten food scraps and pieces of scattered litter. Gum Gum and Kyborg leapt down and joined them. Bart had a feeling that he knew what was coming next, and while he may have been excited for his chance to shine, Mudd looked thoroughly horrified by the prospect of their next task.
“Damn it,” he cursed, “This is not going to go well for me.”
“Get those tap shoes on,” Kyborg said. Now that they were alone, he had lifted his mask just enough to see the grin on his face. He looked down and reached a hand into the large swollen bump in his shirt. With his elven arm, he pulled out Gumbo and handed him over to Mudd. “Here is your son,” he said graciously, smiling. Gumbo’s little badger paws were held out eagerly to Mudd and he scrambled up onto Mudd’s shoulder as soon as he touched down. Mudd gave Gumbo a hug bigger than Bart had ever seen from him, his face buried in the fur of Gumbo’s shoulder, the relief scrawled across his expression. He gave Kyborg an earnest smile, something that Bart wouldn’t have thought possible from him.
“Thank you very much.” He looked down curiously at the fox. Kyborg had used his metallic arm to scoop it up as well and was holding him in the crook of his elbow. The fox looked less than pleased to be there, writhing and squirming in Kyborg’s grasp, gnawing at the wires in his shoulder with his teeth bared. “Do I get the fox?” Mudd asked, holding out a hand to take the aggressive, wild animal from him.
“No, I keep the fox, the fox is now mine.” Kyborg said, pulling back from him and putting his other arm protectively over it as though Mudd might try and take him by force. After a moment he relaxed and asked, a bit embarrassed, “Can I keep the fox?”
“I don’t think he likes you very much,” Mudd said dubiously. Kyborg looked down fondly at the tiny creature, snarling as it tried to tear its way free of his hold. He smiled down at him the way one might at a peaceful baby.
“That’s okay, I have a metal arm,” he said, stroking it, jerking his hand away every time it tried to take a bite out of his fingers. Mudd shrugged and put both hands back around his badger. Fifteen gold and one fox richer, they all headed together towards the two remaining seats at the V-king’s table, and their last chance to put an end to this hundred-year battle.