Sitting on a heap of rubble, Anthony dangled his good leg.
Turning to his left, he narrowed his eyes at the Imperial Palazzo sprawling vis-a-vis with the Ziggurat of Ra farther afield. The ruddy glow of dusk threw the grand ivory masonry into relief. Anthony pictured the interior walls covered in the most sumptuous hangings of embroideries, and behind these walls, their resplendent denizens accoutered in the finest paisley silk. Imagining their grace, their gait, and the gold on which they sat and shit, he snickered.
"What's so amusing?" asked a familiar voice.
Anthony jolted around and saw Moon Xeator hunching in the chiaroscuro of a toppled wall. His deep green eyes flickered behind wisps of ash-blond locks. His arms folded upon the chest, his right hand clutched a longsword sheathed in iron.
"Nice horse." Anthony raised his chin at the courser. "We should have got one of those instead of the bloody garron!" Limping off the wall, he clinched the blond man.
Xeator chuckled. "How are you, mate?" They broke apart. "What happened to your leg?"
"I tripped," he lied, waggling a hand, his eyes dodging the other man's gaze. "You?"
"Tripped?" the blond man deadpanned. "No."
Anthony scoffed.
"About the riot." The blond man then cut to the chase. "Is everything afoot?"
"The nugget worked. Those mendicants believe I have some kind of clairvoyance. I might have spent a bit more dennies than you'd like though. You don't mind, I hope?"
Xeator shook his head.
"Good," Anthony continued. "I bribed the pack leaders, taking them to all the finest establishments the amulet would take us. I regaled them with the best wine, silk, and women. Man, you should have seen those women." He clapped Xeator on the side of his arm.
The blond man chuckled, cocking an eye. "About the amulet," he said, "do you have it on you?"
"Always." Anthony groped for the pendant under his new silk tunic. "Here."
Xeator took it, holding it against the setting sun. Light shone through the openwork sculpture of the three-headed eagle. He shut his eyes, biting his bottom lip. "You and Drusilla got it from a young man. Do you recall what he looks like?" He flicked open his eyes.
"Curly black hair? Handsome?" Anthony scowled, trying to invoke that afternoon at the forum a while back. "Why does it matter?"
"You're right," Xeator crooned, returning the pendant. "It doesn't matter who it belongs to. Get rid of it as soon as possible."
Anthony snatched the platinum chain. "No way! What about the straw man?" He sounded more hostile than he had intended.
"The straw man has picked the Underdog, got you inside Pethens, and announced the news for us. He has done enough. Now is the time we put him out to pasture." Xeator replied, his voice perennially unperturbed.
Anthony glared with his head low. "I thought we'd have more use for him during the riot!"
"So did I." Blinking at the Imperial Palazzo afar, Xeator crooned. "I thought you could use the amulet to escape the city, and no guards would dare stand in your way, even during a lockdown. But we have to abort the plan now," he paused, flicking his eyes at the amulet in Anthony's hand. "The real owner is back in Pethens."
"How do you know?"
"I happened to have traveled with him."
Anthony looked down. Coveting the company Xeator now kept that bespoke everything he had ached for, he glowered. "Aren't you supposed to be with the League? When I got your message asking for the meeting, I even suspected it to be a trap. The final won't start in a fortnight. What're you doing here so early?"
"I've done all my fights for the tournament," the blond man replied. "Since Lorenzo Legidus has placed the highest bet on me as the Underdog, he's my patron now, and naturally, I travel with him."
Anthony squeezed the amulet in his hand. While the other man was getting everything, he possessed only a symbol. And he would not be deprived of it! "Look," he said at length, lifting his eyes. "I'm glad to see you and all, but so what now the lord of shit is back? Why should we be afraid?"
Xeator swiveled back to meet his gaze. His face betrayed nothing, no strand of thought, nor stir of feeling. "So the first thing he did upon his return was to file the missing report in person," he intoned. "It doesn't even matter now whether this one belongs to him. Soon, every member of the Triumvirate will be informed to hand in their amulets for an altered design, and they'll be asked for a second proof of identity. What were you to do if you got caught with this? Play ignorant? And how would you explain yourself when no house came forth to identify you as their member?"
Anthony unclasped his fingers at a loss. The platinum chain hung down in a swing, and the glowing jade sat only too well in his palm. "You know what I told the mendicants when they asked about this amulet?" he said, a sneer wringing his lips. "I told them that I was a Gaius, and as a Gaius, I promised lands and women to all those who agreed to follow me."
"What?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did you actually think claiming yourself a Gaius would turn you into one?"
Each word punched down Anthony's throat. He slurred in reply, "No."
"Then why did you lie about it?"
"So they'd believe me more!" He forced a smile. "What's the big deal? Since when did you become such a saint you despise lies now?"
"They believe you already! Why gild the lily?" Rubbing his brow, the blond man shut his eyes. While he spoke at a fast clip, his voice didn't raise a bit in volume. "Have I not made it clear? We need them to rise against the Gaius! Not for you to become one!"
"Why start a bloody riot if you aren't going to lead the movement?" Anthony rejoined, no longer holding back his rage.
"And then what?" Xeator looked him dead in the eye. "Of all the riots in the past, there hasn't been a single initiator who didn't believe he wasn't in charge of what should happen next. None of them was, and neither will you be!"
"Then, what's the point of it all, huh?" Anthony snarled, ramming a fist at the blond man's chest. "First, it was Drusilla. And now you! Neither of you ever tell me anything! And you know what I say? Fuck you! The straw man stays!"
"Did you not hear a word I've said? The straw man is a sham to create a buzz out of nothing! He doesn't exist, and you're certainly not him! Have you possessed the amulet for so long that you forgot who you are?"
"Of course not!"
"Then, what's bloody wrong with you?" A deep sigh parted the blond man's lips; his shoulders rose and sunk. "As for Drusilla," he added, his voice cold and measured as was his wont. "You're not to blame. She's had her own plan from the start. Qui quo pro. We needed her as she us. Now that she has moved on, I wish her all the best."
Anthony lurched aside a step. His hand coiled around the amulet; the jade plate felt as sleek and cold as the emerald glint of the other man's eyes. He felt double-crossed again, his already wounded pride salted. He remembered what Drusilla said to Xeator in the abandoned cottage before they parted ways. "All these years," he groaned, his voice thick with sarcasm. "I really am just a foot soldier to you, am I? A pawn to cast away when necessary, eh?".
"How am I casting you away?" The blond man shook his head, narrowing his gaze. "I'm trying to save your sorry arse!"
"You don't get it, do you?"
"I should be asking you the same!" Xeator thumped his sword at the ground, veins bulging in his neck. "This is no child's play! Any misstep could mean the end! Discard the bloody amulet and leave the city before it's too late! If you really have more time to waste, find Drusilla and see if you can persuade her to leave with you!"
Cut to the quick, Anthony smoldered, bile burbling in him. Up until now, he had not the guts to tell Xeator what he did that got himself limp, fearing the blond man would prosecute him for it. But why should he be prosecuted for reacting to this hurt? He had only loved a girl. Knowing his love was unrequited, that she would never see him from the shadow of the blond man, he willingly turned himself to a spare, only to learn he didn't even suffice for that. He should have been the victim! Feeling his face color, he hurled up a fist at Xeator.
Who glimpsed over his shoulder and put a forefinger to his lips. His other hand raised next to his ear while the thumb crooked, jabbing across the palm.
Leave! – it said – We're tailed.
Halting his fist in midair, Anthony grunted before slinking back to the shadow behind the crumbling walls. He watched Xeator greet a stout man with gauze around his head. Clad in a plain tunic, he had ebony hair cropped close to the scalp and the clumsy air of a peasant.
If as ugly a man as such could be put on a sedan chair and carried to the Imperial Palazzo – Anthony thought, gritting his teeth as he tailed behind – so could he.
When the clumsy man saw him, he took a dare. Stepping out of the shadow, he grinned back.
***
Later at night, Anthony returned to his newfound brothers in a rundown yard.
Under the gibbous moon hanging naked in the clear sky, charcoal blazed atop a brazier smeared with soot and rust. Around the fire, he gathered the mendicant boys, destitute of an outlet for the vigor of their youth. Bottles they had finished abutted the heel of rammed earth, upon which shadow sashayed to the swaying flame. Under the influence, the boys cavorted, howling to the indigo sky. Pumping in their hands were the crossbows Anthony had rented with the amulet a fortnight ago.
Anthony smirked, throwing back his head as he upended a bottle at his throat. The liquor prickled his gullet, warming every inch of his skin. The fire burned hot and fierce, rendering the world ebullient. He wrapped an arm around a boy's neck, "Cock her!"
The boy gawked and gulped, dark eyes swinging between his commander and the crossbow.
"What? Never cocked a crossbow before?" Anthony groused, shoving the boy aside. Swirling on his good leg, he eyed the others. "Has anyone cocked this beauty before?"
The boys fell silent; only fire sputtered amidst the chirping crickets and rustling weeds.
"I— I have …" a feeble voice cracked the silence.
Anthony turned and regarded the lad. He had a long, equine face that made him look older than he might have been, and the mendicant's symbol of a thistle breaking out of a cage tattooed on the back of his bald pate. "Well, go on then," he said, his voice amused. "Show us!"
"Bend over the stock and tug the string," the lad slurred, his voice smaller than the crickets. "Pull the string evenly to the latching on both sides, so she's cocked in place."
"Jolly good!" Anthony quaffed more. Smacking the lad on his back, he hunched forward. "Now tell us, how does it feel holding her?" he croaked. "Does she feel alive in your hand? Aroused perhaps? Does she feel like a young maid, dandling on your lap?"
Hooting with laughter as they wrenched back their heads, the boys whistled to the night. The lanky lad giggled along.
Anthony grabbed his nape. "Cock her now, like how you told us, and shoot those bottles on the bloody wall!"
In a bout of cheer, the lad cocked the crossbow and fired a shot. It flew, however, over the wall and slashed into the dark. The cheering turned to jeering amidst a manic laugh. The lad reddened and clenched.
"Cock her again!" Anthony growled.
So he did. This time, the shot stabbed into the dirt a few inches before the wall, followed by howls. He threw the crossbow and snarled, "Shut up!"
Anthony whacked him on the back of his tattooed head. "You don't treat your lady like that!" He blustered. "Pick her up!"
The lad begrudged.
"Steady your pose. Now, tell us, how does it really feel holding her?"
"It's just a crossbow," the lad mumbled.
"Just a crossbow?" Anthony whacked him again. "Are you telling me she feels the same as some chipped bowl or dented jar you hold out at strangers when you beg for their mercy? Fuck their mercy! The world is at your mercy when you have her in your bloody hand! But you still can't feel it, can you? No, 'cause you won't feel her real power until you point her at a man." He paused, clinging to the lad. Coiling an arm around his shoulders, he grabbed his elbow and pointed the crossbow at the boy who had laughed the loudest. "Say, how about now?"
All riled up, the lanky lad grimaced with jitters. His laughing first came in a trembling trickle, then rose to a roaring crescendo. He shook off Anthony's arm and swung the crossbow, pointing it at the small gap between everyone's eyes. "Fuck you! And you! Fuck all of you! You fucking pieces of shit!"
The boys gawked, their dirt-streaked hands above their heads.
Anthony toddled to the lanky. Gesturing for him to take it easy, he grabbed his shoulder.
But the lad took a step back and veered around. His bald head glistened with sweat, his face twisting in ecstatic throes as he leveled the crossbow at Anthony.
No one moved or spoke; only the fire crackled, scrawling spirals where it licked.
Taking another swig of the liquor, Anthony kept his eyes on the lad. How he reminded him of himself! His pathetic, distraught, old self! Who quailed when Moon Xeator shot a hare on a night not much unlike this seven years ago with an easy smile in his eyes and taught him everything he needed to know about the crossbow. He recoiled at the unbidden memory, his teeth gritting. No more, he swore, should he feel as pathetic or distraught again. No more was he the Anthony Heius of seven years ago.
"Then what?" he asked in a voice plagued with scorn. "I've given you the power to kill, but what is that power if it doesn't amount to anything, or get you anywhere? Kill me now, you kill everything you've been promised, you little shit!"
The lanky balked. Floundering about for his next move, he flung away his gaze. Anthony took the chance and snatched the crossbow. Swinging it earthward, he shot lad in the knee.
A wail slashed across the night sky while the lad dropped on the dirt, writhing like a worm no man cared to squash lest it would smear the sole of their sandal.
Anthony harrumphed, either hand coiling around the handle and the bottle. He gulped the chill air and more liquor to quell his shudder. "The first one who shoots a bloody bottle gets to accompany me to see Lady Butterfly," he proclaimed, his eyes roaming the boys. "Or do you prefer to be maimed like him?"