The Key to the City by Chris Paton

Author:Chris Paton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aarluuk Press
Published: 2023-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

4

Word of his sister’s candidacy for High Chapter reached Salvador Shumagyn a few hours before Archer found him. Salvador’s opponent used the titbit of gossip to throw Salvador off guard as he sought any angle to gain an advantage in the bare knuckled brawl they were engaged in. The sensible money was on Salvador. It always was. But for a split second, as he thought about his sister, Salvador was distracted. He took a punch to the left side of his head. He reeled, swaying onto his back foot, as his opponent – a contender from Achrayne, to the north – followed up with an uppercut, bouncing Salvador into the crowd. The northerner grinned, wiped sweat and spit from his chin with the back of his hand, then waved Salvador back into the ring of dock and steam workers relaxing with a good fight at the end of the day. The odds were appalling, the beer thin, but the atmosphere buoyed the crowd, lifting their shoulders, their chins, and their voices as they cheered Salvador back into the fight.

“You didn’t know?” the northerner said, backing up, then dancing right as Salvador came for him.

“We’re not close,” Salvador said.

His voice, like his reach, was deep, like freight rolling downhill. He fainted to his right, then bounced back to deliver a body blow to the northerner’s ribs.

“We don’t talk,” he said.

Another blow, this time to the stomach.

Salvador gave the northerner a moment to recover as he plucked a tall tankard of warm beer from one of the crowd. He drained it, wiped his chin, then tossed the tankard to one side before delivering two quick blows to push the northerner back into the centre of the ring, then two more to put him on his knees.

“Do you yield?” Salvador said as the crowd roared. Bills changed hands, coins spilled onto the dusty floorboards, and the northerner nodded.

“I yield.” He raised his hand, and Salvador pulled him to his feet. “My name’s Flawton,” he said, pressing a bloody hand into Salvador’s. “Look me up if you’re ever in Achrayne.”

“I’ll do that,” Salvador said, however unlikely he thought it might be for him to leave the city. He raised Flawton’s hand, declaring him to be a good sport, fleet of foot, and then, as the crowd cheered, Salvador gave his opponent a gentle shove on the back, pushing him out of the ring as he took a moment to prepare for the next challenger of the night.

“First call for a new round.”

Salvador frowned at the speaker pushing through the outer ring of intoxicated spectators. He caught the man’s eye – the one that worked – and then followed him out of the ring and into the office at the back, ducking one pipe on the way in, and stepping over another just inside the door.

“I was winning,” Salvador said as the man with one good eye slumped onto a threadbare leather couch squashed between two parallel pipes attached to the office walls.

“I know,” the man said.

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