‘Excepting I couldn’t never trust you, man. I’d fear to turn my back on you. You’re a backstabber.’

‘I’m a survivor, Akkie, a winner like you. There are forty-four kids on this coat that didn’t make it. And I’m the one wearing it.’

‘You gonna add another patch tonight? After I’ve fought John?’

Jester shrugged and stood up.

‘Let’s hope it’s not your patch.’

‘Yeah. Well, with this shield you’ve give me I reckon I’m safe. It’ll give me the edge over Johnny-boy.’

‘You do realize I’ve had to give him one as well.’

‘You what?’

‘We can’t have them crying foul.’

‘You’re one slippery bastard, Jester, you know that? I suppose you’ve had this exact same chat with Just John, haven’t you?’

Jester laughed and went out.

54

The quadrangle, the large central courtyard of Buckingham Palace, was crowded. Kids hung out of the windows, waiting. Others stood round the edges of the space, looking towards the centre where flaming torches had been set up to make a ring.

Not all the kids were here. The younger ones and the more squeamish had been kept away. Some hadn’t even been told what was happening. Many of the smaller kids still woke from nightmares, screaming in the dark hours. They had had a very traumatic time. They didn’t need to be exposed to any fresh violence. Any more killing.

Maxie wished she wasn’t here, but she couldn’t bear to leave Achilleus to fight alone. She had to know who was going to win. She still couldn’t really believe that this was happening. It was like some awful barbaric Roman gladiatorial contest. She had never exactly liked Achilleus. He was a typical boy – a bully, used to throwing his weight around, lazy and rude and full of himself – but she nevertheless respected him as a fighter. Valued him. He had saved them all on many occasions. Before the disaster she would never have hung out with someone like him. In these tough times, though, he was a good person to have on your side. They’d been through a lot together. The thought that he might die today was too terrible to contemplate. And what was the alternative? That Just John would die.

Another kid.

Yes. He was a truly horrible person. Like Achilleus ten times over. And he had killed Freak.

That morning, she would gladly have seen him dead. She’d almost killed him herself. But not any more. And not like this.

She didn’t want to ever see anyone die again.

She’d had enough. Holding Freak as he slowly slipped away had been awful. And what had made it worse was that afterwards she hadn’t felt anything. Just a numbness. A blankness.

Maybe there were no more tears left inside her.

She looked around at the faces of the assembled kids. Some were excited, some slightly glazed and shocked like herself, some sitting on the ground, nervous and quiet. The thirteen kids from the squatter camp stayed together in a huddle. The younger ones at the front, like they were about to watch a show, shoving each other, jostling for position, chatting nineteen to the dozen.

And there was David with Jester and his uniformed guard clustered around him. David looking all high and mighty. An emperor. His champion ready to fight the barbarian champion. She noticed that Ollie was with them. She wondered sadly if he’d gone over to the other side.

There was no one for Maxie to talk to any more. Ollie was with David. Arran was dead. There was always Whitney, but she was in the ballroom with the little ones, trying to distract them from what was going down.

In a funny way she missed Blue. Even if he had been somewhat condescending. At least he understood what she was going through. He knew how hard it was to be a leader.

Was she still a leader? She didn’t know any more. Everything had changed since they’d come here. Things were slipping out of her control.

She felt a tap on her shoulder.

Sophie. Standing there with her archers.

Maxie was torn. Under different circumstances they would have been friends. Sophie was someone Maxie could talk to. She would understand. But Maxie couldn’t tear down that wall between them.

‘What do you want?’

‘I’ve come to tell you we’re leaving,’ said Sophie.

‘What?’

‘We just can’t stay. If it hadn’t been for Arran maybe it might have been different. As it is – we don’t like David, and you don’t like us. We’ve never fitted in. And then that fight today. And this. We’ve made up our minds, we’re going to get away while everyone’s here. But I didn’t want to go without saying anything.’

‘Where will you go?’

‘Don’t know, but we survived on the streets for a year, and it does seem to be safer round here, so…’

‘Good luck…’

Sophie gave her a quick hug.

‘I wish things had been different,’ she said, and she slipped off into the shadows.

Maxie stood there stunned. Had she driven Sophie out…?

Before she could get things straight in her mind a great shout went up as Achilleus walked into the centre of the ring.

Maxie looked around.

There was Pod with his fighters, like schoolboys at a football match, cheering their side on. Couldn’t they see how obscene this was? How disgusting? Had they really come to this? Was a human life worth so little now? She supposed this must have been what it was like in the Colosseum. No different to a cup final. Cheer on your favourite, boo the losers.

No matter that they were going to be slaughtered.

She winced. The pain in her side was worse than ever. It hurt just breathing. She’d give anything to be able to rewind the events of the last day.

Achilleus did a circuit of the ring, pacing it out, then took his sweat top off and went over to Big Mick who was standing with Lewis. Achilleus gave Mick the top and nodded as his friends urgently talked at him from either side. They seemed to be giving him advice. Meanwhile, Just John emerged, carrying a shield and his spear. He strutted backwards and forwards in front of his crew, like a caged lion, bouncing up and down on his toes, flexing his arms, throwing challenging glances over to Achilleus.

Achilleus ignored him. He looked to be slowly withdrawing into himself. Gathering his strength, sharpening his concentration, holding himself in.

‘Come on then, Gaylord!’ John shouted over to him, spinning his vicious three-bladed spear round his head. ‘Kiss your boyfriends goodbye and come over here. Or are you going to bottle it?’

Lewis handed Achilleus his spear. Maxie noticed that it had been freshly sharpened, the tip glinted silver, honed to a needle point. It was made from a long steel spike, with a pommel at the blunt end and thick leather bindings just behind the head to stop another weapon from sliding down it. Achilleus was always working on it, getting the balance just right. It was lethal, but John’s looked more lethal, with the three knives strapped to the end of its sturdy wooden shaft. One jab from that would cause a terrible wound, and he handled it expertly. He must have practised for hours every day, twirling it round from hand to hand.

Lewis scratched his head. He looked half asleep as usual, but he was nervous.

‘That’s a bare evil spear he’s got there,’ he drawled.

‘It’s clumsy,’ said Achilleus. ‘It looks nasty but it’s not aerodynamic, not with them stupid knives stuck on the end. It’s not weighted right.’

‘Don’t matter,’ said Lewis. ‘It’s a killer. And he looks like he’s killed some.’

‘And I haven’t?’ said Achilleus.

Lewis shrugged. ‘This is different, bro,’ he said. ‘This is another kid. He’s fit, man, and strong. He ain’t no shuffling zombie like the grown-ups.’