Havoc (Dred Chronicles 2)

“They’re not really Queenslanders,” another spat. “Just look at them.”

That moment of bravery didn’t last long when she turned her gaze on him. He stumbled back a step, cowering with the rest. Ignoring them for a few seconds, she turned to Keelah, who had blood smeared on her muzzle. Katur will want their heads, and I don’t blame him. She could ill afford the loss of grunts for the front line, but better to keep the aliens, who weren’t utterly awash in prejudice.

“As the offended party, I’ll give you the option on what I do with these wretches. I can cast them out—to be killed by Silence or eaten by Mungo’s lot. You can execute them yourselves if you prefer. Or we can enjoy their misery in a series of death matches.”

The alien female didn’t ponder long. “The latter sounds fascinating.”

“We’re not fighting!” one of the traitors shouted.

Dred turned with a wicked smile. “You know the rules. The winner gets to live.”

It was a measure of her depravity that she enjoyed how fast the bigots turned on one another. Jael had to pull them apart, or they would’ve started the killing before she roused Calypso and summoned an audience.

She nodded at Keelah. “Can your people restrain them?”

“Gladly.”

Leaving Jael to manage the situation, she ran off to wake Calypso. The mistress of the ring wasn’t amused at being disturbed until she found out it was in her official capacity. Then her white teeth flashed in a delighted smile. “It’s been too long.” She yawned and stretched, then nudged her bedmate out of the bunk. “Go fetch the others. Tell them it’s time for the blood sport.”

A slim, brown-skinned male who bore a passing resemblance to Tam darted out of the room, his eyes lowered submissively. She noticed the fresh marks on his back, but as long as bed play was consensual, this didn’t fall under the heading of harm. Best to check.

“He’s a willing participant, yeah?”

“I don’t make them cuddle with me afterward, dear heart,” Calypso said, smirking. “That’s his choice. So that should tell you plenty about how he feels.”

“Point taken. I can’t believe we have to do this. I wish we weren’t sheltering such animals, but—”

“What more can you expect from Artan’s loyalists?” Calypso rolled out of bed, unconscious of her nudity, and dressed quickly. Her entire outfit had been crafted from cured skins, harvested from the rodents infesting the ship. It gave her an earthy, musky smell, unique among the rest of Queensland.

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t think they all threw in with Lecass? There are those who miss Artan’s cruelty and chaos. They just weren’t brave enough to try to depose you.”

“Comforting,” Dred muttered.

“If you’re looking for solace, my queen, well, you won’t find it here.”

Except that I did. From Jael.

“Don’t call me that. I can’t tell you how much I hate this Dread Queen crap.”

“The men need something to believe in. If they thought you were an ordinary woman, they’d put a blade through your heart.”

“None of us are normal, or we wouldn’t be in Perdition,” she pointed out.

But there were more men than women incarcerated here. Dred wasn’t sure if men were naturally more prone to criminal behavior or if they just got caught more. Ego made her want to believe the latter. But since she’d slipped up, it was slim consolation.

Calypso took up her staff, an impressive feat of scrap engineering; the thing didn’t look like it had any smooth edges, so it must cut into the other woman’s palm, but she showed no visible signs of distress. The mistress of the circle didn’t check her reflection, merely strode out of the room ahead of Dred.

“You’ll get the hall set up?” she asked.

“Of course. Bring the prisoners in a quarter hour or so.”

Nodding, Dred jogged back to the training room, where the traitors had been forced to their knees. They wore the same bloody cords they’d used on their victims, and the refugees seemed pleased with the resolution so far. Katur had joined his mate, but Dred couldn’t read anything from his demeanor. His coppery fur was flat, his eyes dark in the low, downtime light, as Dred ran the zone on half power while most of the populace was sleeping.

She made eye contact with Jael, silently asking how much of a bomb they were sitting on. He shook his head, and she took that to mean the newcomers were satisfied with the swift and merciless judgment. But this wasn’t wholly about protecting the refugees; it was also about reminding the men that she held the power, and while she might be less of a lunatic than Artan, it still didn’t pay to cross her.

Dred presented herself before the alien leader and tilted her head down, not quite a bow, but he should recognize it as a gesture of humility. “I apologize for the harm to your people. I said you’re Queenslanders now, and I meant it. The guilty will be punished.”

“I look forward to the show,” Katur said. “We have never permitted such barbarity in the Warren.”

That’s definitely a reminder of who the civilized people are in this room.

She only nodded. “This way. I’ll explain the rules.”

By the time they reached the common room, Calypso had the makeshift arena set up and her bed partner had rousted most of the Queenslanders to serve as the audience. Though some looked sleepy and surly, the bulk reacted to the prospect of bloodshed as Calypso had, as if it were the delivery of a much-anticipated treat. I can only do so much with what Artan left me. But she was aware of the silent aliens standing at her shoulder, likely thinking she was no better than Mungo or Silence. For obvious reasons, that turned her stomach.

She said, “Pardon me,” to Katur, then sent a number of men, led by Cook, to assist Jael in escorting the combatants. The chef chucked two men bodily over the scrap framework that made up the ring. They hit the floor with a metallic clang, and one skidded into the barricade, prompting raucous jeers from the spectators.

This is how I hold them. No matter what I tell myself about rules or order, it’s the promise of violence that keeps the rest in check.

As if he suspected her thoughts, Jael put a hand on her arm, and she covered it with her own, a quiet moment of secret solidarity. Or maybe he was exerting ownership. She preferred to imagine otherwise.

Once everyone took their places outside the circle, Calypso thumped her staff against the floor three times. That was the cue for the games to begin.