Asunder: A Gathering of Chaos by Cameron Hopkin (children's ebooks free online .txt) 📕

teeth when she saw the numbers scrawled on the little paper, but it was signed and sealed, so she merely added her signature with a wooden pen and tucked it into her drawer.

“Flats only, no rounds. Nothing higher than a ruby,” Renna said.

The woman gave a tight-lipped nod and retreated to the rear of her cubicle, using a bone key from her belt pouch to open a wooden strongbox. Renna heard the clink and click of gem flats being piled into a bag and wondered at her own numbness. You just gamed the biggest gambling establishment in the city. That’s exciting, isn’t it? And should have been – she’d just bilked Megalith out of a sum somewhere north of ten emerald rounds. It was enough to keep herself in luxury for years, but she only wanted to get her money, claim Gamarron’s useless corpse, and be on her way.

Her unaccountable melancholy made her irritable. “Are you inspecting each one by hand back there?” she called. “Just count them out and have done.”

The hairy halo of the woman’s head peeked around the edge of the strongbox’s lid, giving her a determinedly level look. “I wouldn’t want to miscount for you, madam,” she said neutrally. The guards gave her unfriendly glances, but she ignored them. A few other winners were beginning to gather, and she wanted to be gone before anyone saw her toting away a heavy bag full of money.

The bag that the attendant finally handed over held a bulge bigger than her head. Even pressed flat and spread out to its thinnest, it barely fit through the slot below the counter’s bars. She snatched it up with a grunt and moved down the hall. “Careful with that,” said one of the guards. She couldn’t tell if he was being snide or threatening, so she ignored him.

The claimant’s room was at the point farthest from both entrances. The smell alone meant that the average games attendee never made it near. It was called the claimant’s room, but charnel house would have been a more apt descriptor. The sharp, bitter tang of blood filled the air, accompanied by undertones of excrement and rot. Renna felt the saliva building up in her mouth, but she swallowed hard and commanded her stomach to be calm. Benches lined the hallway on both sides of a simple, unmarked door. Weeping women and somber men sat with bowed heads, waiting to collect the remnants of some poor relative with more courage than fighting skill. Pausing just beyond them, she gently laid her precious sack aside and shucked Gamarron’s blissfully soft robe over her head, untangling the black pants she’d kept hidden within them. She wore her standard uniform underneath. It had been to her advantage to be anonymous before, but now she would need the bludgeon of her authority. Wielding authority is worth dealing with a bare stomach. I’m keeping the robe, though.

Bundling the robe over her arm and retrieving the money bag, she swept past the grieving simpletons and pushed through the door, making sure to breathe through her mouth. It was every bit as bad inside as she had imagined. Stone tables filled the room in a grid, and the bricks underfoot were deeply grooved to sluice blood into the drains. The table nearest her held a corpse attended to by an employee whose arms were red to the elbow. He was trying to shove glistening grey coils of guts back into its gaping abdomen, but they kept sliding away from him and hanging over the edge of the table in long loops. More than half the tables were occupied, the bodies there showing complaints ranging from smashed skulls to severed limbs. Another attendant was sewing shut a dead woman’s slit throat with thick black thread. Gamarron was laid out on a table in the far corner, looking very dead. Her heart clenched.

Both workers looked up in surprise when she barged in. “You can’t be in here,” complained the one with arms covered in gore. “We bring them out when they’re ready and sewn into their bags. Honestly, does no one read the sign?”

The other one hastened over with a distressed expression, shushing his companion. “Now, now, please. Madam, we’re sorry for your loss. Truly. If you could just take a moment to rest and collect yourself in the hall –”

“Shut up,” she said. Pointing a finger at the other one’s face, she commanded, “Look at me. Do you see who I am?”

Sighing, he nodded. “Yes, Madam Hand. Forgive me, I didn’t think. How may we be of service?” His tone was more longsuffering than respectful – not a believer. His companion squirmed uncomfortably but did not speak.

She couldn’t be bothered to teach them the proper fear of Gaia at the moment. “Leave, both of you.” She gestured to the door at the rear of the room, which presumably led out toward the arena floor. Despite being buried in the depths of the building she could hear the deep buzz of the crowd’s roar.

They both gaped at her. “L-leave, Mistress?” stuttered the timid one. “But – the bodies need preparations, you see, and…”

She cut him off with a curt gesture. “That man was a devotee of the Earth Mother,” she grated, pointing to a random body. “I have come to deliver the final rites of consecration. They can only be witnessed by initiates.”

They exchanged a look, obviously hesitant to leave their posts. “I didn’t know the Weavers had death rites,” said the unbeliever. “I’ve never heard such a thing.”

“Well, now you have,” she snapped, wishing she could slap him without dirtying her hands. “And unless you would like to explain your disrespect to Gaia to your superior…”

The threat got them moving, and they hustled out with mumbled apologies. Renna went straight to Gamarron. Steeling herself, she slid her fingers behind his beard just below the ear and touched his neck. The skin was cold and clammy with a slight cast of blue, and she could