Red, White and Blue (Book Two of The Powder Trail)

Chapter Three: The Plan

Joel's heart sank when he got down to the courtyard, and saw Garrett stripped down to his churidars, taking practise-swings at the air like an experienced boxer. It even looked as though someone had oiled him up. His muscular torso had the same suspicious gleam as his eyes.

He was bigger than Jack – although, Joel had to admit that, even with whisky-dulled reflexes, Jack was probably quicker. There was something large and lumbering about Garrett. Something that suggested slowness, but inevitability.

But Jack wasn't taking this seriously! Garrett was stretching and taking practice-swings, while Jack was very calmly finishing up his bottle of whisky, and giving last-minute instructions to his Captains about guard-duties – as though none of this was really happening.

Only when he'd finished speaking did Jack pull his shirt over his head and turn round to face Garrett, who was pacing about in the mud, positively vibrating with enthusiasm.

"I assume there'll be no weapons?" said Garrett. He glanced at Alim, who had got to a position at the front of the crowd by dint of sheer dignity, and was now standing with his arms folded, and his two scimitars strapped rather pointedly to his hips. "And no outside interference?"

"Of course not, Garrett," said Jack. "If you like, I can ask all these people to go away?"

There was a chorus of 'boo's from the crowd, and Garrett narrowed his eyes. 

Joel never knew why Jack always had to make his enemies so angry. Was it a clever tactic, or just an inevitable effect of his personality? Since Jack had always been this annoying, and always this successful, he supposed he would never find out.

At any rate, the boos stopped when Garrett lumbered forwards, and were replaced by the general clamour of spectators picking sides and urging on their favourites. 

The two fighters were careful to begin with – circling warily around each other, occasionally feinting forwards or darting back. 

It was Garrett who made the first committed lunge, but it was easy enough to duck. Jack scrambled under his arm and emerged behind him, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, grinning smugly. Maybe it was Joel's imagination, but he thought Jack was being even more irritating than usual – as if to compensate for his slower reactions. Maybe he was trying to make Garrett clumsy and careless too.

And, initially, this seemed to help. Garrett came at him again, and Jack managed to kick him in the ribs – then grabbed hold of Garrett's head as he doubled up, and drove it, hard, into his knee. Garrett staggered, but kept his feet. Apart from the little trickle of blood escaping from his nose, he didn't even seem to be shaken.

He advanced on Jack again, keeping his arms up to protect his head, and jabbed out at Jack's chest and face. Jack jumped back, but not quite fast enough. One of the jabs connected with his lower lip and split it open.

"Jabs?" said Jack disdainfully, wiping away the blood. "What are you, a girl?"

Garrett's leg was already in the air as he said this, but still, the taunt seemed to add extra impact to his kick. It connected with the side of Jack's head, making him fall to his knees in the mud. Garrett shifted his weight and kicked up with his other leg, knocking Jack straight over backwards. It was a beautiful combination, and it elicited groans of sympathy and appreciation from the crowd. Joel managed to tear his eyes away from Jack's recumbent figure to look at the faces of the spectators, but none of them seemed as worried as he was. They had probably seen Jack take beatings like this before.

Garrett leapt on top of him, trying to follow up these kicks with debilitating punches. He brought his fist down in clumsy, pummelling motions, but Jack managed to dodge each one, now grinning through the blood.