The Girl Who Fell from the Polar Star - Chapter 16

November 25, 2022

“Welcome to the Peasbury arena!” said an employee, smiling, as soon as she entered. “Today’s fights shall begin shortly. Visit our tavern, make yourselves comfortable—there’s no better place to enjoy the show!”

So the fights are on a schedule, thought Stella. They don’t just go at murder from dawn to dusk. It was only natural, she supposed, considering that there were bets involved.

“I’m not here for the fights,” she said. “I’m looking for a capable bodyguard, and a certain slaver told me that I might find one here.”

“Oh, I see! This way then, miss. I’ll help inform your decision in any way I can. Is it just you and the gentleman?”

“Yes. And don’t worry, I have the coin. I own a store under the protection of the Stock Company. You can run all the background checks you want.”

“Oh, that’s all right; I’ll take your word for it. But I must say, you’re quite the independent young lady. Your parents must be proud. Through this door, miss.”

They were ushered into a clean, well-maintained drawing room decorated with fancy works of art. Soft chairs surrounded a plush round table, upon which a young woman was laying out snacks and glasses of juice. Stella took a seat, signaling Beck to stand behind her, while Clever started eagerly pecking at the snacks.

“Well,” said the employee, “if it’s a bodyguard you want, you’ve come to the right place. I’ll give you a rundown of our best combatants. Though do bear in mind that we’ll charge you a commission fee as well as a fee for the cancellation of their current contract. As I hope you’ll understand, these fees are not in any way related to the terms of the new contract.”

Arena combatants were bound to the arena by a contract, which would have to be canceled—at a fee, naturally—for Stella to take them into her service. I have no qualms with that, but if he tries to sell me a Beck wannabe, I’m going to throw a tantrum. Children had that right, or so she’d heard.

“I understand,” she said.

“Thank you. This is our roster. It lists each combatant’s profile in detail—age, gender, place of origin, match record, fighting style, weapon of choice, current wages, among other things. If you’d like to know something that’s not in here, just ask; I’ll tell you all that I know. Once you’ve decided on someone, I’ll introduce you to them, and provided that both parties have no objections, the new contract can be effective immediately.”

“Both parties?”

“Yes. Some of our combatants have signed up with us looking for a guarantor for their debt, and those would have no say in the matter, but many others have done so of their own volition, for their own personal gain. They may not be interested in your offer, choosing instead to remain here. I hope you’ll understand.”

For some people, fighting and living were the same thing. But while she knew that, she couldn’t relate; her scrawny body lacked the endurance to fight in multiple matches back-to-back.

Maybe a single match? That sounds like it would be fun—but not without its own slew of problems.

She gave up.

“There’s a huge disparity in their cancellation fees,” Stella pointed out. “Is it the difference in skill?”

“You may think of it that way. Strength, looks, fighting style, those all factor into how well a combatant is received, and we won’t part with our best ones so easily.”

“Well, that’s understandable.”

Stella flipped through the pages. There was an obvious tendency for combatants with a lot of wins under their belt to have high cancellation fees. Losers had generally low fees, as well as people with missing limbs. There were a few women, and they were worth a king’s ransom.

“Women, huh.”

“That’s right. They’re not slaves, though, so I’d advise against hiring them for their . . . womanly charms.” He paused. “Oh, what am I saying. You wouldn’t be interested in that.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. I want a strong human who can understand orders, not a sex doll.” Stella sneered. She wasn’t actually offended.

The man chuckled out an apology and said, “You must be the most sensible young lady I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, miss. That look of cutting disdain is exactly what you need in this town. You have a bright future ahead of you.”

It didn’t sound like a compliment at all, but he seemed oddly happy about it. Stella ignored him and focused on the roster.

“Is the number of wins indicative of anything?” she asked.

“It’s proof of experience, at least in most cases. And it should come as no surprise that veterans tend to be better fighters.”

“Hmm. So, this is Beck.” She waved at Beck. “I want someone who’s worth ten of him in a fight. Can you pick me a few candidates?”

Beck looked like he wanted to argue. He was welcome to, but she would pit him against every combatant in this place just to prove her point. He knew that, of course, which was why he was staying quiet. A smart decision. I wish he would be this smart more often.

“Let’s see . . . What about Rostam? He hails from the continent of Liberica, and is a deserter of the Imperial Army. An excellent fighter, if I might add. Then there’s Cyrus, who wields a scimitar and fights like the wind. He always puts up a great show. Oh, and also Dhanush, who’s a mute. If it’s brute force you want, he’s your man—quite the destructive type, but severely lacking in intelligence, I’m afraid.”

I’ll pass on that last one, unless he’s just that good, thought Stella. I have Beck; I don’t need any more idiots. “Sounds good. Let me see them first. I’ll decide later.”

“Then I shall take you to the fighters’ lounge. Be warned, though—it’s not the cleanest of places.”

“I don’t mind it one bit. Lead the way.”

The fighters’ lounge was a spacious room strewn with grimy round tables. Some people were lounging, others honing their skills in the adjoining training area, getting ready for the day’s matches. A guard stood nearby, armed and armored to the teeth; whether he was supposed to thwart escape attempts or stop fights, Stella couldn’t tell. Her arrival didn’t go unnoticed, but what attention she gathered was brief and lukewarm. Touring guests were a common occurrence, it would seem.

Some of these people look quite capable, she thought. Nothing like Mace’s thugs.

“Where are those knuckleheads?” asked the employee. He turned to the guard. “You—where are Cyrus, Rostam, and Dhanush? It’s not their mealtime, they should be here.”

“Said they were going to the smithy to get the swords they put up for repair,” the guard replied. “Should be back soon.”

“I see.” The employee turned back to Stella. “I am deeply sorry for this, miss, but you’ll have to wait a while longer. Shall I lead you back to the drawing—”

“What’s up,” said a different man, approaching them. “Who’s the cute little guest? Some noble’s get?”

“Varrell. She’s an important guest, so guard your tongue.”

The man who appeared to be called Varrell wore his blond hair in a close-cropped cut behind a red headband. With a tall, powerful body and a crimson greatsword on his back, he looked quite impressive in his thick plate armor. One smack from that sword and Stella would turn into a pile of meat.

“Don’t be like that,” said Varrell. “I’m just marketing myself. I’m allowed to do that.” He turned to Stella. “Lady. Forget Rostam and Cyrus—why not hire me instead? I’m new here, but my short record has been so far unstained by defeat. I’m confident in my abilities, of course—and I think you should be too.”

“What?!” exclaimed the employee. “Why are you so willing now, after rejecting not one but two offers?! Do you think it’s easy to turn down the Orsons and the Stock Company?!”

“I’m not shackled by debt, nor am I a slave. I’m free to decide what to do with myself. Or did I misunderstand the terms of our contract?”

“Well, sure, but what about me? If they find out you shunned their offers to work for this lady . . .”

Varrell laughed heartily. “What’s it to me? She’s the one I want to work for, and nothing will change that.” He looked down at Stella. “So, what do you say?”

He seemed capable enough, to be sure; Stella had no doubt he could send Beck to the afterlife with one flick of his hand. But could she trust him? His sudden interest in her raised too many red flags.

She looked up at Varrell. “Well, I’d like to hear your reasons first. Why do you want to work for me? Answer honestly and I may consider it.”

“Why, you’ve impressed me with your mettle, that’s all. You stand here completely unfazed, when by all rights you should be terrified. I’ve never seen a girl your age act like that. And you know, it’s not like we’ll be bound for life—why not give me a chance, see how it goes?”

“Hmm. Then tell me—why have you refused the other offers?”

“The way those people band together doesn’t sit well with me.”

“As good a reason as any, I suppose.”

Stella studied Varrell with crossed arms. His face spelled insolence, and she was certain that he was hiding something. There was no hostility in his eyes, but they seemed to be carefully probing her, looking for something. What does he want? I can’t have wronged him in any way. It was almost impossible that they’d ever met before; she’d been a recluse her whole life, after all. Maybe it was some gang quarrel, and he was after her by proxy? No. If that were the case, he would have skipped the pleasantries and attacked her head-on, to parade his superior strength.

Stella shot Clever an inquisitive look. He raised his feathers a little, leaving the choice to her.

It would be easy to refuse him, but then she would never know his motives. I’ll regret it. Marie, Rye, Beck, Varrell—through Leroy, Stella had more than enough income to support all of her chattels. And if Leroy ever decided to go back on his word, she would simply find someone else to do business with.

“I’ll hire you,” she finally said, “on one condition. You must be mine.”

Varrell chuckled. “I must profess my love for you? Aren’t you a bold one.”

“Love has nothing to do with it. I’m well aware that I’m too young for that.”

“Don’t call yourself young, it sounds like a bad joke. You’re more arrogant than most adults.”

“I appreciate the compliment. But what I want is simple—for the duration of our contract, you must recognize me as your owner. If you can accept that, I’ll hire you.”

“Will that restrict me in any way?”

He probably wanted to know how he would be treated. Stella had no intention of keeping a tight leash on him as long as he did his job, same as she’d been doing for Marie and Rye. She only asked that they recognize her as their owner, for that fed her materialistic desires. It was great to have things. Not just any things, though—it had to be things she liked. Humans were supposed to be picky.

“I won’t take away your freedom,” she said. “All of my things live quite unrestricted lives. If you’re too incompetent, though, I’ll have to put you back in line.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem, then. That’s true for any contract. Do you have the coin, though? I don’t mind paying the fee for you if you don’t. I’ve made a small fortune in this place.”

Stella recalled the announcer from the other day. Ten victories in a row. It proved that he was as good as he claimed to be. She allowed her expectations to rise.

Stella giggled. “You’re joking, surely. I can’t accept financial aid from my future servant. Are you trying to shame me?”

Pride—pointless though it was, humans seemed to hold it in the highest regard. If Stella was serious about living a fulfilling human life, she must also attach some value to it.

“Sorry about that,” said Varrell.

“It’s all right. Friends forgive each other, after all.”

She laughed; he returned it loudly. The combatants stared at them.

“You two have everything figured out, don’t you,” said the employee. “You know what, I don’t care. Is he your man, miss?”

“Yes, he is. Let’s discuss the specifics, then.”

“Yes, but in the drawing room. This place is disgusting, not to mention noisy. You’re coming too, Varrell. Tch. I can’t believe you, man. Every bit as stubborn as the day you showed up on our doorstep.”

Varrell laughed. “Get off my back, old man. I’m sure I’ve made you a lot of money—just call us even.”

The employee clicked his tongue and cursed. Varrell patted him on the back and took the lead, shooting Stella a sideways glance as he walked by. No, he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at my breast pocket. Inside of which, pressed against her skin, was her Magic Crystal.

“I think I’m starting to understand what he’s after,” she told Clever.

‘Keke! It’s not too late to go back on yer word, eh? ’E’s no joke, that one!’

“You think he’s that strong? I can’t tell at a glance. I’m not that experienced.”

‘Enough that ’e could take on a whole army of thugs on ’is lonesome, methinks. Give ’im a ’undred Becks, ’e’ll cook you a ’undred meat pies, eh! I’d ’ave to take ’im seriously in a fight, eh, and tha’s saying something!’

“Wow. That’s a lot of praise coming from you.”

‘That goes to show ’ow dangerous ’e looks to me. But don’t worry, eh, Master! I’ll keep my eyes open, so you just do yer thing!’

Stella’s position commanded a good view of Varrell’s crimson greatsword. It was a fine—no, a grand piece of craftsmanship indeed. Could it have been made by human hands?

“That sword included, he’s quite the specimen. Hoarding humans like him is a surefire way to never feel bored again. Right now, I feel more alive than ever.” Stella unconsciously licked her lips.

Clever chirped happily. ‘You do so ’ate boredom with a dying passion, eh!’

“That’s right. Boredom, stagnation, eternity—these are all words I despise. They make me sick to the stomach. I’d rather die than endure any of it for one second.”

Stella patted her own left shoulder, and Clever hopped onto it. She caressed his neck, eliciting an expression of pure bliss.

‘Ah, this is the life, eh! There’s no other place for lil’ ol’ me!’

Stella giggled. “I swear, you’re such a handful.”