The Kingdom of Bones Read Free Page B

best interest to floor the challenger quickly, and terminate the boy’s luck. The crowd wouldn’t like it. But there would be other crowds.
    All was ready. “Three rounds,” the barker cried out over the racket. “London rules.” He then said something in a low voice that the two opponents had to lean in to hear. The masked man nodded, and the boy started to skip impatiently on the spot.
    Then the barker raised his voice again. “Gentlemen, go to.”
    He stepped from the ring as the two men squared off.
    The noise in the tent was now deafening. The fighters circled. The friends of Henry Keenan were right up against the ringside and making the most noise of all. The boy feinted a few times, and the fighter did nothing in response. Not even a flinch. When the boy suddenly put in a blow, the seasoned fighter blocked it without seeming to alter his stance by more than an inch or two.
    Keenan’s supporters grew even more vocal. Sebastian glanced again at Elisabeth. She seemed to be holding her breath.
    They continued to circle, the masked fighter lumbering like an ox and the challenger becoming ever more bold. The champion’s action wasn’t impressive, although personally Sebastian wouldn’t have cared to attempt to bring such an ox to the ground. That thought didn’t seem to occur to Keenan; the fighter’s stolidity and lack of speed were tempting the young man into a display of overconfidence.
    Keenan was showing off, wasting his energies, playing to his friends. He got in a couple of body blows that didn’t trouble the professional at all, and then a lucky one to the head that did. The masked man didn’t stagger; but he took a step back and he closed up his guard, putting himself beyond the boy’s reach for a moment. He drew his head back into his shoulders as if to protect it better, as if the punch had jarred him.
    At the ringside, the Keenan faction roared even louder. Grinning, Keenan acknowledged his supporters and then turned back to press his imagined advantage.
    He turned into the masked fighter’s right glove, coming out of nowhere like a rock on a rope and snapping his head around. The left hit him a fraction of a second later, and snapped him around the other way.
    One of the two blows broke his nose, but it was impossible to say which. Spit flew, blood flowed. Keenan reeled back, only keeping his balance by a fluke. Flailing his arms, rocking on his heels, he seemed ready to fall. The pro moved around with him, not lowering his guard, ready to give out more of the same.
    Glancing at Elisabeth, Sebastian saw the color draining from her face. This was not as she’d imagined. He felt concern, but he also felt relief. Relief that she was still the woman he knew.
    Over in the ring, the Masked Champion slammed in another cruel blow with calm accuracy. Henry Keenan wove, staggered, and fell to one knee. The barker was in the ring within moments, stepping between the two fighters with his hand upraised.
    “Round One!” he declared. The professional ambled back to his corner, and the young man was lifted back to his own by a couple of his friends. All around Sebastian and Elisabeth, the crowd were getting to their feet in a near frenzy. Only that morning, most of them had been Christians in church; now, with the temporary permission of the sporting ritual, all were pagans in a pit.
    She looked back at him and managed a weak smile. He guessed that she’d probably seen enough. Sebastian glanced around them, but between them and the exit was a noisy, heaving mass of passionate spectators. All in Sunday best. All baying like dogs at the scent of a kill.
    Elisabeth touched her gloved hand to her lips briefly, as if in need of air.
    “Gentlemen,” the barker said, “go to.”
    Henry Keenan, partly recovered, came out of his corner with an angry shout. There was blood down his shirt and madness in his eyes. His opponent stood ready to block any punch he might throw. But Keenan now abandoned London rules. He