Chapter 237
The two crews on the rocks below the tower. Hallbard at the lantern room glass above, looking down. The Beam still flickering faintly at its far end, where Natta's been eating it.
calling down, a foghorn.
grinning, rolling his shoulders, his coat of 1,105 patches swinging.
stepping between them, one hand raised, very tired.
chalking a big circle on the flat black rock between them, wide enough for two men to fight in, and stepping out of it.
Both crews forming a ring round the chalk circle on the rocks. Flexsnus taking bets. Roffe setting up a cookpot. Tihi on Smurjan's shoulders. Kompis and Perne side by side, arms crossed. Mingus sitting at the circle's edge, tail sweeping the rock.
facing each other across the chalk circle. Green lightning crawling up Vigolas's arms. Krydog unwinding the bandages from his fists, the silver Pride script on his knuckles catching the light.
serious for once.
Vigolas throws the first punch, an Emerald Knuckle, full lightning, straight into Krydog's jaw. Krydog goes down, flat on his back on the black rock.
Krydog gets up. The bruise on his jaw fading, healing. He rolls his neck.
(Vigolas does it again: same punch, same jaw. And it bounces. Krydog doesn't even rock.)
Krydog's fist, bandageless, silver-scripted, a punch like a falling anchor, into Vigolas's chest. Vigolas goes down. Then, of course, gets up.
The black rocks of Fyren under the white lighthouse, a chalk circle, and inside it a cycle, drawn as a ring of panels running all the way round the spread like the face of a clock: Vigolas knocks Krydog down with something new each time, and Krydog gets up; Krydog knocks Vigolas down, and Vigolas gets up:
an Emerald Knuckle (down, up)
a lightning headbutt (down, up)
a flying tackle off the rocks into the surf (both down, both up, spitting seawater)
Krydog's anchor-punch (Vigolas down, up)
the Kettle's bell, borrowed off the Marka's bow, swung by its rope (Krydog down; Drekk, distantly: "MY BELL!"; up)
a fish, caught mid-leap from the surf, slapped across Krydog's face (down from laughing; up)
And in the middle of the ring, both men, bloodied, soaked, grinning like idiots. Round the edge, both crews screaming.
getting up for the twentieth time, swaying now, eyes raw, red-rimmed, dark bags under them as if he hadn't slept in a week. Every rise is a night's sleep he won't get.
at the circle's edge, watching him with naked worry.
getting up too, his heart hammering, swaying, staring at the giant across the circle with real respect.
laughing, a big tired happy laugh.
One last exchange: both men swinging at once, full strength, everything they have, and both fists landing, Vigolas's into Krydog's jaw, Krydog's into Vigolas's, at exactly the same instant.
Both men going over backwards together, flat on their backs on the black rock, side by side, arms flung out, staring up at the white lighthouse and the grey sky. Neither getting up. Laughing.
pocketing every bet in the ring with a beatific smile.
writing in a small notebook, very dryly.
still on their backs, heads together on the rock, looking up.
quietly, honestly.
padding into the chalk circle and lying down between the two flat captains, chin on Krydog's chest. Krydog going very still, his raw eyes going soft.
Far up, at the top of the tower, a crash. Glass. And the Beam, sweeping out over the sea, stuttering: on, off, on.
a foghorn, from the lantern room, frantic for the first time.
While everyone watched the duel, the Wreckers have come back: dozens of them, holding the tower's door, the cottage, the jetty, with oil-jars and hooks. Rasp at the door, grinning with brass teeth.
sitting bolt upright at the same instant, side by side, bloodied, exhausted.
Through the stair-windows, one after another, going dark: every lamp on the 212 steps being eaten, window by window, climbing, the darkness rising up the lighthouse like water filling a glass.
three-quarters of the way up. A thin woman in rags of black sailcloth, climbing steadily, eating each stair-lamp as she passes it, the glow sliding down her throat. Behind her, the stair is black.
pausing on the step, licking light off her fingers, the hollow glow in her eyes turned up, toward the lantern room and the great lens.