Page 56 of Carousel

Written rules. Unspoken rules.

Rules, rules, rules.

And punishments.

Much like in Hevalla itself, I suppose. I shouldn’t be surprised.

I just wish I knew why Cosmer would want to punish himself.

CHAPTER 11

The Airlock Execution

When the clock finally marks the sixteenth hour, the analysts who started their duties at the same time we did leave. Those who started later in the day remain.

Riss stays seated at her desk, fiddling with her own handheld radio.

I hover by her while she speaks into it.

“Cosmer. Cosmer, come in.”

Nothing.

“Maybe we should go down to the Training Room,” she suggests.

Before I can answer, she jumps up and starts heading off.

And I get it. The thought of Cosmer and Drake being left in each other’s company for so long makes me uneasy, too.

The Training Room turns out to be on the same deck we entered the ship from yesterday. This close to the pods, the air is hotter and smells faintly of warm metal and oil.

The room reminds me of the area Rike’s father was in charge of in the Palace, used for the training of the Queen’s Guard. There are odd pieces of metal exercise equipment, racks of weights and eerily human-looking training dummies scattered around. Punching bags hang in chains from the ceiling and targets have been set up in a space surrounded by sheets of metal for, I guess, shooting practice. In the centre of the room, a crowd has assembled around Cosmer and Drake. They’ve stripped down to their shirts and breeches, and they’re on a mat in the centre of a chalked circle, barefoot, looking sweaty and worse for wear.

Drake lunges towards Cosmer, who ducks, twists and rushes behind him.

I realise what’s happening now. It’s like a game. They’re trying to force the other out of the circle.

Drake tries again, feinting left this time, but Cosmer reads it again, and swerves once more. He steps back in the middle, lightly. Like this is easy.

“Didn’t know this was a dance lesson,” Drake mutters, wiping his face with the sleeve of his blouse.

“It’s obvious what you’re planning to do from a mile off,” Cosmer replies.

Drake moves first again, lunging. He grabs Cosmer’s wrist before he can feint again. They end up wrestling like that for a few seconds, chest to chest, their arms straining.

Riss folds her arms. “They really don’t like each other, do they?”

Shouts from the soldiers ring out.

“Finish him, Cosmer!”

“End the Rhavnan scum!”

Cosmer shifts his weight, headbutting Drake, who lets go of him, clutching his forehead.

I feel bad for Drake at this point. It’s a little embarrassing.

Cosmer’s back in the middle of the mat, somehow still full of energy.