Chapter 66

66

Ed was impressed with the grungy sicko. He was smaller and slighter than the others, probably the youngest one out there. He must be a teenager. His face was awful, like a doll that had been chewed by a dog. Knotted with scar tissue. Ed sometimes gave into self-pity when he looked at himself in a mirror. Greg had cut him badly down the cheek and without proper surgery the wound hadn’t healed well. Compared to the young sicko, though, he was a fashion model.

He was used to seeing sickos, used to the way the disease ate away at them, erupted from under the skin, making their faces a vile pizza of boils and lumps and sores, with other parts rotted and falling away. This sicko was one of the worst Ed had ever seen. He was also the best fighter he’d ever seen. He was fast and seemed clever.

It was chaos in the arena and a lot of the sickos were just wandering aimlessly; others, seemingly made bolder by the young sicko, were more dangerous and made murderous dashes at the riders. It was clear that Golden Boy and the others hadn’t been expecting any real opposition from the sickos. This was meant to be kids showing off their horsemanship and their skills with sword and lance. This was meant to be a one-sided polo match, but the young sicko had turned it into something different. This was a competition now, and the spectators were enjoying it.

This place had held so many races over the years; so many bets had been won and lost. Ed had been struck, when Golden Boy had led the riders into the arena, that this was how it used to be. Riders coming in and parading around before a race.

Surely nothing quite like this had ever been seen here before.

‘Look at him go, man,’ said Lewis, who was sitting next to Ed. ‘My money’s on the sicko.’

‘Let’s hope he makes that Windsor twat look stupid,’ said Kyle.

Golden Boy tried to run the grungy sicko down, but he darted back into the main pack and got lost among them.