Skelp drew from behind his back a blackthorn club the size of Chevie’s leg. As if its dimensions were not formidable enough, Skelp had hammered on armored plates that had doubtless once been shining steel but were now dull with congealed liquid and matter.

“Charming,” said Chevie. “You guys are a classy bunch.” Malarkey laughed. “Skelp is one of our more sophisticated brothers. Betimes he reads stories to the illiterates.

“The odds are ten to one on Skelpy. Cash only, no markers. Give yer coin to my accountant.”

A small man in a waistcoat was suddenly besieged by aggressive men with money and dealt with them all efficiently, using a complicated system of facial tics and swearing. Once the betting was done, a space was cleared in front of the dais. Riley guessed that this was the traditional bareknuckle arena, and he hoped that the dark splashes on the floorboards were simply wine or beer.

Chevie did not seem anxious, though there could be nothing familiar to her about the proceedings.

Riley realized that the attention of every man in the room was on Chevie, and that this was a perfect time to look for a way out for them both. He couldn’t abandon her now. We are partners, till the end of this affair.

The Battering Rams jostled for a ringside view as the opponents readied themselves for the competition. Chevie carefully stretched her muscles and tendons, while Skelp stripped to his waist and spoke soft words to his darling bludgeon. “I will call the match,” said Malarkey through his speaking trumpet. “Last man... or woman... standing shall be proclaimed victor. Both parties prepared for the bout?” Skelp spat a gob of chewed tobacco, mostly on his own boot. Chevie simply nodded and balled her fists.

“Then begin!” called Malarkey.

The Rams were expecting the little lass to be brim-full of vinegar and take a run at Skelp, possibly causing him to fall down laughing. They were prepared to berate their comrade good-naturedly as he was eventually forced to tap the girlie on her noggin in order to claim his winnings.

They were utterly unprepared for what actually happened, and several burst out laughing, presuming that it was some manner of jape orchestrated by King Otto for a bit of a giggle. Before the echo of Malarkey’s words faded, Chevie rushed in low, used a basic judo disarming maneuver to twist the club out of Skelp’s grasp, then unleashed an out-of-the-ballpark uppercut with the man’s own beloved bludgeon that knocked out three of his teeth and sent him flying into a gaggle of his comrades. The whole lot went down like ninepins.

“Next,” said Chevie, which was a bit melodramatic, but no more so than the entire situation.