Venture Unleashed (The Venture Books) by R.H. Russell Page B

city storage house several blocks away, came wagons loaded with logs carved to fit together to form the arena’s walls, various poles and ropes, and more canvas than he had ever seen, to form the tent-like roof.
    Then there came stacks of flooring—carefully hewn wood planks nailed together over a sort of shallow box-like base, just the right size to be carted through the streets, so that they were like many pieces of a puzzle. When all fitted together, they formed what looked like any permanent wood floor. Next came wooden bleachers and stairs—enough for twenty thousand. Wooden partitions were brought in, to separate spaces on the ends of the rectangular structure into rooms for the fighters to be processed and to rest.  
    The mats were like those in every fighting center, made of straw, neatly and tightly woven into rectangular slabs, half a palm’s breadth thick, each piece about as long as a man, their width half their length. These, however, were not stained, worn, or dingy like those Venture was accustomed to fighting on. Each slab was covered with a clean new piece of white canvas, stretched taut over the front and stitched securely to the back. There were three competition areas in the arena, and these were formed when the mats were laid into three wooden frames on the floor, just deep enough to hold the mats and keep them from shifting around on impact. All this, he described to the girls in great detail.
    “I’ve never seen anything like it—all those perfect, white mats. I kept thinking how I’d like to be out there one day, to be one of the first matches of the Championship and leave my mark on it with somebody else’s blood.”
    Tempest let out a little gasp.  
    “I’m sorry, Miss,” he said quickly, “I shouldn’t say such things.”
    He was an idiot. He’d been so absorbed in the memory of it, he’d just spoken his mind, as though they weren’t young ladies. Now he’d given Jade the impression that he liked to beat people to a bloody pulp. He preferred chokes precisely because they were swift and clean and they caused little damage. He struck his opponents only to the extent that it helped him get into position to win the way he liked to, or, if given the situation, it was the only practical thing to do. It was only those perfect white mats, and the knowledge that they wouldn’t stay white for long, that made him think of it. He was just opening his mouth to apologize again when Jade spoke up.
    “We don’t mind. Tell us about the fights, Vent, please.”
    That was the Jade he knew. The Jade who wanted to be a part of the world of fighting. His world. The desperation he’d felt to be near her again, all those long months, came flooding back, even though she was so close. Because she was so close.
    “I’d like to, Miss, but I’d go on and on, and I really have to get back to work now. Ladies, if you’ll excuse me.”  
    He hadn’t even gotten to telling them about all the tents and booths set up around the arena, the vendors selling all sorts of delights, but it wasn’t fun anymore to sit here and talk with her, not when all he could think was that he couldn’t have her.
    “Will you get our cloaks for us now, so we can go in and confess?” Tempest said. “It’s still pouring out there.”
    “Sure.” Remembering his place, Venture added, “Of course, Miss.”
    He fetched cloaks for the girls and darted back to the stable. He was standing in the shelter of the eaves, his hand ready at the door handle, when Tempest’s words, from the other side, stopped him.
    “Has that boy always looked so tempting?”
    “He’s always been handsome, yes,” Jade answered tentatively, “but he’s—grown since I saw him last.”
    “How old is he?”  
    “What does it matter? He’s just a simple servant boy, not worth thinking about at all.”  
    “Oh, well, I suppose you’re right.”
    Tempest said something else then that was such a mixture of a whisper and a giggle that he