"This is Phobos Tower," Fitchner says. The tower lies in the far southwest of our territory. He drinks from a canteen while we go thirsty and points northwest where the two rivers meet in the valley to form their V. A massive tower crowns a distant dwarf mountain range just be- yond the junction. "And that is Deimos." He traces an imaginary line to show us the bounds of House Mars's territory. The eastern river is called the Furor. The west- ern, which runs just south of our castle, is the Metas. A single bridge spans the Metas. An enemy would have to cross it to enter between the V into the valley and strike northeast across easy, wooded ground to reach our castle. "This is a slaggin' joke, isn't it?" Sevro asks Fitchner. "Whatever do you mean, Goblin?" Fitchner pops a gumbubble. "Our legs are as wide as a Pinkwhore's. All these mountains and hills and anyone can just walk right in the front door. It's a perfect flat passage from the lowlands right to our gate. Just one stinking river to cross." "Pointing out the obvious, eh? You know, I re- ally do not like you. You foul little Goblin." Fitch- ner stares at Sevro for a purposeful moment and then shrugs. "Anyway, I'1l be on Olympus." "What does that mean, Proctor?" Cassius asks sourly. He doesn't like the look of things either. Though his eyes are red from weeping through the night for his dead brother, it hasn't dulled his impressiveness. "I mean it's your problem, little prince. Not mine. No one's going to fix anything for you. I am
your Proctor. Not your mommy. You're in school, remember? So if your legs are open, well, make a chastity belt to protect the softspot. There's general grumbling "Could be worse," I say. I point past Anto- nia's head toward the southern plains where an enemy fortress spans a great river. "We could be exposed like those poor bastards." "Those poor bastards have crops and orchards,' Fitchner muses. "You have ..." He looks over the ledge to find the deer he killed. "Well, Goblin here left the deer behind, SO yOu have nothing The wolves will eat what you do not." "Unless we eat the wolves," Sevro mutters, drawing strange looks from the rest of our House. So we have to get our own food. Antonia points to the lowlands "What are they doing?" A black dropship slides down from the clouds. It settles in the center of the grassy plain be- tween us and the distant enemy river fortress of Ceres. Three Obsidians and a dozen Tinpots stand guard as Browns hustle out to set hams, steaks, biscuits, wine, milk, honey, and cheeses onto a disposable table eight kilometers from Phobos Tower. "A trap, obviously," Sevro snorts. "Thank you, Goblin." Cassius sighs. "But I haven't had breakfast." Circles ring his reckless eyes. He glances over at me through the crowd of our fellows and offers a smile. "Up for a race, Darrow?" I start with surprise. Then I smile. "On your mark.' And he's off. I've done dumber things to feed my family. I did dumber things when someone I loved died. Cassius is owed the company as he races down the steep hillside. Forty-eight kids watch us scamper to fill our bellies; none follow. "Bring me a slice of honeyed ham!" Fitchner shouts. Antonia calls us idiots. The dropship floats away as we leave the highlands behind for gentler terrain. Eight kilometers in .376grav (Earth standard) is a cinch. We scramble down rocky hillsides, then hit the lowland plains at full tilt through ankle-high grass. Cassius beats me to the tables by a body length. He's fast. We each take a pint of the ice water on the table. I drink mine faster. He laughs "Looks like the House Ceres's mark on their flagpole. The Harvest Goddess." Cassius points over across the green plains to the fortress. A few trees dot the several kilometers between us and the castle. Pennants flap from their ramparts. He pops a grape into his mouth. "We should take a closer look before chowin' down. A little scout- ing." "Agreed ... but something isn't right here,' I say quietly. Cassius laughs at the open plain. "Nonsense. We'd see trouble if it was coming. And I don't think any one of them is going to be faster than us two. We can strut up to their gates and take a shit if we so like." "I do have something brewing." I touch my stomach. Yet still, something is wrong. And not just in my belly. It's six kilometers of open ground between the river fortress and us. The river gurgles in the dis- tance to the right. Forest to the far left. Plains in front. Mountains beyond the river. Wind rus- tles the long grass and a sparrow coasts in with the breeze. It swoops low to the ground before flinching up and away. I laugh loudly and lean against the table. "They are in the grass," I whisper. "A trap.'