The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy Read Online Free PDF Page B

it,” Mugin said, and began to argue with the official in Chinese. Eventually, money changed hands and he handed the contract to Bingley. “Sign.”
    Before Brian could lodge a protest, Bingley signed his name. The wushu master, a young man with a surprisingly pleasant disposition, given his violent trade, smiled and helped him up into the ring.
    â€œHe’s just going to knock him around a little,” Mugin said, grabbing Brian’s kimono to stop him from following his charge, “not hurt him.”
    â€œI hope the bribe was big enough,” Brian said.
    Bingley stepped up on the matted dais. The announcer began to speak to the crowd of men with identical queues, and raised Bingley’s arm. “ Hongmao Guizi! ” he bellowed.
    There were boos from the crowd, and a little laughter. Mugin just laughed.

    â€œWhat’d he call him?”
    â€œRed-furred demon,” Mugin answered.
    Bingley, clueless as ever, was not put off at all as the announcer raised the hand of the current champion, and the crowd cheered. The champion bowed with a hand gesture that Bingley copied incorrectly, with his fist on the wrong side.
    â€œFive dago he lasts more than three seconds,” Mugin said.
    â€œYou know I don’t gamble anymore, Mugin-san, don’t try to tempt me,” Brian said, watching as Bingley assumed a fighting position. “Though it is tempting.”
    Brian would have won the bet. Bingley succeeded in throwing a single punch, which, of course, was sidestepped by the champion, who grabbed Bingley’s wrist and pulled him forward as he kicked his challenger’s feet out from under him. Bingley landed on his back as the crowd gave their noisy approval.
    â€œOw,” Bingley said. He looked up, and the champion was offering a hand. “What? We’re still going? Fine, I’m a sporting man.”
    â€œSo do you give up?” the challenger said in broken Japanese. He assumed a different but still complex stance as Bingley slowly got to his feet and tried again. And again. After landing on his back three times (the third in a full flip, with the champion somehow sliding under him entirely as he did it), he tapped the ground.
    â€œOw. Winner,” he said in Japanese, pointing to the champion. Smiling, the master helped Bingley to his feet again, and Bingley raised the master and still-champion’s hand up. That was as long as he could manage to stay standing before he collapsed again, and Brian and Mugin leaped up to help him off the stage.
    â€œThat was…I think I need—to be ill,” Bingley said.
    Brian stifled his own smile as the cheering continued. As he helped Bingley to sit down on the stands again, he watched Mugin and the champion exchange some words before Mugin jumped off the dais and rejoined them. The official presented him with a certificate of his defeat, which Bingley probably would have appreciated more if he hadn’t been vomiting into a porcelain vase.

    The day’s fights were over, and the crowd began to disperse as people returned to their businesses. The champion stepped off the dais and approached the three of them, saying something to Mugin.
    â€œHe says he was most interested to fight a foreigner,” Mugin said. “He would like to invite us to dinner.”
    â€œOf course,” Brian said, and bowed to the champion.
    â€œHis name is Ji Yuan,” Mugin said, and translated their answer in more formal terms to the champion, who took his leave. “You are all right, Binguri-chan?”
    â€œI’m going to be a bit—ow,” he said, trying to stand, “—sore in the morning, but I think so, yes.” He squinted. “Do they have, say, doctors in China?”
    An hour later, they were back at the inn, where a terrified Bingley was lying with needles in his back, a prospect he found far more intimidating than fighting a wushu master.
    â€œDon’t complain; you got