one that meant that Venture had surprised him, impressed him.
This time, Beamer said, “Look at your opponent, but listen to me.”
Venture did. He focused on what was going on on the mat, right now, and nothing else. There was just him and Lance, and Beamer’s voice warning him, advising him, correcting him. And every time he managed to do what Beamer said, it worked. Sometimes he did something all on his own, without thinking, because his body knew that was what he should do, only it didn’t work. But Beamer said, “That’s good. Again. Try it again,” and eventually, it did work.
Lance stepped it up a notch and got him back, harder and harder. Venture didn’t mind the pain of those falls, the kicks to his shins, the half-strength jabs, because everything else was gone. The only thing in his head was this puzzle that he was working out bit by bit. Now he saw how every time Lance stepped forward with his right foot and leaned just so, he was going to grab him around the head. Now he could block it, at least some of the time. It made sense. He realized that it would make more sense the more he worked at it, and he wanted to work at it; he wanted to master it. Wanted the rough canvas under his feet and the sweat in his eyes and blows to dodge.
And then Lance picked him up around the waist and lifted him up in the air, tilting him to the side and jumping a little to give the throw more power and height before he came crashing down on top of him. Lance’s head slammed right into Venture’s chest, burying him into the mat. Venture tried to breathe, but the breath wouldn’t come.
Lance got up, swearing and apologizing.
Earnest hurried over. “You just got the wind knocked out of you,” he said. “You’ll be all right.”
Venture made himself stand up. He didn’t feel all right. He didn’t feel like he’d ever breathe normally again.
Beamer blew the whistle, and all the boys stopped. “Delving,” he said. “That’s enough.”
Venture willed the burning color from his face, to no avail. He couldn’t look at Beamer, at Master. Lance found another partner and Beamer blew the whistle again. All around him, boys began another round without him. Vale Beamer, one of the best coaches in Richland, had actually tried to teach him something, and still, he’d merely managed to embarrass himself, to let everyone down, again.
“Delving,” Beamer said sternly. “Are you listening to me?”
“Sir? I’m sorry. I’m listening.”
“So I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
Venture allowed that to sink in, let the smile spread across his face. “Thank you, sir.” He held out his hand, and Beamer looked at it, and Venture momentarily reconsidered whether he should’ve done that, whether he was being presumptuous, and he began to pull it back and to bow instead, but Beamer grabbed it and shook it.
Master thanked Beamer, then squeezed Venture’s shoulder as they left the matside. “It’s just for a while,” he said. “Until you’re ready to train for a career. I don’t know exactly what your mother wanted for you when—when things were different. Before she came to us. But I promised her I would do whatever I could for your future.”
“Yes, sir.” Venture didn’t care about his future. He only cared that he was coming back here, tomorrow. That tomorrow, he could be a fighter.
CHAPTER FOUR
Venture’s hand tightened on the leather shoulder strap of his bag as he neared Beamer’s Center for his first real practice. Many boys with hopes of becoming guards, warriors, lawmen, or fighters boarded at Beamer’s, choosing to train here rather than at a less reputable center closer to home. A handful of them were running in and out of the dormitory, shouting and tossing a ball around the surrounding lawn.
On the path ahead of him, several boys his age laughed and shoved each other toward the red doors of the center. He quietly followed them inside. In the foyer, some of them stopped at the shrine to
This time, Beamer said, “Look at your opponent, but listen to me.”
Venture did. He focused on what was going on on the mat, right now, and nothing else. There was just him and Lance, and Beamer’s voice warning him, advising him, correcting him. And every time he managed to do what Beamer said, it worked. Sometimes he did something all on his own, without thinking, because his body knew that was what he should do, only it didn’t work. But Beamer said, “That’s good. Again. Try it again,” and eventually, it did work.
Lance stepped it up a notch and got him back, harder and harder. Venture didn’t mind the pain of those falls, the kicks to his shins, the half-strength jabs, because everything else was gone. The only thing in his head was this puzzle that he was working out bit by bit. Now he saw how every time Lance stepped forward with his right foot and leaned just so, he was going to grab him around the head. Now he could block it, at least some of the time. It made sense. He realized that it would make more sense the more he worked at it, and he wanted to work at it; he wanted to master it. Wanted the rough canvas under his feet and the sweat in his eyes and blows to dodge.
And then Lance picked him up around the waist and lifted him up in the air, tilting him to the side and jumping a little to give the throw more power and height before he came crashing down on top of him. Lance’s head slammed right into Venture’s chest, burying him into the mat. Venture tried to breathe, but the breath wouldn’t come.
Lance got up, swearing and apologizing.
Earnest hurried over. “You just got the wind knocked out of you,” he said. “You’ll be all right.”
Venture made himself stand up. He didn’t feel all right. He didn’t feel like he’d ever breathe normally again.
Beamer blew the whistle, and all the boys stopped. “Delving,” he said. “That’s enough.”
Venture willed the burning color from his face, to no avail. He couldn’t look at Beamer, at Master. Lance found another partner and Beamer blew the whistle again. All around him, boys began another round without him. Vale Beamer, one of the best coaches in Richland, had actually tried to teach him something, and still, he’d merely managed to embarrass himself, to let everyone down, again.
“Delving,” Beamer said sternly. “Are you listening to me?”
“Sir? I’m sorry. I’m listening.”
“So I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
Venture allowed that to sink in, let the smile spread across his face. “Thank you, sir.” He held out his hand, and Beamer looked at it, and Venture momentarily reconsidered whether he should’ve done that, whether he was being presumptuous, and he began to pull it back and to bow instead, but Beamer grabbed it and shook it.
Master thanked Beamer, then squeezed Venture’s shoulder as they left the matside. “It’s just for a while,” he said. “Until you’re ready to train for a career. I don’t know exactly what your mother wanted for you when—when things were different. Before she came to us. But I promised her I would do whatever I could for your future.”
“Yes, sir.” Venture didn’t care about his future. He only cared that he was coming back here, tomorrow. That tomorrow, he could be a fighter.
CHAPTER FOUR
Venture’s hand tightened on the leather shoulder strap of his bag as he neared Beamer’s Center for his first real practice. Many boys with hopes of becoming guards, warriors, lawmen, or fighters boarded at Beamer’s, choosing to train here rather than at a less reputable center closer to home. A handful of them were running in and out of the dormitory, shouting and tossing a ball around the surrounding lawn.
On the path ahead of him, several boys his age laughed and shoved each other toward the red doors of the center. He quietly followed them inside. In the foyer, some of them stopped at the shrine to