Guess the insurance brokers wanted back some of the money he cost them so they sold him instead of making him burn. He’s killed more than thirty men since he was put in the Pits.”

“He looks like he’s been modified by a fleshcrafter.”

Moth ran his knobbly fingers through his white hair. “Eyes changed, reflexes improved, pain-dampening glands implanted, bunch of other things.”

“I thought he was debarred from receiving prize money. Did you pay for these enhancements yourself?”

“No, sir. He had those when he came to us. Paid for them himself, or to be more accurate, they was paid for by all the poor bastards he robbed.”

“At least he was successful at it.”

“They caught him in the end, sir. Took him and all his crew. He’s killed a few of his own men himself in the Pit since then.”

“His crew?”

“You would never guess it to look at that low forehead, but he was the captain.”

“Good with a sword?”

“You’ll see when he hits the sand, sir.”

“I doubt he’ll beat Lem.”

“You never know, sir,” said Moth. His words were loyal as ever to the Crimson Sky faction. His tone of voice said he agreed with the wizard.

Ulrik spat on the floor to cover his fear. Lem, he thought. It was a name he had heard before. Lem had fought in the Pit nearly a hundred times, and had used the money to augment himself in many ways. “Lem’s getting old.”

“Lem’s got a new weapon or so I hear,” said the wizard. His gaze measured Ulrik. “Something special cooked up by the wizards of the Black Crab in commemoration of his soon-to-be hundredth victory.”

“He dies tonight,” said Ulrik. Even to himself his voice did not sound very convincing. The roar of the crowd echoed down the access tunnels. The bell sounded again. Moth got to his feet and gestured to the handlers. They stood by the door, standing with their painwands ready, as Moth fumbled with the bunch of keys at his belt.

“Best be going if you want to watch the big fight, Master Valerius. Sounds like we’ll be hitting the sand soon.”

“What’s the cost of this man’s bond,” the wizard asked, as he turned to leave. It looked like an afterthought or idle curiosity.

“Nine hundred and seventy-four denarii , sir,” said Moth. “You wouldn’t want to buy him though. His sort is only good for the Pit. Like I said, sir, a mad dog.”

“You must have a lot of crimes staining your soul,” said Valerius.

Ulrik glared at him.