the shoulder.
“Hey, watch it!” Milo spun toward Tobias. “Who the hell was that?”
The man was small like Milo with geometric tattoos circling his biceps, and Tobias recalled him standing among the Stalwarts during the commencement. “The Cetus.”
“Cetus?” Milo wrinkled his nose. “What in God’s name is a Cetus?”
“Haven’t a clue.”
“Well, it can’t be worse than the Benevolent. I mean, really? They couldn’t think of anything else?”
“I thought it was rather generous. You’re not even that nice.”
“I have plenty of great qualities, you know. They had miles of material to work with, and they chose Benevolent.”
“You do realize you’re the only one talking, right?” Tobias nodded at the path ahead. “We’re in the middle of a potentially lethal task, and here you are, yammering away.”
Milo glowered. “Well you’re in a piss-poor mood, aren’t you? I was just curious what a Cetus was, is all.”
“Sea monster.”
Tobias flinched at the third voice. The Intellect, one of their fellow Savants, stood behind his shoulder, staring right at them.
“Come again?” Milo asked.
“Cetus. It’s a sea monster.” The Intellect cocked his head at the man in question. “He’s probably a fisherman.”
Milo turned to Tobias. “See? This man was infinitely more helpful than you.” He bowed his head at the Intellect. “Thank you, sir. You’re a true gentleman.”
Tobias grabbed Milo’s arm, glancing sidelong at the Intellect before looking his friend hard in the eye. “Stop. Talking. For your own good.”
A frown spread across Milo’s face, and he tugged his arm free. “For God’s sake, relax.”
The two continued on in silence, much to Tobias’s relief, and he went back to studying the labyrinth. The floor, walls, and ceiling were the same black and grey for miles, and so he turned his attention to his competition, trying to pair faces with names; there was Isaac, and Hansel, and—wait, who was that again? Sighing, he surrendered to the futility of the task, opting to distinguish the men by their laurels alone, though even those were foggy. Before he could curse his failing memory, his eyes locked on the most notable Beasts: the Dragon, the Giant, and the Shepherd.
Drake, Antaeus, and Kaleo.
He may not have remembered the others, but those three had already ingrained themselves in his mind.
“Look at them,” Milo said. “Walking around like they own the place just because they received the Sovereign’s blessing.”
Tobias rolled his eyes. “God…”
“I’m serious. How could the Sovereign choose them over all others?”
“Were you expecting the blessing?”
“I’m just saying, Beasts?” He cocked his head at Drake. “That one, on the left—he’s covered in tattoos. Don’t fathers despise tattoos?”
“Perhaps he’s open-minded.”
Tobias groaned. Another competitor had joined their conversation—the Physician, a portly man with golden-brown skin and a head full of black curls.
“He clearly feels a camaraderie with those men,” he said. “You saw the Sovereign. He was likely a Beast in his day.”
“You’re all wrong,” the Poet added. “The Sovereign’s Wife was murdered in cold blood. He’s kept his Daughter locked away all these years solely for Her protection.” He pointed his nose to the ceiling. “He’s not looking for Her husband, he’s looking for Her spear and shield.”
“Then I suppose we’re all fucked up the ass, right-o, boys?” the Jester said, slapping Tobias on the back. “Better enjoy our time here while it lasts, yes?”
Tobias shook the Jester’s hand from his shoulder, though he didn’t seem to care. The Jester wove through the other men, eyeing their surroundings in an obvious and almost theatrical way.
“What is this place, anyway?” He tapped his knuckles along the wall. “It’s hardly a labyrinth. I don’t see any passageways. No chance of getting lost when it’s just one long tunnel going in the same direction.”
A few men chuckled, though most kept quiet, leaving the Jester to his antics.
“And where the hell are all these death-defying obstacles that Proctor was babbling about?” He straightened his back, mimicking the Proctor’s disposition. “Expect the unexpected. Well, he was right about that. I didn’t expect to be bored to death, but it seems that’s the route they’ve chosen with this dank tube of nothing.”
The Jester laughed at his own joke, then sauntered to the front of the pack, nestling within the mix of men.
“And what about that Wembleton character?” he said. “He was a pervy fellow, wasn’t he? I imagine he’s the type to frequent those foreign brothels and peruse their selection of little boys. Bet he watches them touch one another while he tugs at his wrinkled pisser—”
A hand grabbed at his skull. Kaleo stood beside him, staring him in the