Keeping his eyes on his notebook, Sejanus persisted. “Hardly rebels. Some of them were two years old when the war ended. The oldest were eight. And now that the war’s over, they’re just citizens of Panem, aren’t they? Same as us? Isn’t that what the anthem says the Capitol does? ‘You give us light. You reunite’? It’s supposed to be everyone’s government, right?”
“That’s the general idea. Go on,” Dr. Gaul encouraged him.
“Well, then it should protect everyone,” said Sejanus. “That’s its number-one job! And I don’t see how making them fight to the death achieves that.”
“Obviously, you don’t approve of the Hunger Games,” said Dr. Gaul. “That must be hard for a mentor. That must interfere with your assignment.”
Sejanus paused for a moment. Then he sat up straight, seeming to steel himself, and looked her in the eye. “Perhaps you should replace me and assign someone more worthy.”
There was an audible gasp from the classroom.
“Not on your life, boy,” Dr. Gaul chuckled. “Compassion is the key to the Games. Empathy, the thing we lack. Right, Casca?” She glanced at Dean Highbottom, but he only fiddled with a pen.
Sejanus’s face fell, but he didn’t argue back. Coriolanus felt he’d ceded the battle but could not believe he’d given up on the war. He was tougher than he looked, Sejanus Plinth. Imagine throwing a mentorship back in Dr. Gaul’s face.
But the exchange only seemed to invigorate her. “Now, wouldn’t it be wonderful if everyone in the audience felt as passionately about the tributes as this young man here? That should be our goal.”
“No,” said Dean Highbottom.
“Yes! For them to really get involved!” continued Dr. Gaul. She struck her forehead. “You’ve given me a marvelous idea. A way to let people personally affect the outcome of the Games. Suppose we let the audience send the tributes food in the arena? Feed them, like your friend here did in the zoo. Would they feel more involved?”
Festus perked up. “I would if I could bet on the one I was feeding! Just this morning, Coriolanus said maybe we should give odds on the tributes.”
Dr. Gaul beamed at Coriolanus. “Of course, he did. All right, then, you all put your heads together and figure it out. Write me a proposal on how this could work, and my team will consider it.”
“Consider it?” asked Livia. “You mean you might actually use our ideas?”
“Why not? If they have merit.” Dr. Gaul tossed the stack of questionnaires onto the table. “What young brains lack in experience they sometimes make up for in idealism. Nothing seems impossible to them. Old Casca over there came up with the concept for the Hunger Games when he was my student at the University, just a few years older than you are now.”
All eyes turned to Dean Highbottom, who addressed Dr. Gaul. “It was just theoretical.”
“And so is this, unless it proves useful,” said Dr. Gaul. “I’ll expect it on my desk tomorrow morning.”
Coriolanus sighed inwardly. Another group project. Another opportunity to compromise his ideas in the name of collaboration. Either have them cut entirely or, worse, watered down until they had lost their bite. The class voted on a committee of three mentors to draw the thing up. Of course, he was elected, and he could hardly decline. Dr. Gaul had to leave for a meeting and directed the class to discuss the proposal among themselves. He and Clemensia and Arachne were to convene that evening, but since they all wanted to visit their tributes first, they agreed to meet at eight o’clock at the zoo. Later, they’d go to the library to write up the proposal.
Since lunch had been substantial, he didn’t feel deprived by a dinner of yesterday’s cabbage soup and a plate of red beans. At least they weren’t lima. And when Tigris had scooped the last cupful into an elegant china bowl and garnished it with a few fresh herbs from the roof garden, it didn’t look too humble to offer to Lucy Gray. Presentation mattered to her. As for the beans, well, she was starving.
Optimism flowed through him as he walked to the zoo. Morning attendance may have been scanty, but now visitors were pouring in so quickly he wasn’t sure he’d get a spot up front at the monkey house. His newfound status helped. As people recognized him, they allowed him to pass and even told others to clear a path. He was no common citizen — he was a mentor!
He made straight for his corner, only to find the twins, Pollo and Didi Ring, camped out on his rock. The pair embraced their twinship wholeheartedly, sporting identical outfits, hair buns, and sunny personalities. They cleared out without Coriolanus having to ask.
“You can take it, Coryo,” Didi said as she pulled her brother up from the rock.
“Sure, we’ve already fed our tributes,” added Pollo. “Hey, sorry you got stuck with the proposal.”
“Yeah, we voted for Pup, but no one backed us up!” They laughed and ran off into the crowd.
Lucy Gray joined him immediately. Even though he wasn’t dining with her, she devoured the beans after admiring how fancy they looked.
“Have you gotten any more food from the crowd?” he asked her.
“I got an old cheese rind from a lady, and a couple other kids fought over some bread a man threw in. I can see all kinds of people holding food, but I think they’re afraid to get too close, even though they’ve got these Peacekeepers in here with us now.” She pointed to the back wall of the cage, where a quartet of Peacekeepers stood guard. “Maybe they’ll feel safer now that you’re here.”
Coriolanus noticed a boy of about ten hovering in the crowd, holding a boiled potato. He gave him a wink and a wave of the hand. The boy looked up at his father, who nodded approval. He moved up behind Coriolanus, still keeping his distance. “Did you bring that potato for Lucy Gray?” Coriolanus asked.
“Yes. I saved it from dinner. I wanted to eat it, but I wanted to feed her more,” he said.
“Go on, then,” Coriolanus encouraged him. “She doesn’t bite. Mind you, use your manners.”
The boy took a shy step in her direction. “Well, hey there,” said Lucy Gray. “What’s your name?”
“Horace,” said the boy. “I saved you my potato.”
“Aren’t you sweet? Should I eat it now or save it?” she asked.
“Now.” The boy gingerly held it out to her.
Lucy Gray took the potato as though it were a diamond. “My. That’s about the nicest potato I’ve ever seen.” The boy blushed with pride. “Okay, here I go.” She took a bite, closed her eyes, and almost seemed to swoon. “Nicest tasting, too. Thank you, Horace.”
The cameras closed in on them as Lucy Gray received a withered carrot from a little girl and a boiled soupbone from the girl’s grandmother. Someone tapped on Coriolanus’s shoulder, and he turned to see Pluribus Bell standing there with a small can of milk. “For old times’ sake,” he said with a smile as he punched a couple of holes in the lid and passed it to Lucy Gray. “I enjoyed your act at the reaping. Did you write that song yourself?”
Some of the more accommodating — or possibly the hungriest — tributes began to station themselves up by the bars. They sat on the ground, held out their hands, ducked their heads, and waited. Here and there someone, usually a child, would run up and place something in their hands and then jump back. The tributes began to compete for attention, drawing the cameras to the center of the cage. A limber little girl from District 9 did a back handspring after she received a bread roll. The boy from District 7 made a good show of juggling three walnuts. The audience rewarded those who would perform with applause and more food.
Lucy Gray and Coriolanus resumed their picnic seats and watched the show. “We’re a regular circus troupe, we are,” she said as she picked bits of meat off her bone.
“None of them can hold a candle to you,” said Coriolanus.
Mentors who had been avoided before were now approached by their tributes if they offered food. When Sejanus arrived with bags of hard-boiled eggs and wedges of bread, all the tributes ran up to him except Marcus, who made a point of ignoring him entirely.
Coriolanus nodded at them. “You were right about Sejanus and Marcus. They used to be classmates in District Two.”
“Well, that’s complicated. At least we don’t have to deal with that,” she said.
“Yes, this is complicated enough.” He meant it as a joke, but it fell flat. It was complicated enough, and it got more so by the minute.
She gave him a wistful smile. “Sure would’ve been nice to meet you under different circumstances.”
“Like how?” It was a dangerous line of questioning, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Oh, like you came to one of my shows and heard me sing,” she said. “And afterward you came up to chat, and maybe we had a drink and a dance or two.”
He could imagine it, her singing somewhere like Pluribus’s nightclub, him catching her eye, connecting before they’d ever even met. “And I’d come back the next night.”
“Like we had all the time in the world,” she said.
Their musing was interrupted by a loud “Woo-hoo!” The tributes from District 6 began a funny dance, and the Ring twins got some of the audience to clap along in rhythm. After that, things became almost festive. The crowd ventured closer, and a few people began to converse with the captives.
On the whole, Coriolanus thought it a good development — it would take more than Lucy Gray to justify the prime-time slot for the interviews. He decided to let the other tributes have their moment and to ask her to sing at closing time. In the meantime, he filled her in on the mentors’ discussions that day and stressed what her popularity could mean in the arena, now that there was a possibility that people could send gifts.
Secretly, he worried about his resources again. He’d need more affluent viewers, who could afford to buy her things. It would look bad if a Snow’s tribute received nothing in the arena. Maybe he should make it a provision of the proposal that you couldn’t send your own tribute gifts. Otherwise, how could he compete? Certainly not with Sejanus. And there, by the bars, Arachne had laid out a little picnic for her tribute. A fresh loaf of bread, a block of cheese, and were those grapes? How could she afford those? Maybe the travel industry was picking up.
He watched as Arachne sliced the cheese with a mother-of-pearl-handled knife. Her tribute, the talkative girl from District 10, squatted right in front of her, eagerly leaning into the bars. Arachne made a thick sandwich but didn’t hand it right over. She seemed to be lecturing the girl about something. It was quite a speech. At one point, the girl reached through the bars, and Arachne withdrew the sandwich, drawing a laugh from the audience. She turned and flashed them a grin, shook her finger at her tribute, held out the sandwich again, and then pulled it away a second time, much to the crowd’s amusement.
“She’s playing with fire there,” Lucy Gray observed.
Arachne waved to the crowd and then took a bite of the sandwich herself.
Coriolanus could see the tribute’s face darkening, the muscles tightening in her neck. He could see something else, too. Her fingers sliding down the bar, darting out, circling the handle of the knife. He started to rise, opening his mouth to shout out a warning, but it was too late.
In one movement, the tribute yanked Arachne forward and slit her throat.
CHAPTER 7
Shrieks came from the audience members nearest to the attack. Arachne’s face drained of color as she dropped the sandwich and clawed at her neck. The blood poured down her fingers as the District 10 girl released her and gave her a small shove. Arachne stepped back, turning and reaching out a dripping hand, imploring the audience for help. People were either too stunned or too scared to respond. Many drew away as she fell to her knees and began to bleed out.
Coriolanus’s initial reaction was to recoil like the others, to grab hold of the monkey house bars for support, but Lucy Gray hissed, “Help her!” He remembered the cameras streaming live to the Capitol audience. He had no idea what to do for Arachne, but he did not want to be seen cringing and clinging. His terror was a private thing, not meant for public display.
He forced his legs into motion and was the first to reach Arachne. She clutched his shirt as the life seeped out of her. “Medic!” he cried as he eased her to the ground. “Is there a doctor? Please, someone help!” He pressed his hand over the wound to stem the blood but removed it when she made a choking sound. “Come on!” he screamed at the crowd. A couple of Peacekeepers were shouldering their way toward him, but much, much too slowly.