Circ and Teslee quickly skirted around Marcus’s body and crouched down to examine the broken drones. Their hands moved delicately over the equipment, assessing the damage, probing into compartments that would have gone unnoticed otherwise. Circ removed a rectangular object that Coriolanus took for a battery and gave Teslee a thumbs-up. Teslee reattached some wires on hers, and the drone lights blinked. They grinned at each other.
“Oh, my!” exclaimed Lucky. “Something exciting happening here!”
“It would be more exciting if they had the controllers,” said Urban, but he seemed a little less angry.
The pair was still examining the drones when two more flew in and dropped some bread and water in their general vicinity. As they gathered up their gifts, a figure appeared deep in the arena. They consulted, then each picked up a drone and hastily beat a path back to the barricade. The figure turned out to be Reaper, who ducked into one of the tunnels and emerged carrying someone in his arms. As the cameras trained on them, Coriolanus saw it was Dill, who seemed to have shrunk, her body curled up in the fetal position. She stared dully into the evening sun that dappled her ashen skin. A cough brought a strand of bloody spittle out of the side of her mouth.
“I’m surprised she lasted the day,” Felix commented to no one in particular.
Reaper stepped around the debris from the bombing until he reached a sunny spot and laid Dill down on a charred piece of wood. She shivered despite the heat. He pointed up at the sun and said something, but she didn’t react.
“Isn’t he the one who promised to kill all the others?” asked Pup.
“Doesn’t look so tough to me,” said Urban.
“She’s his district partner,” said Lysistrata. “And she’s almost dead now. Tuberculosis, probably.”
That quieted people down, as a bad strain of the stuff still cropped up around the Capitol, where it was barely managed as a chronic condition, let alone cured. In the districts, of course, it was a death sentence.
Reaper paced restlessly for a minute, either eager to get back to the hunt or unable to handle Dill’s suffering. Then he gave her one last pat and loped toward the barricade.
“Shouldn’t you send him something?” Domitia said to Clemensia.
“What for? He didn’t kill her; he just carried her. I’m not going to reward him for that,” Clemensia retorted.
Coriolanus, who’d been avoiding her all day, decided he’d made the right decision. Clemensia wasn’t herself. Maybe the snake venom had altered her brain.
“Well, I might as well use what little I have. It’s hers,” Felix said, and punched something into his communicuff.
Two bottles of water flew in by drone. Dill seemed oblivious to them. After a few minutes, the boy who Coriolanus remembered juggling sprinted out of a tunnel, his black hair flowing behind him. Without missing a step, he reached down and grabbed the water, then disappeared through a large crack in the wall. A voice-over from Lucky reminded the audience that the boy was Treech, from District 7, mentored by Vipsania Sickle.
“Well, that’s harsh,” said Felix. “Might’ve given her one last drink.”
“That’s good thinking,” said Vipsania. “Saves me money, and I don’t have much to work with.”
The sun sank toward the horizon, and the carrion birds wheeled slowly over the arena. At last, Dill’s body convulsed with a final, violent bout of coughing, and a gush of blood soaked her filthy dress. Coriolanus felt unwell. The blood pouring from her mouth both horrified and disgusted him.
Lucky Flickerman came on and announced that Dill, the girl tribute from District 11, had died of natural causes. Sadly, that meant they wouldn’t be seeing much more of Felix Ravinstill. “Lepidus, can we have a few last words with him from Heavensbee Hall?”
Lepidus pulled Felix out and asked him how he felt about having to leave the Games.
“Well, it isn’t a shock, really. The girl was on her last legs when she got here,” said Felix.
“I think it’s enormously to your credit that you got her through the interview,” said Lepidus sympathetically. “Many mentors didn’t manage even that.”
Coriolanus wondered if Lepidus’s high praise had more to do with Felix’s being the grandnephew of the president than anything else, but he didn’t begrudge it. It set a precedent for a level of success that he’d already surpassed, so even if Lucy Gray didn’t last the night, he could still be viewed as a standout. But she must last the night, and then another, and then another until she won. He had promised to help her, but so far he’d done absolutely nothing except promote her to the audience.
Back in the studio, Lucky heaped a few more compliments on Felix and signed off. “As night falls on the arena, most of our tributes have bedded down, and so should you. We’ll keep an eye on things here, but we don’t really expect much action until morning. Pleasant dreams.”
The Gamemakers cut to a wide shot of the arena, where the silhouette of Lamina on her beam was about all Coriolanus could make out. After dark, the arena had no lighting except what the moon provided, and that usually didn’t make for good viewing. Dean Highbottom said they might as well go home, although bringing a toothbrush and a change of clothes for the future would be a good idea. They all shook hands with Felix and congratulated him on a job well done, and most of them meant it, as the day had cemented the mentor bond in a brand-new way. They were members of a special club that would dwindle down to one but always define them all.
As he walked home, Coriolanus did the math. Two more tributes were dead, but he’d stopped counting Marcus as a contender awhile back. Still, only thirteen left, and only twelve competitors that Lucy Gray needed to survive. And, as Dill and the asthmatic boy from District 5 had proven, a lot of it could come down to a matter of her simply outliving the others. He thought back to yesterday: wiping away her tears, the promise to keep her alive, the kiss. Was she thinking of him now? Was she missing him the way he was missing her? He hoped she would make an appearance tomorrow and he could get her some food and water. Remind the audience of her existence. He’d only had a few new gifts in the afternoon, and that might’ve been due to her alliance with Jessup. Lucy Gray’s charming songbird persona was becoming less impressive with each grim moment in the Hunger Games. No one knew about the rat poison but him, so that didn’t help her standing.
Hot and tired from the stressful day, he wanted nothing more than to shower and sink into bed, but the moment he stepped into the apartment, the fragrance of the jasmine tea reserved for company wafted over him. Who would be visiting at this hour? And on opening day, at that? It was far too late for the Grandma’am’s friends, far too late for neighbors to be dropping in, and they weren’t the dropping-in kind anyway. Something must be wrong.
The Snows rarely used the television in the formal living room, but, of course, they had one. Its screen showed the darkened arena, just as he’d left it at Heavensbee Hall. The Grandma’am, who’d pulled a decent robe over her nightdress, perched stiffly on a straight-backed chair at the tea table while Tigris poured out a steaming cup of pale liquid for their guest.
For there sat Mrs. Plinth, frumpier than ever, her hair disheveled and her dress awry, crying into a handkerchief. “You’re such nice people,” she sputtered. “I’m so sorry to have dropped in on you like this.”
“Any friend of Coriolanus is a friend of us all,” said the Grandma’am. “Plinch, did you say?”
Coriolanus knew she knew exactly who Ma was, but to be forced to entertain anyone, let alone a Plinth, at this hour challenged everything she stood for.
“Plinth,” said the woman. “Plinth.”
“You know, Grandma’am, she sent the lovely casserole when Coriolanus was injured,” Tigris reminded her.
“I’m sorry. It’s too late,” said Mrs. Plinth.
“Please don’t apologize. You did exactly the right thing,” said Tigris, patting her shoulder. She spotted Coriolanus and looked relieved. “Oh, here’s my cousin now! Perhaps he knows something.”
“Mrs. Plinth, what an unexpected pleasure. Is everything all right?” Coriolanus asked, as if she wasn’t dripping with bad news.
“Oh, Coriolanus. It isn’t. Not at all. Sejanus hasn’t come home. We heard he left the Academy this morning, and I haven’t seen him since. I’m so worried,” she said. “Where can he be? I know Marcus being like that hit him hard. Do you know? Do you know where he could be? Was he upset when he left?”
Coriolanus remembered that Sejanus’s outburst, the throwing of the chair, the shouting of insults, had been confined to the audience in Heavensbee Hall. “He was upset, ma’am. But I don’t know that it’s any cause for worry. He probably just needed to blow off some steam. Took a long walk or something. I’d do the same thing myself.”
“But it’s so late. It isn’t like him to up and disappear, not without letting his ma know,” she fretted.
“Is there anywhere you can think of he might go? Or somebody he might visit?” asked Tigris.
Mrs. Plinth shook her head. “No. No. Your cousin’s his only friend.”
How sad, thought Coriolanus. To have no friends. But he only said, “You know, if he’d wanted company, I think he’d have come to me first. You can see how he might have needed some time alone to . . . to make sense of all this. I’m sure he’s all right. Otherwise you’d have heard of it.”
“Did you check with the Peacekeepers?” asked Tigris.
Mrs. Plinth nodded. “No sign of him.”
“You see?” said Coriolanus. “There’s been no trouble. Maybe he’s even home by now.”
“Perhaps you should go and check,” suggested the Grandma’am, a little too obviously.
Tigris shot her a look. “Or you could just call.”
But Mrs. Plinth had calmed down enough to take the hint. “No. Your grandma’s right. Home is the place I should be. And I should let you all get to bed.”
“Coriolanus will walk you,” said Tigris firmly.
As she’d left him no choice, he nodded. “Of course.”
“My car’s waiting down the block.” Mrs. Plinth rose and patted her hair down. “Thank you. You’ve all been so kind. Thank you.” She’d gathered up her voluminous handbag and was starting to turn when something on the screen caught her eye. She froze.
Coriolanus followed her gaze and saw a shadowy shape slip out of the barricade and cross toward Lamina. The figure was tall, male, and carrying something in his hands. Reaper or Tanner, he thought. The boy stopped when he reached Marcus’s corpse and looked up at the sleeping girl. I guess one of the tributes finally decided to make a move on her. He knew he should watch, as a mentor, but he really wanted to get rid of Mrs. Plinth first.
“Shall I walk you to your car?” he asked. “I bet you’ll find Sejanus in bed.”
“No, Coriolanus,” said Mrs. Plinth in a hushed voice. “No.” She nodded at the screen. “My boy’s right there.”
CHAPTER 15
The moment Ma said it, Coriolanus knew she was right. Perhaps only a mother would make the connection in that gloom, but with her prompting he recognized Sejanus. Something about the posture, the slight stoop, the line of the forehead. The white Academy uniform shirt glowed faintly in the dark, and he could almost make out the bright yellow mentor badge, still hanging by the lanyard on his chest. How Sejanus had gotten into the arena, he had no idea. A Capitol boy, a mentor no less, might not have drawn too much attention at the entrance, where you could buy fried dough and pink lemonade, where you could join the crowd watching the Games on the screen. Had he merely blended in, or even used his minor celebrity to set suspicions at bay? My tribute’s finished, so I may as well enjoy myself! Posed for pictures? Chatted up the Peacekeepers and slipped in somehow while their backs were turned? Who would think he’d want to enter the arena, and why on earth had he?
On-screen, a shadowy Sejanus knelt, set down a parcel, and rolled Marcus onto his back. He did his best to straighten the legs, to fold the arms on the chest, but the limbs had grown stiff and defied arrangement. Coriolanus couldn’t tell what was happening next, something with the parcel, but then Sejanus rose to his feet and held his hand over the body.
That’s what he did at the zoo, thought Coriolanus. He remembered when, after Arachne’s death, he’d caught a glimpse of Sejanus sprinkling something over the dead tribute’s body.
“That’s your son in there? What’s he doing?” asked the Grandma’am, aghast.
“He’s putting bread crumbs on the body,” said Ma. “So Marcus has food on his journey.”
“His journey where?” asked the Grandma’am. “He’s dead!”
“Back to wherever he came from,” said Ma. “It’s what we do, back home. When someone dies.”
Coriolanus couldn’t help feeling embarrassed for her. If you ever needed proof of the districts’ backwardness, there you had it. Primitive people with their primitive customs. How much bread had they wasted with this nonsense? Oh, no, he starved to death! Somebody get the bread! He had a sinking feeling that his supposed friendship was going to come back to haunt him. As if on cue, the phone rang.
“Is the whole city up?” wondered the Grandma’am.
“Excuse me.” Coriolanus crossed to the phone in the foyer. “Hello?” he said into the receiver, hoping it was a wrong number.
“Mr. Snow, it’s Dr. Gaul.” Coriolanus felt his insides contract. “Are you near a screen?”
“Just got home, actually,” he answered, trying to buy time. “Oh, yes, there it is. My family’s watching.”
“What’s going on with your friend?” she asked.
Coriolanus turned his head away from the gathering and lowered his voice. “He’s not really . . . that.”
“Nonsense. You’ve been thick as thieves,” she said. “‘Help me give away my sandwiches, Coriolanus!’ ‘Empty seat next to me, Sejanus!’ When I asked Casca what classmates he was close to, yours was the only name he could think of.”
His civility to Sejanus had obviously been misread. Really, they were hardly more than acquaintances. “Dr. Gaul, if you’d let me explain —”
“I don’t have time for explanations. Right now the Plinth brat’s loose in the arena with a pack of wolves. If they see him, they’ll kill him on the spot.” She turned to speak to someone else. “No, don’t cut away abruptly, that will only draw attention. Just make it as dark as you can. Make it look natural. A slow blackout, as if a cloud has drifted over the moon.” She was back in the next breath. “You’re a smart boy. What message will that send to the audience? The damage will be considerable. We must remedy the situation at once.”
“You could send in some Peacekeepers,” Coriolanus said.
“And have him bolt like a rabbit?” she scoffed. “Imagine that for a moment, the Peacekeepers trying to chase him down in the dark. No, we’ll have to lure him out, as uneventfully as possible, so we’ll need people he cares about. He can’t stand his father, no siblings, no other friends. That leaves you and his mother. We’re trying to locate her now.”
Coriolanus felt his heart sink. “She’s right here,” he admitted. So much for his “acquaintances” defense.
“Well, done and done. I want you both here at the arena in twenty minutes. More, and it will be me serving you with a demerit, not Highbottom, and you can kiss any chance of a prize good-bye.” With that, she hung up.
On his television, Coriolanus could see that the image had darkened. He could barely make out Sejanus’s figure at all now. “Mrs. Plinth, that was the Head Gamemaker. She’d like you to meet her at the arena to collect Sejanus, and I’m to accompany you.” He could hardly admit to more without giving the Grandma’am a heart attack.
“Is he in trouble?” she asked, wide-eyed. “With the Capitol?”
Coriolanus found it strange that she’d be more worried about the Capitol than an arena full of armed tributes at this point, but maybe she had reason after what had happened to Marcus.
“Oh, no. They’re just concerned with his well-being. Shouldn’t be long, but don’t wait up,” he told Tigris and the Grandma’am.
As fast as he could, short of carrying her, he moved Mrs. Plinth out the door, down the elevator, and through the lobby. Her car rolled up soundlessly, and the driver, most likely an Avox, only nodded at his request to be taken to the arena.
“We’re rather in a hurry,” Coriolanus told the driver, and the car sped up immediately, gliding through the empty streets. If it was possible to cover the distance in twenty minutes, they would.
Mrs. Plinth clutched her handbag and stared out the window at the deserted city. “First time I saw the Capitol, it was night, like this.”
“Oh, yes?” said Coriolanus, only to be polite. Honestly, who cared? His entire future was on the line because of her wayward son. And one had to question the parenting of a boy who thought breaking into the arena would solve anything.
“Sejanus sat right where you are, saying, ‘It’ll be all right, Ma. It’ll be okay.’ Trying to calm me down. When we both knew it was a disaster,” said Mrs. Plinth. “But he was so brave. So good. Only thinking of his ma.”
“Hm. Must have been a big change.” What was it with the Plinths anyway? To be constantly turning advantage to tragedy? You needed only to take a cursory glance at the interior of this car, the tooled leather, the upholstered seats, the bar with its crystal bottles of gem-colored liquids, to know they were among the most fortunate people in Panem.
“Family and friends cut us off,” Mrs. Plinth went on. “No new ones to be made here. Strabo — his pa, that is — still thinks it was the right thing to do. No kind of future in Two. His way of protecting us. His way of keeping Sejanus from the Games.”
“Ironic, really. Given the circumstances.” Coriolanus tried to redirect her. “Now, I don’t know what Dr. Gaul has in mind, but I imagine she wants your help getting him out of there.”
“I don’t know if I can,” she said. “Him so upset and all. I can try, but he’ll have to think it’s the right thing to do.”
The right thing to do.Coriolanus realized that this was what had always defined Sejanus’s actions, his determination to do the right thing. That insistence, the way, for instance, he would defy Dr. Gaul when the rest of them were just trying to get by, was another reason he alienated people. Frankly, he could be insufferable with those superior little comments of his. But playing on that might be the way to manipulate him.
As the car pulled up to the entrance of the arena, Coriolanus saw an effort had been made to conceal the crisis. Only a dozen or so Peacekeepers were present, and a handful of Gamemakers. The refreshment booths had shut down, the day’s crowd had dispersed earlier, so there was little to draw curious spectators. Stepping out, he noticed how quickly the temperature had dropped since his walk home.
In the back of a van, a Capitol News monitor displayed a split screen with the actual feed of the arena next to the darkened version going out to the public. Dr. Gaul, Dean Highbottom, and a few Peacekeepers were gathered around it. As Coriolanus walked up with Mrs. Plinth, he made out Sejanus kneeling next to Marcus’s body, still as a statue.
“At least you’re punctual,” said Dr. Gaul. “Mrs. Plinth, I presume?”
“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Plinth, a quaver in her voice. “I’m sorry if Sejanus has caused any inconvenience. He’s a good boy, really. It’s just he takes things so to heart.”
“No one could accuse him of being indifferent,” Dr. Gaul agreed. She turned to Coriolanus. “Any idea how we might rescue your best friend, Mr. Snow?”
Coriolanus ignored the barb and examined the screen. “What’s he doing?”
“Just kneeling there, looks like,” said Dean Highbottom. “Possibly in some kind of shock.”
“He appears calm. Perhaps you could send the Peacekeepers in now without startling him?” suggested Coriolanus.
“Too risky,” said Dr. Gaul.
“What about putting his mother on a speaker, or a bullhorn?” Coriolanus continued. “If you can darken the screen, surely you can manipulate the audio as well.”
“On the broadcast. But in the arena, we’d alert every tribute to the fact that there’s an unarmed Capitol boy in their midst,” said Dean Highbottom.
Coriolanus began to get a bad feeling. “What do you propose?”