Diggs Malone's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Diggs Malone came to the desert to win the outlaw duel tournament and be crowned its deadliest blade. But no one would tell him how to enter. He pushed through the saloon doors of the Buzzard's Roost, machete on his hip, goggles pushed up on his forehead. The room went quiet. A dozen fighters looked at his dust-caked jacket, then went back to their drinks. He dropped his backpack by the bar and asked how a man signed up for the tournament. The bartender wiped a glass and said nothing. A scarred woman at a corner table laughed. "Rules are for fighters," she said. "You're just meat that walked in." The others grinned. Diggs asked twice more. Each time, someone found a reason to spit or turn away. He learned fast that breath cost coin here, and he was a stranger with a clean name. Nobody wasted words on a man they'd never seen bleed. Then a green shape darted across the floor. A raccoon with two fat tails and long whiskers snatched a strip of jerky off the corner table. The scarred woman lunged and missed. "Grab that rat!" she shouted. Fighters knocked over stools. The animal shot between boots, quick and mocking. Diggs moved without thinking. He flipped his machete around, blade back, and swept the flat of it low. The raccoon veered, cornered itself against the bar. Diggs crouched, held still, and let it climb his arm. It settled on his shoulder, chewing the stolen jerky. The room stared. A new voice cut in, thick and slow. "Now that," it said, "is worth watching." The man who spoke filled the doorway. He was fat and bald, with a thick red beard and a red suit fitted tight across his belly. A sheathed cutlass hung at his side. The fighters straightened when he entered. The scarred woman shut her mouth. This was the man who ran the tournament and chose who fought — Baron Crimshaw Redbone. He crossed the floor and studied the raccoon on Diggs's shoulder. "That creature's bitten every hand in this room," the Baron said. "You caught it without a scratch." He looked at the machete, then at Diggs's face. "Steady hands. Good instincts. The kind of thing my crowd pays to see." Diggs kept his voice flat. "Then tell me the rules. Let me enter." The Baron smiled through the red beard. "You just did." He turned to the room. "He fights at dawn. First bout." Grumbles rolled through the fighters, but none argued with him. Then the Baron leaned close, his voice low. "You want the rules? Here's the first. Win your opening match, or my dogs feed on what's left. I don't refund the dead." He walked out. The raccoon licked its paw on Diggs's shoulder. Diggs had his way in. Now he had until dawn to survive it.