Battle Opera Arena
Maita Rue
Genre: Fantasy, Steampunk
Archetype: The Dandy and the Tomboy
Keywords: Blood, Dragon, Fan, Old Photograph, Wings, and Sacrifice.
Jane Clatter watched in proud silence as the debt collectors took the couch and cabinet from their once-proud home. She looked at what remained of the house. It was empty; barely anything was left.
“Father, we should sell the house. We could live in a smaller and simpler home,” she told her father earlier that morning.
His response was explosive. She thought she would have to call a doctor. “I’d sell everything inside this damn house before I sell it!”
And they have. There was nothing left in it. It was once a pleasant, stately home. The three-story home was made of stone and granite. Her father had built it for her mother. There was no expense spared. Jane remembered her seven-year-old self looking down from the second-floor balustrade at an extravagant party her parents held. There was so much food and wine being served. Guests in elaborate clothing came and went. It was a very gay period in their family’s life.
When Jane was ten years old, everything changed. Jane’s mother died of the plague. It had changed her father. From a warm and loving man, he became a shell of his former self. If he showed emotions, it was usually anger.
Jane missed her old father. The man who replaced him was cold and disapproving. He never once praised her. He even stopped teaching her songs and smithcraft.
Drake Clatter was a smith by trade. He rose to money by handcrafting some of the most intricate armor for her majesty’s knights. As Queen Victoria rose to power and conquered the known world, there was no need for armored knights in the realm anymore. So, the washed-up men turned to gladiatorial battle, and several arenas were put up for such sport. Armors were bought and sold. But the men who fought in the arena didn’t want a hulking iron bulk. They needed an armor that was showy as it was handy. Entrepreneurial men set up arenas and fighting pens in and around Neo Industrial London. The most popular fighting scene was the Duke of Montox’s Battle Opera Arena. The fights there were showier, and the fighters must master song, dance, and killing blows.
Drake Clatter Armories was the best in the trade. Everyone sought to have a battle armor from the smithy. One could vocalize and dance with finesse with his armor. On the day his wife died, he threw it all away.
The Drake Clatter Jane remembered was a strong man, vibrant and loving. He regaled her with stories of battles in the Battle Opera. When he tucked her in bed, he sang battle songs instead of lullabies. She loved those songs. She put them to heart and sang them when he was in his mood.
A knock on the door disturbed her thoughts. Had the debt collectors not finished, she thought. Are they asking for more?
She peeped at the looking hole on the door. A strapping young man stood behind the door. He was dressed well, like a man of the ton. This was no debt collector. She opened the door and inquired. “May I help you?”
He tipped his hat in courtesy. “Pardon me, might I inquire if Sir Drake Clatter is in residence?”
“He is, but he is not receiving,” she answered. She had prepared a sleeping draught for him when he was in one of his moods. Drake was tucked in bed today.
“Oh, it’s an emergency. I need my armor repaired,” he looked pleadingly at her. He indicated the wrapped tarp at the back of his carriage.
“Sir…” She began to form an excuse when he took her hands in his.
“Miss, I really need this armor fixed. It was my grandfather’s armor, you see. Upon my first battle, I damaged it, and now it is unlevel. My battle is in two days,” he said. When she looked like she was about to protest, he thrust a handful of notes on her hands. “I’ve searched the city for anyone who can repair this armor, but only its maker can bring it back to life. Please, I’ll pay however much!” The man named a hefty price. It was so much, and Jane knew it would solve some of their debt problems. Could her father fix it?
“Alright, I shall open the side door to the forge,” she said.
The forge had its own entrance on the side. The doors were huge so that carts and carriages could bring in or out their armor. Jane opened the doors by pulling a contraption. It rumbled in protest. The doors have not been oiled in a long time.
The fine fop met her at the side door. His groomsman pulled the attached wagon inside. Jane indicated for them to leave the armor on the central table. The table was wood and chipped, its history etched in every scratch and flake.
“My father will see to it tonight. I can prepare it now for him to work on,” Jane offered.
He lovingly stretched each piece of the armor on the table. “This is my first armor and my grandfather’s last. He fought a rebellion that threatened the economic peace of Neo-industrial London.”
“Your grandfather is a knight?” She inquired as she began to strap each piece down.
“My grandfather is the seventeenth Duke of Montox,” he replied.
She nearly dropped the helmet. This was the Duke’s heir? The duke was a stout fellow. This man was lean, but he was still toned. “You own the arena. Why are you fighting?”
The Duke smiled sadly. “My grandfather built that arena because he loved to sing and fight. It is in the contest now. My half-cousins claim that the land is theirs. I have challenged them to a battle to take back my inheritance. They tried to sweeten the pot with an open fight.” An open fight was a set of ten fighters battling each other until only one remained standing. “Have you seen a fight?”
Jane shook her head. “The Battle Opera is no place for a woman.”
“My apologies. When I get that arena back, I shall have to put a ladies’ box. In opera houses, women are allowed inside the box but I don’t know why they do not allow it in the arena.”
Jane shrugged her shoulders. Society was often unfair that way. “Poor constitution?”
“My lady, your constitution is anything but poor.” He smiled wryly.
“So, you battle to take back your arena?”
The Duke smiled. “Yes, I shall take it and show my skills in the Battle Opera. My father and grandfather have taught me all I know. You know, there are only two armors like this in existence. It is said that only its twin can ultimately destroy the Griffin Armor.”
Jane gasped. “This is the Griffin Armor? Where is the Dragon Armor?” The two armors were popular because of their wielders. The two winged armors resembled the mythical beasts they were named after. Any fight they starred in was highly sought after. Nobody knew the identity of the rogue called Dragon. He appears out of nowhere, defeats his enemy, and collects his prize. He doesn’t bask in the glory of fans like his colleagues. He doesn’t even come to his own parties.
“Who knows? Perhaps it is with the rogue who calls himself Dragon.”
“The Griffin and the Dragon, their battles will go on, to worlds bygone… bygone…” She sang. He sang along to the popular ballad.
“When shall I expect the armor back?”
Jane took a cursory inspection of the armor. “There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with the circuits. The sound tube needs replacing, but all in all, everything else is superficial. My father will see to it tonight.” She hoped. If her father was in a good state, then he probably could.
“My thanks, lady tinker. I shall see you tomorrow.” The Duke bowed and left.
Jane sighed. Could her father really do this? She opened the armor to inspect it. The familiar gears and workings called to her. She knew this. Even after her father stopped teaching her, she knew how to tinker by heart.
So, her father created the two famous armors. She has seen pictures of the battles. The Dragon was so fierce in fighting styles. His songs were haunting, but his voice was powerful.
Jane went to her father’s room and had a peek. He was snoring loudly. Seeing no other alternative, she made up her mind to fix the armor herself. She first needed to find a spare microphone and sound tube. The kneecaps should be fixed as well. It might take her the whole night since she had to recreate the kneecap. It was such a unique piece that she had to cast the other knee to recreate it. When the knee was done, she went up to the attic. There were always spare parts there.
Jane made a mental note to clear the attic when she had time. It was full of junk. She opened old armoires and chests littered in the huge third-story attic. There were parts after parts, but not one she was looking for. There, at the back of the room, she saw an ornate box. It was different from the other plainer wood box. This had iron wrought and a locking contraption. On the top part of the box was an embossed photograph.
She gasped and nearly dropped the chest. It was a photograph of Dragon, the armored rogue. The locking mechanism had a notch that was shaped like a finger. She put her finger and pushed. A tiny pin pricked her finger and drew blood. It gave a rumbling sound and opened. The lock was blood activated. She frowned. Her blood? She looked inside the box, and inside was a key.
“A key?” She asked more to herself than the object in question. Would it be a chest? A wardrobe? But it was neither, for her exploration led her to a door covered in cobwebs.
The door was ornate, and made of iron, wood, and glass. There was a dragon’s head made of metal on the door’s mantle. Jane slotted the key into the keyhole. It opened, tearing the cobwebs. Incandescent lights sparked to life.
“My word! It’s an elevation chamber.” Elevation chambers were rare. She had seen her fair share in public buildings but not in her own home. Curiosity had her pulling the lever. The elevator chamber closed, and she felt it take her down, down below street level. When the doors opened, a waft of sewage assaulted her senses. She was definitely below the streets of Neo Industrial London. Jane took a perfunctory look around. It was a secret underground forge. What could this secret forge be doing under her house? She looked around. Perhaps she can find what she needs here.
The underground forge was lit by more incandescent lamps. There was a cold forge at the center and a lot of tables for working. There were armoires of tools at the back wall. Apart from the elevation chamber, three-chamber pods led to different places. A sign board stated their destinations: Covent Garden, Arena, and Thames. Arena? The Battle Opera?
The cold forge drew her. It had so much used coal and soot. It was clearly well-used, but who used it? Behind the forge was no anvil but a large, solid slab. On the slab lay an armor.
Jane gave a cry of surprise and ran to it. It had a dragon head and long metal spine wings. “No! It can’t be! It’s the Dragon Armor!”
Beside the armor were open toolbox and slates with writing strewn around. She knelt and looked at the slates and parchment. They were her father’s handwriting. This really was the Dragon Armor, her father’s masterpiece, but why it was here was a mystery. After selling it to a French mercenary, nobody knew what had become of it until it started to fight in the Battle Opera.
There was no indication of anybody being here other than her father, but it seemed to be a long time ago. The dust collected on every surface was undisturbed. Her father must have taken back the armor from the mercenary and used it to fight. The songs he taught her, the battles he regaled. It was all his battles, not some secondhand account from the opera. Jane opened the armor and inspected it. There was nothing wrong with it. A little oiling and tightening and it would be once more battle ready. Her father’s creations were always well-made; it didn’t rust easily.
Jane rifled through the various armoires in the chamber. There were schematics of the armors he had created, even one for the Griffin Armor. From the spare parts, she found the parts she needed. She would be coming back here again, but for now, she had to fix the duke’s armor.
When she got topside and into her father’s workshop, it was near dawn. She had stayed down in the secret forge for so long she had lost track of time. The Griffin Armor needed to be sorted before the duke got here. Jane worked furiously fast. As the Griffin, the Duke was conquering the arena once more. She hoped he would be true to his word and open a ladies’ box. She’d love to see an actual fight.
She was polishing the armor when the Duke knocked on the side door. Jane showed him in and the armor. She helped him don the armor and test out its components. He tested his voice and his movements.
“This is better than when I first received it. Please convey my gratitude to the smith. He is very skilled. The knee is softer and more maneuverable. Just in time for my rehearsals in the arena.” The Duke was daunting in the armor. He was like a god of the heavens fallen into her forge. Jane blushed. This was a Duke, far from her league. “This is to compensate your father.”
“Thank you and I wish you well in your fight,” Jane said.
When the Duke left, Jane was relieved to have fixed an armor as she did. She looked at the folded notes he had placed on her hands. It was a lot of pounds. She gasped as she counted them. They were more than enough. She felt guilty accepting all of it. This was too much for the work she had done. Deciding to return some of it, she raced upstairs to grab a day coat.
Her father emerged from his room. “Daughter? Where is my breakfast?” He demanded.
She sighed. He was in a bad mood today. “I’m off to the market to purchase something for breakfast and supper.” She would take a trip to the market after she took a trip to the arena.
The arena was a busy place to be. There were many people selling wares outside. It was also surrounded by gambling dens. All those dens wagered in the Battle Opera Arena.
Jane went up to the entrance. It was flanked by two guards and a ticketman. “Pardon me, sir. I need to speak to the Duke of Montox. I’m told he is practicing today.”
The ticket man looked at her and instantly judged her. “You and all his other admirers. You can’t disturb practice. Be on your way now!”
Undaunted, Jane went around the circular arena. Surely, there was a side entrance she could sneak in. Jane saw the side entrance and it was unguarded. She was about to run in when she spotted two men coming out.
“That Duke’s better than good. He’ll surely beat us all,” the first man said.
“Not to worry, once he wins, he won’t be getting his arena back. First, I’ll pretend ta get knocked out. He stands to claim his glory and I get up and knife him! The boss is going ta pay me twenty pounds!” The second man said. He was clearly a fighter too.
Jane fisted her hands. The Duke had given her forty pounds, double what they got. She did it through honest means while they have not. Something should be done!
After taking a short trip to the market, she hurried up and prepared food for her father and rushed down to the secret underground forge. No woman could attend the Battle Opera but she was going to go there not as herself but as Dragon, the armored rogue.
The armor was in fighting condition. She just needed to adjust the microphone to make her voice sound dark and low like a man’s. She would attend the open fight and warn the Duke. First, she should be able to fight and sing. And what about weapons? The armor weighted so much but she could fix the hinges so she could have minimal ease of movement. The sword was a different matter. It was not attached to any joints in the armor. Swordfight was a skill forbidden to ladies. Jane tested its weight. It was heavy. She could not sway it to knock down anybody. She might be a tall female but she was not strong or muscular. Frustrated, she swung the contents of the table with a swipe of her arm. She was discouraged. How was she going to warn the Duke? After all the work she put in the Griffin Armor, only to die of treachery.
Wiping her sweat on her sleeve, she knelt on the floor and started to pick up the parchments and tools. She was a neat person. When finances made them fire their employees, Jane was forced to clean up the house herself.
Her hand fell on an object she hadn’t seen in a long time. It must have been covered by the parchments. It was a fan, a silk fan her mother always carried around with her. Jane remembered her mother teaching her the fan language. She also remembered her mother teaching her how to defend herself using a fan. Her father must have kept the fan when her mother died.
The fan! Of course! She would use it to signal the Duke but also to fight! Jane added metallic modifications to the fan. She was going to fight!
The Battle Opera Arena was filled to the brim. No seat was unoccupied. The open fight promised to be a memorable one. Bets were cast. The fight was about to begin.
An alarm gong sounded, indicating for all the fighters to enter the arena. They would sing as they battled. The crowd would sing along to the fighters they supported. The last remaining fighter would win.
The crowds gasped when they spotted the Dragon enter the arena. It had been ten years since he fought but they knew his fights were the best. His songs fired the blood. This should be a battle most royal The Griffin and the Dragon were in the same fight. Only one would succeed. The bettors rushed to bet on either the Dragon or the Griffin. This would surely be the greatest battle on earth!
“Fight!” The commentator yelled and the battle ensued.
Jane dodged and used her fan. She was thankful her wings carried her faster since she was lighter than her father. The eight fighters were concentrated on her and the Griffin. They were the contenders to beat. The Griffin made quick work of his opponents. Jane took far longer. The force of her fan was not enough to knock down large knights.
She spotted a fighter edging to the Griffin as he was engaged in fighting somebody else. Jane sang a note higher, hoping to attract their attention. She motioned with her fan to turn. He did. Jane sighed in relief. Being a lord, she prayed he would understand the language of fans. He clearly did. He saluted his thanks.
Finally, there were two. “Well met, Dragon!” The Griffin saluted her. “It is between you and I. The Battle Opera Arena will be mine!” He charged her.
Jane felt the hit. He was fast and well-attuned to his armor while she was still not. She tried to attack him with the fan. Her efforts were futile. He swung his broadsword at her; she dodged but was hit in the helmet. His dragon helmet cracked, revealing her left temple to cheek.
The Dragon flew. The Griffin followed. They were now face-to-face but unevenly matched. He was a strong fighter with the vocal cords to prove it. She could barely sing. Sing! That’s it!
“The Griffin and the Dragon, their battles will go on, to worlds bygone…” She sang.
He squinted, trying to make out the features revealed. “Lady Tinker?”
“Please trust me, my Lord Duke.” She said. He nodded. The Dragon opened its wings wide, catching the sun and blinding the audience for a second before rushing the Griffin. When the crowd regained their eyesight, the Griffin was falling to the arena. The Dragon finished its song and claimed victory. The crowd cheered. Jane had won the arena. She was the winner.
As the Duke got up, one of the downed fighters got up and rushed him, knife extended. The Dragon slashed its fan blades and cut the fighter’s arm clean off. He howled in pain. The Griffin punched him in the face to knock him out.
“My thanks, Lady Dragon. I should have known that the smith’s daughter would be the famed Dragon. But now, I have lost the arena,” the Duke said sadly.
Jane smiled. “My dear Griffin, you have gained your life to battle the Dragon for another day.”
“I look forward to it.” He saluted her and promised a fight of the century.
END.
About Maita Rue
Maita Rue is an author, designer, and blogger. She’s the mother of four dogs and an aunt of one grumpy cat. Maita loves to read and is now finally writing the things she loves. The characters in her books have their own lives and she claims they demand their own destinies.