I don’t know how long it is that we’re trapped in the dark room. It seems like hours, days even. There’s nothing but the three of us and the soft chugging of the air ship as it sways beneath our feet. None of us are very inclined to talk. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, we hear footsteps ring out down the hall. I brace myself, waiting for someone to come through the door, wishing I still had my knife with me. After a moment the door creaks open to reveal a group of men in rumpled suites. They stare in at us. Some of them look jolly, like they’re having a good time, and others have grim faces on. I don’t recognize any of them as my captors. So this is a new set of bad guys…

            The one in front, a tall chap with an unruly mustache, strides forward and crosses his arms. His eyes scan us, businesslike. Like he’s assessing which race horse to bet on.

            “Right,” he says gruffly, “listen up, street scum. Listen well. What I’m about to tell you will make or break you. If you listen, you may actually survive.” He looks at me with sharp brown eyes and I give him my best “drop dead” glower right back.

            “You three have been specially chosen for a special kind of competition.”

            Well isn’t that special, is what I want to say, but I don’t. I just press my lips into a thin line and frown at him. What exactly is he talking about?

            He continues, “You’re about to get off this ship. Right below where we drop you, you’ll find a bag. Collect it, it's very important. There will be plenty of things down there that want to kill you.”

            Beside me I feel Gus stiffen. I can’t help it, I blurt out, “why?”

            The man quirks an eyebrow at me, but he answers, “because there are rich men with lots of money betting on you, dear. The only winner is the one who comes out alive. You three have been chosen for your street skills. We’ve been watching you. You’re fast,” here he looks at Ellie, “and tough,” he blinks at me, “and smart,” his gaze hovers on Gus, “you were hand picked by my employer. A very wealthy man.”

            “Well aren’t we honored,” I snarl, “to be chosen for some sick death race. What kind of…”

            He cuts me off sharply, “you’d do well to listen! You’re survival depends on it! Your street ilk will try to kill you, if the desert thirst doesn’t get to you first.” He tries for a winning smile, "just think of yourselves as Gladiators! The Romans were playing this sort of game long before we were, it's an ancient concept. You should be honoured."

            Ellie’s voice trembles, “the desert…”

            One of the men in the crowd yells, “that’s if the ridgebacks don’t get you!”

            There’s a rumble of laughter from the group, and I can feel all the little hairs on the back of my neck going up. All the outrageous tales I’ve heard about the vicious, man-eating ridgeback are popping back up now. How they’re tall as church steeples. How they have twin sets of razor-like teeth. How their drool is so acidic that it burns human flesh and helps them digest bones. “They aren’t real,” I stammer, “I mean, they’re exaggerations, tall tales.”

            “Oh aye,” one of the men shouts, “They’re very tall indeed!”

            More laughter, and I can feel goose bumps crawling up both arms. Gus’ voice is defensive, “those things are only on the Canary Islands. They’re not in England!”

            The man leans forward, an unpleasant grin stretching his lips back, revealing yellowing teeth, “I’ve got news for you lad, you’re not in England anymore.”

            Gus stares at him, open mouthed, and the man pulls back and waves his hands at the group behind them, like he’s shooing a bunch of hens back, “go on then. Get your bags ready, we’re almost there.”

            “Good,” says one, “I could use a bath.”

            “Not half as much as they could.”

            More laughter. The door slams shut behind them. The three of us are left in silence one more. When I turn back to them Ellie has her face in her hands. Gus is pacing the room, back and forth, boots stomping over floor. He throws his hands in the air, his voice desperate, “what the hell are we going to do? They’re going to abandon us in the desert. Who are these people?”

            Ellie’s answer is muffled, “They’re rich people with a cruel streak and far too much time on their hands,” she lifts her face up, and the lamp light makes the tears on her cheeks glisten, “and we’re going to die for their entertainment.”

            “And profit,” I mutter, “you can bet that they’re betting on us. It's a human dog fight,” I’m still in the same place, still staring at the door. What the hell can we do? I turn back, taking in the rest of the room. It’s pretty bare, there isn’t much on the shelves. I walk over to them, crouching down to examine the bottom shelf. It’s all mechanical stuff. Twisted gears and broken shafts. A few tools that can't really do much for us. They’d obviously been careful to remove anything sharp. Something catches my eye, a shiny metal spring about the size of my hand. I bite my lip, trying to imagine uses for it. Shrugging, I shove it in underneath my belt, where it bites into the flesh of my hip.

            “What are you going to do with that?” Gus frowns at me, and I shrug, feeling  defensive, “You never know,” I mutter, “it might come in handy.”

            “Yes,” Gus growls, “if I need to fix a clock out there in the desert I’ll give you a holler.”

            “I don’t see you do anything useful,” I shoot back at him.

            “Arguing isn’t going to do us any good at all,” Ellie stands up, her skirts falling down to brush the floor, “I think it’s a good idea, Molly. I’ll help you look,” she walks over to the other set of shelves and begins pawing through the junk, “you never know if we’ll need something strange like that later,” she examines a discarded wine cork, “Hmm…”

            “Well, bring that for sure,” Gus says sarcastically, “we may really need it. You know, in case we fall in the water, it’ll float. Oh wait…it’s a desert!”

            “You’re being obnoxious,” Ellie says mildly.

            We both jump when he bursts out, “don’t you two get it?”

            I turn and stare at him warily. Gus is pacing again, he’s got a fist full of his dreadlocks in one hand and he’s tugging on them anxiously, face twisted with emotion.

            His voice cracks, “Weren’t you listening to him? He said we'll be killed” he trails off and shakes his head as we continue to stare at him. His voice drops to a whisper, “it's some big fight ring they've orchestrated. Like the cock fights they have in the pits in London."

            Ellie looks horrified, but I just frown at him and shake my head, “what makes you think I plan to do anything they expect me to?”

            Gus just stares at me, brow creased. Then he stammers, “but what…”

            “I’m not playing their game!” I snap, “ no way I’m going to do what they say. I’m not. Fact is, I plan to do the opposite of what they tell me!”

            “But you’ll die…” Gus whispers, “they’re just  going to abandon us in the desert to fight one another…”

            “No they won’t,” I shift slightly, trying to move the spring so it doesn’t dig in so much, “how can they tell who won if they just leave us?”

            “I don’t…”

            “Listen,” I lower my voice and dart a look over my shoulder at the door. Crouching down on my haunches I motion them both to do the same, “listen to me. If they just drop us and leave, they won't know who won, will they? And what sort of man bets on a dog fight and then walks away, leaving it to someone else to tell him who won? Nobody, that’s who. The man, whoever he is, the rich man who chose us, he’ll be there. He’ll have a base of operations somewhere, likely a spot where he can see the action with a spy glass or a pair of autobinoculars. There’s no way he’d lose site of his precious prize dogs.”

            Ellie’s eyes are growing wider, and she shoves the brim of her hat back and says excitedly, “Excellent. Yes! So what…we find a way there and make an escape?”

            “Yup, that's the general plan,” I nod. I don’t tell either of them, but my hand clenches the empty air where my knife used to be. Whoever it is, this piece of scum who plucked us up off the street, I don’t mean to simply walk in a steal a steam carriage from him. That would come later, after I’d found him and killed him.

            Ellie’s eyes are shining, and even Gus looks less discouraged. He opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a sudden clatter of boots and the murmur of voices from the hall again, and all three of us spring up and away from one another like we’ve been burned.

            The door squeaks open, and it’s that horrible man and his posse once again. He motions for us, a smile curving his ugly mouth, “come along children.”

            I put my hands on my hips and raise my eyebrows at him. The message is a clear one.

            Make me.

            He nods once, and then turns and gestures at the man behind him, who steps forward, and suddenly I find myself staring right down the barrel of a pistol. I keep my mouth shut when the first man steps forward and grabs my arm, hauling me out of the room and through the crowd of on- lookers. I do my best to glare at each and every one of those mustached-bastards as I walk past them. They look down at me from over the tops of spectacles and under the brims of black hats.

            “Cads and bounders,” I hiss at them, “the lot of ya!”

            A few of them laugh and one says, “goodness the language on this one! Might be enough to scare off the ridgebacks.”

            This sends a drop of cold winging down my spine, and suddenly my stomach is turning so violently I think I might chuck my lunch all over the shiny black shoes of the nearest man. But the feeling passes as my captors shove me forward up the steep set of stairs that leads to the flight deck. I can hear Ellie being passed through the crowd behind me, only commenting once as some chap nearly knocks her hat off, “Oy,” she cries, “watch your clumsy hands, sir!”

            Gus is totally silent. He struggles at first, and then there’s the cold click of a pistol’s hammer behind me, and I turn to see him walking stiffly ahead, a barrel pressed hard into the side of his throat. We make eye contact, and to his credit the only thing I see in his eyes is unveiled fury. No fear there at all.

            For the first time I think, if I stick with these two, I may have a chance at surviving whatever it is we’re about to go through.

            When we reach the top deck I’m hit by a gust of hot, dry wind. Instantly my throat feels tight, like I’ve just swallowed a mouthful of sand. Despair creeps in. It’s only been five seconds and I already feel thirsty, how the hell am I supposed to survive the bloody desert?

            There are a few airship sailors on deck. Ship’s crew I guess, employed by the rich bastard who took us. They wear white and blue uniforms and keep their heads down, yanking on a sail here or a rope there as if they’re at a normal day’s work. I glower at them, deciding they’re just as bastardly for looking the other way while this is going on. The wind picks up, whipping my hair in front of my face, blinding me for a moment. The man pulls on my arm and I stumble forward.

            “You go first,” he yells, shoving his bowler hat down onto his head with one hand so that it doesn’t blow away. I realize he’s looking at the start of the metal fold-down ladder that’s hanging off the edge of the railing. I move forward cautiously, noting that the top of the ladder seems to be secured by metal hooks in the railing. I guess that’s good. I stop and look over the edge, and my breath catches in my throat, my surrounding seem to spin wildly. The ground is hundreds of feet below the airship, and all I can think about is,

            What if I fall?

            But the men that hold me aren’t in the least sympathetic. Another tug on my arm, and then I feel the smooth, hard barrel of the gun press into the side of my throat, “Get going,” the man growls over the wind, “you’re holding everyone up.” Then he leans closer and says loudly, “Don’t forget.  When you hear the sound of the bell, it means the fight has started.”

            The sound of the bell…?

A hand on my back pushes me towards the drop- down ladder. I lean forward, heart in my throat, and swing one leg over the railing. Below the airship the landscape stretches forever, yellow desert with patches of green here and there.

The man yells at me, “don’t forget, collect the bag as soon as you get down there!”

“Yeah, thanks,” I snarl, and grip the ladder so hard that the metal joints bite into my fingers. I lower myself down slowly, feet feeling for the next rung. The rush of blood in my ears is loud enough that it nearly drowns out the thrum of the airship. The wind continues to attack me, blowing my hair into my eyes so that I can’t see as I’m climbing down. This can’t get worse.

I’m proven wrong about halfway down the ladder, when Ellie is forced to start climbing. With her added weight the ladder swing wildly underneath us, almost like a pendulum, and for a moment I hold tight and shut my eyes, telling myself I’m going to die. My stomach lurches again, and I lean sideways, thinking I’m going to chuck it this time for sure. Nothing comes up though, and after a moment I resume climbing down, hands shaking so hard that it’s difficult to grip the metal rungs. I look down every few minutes and always wish that I hadn’t, since the landscape is spinning in dizzy circles beneath me. Finally I just keep my eyes straight ahead and concentrate on climbing, gripping, finding the next rung, letting go, breathing deeply. When the landscape finally grows closer and closer I start to breath easier. Finally the giant yellow blur turns to sand, and the vague green shapes become far away trees. In the distance a mountain looms, head in the clouds. A few more minutes and I can jump the distance safely, and I do, landing with a grunt on the sand, rolling onto my side so my ankles don’t take the impact of my fall. I look back up and see Ellie and Gus still making their way down slowly.

I grip the end of the ladder and try to hold it as steady as I can so they won’t swing around quite as much as I did. While I wait I look around. There’s nothing here. No sign of civilization. Not one building, not one street or dirt road. I don’t even see any sign of other teams being dropped down onto this god-forsaken island. It’s only sand and scraggly trees, and one lone mountain in the distance. Nothing to help us.

Despair is making my stomach sink and I turn back to the ladder, and that’s when I spot the supplies we’re obviously supposed to collect. Nestled under a few crippled looking, twisted trees, is a brown leather bag. I glance back up, impatient now. I want to see what’s in the bag.

Ellie takes another few minutes, and by that time I’m dancing from foot to foot. She jumps down, and I say, “good job, hold the ladder. I’m going to go get the bag.”

She takes the ladder without a word, curling her fingers around the rungs, face white. I turn and dash over to the trees, reaching underneath to grab the bag. The scraggly branches scrape the skin of my arms, but my hand closes around the soft leather strap, and I pull it out with a triumphant, “hah!”

The clasp is bronze colored, the type you twist to unlock, and I undo the clasp and flip the top open eagerly. The first item, the one on top, fills me with relief. It’s a deer hide water bag, and when I tip it back and forth it sloshes noisily. I place it on the ground carefully and fish out the next item, a smile slipping across my face for the first time in hours. Encased in a leather sheath is a long, wicked looking knife. I pull it free and test the edge on my finger, pleased at how sharp it is. After tucking it in my belt I pull out the next thing, a couple of chunks of bread wrapped in cloth. That’s it for food. The other two items in the bag are a long coil of rope and a piece of flint. I curse under my breath. That’s it for food, and how are we supposed to hunt with a damn knife? I’m not quick enough to sneak up on a rabbit and stab the stupid thing! I dart a look around at the landscape. Doesn’t look like there'll be rabbits anyways. Do our captors think we won't last long enough to need more then a days worth of food? This isn't good.

I look up as Gus drops down onto the sand, tumbling on his side the same way I had. He's up in an instant, eyes burning as he glances back up at the ship. Something about how he 's standing, and the way he's staring back up at the men leaning over the rail tells me he's probably making promises to himself about revenge.

The three of us stand there, Ellie clutching the top of her hat so it won't blow off, Gus looking up with murder in his eyes, and me with a spring digging into one hip and a knife on the other. We watch as the ship turns itself around ponderously, like a fat man who’s had too much for supper, and slouches onward, making it’s way through a faint mist of clouds, growing smaller and smaller till it's just a blip in the sky and it vanishes behind the mountain’s peak.

My heart sinks as I watch it go. I’d been so sure they would land somewhere. There has to be a base of operations. Somewhere they can watch us from. But the airship is gone. It's just the three of us and the vast, unfriendly desert.

I look over at Gus and he shrugs, the fire in his eyes has fizzled out, “what now?”

“I guess we should find shelter,” I mutter, “at least they gave us flint to build a fire.”

“don’t forget,” Ellie is looking around nervously, “don’t forget they said there are things that want to kill us.”

“Right,” I say grimly, scanning the landscape for possible threats, “nothing moving out there.”

“So far,” Gus mutters.

I'm turning for the shelter of the trees when something makes me stop, my body stiffening in alarm. A sound, faint at first, mixed in with the howling of the wind. A faint, gloomy bonging noise. It brings to mind Sundays spent sitting on the steps of the cathedral as a child, hoping for a hand- out. Bells.

When you hear the sound of the bell, it means the fight has started…

“Go!” I say sharply, already heading for the trees, “under cover, now.”

“What?” Ellie hurries after me, and the stomping of Gus’ boots are right behind me, “what’s going on?” Gus says, “what does that noise mean?”

Branches grasp at me, catching my clothes and scratching my face, but I keep pushing deeper into the trees, “It means the brawl is beginning.”