Chapter Four
The Capitol
Dawn was just breaking when Marcius came to awake the two tributes, but Clark and Becky were already up. Days began early in District 9 and neither tribute had gotten much rest the night before.
Becky was coughing pitifully as she came to the dining room and she had dark circles under her eyes. Clark joined her a few minutes later, looking almost as tired.
The Avoxes hurried to serve them their breakfast while Haver and Matilda dragged themselves to the table. Both looked hung over. Neither victor touched the food, but instead accepted cups of coffee from the servants, which they alternately stared into and sipped.
Clark and Becky didn’t hesitate to eat. In spite of the situation, both were hungry. Clark accepted a cup of coffee as well, adding a goodly amount of milk and sugar to it. He’d drunk coffee a couple of times before, but liked it better when well-sweetened.
Becky tried the coffee too, but after one sip put it down and concentrated on the food. She reached for the cup a couple more times, trying to convince herself to drink it, but when an Avox offered her a sweet-smelling beverage instead, she accepted it, but looked at it warily.
“It’s hot chocolate,” Haver told her reassuringly, cradling his head in his hands. “You’ll probably like it better.”
Becky nodded and tasted the concoction. When she did, her countenance lit up and she drained the cup completely before continuing with her breakfast.
Marcius came in, looking impossibly cheerful. “You have quite a day ahead of you,” he told the tributes. “We’ll reach the Capitol in about half an hour. You’ll be meeting with your stylists, and then tonight is the tribute parade. That’s always a favorite of the Capitol. You’ll hear President Snow speak, and then you’ll go on to the Training Center. Tomorrow, you’ll start training for the Games, but today the Capitol will meet
you.”
Clark looked away from Marcius, concentrating on his food. He hoped his stylists wouldn’t try to cut his hair or give him a tattoo — attempting either would show, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was different.
The room suddenly darkened and the lights automatically came on as the train entered the tunnels leading toward the Capitol. With the Capitol’s location being in the mountains as it was, the only way it could be accessed, by train, from the east was through a series of tunnels. It was a factor that had led to the districts’ defeat in the Dark Days.
By the time the train reemerged into the sunlight, both tributes and victors were standing at the windows of the viewing car. The train slowed as it came into the Capitol, giving them a good view of the garishly attired Capitol citizens who stood on platforms along the tracks, pointing and waving when they caught sight of the tributes.
“You should wave back at them,” Haver told Clark. “You never know when someone might remember you and decide to sponsor you in the arena.”
Matilda nodded, looking Clark up and down. “With sponsors,
you might actually stand a chance.”
Clark wanted nothing to do with them, but he knew that she was right — and if he kept Becky with him, any gifts he received might also benefit her. Putting on a smile he didn’t feel, he waved back at the crowds. Beside him, Becky, following his lead, did the same thing.
Both tributes looked around with interest when they disembarked from the train. They had seen the Capitol on television — and Clark had seen it in person during some of his late night flights around Panem — but seeing it in person, in the daylight, was different. It was indeed beautiful — even if that beauty came at the expense of the people of the districts.
They didn’t have time to look around much, though, before they were herded into the Remake Center to meet their stylists.
*****
Clark stood awkwardly in the middle of a room in the Remake Center, gritting his teeth as his prep team walked around him slowly, examining him from every angle.
They had already scrubbed him thoroughly, removing every bit of dirt he might have acquired in his life. Clark had always thought that he was reasonably clean, but by Capitol standards, he had been filthy. The prep team had also attempted to manicure his nails, making him glad that he had used his heat vision to trim them the day of the Reaping — since they were already short and neat, they had settled for scraping the dirt from under them and then left them alone.
Now they circled him, poking and prodding and making him long for the thin robe they occasionally allowed him to wear. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when anyone had examined him so closely. It made him very uncomfortable.
Finally, the one woman in the group stepped back and shook her head. “I don’t think there’s anything else for us to do,” she said. “Personally, I think you could use a little color for your skin — blue might be nice — but Rosaline prefers the ‘natural’ look. Aside from that — well, you can’t fix perfection.” She gave Clark a look that had him blushing.
When the prep team left, Clark scrambled for his robe at almost superspeed. He would have preferred the clothes he had been wearing on the train, but he had no idea where they were — and he doubted that anyone would have told him if he had asked.
It wasn’t long before Rosaline, his stylist, arrived. She gestured for him to disrobe and walked around looking at him, but without the prurient interest that the woman from his prep team had displayed.
“Yes, this will work quite well,” she murmured to herself. She handed him back his robe. “Go ahead and get dressed. Lunch is about to be served. While we eat, I’ll explain about the opening ceremonies and the costumes for them.”
*****
Hours later, Clark and Becky stepped into the elevator that would take them to the bottom level of the Remake Center. They glanced at each other in silence.
Becky’s stylist, Belarius, and Rosaline had worked together to dress their tributes in what they thought of as farm-style costumes — tight jeans and a checked shirt for Clark, and a matching checked pinafore dress and white blouse for Becky. The clothes looked normal enough, though they were brighter and less practical than anything that would have been worn on a District 9 farm.
To be sure that everyone watching understood the farming theme, Belarius and Rosaline had also constructed grain-themed headdresses for the tributes. Stalks of wheat, rye, and barley were woven into crowns that fitted tightly to their heads.
Clark thought that Becky’s headdress made her look innocent and faintly angelic. On the contrary, he thought his own made him look ridiculous. Haver had warned him not to object to anything his stylist wanted to do, however, so he pretended he didn’t know how strange he looked.
Displaying her growing trust of Clark, Becky stayed close to him as they entered the lowest level of the Remake Center, a large stable where pairs of tributes were being loaded into chariots. Her eyes were wide and frightened as she looked at the others.
Not all of the tribute pairs were being as cooperative. The girl from District 1 was whispering flirtatiously with the boy from District 2 while their respective district partners glowered at them. The pair from District 3 was arguing loudly while their stylists tried to calm them and the nearby Peacekeepers watched them nervously. The tributes from District 12 were trying to hide from each other and everyone else, because they were both stark naked and covered in black dust. This was done to represent coal dust, since they were from a mining district.
It took a while, but eventually all the tributes were loaded into the chariots — one chariot for each district. The well-trained pairs of horses pulling each chariot didn’t shy at the chaos, and were so familiar with the route that no one needed to take the reins.
The District 9 chariot jerked slightly as it began to move. Becky gasped, startled, and nearly fell.
Clark reached out to steady her. Realizing how small she looked, he thought for a moment, then leaned down to her, and said, “You wave. I’ll keep us steady.” In one fluid motion, he picked her up and set her on his shoulders, holding her steady with one hand while with the other he grasped the front of the chariot.
When the chariots pulled out onto the City Circle, the crowd roared with approval. Hundreds of the Capitol’s wealthiest and most well-connected citizens sat in comfortable seats along the street, while others crowded in behind them, finding space wherever they could.
Some people shouted with approval at the sight of the District 9 chariot, throwing roses at them. Becky caught one and, taking a cue from some female tributes in the chariots ahead of them, blew a kiss in the general direction from which it had come. She looked down at Clark and grinned, finding this part of being a tribute something she could enjoy.
It didn’t take long for the chariots to circle the parade route, and soon the horses slowed and then came to a stop in front of President Snow’s mansion.
Snow stepped up onto the balcony and looked out at the cheering crowd and the assembled tributes. Raising his hands for quiet, he smiled, but the smile never quite reached his eyes.
“Tributes,” Snow said, “we welcome you. We salute your courage and your sacrifice. We wish you Happy Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favor.”
The crowd cheered, as did the tributes from the Career districts. The other tributes looked at Snow in astonishment, wondering if he really believed that they had voluntarily sacrificed themselves.
Clark took Becky from his shoulders as Snow’s eyes swept the tributes, trying to make her less visible. Something about the president of Panem reminded him of the venomous snakes he sometimes encountered in District 9 — cold, emotionless, and deadly.
Clark raised a hand to cover his nose, wondering if anyone else could smell the strange odor coming from Snow — an unpleasant mixture of abnormally sweet roses and blood. He didn’t know where the smell of blood came from, and he didn’t dare look too closely at him in front of the crowd. Nonetheless, the smell was overwhelming, so he was glad when the chariots moved along, finally depositing the tributes at the Training Center, their home until the Games began.
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