Casino Infernale (36 page)

“No, sir. This is our place, given over to us. We run things here in return for being left alone.”

“And, when there are no Games?” said Molly.

“There are always Games, miss. We are made to serve.”

“Can’t you say no?” I said.

“We are not allowed that privilege, sir,” said the flunky. “It is not a part of our programming. The best we can hope for is that while some of us run the Games, some of us are left alone.”

“I will not stand for this,” I said. “I will do something about this.”

“Many people have said that, sir,” said the generic flunky. “But we are still here.”

“You never met anyone like me,” I said.

“That’s enough, Shaman,” Molly said quickly. “You do like to promise things, don’t you?”

“People manufactured to be slaves?” I said. “I’m not having it!”

“The Games,” Frankie said urgently. “You have to make a start, get your challenge in, before you’re noticed by some of the sharks operating here.”

“If you’ll excuse me, sir and miss,” said the flunky, “I have my business to be about.”

He bowed, and left. There wasn’t even any character in the way he walked, or held himself. More like a toy that had been wound up and left to run.

“The more I learn about this place, the less I like,” I said. “I don’t think my family knows nearly enough, about the Casino, or the Shadow Bank, or the people behind them . . . if they are even people. Dimensional doors, people factories . . . Once this mission is over, I will get some answers. . . .”

“First things first,” said Molly, soothingly. “We have to win here, and win big enough to get us into the Big Game, if we’re to break the bank. And get your soul back. That is why we came here, remember?”

“If you survive the Medium Games,” said Frankie.

Molly tapped me urgently on the arm, and pointed out a familiar figure moving casually through the stone seating, meeting and greeting with professional ease. Earnest Schmidt, current leader of the reformed Brotherhood of the Vril. He seemed in no hurry; happy to talk his poison to anyone.

“Maybe I should challenge him,” I said. “Nothing like kicking the crap out of a Nazi to brighten up your day.”

“Don’t aim so high,” Frankie said immediately. “He has many souls, and he knows his way around the Medium Games. You want someone who’s as unfamiliar with everything as you are. Someone like the individual currently heading our way.”

A somewhat less than medium height, very slender, and very striking figure was striding confidently towards us. Dressed in full formal attire, complete with top hat, gloves, and spats, and a monocle screwed tightly into the left eye. He stopped before us, nodded jerkily, and then had to pause to stuff his monocle back into its eye socket again. He struck a haughty pose, and did his best to look down on me. Which is not easy, when you’re at least a head shorter.

“I say!” he said, in a high breathy voice. “You’re that Shaman Bond chappie, aren’t you? I’m told you did frightfully well in the Introductory Games, even if you were mostly saved from your own folly by the assistance of others. You do understand that won’t happen here.”

“And you are?” I said.

“I am the Little Lord!” snapped the aristocratic figure. Somewhat taken aback and even affronted at not being immediately recognised. “Aristocrat of the Nightside and Gambler Supreme! Winner of many Games, and my soul is still my own! Not a mark on it . . .”

“Do you know which planet we’re on?” I said.

He sniffed, dismissively. “As though that matters. I’m a gambler, not a tourist!”

Molly leaned forward suddenly, to get a really close look at the Little Lord, and then crowed triumphantly. “I knew it! You’re a woman!”

“What?” I said.

“Shut up!” said the Little Lord.

“You’re a woman!” said Molly. She put both her hands on the Little Lord’s chest, and had a good feel. “You’ve got breasts! You’re female!”

“Not officially!”
said the Little Lord, backing away several steps. She glared at me. “And I challenge you, Shaman Bond, to a game of Change War!”

Molly gave every indication of going after the Little Lord again, possibly to pull her clothes open for a fuller investigation. I grabbed Molly by the arm and pulled her back.

“Behave, Molly!” I said sternly. “You’re not at home now.”

Frankie murmured urgently in my ear.

“Accept the challenge. It’s a simple, basic Game, one on one, win a soul or lose one. A good introduction to the Medium Games, and a chance to make a good impression in front of the crowds.”

“Very well,” I said to the Little Lord. “I accept your challenge.”

“Wait a minute,” said Molly. “We don’t even know what the Game involves yet!”

“Too late, old dear,” said the Little Lord, smiling frostily. “Mr. Bond, I shall make you pay for these indignities, sir!”

And she hurried away, heading for the Arena.

“Little Bitch,” said Molly.

The Little Lord’s back stiffened, but she pretended not to hear and kept going. Striding down through the stone seats, heading for the circle at the heart of the Arena. Top-hatted head held high. I considered blowing a raspberry after her, but decided against it. I had my dignity to consider. I looked at Frankie.

“All right,” I said. “What have I just agreed to, on your advice?”

“Change War,” said Frankie. “You both take a potion, provided by the Casino, a mixture of classic Hyde formula and Chimera Venom. Gives you both the short-term ability to transform your body into absolutely anything your mind can conceive of. You both change shape repeatedly, trying to outmanoeuvre and overwhelm each other, until one of you turns into something the other can’t match. Basically, you just keep fighting in one form after another until there’s a clear winner. And a loser, of course.”

“Didn’t I see this in a Disney film once?” said Molly.

“The thought of you watching a Disney film feels frankly unnatural,” said Frankie.

I thought about it. “Is there any way I can get out of this Game?”

“No!” said Frankie. “No, really, you don’t want to do that! This is a good deal! You’re a trained fighter, and a Drood, so you’re bound to have encountered far weirder and more dangerous things than the Little Lord! You can outclass and outfight her and . . . and walk all over her!”

“If it’s such a good deal, why are you getting so loud?” said Molly.

“I don’t want to kill the Little Lord,” I said to Frankie.

“You won’t have to,” he said quickly. “Just . . . overpower her. We can get really good odds on you, in the side betting!”

I looked at Molly, and she nodded reluctantly. “Do what you have to do, Shaman.”

“Good thing Jacqueline’s not here,” I said. “To see what they’ve done with Hyde formula.”

“Don’t be naive,” said Frankie. “Who do you think sold the details of the formula to the Casino in the first place? In return for an invitation, and enough money to play with?”

•   •   •

I took my time walking down through the stone seating, towards the circle. I really didn’t want to fight anyone, after what I’d been through in the Pit, but there was no denying the idea of Change War intrigued me. I had some experience in changing the shape of my armour, but to actually change my body . . . into someone or even something else . . . I made myself smile and nod easily to everyone I passed. The crowds were really gathering now, filling the stone seating, pressed shoulder to shoulder. Many were already discussing Shaman Bond and the Little Lord with cold familiarity, like two racehorses. Bets were being placed. It all seemed very sporting and civilised, until you remembered they were wagering other people’s souls. I stopped, right at the edge of the circle. The Arena. Nothing could happen, nothing could begin, until I stepped into the Arena. The Little Lord was already there, strutting up and down, waving to the crowd in a haughty, affected manner. As though they were privileged to be watching her. I suppose, if you’re going to play a part, play it all the way.

Another uniformed flunky appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. He stepped into the circle, bearing a silver salver with two champagne flutes on it. No point in putting it off any further. I strode out into the circle, and the crowd cheered me in a mostly good-natured way. The Little Lord came forward, and we both stood together before the Casino’s generic flunky.

“Have we met?” I said, peering into the familiar characterless face.

“No, sir,” said the flunky. “An easy mistake to make. I am told we all look alike to you. Please, drink. So that Change War can begin.”

The Little Lord snatched one of the champagne flutes from the tray, and tossed the clear liquid back. She slammed the glass back onto the tray and walked quickly away. I picked up the remaining glass and studied the contents carefully.

“How long will this stuff last?” I said, to the flunky.

“As long as it needs to, sir. The act of winning, or losing, acts as a psychic trigger to shut down the potion’s effects. It’s all been very carefully worked out, sir. We have done this before. Win, and the Little Lord’s soul is yours. Lose, and your opponent takes control of Miss Molly’s soul. I am not permitted to take anyone’s side, but I believe I am allowed to say ‘Good luck, sir.’”

He bowed, and stepped back. Not a trace of emotion anywhere, in his face or voice. Just waiting for me to drink so the Game could get under way. I looked out into the crowd and there was Frankie, moving quickly back and forth, nailing down those important side bets. I hoped he was getting good odds. I looked round and there was Molly, standing right at the front of the crowd, in the first row. I moved over to stand before her, still holding my champagne glass. We stood and looked at each other for a long moment.

“What are you doing here?” I said.

“You don’t have to do this,” said Molly. “I could do this for you. I’ve as much experience as you, and I can hold my own in a fight. You know that.”

“I have to do this,” I said steadily. “If the horse throws you . . .”

“Then you shoot the bloody thing in the head and move on!” said Molly. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Shaman.”

“Perhaps I have something to prove to myself,” I said. “You don’t know how close I came to losing against the Dancing Fool. I had to descend to his level to win. I don’t like how that made me feel. I need to win this, Molly, and I need to win it . . . in a good way. To be myself again.”

“Oh, hell,” said Molly. “Just . . . don’t get chivalrous. Kick the crap out of the Little Tranny, and come home safely.”

“Now there’s a sentence you don’t hear every day,” I said.

I smiled at Molly, and she smiled at me. And then I turned away from her and strode out into the stone circle, to where the generic flunky was waiting patiently for me. The Little Lord was standing stiffly in place now, impatient to get started. I toasted her with my champagne flute, and gulped the clear liquid down. After my horrid experience with the Armourer’s potion, I didn’t want the stuff lingering in my mouth any longer than necessary. I braced myself, ready for some really horrible taste, some open assault on my taste buds . . . and was surprised to discover that the potion had no taste at all. I might as well have been drinking tap water.

I looked suspiciously at my empty glass, wondering whether someone might have cheated, and slipped me water instead of the potion, but no, I could already feel the stuff working within me. Feel the potential opening up of all the things I could be. The generic flunky took the empty glass away from me and left the circle, but I barely noticed. I felt like I could be anything, anything at all. That I could rise up into the sky like a giant and drag down one of the moons, or dissipate into a deadly mist that would poison everyone who breathed it in. Turn myself into anyone or anything I’ve ever met. And I’ve been around. All the possibilities jostling within me, just bursting to get out . . .

I looked across at the Little Lord as she carefully removed the monocle from her left eye and tucked the glass safely away in an inside pocket. And then she looked at me and smiled, coldly and dismissively. As though she’d already worked out every possibility in her mind, and won every time. And all that was left now was the formality of playing it out. I had to smile at that. I had been places, and seen things, and done things, far beyond her imagination. The Little Lord wasn’t going to know what hit her. Except, I didn’t want to play the Game that way. The Casino’s bloody, brutal way.

So I just sauntered around the perimeter of the circle, bouncing along full of life and energy, ignoring my opponent to wave and smile at the crowd, who didn’t quite know how to take that. It sure as hell wasn’t
We who are about to die, salute you.
Fighting in the Arena was supposed to be a grim, deadly affair. That’s why they came. You weren’t supposed to have a good time in the Arena. . . . My actions seemed to actually incense the Little Lord, who had to keep turning just to face me.

“You’re not taking this seriously!” she said, accusingly.

“I’ve had enough of serious,” I said brightly. “Not really my thing. It’s supposed to be a Game, isn’t it? Then let’s play! Let’s enjoy ourselves; have some fun!”

“This isn’t a game,” said the Little Lord. “It was never meant to be a game! Just a contest of skill, with souls on the line!”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t still have a good time,” I said, reasonably. I slammed to a halt and looked steadily at her, my hands thrust casually in my pockets. “Why did you challenge me, rather than anyone else? Did you see me fight in the Pit?”

“You fought in the Pit?” said the Little Lord. “And won?”

“Well, obviously,” I said. “If I hadn’t won, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

“I chose you at random,” said the Little Lord. “Because I didn’t know anything about you. Therefore, you weren’t a Major Player. I couldn’t risk that. Not after I sacrificed so much to get this far. I will beat you!”

“Why?” I said. “Why is winning so important to you?”

“Because it’s my only way to get home again!” said the Little Lord, harshly. “I want to go home!”

“You’d take my soul to do that?” I said.

“I’d take a thousand souls!” said the Little Lord. “And that’s the other reason why I chose to challenge someone I didn’t know. So that whatever happens to you, it won’t bother me so much.”