The Song of Phaid the Gambler

by Mick Farren

  The silence went on and on. Finally the door chimes sounded. Both Phaid and Makartur looked at Abrella-Lu. Makartur chuckled.

  'How are you going to let the cops in and still keep us covered with yon fuse tube?'

  'Max-1 will let the police in.'

  'Oh no he won't. I blew up your wee tin butler.'

  Although she was doing her best not to show it, Abrella-Lu was clearly worried. She gestured to Makartur with the fuse tube.

  'Stand up.'

  'Are you sure you want me to do that?'

  'Stand up, damn you!'

  The door chimes sounded again. Makartur laughed.

  'You better let them in, else they think it's a false alarm and go away again.'

  'Just get up, you swine!'

  Makartur slowly got to his feet. Abrella-Lu took a step towards him.

  'Start walking towards the door.''

  Makartur made as though he was going to do as he was told. He half turned. Then his hand flashed out like a striking snake. He grabbed Abrella-Lu's wrist and twisted. The fuse tube crackled, but the discharge went harmlessly into the water of the pool. It steamed and bubbled. Abrella-Lu beat helplessly on the hill man's massive chest with her free hand.

  'Let me go, you bastard! Let me go!'

  Makartur's laugh rumbled round the room as Phaid got quietly to his feet. Makartur was still laughing and Abrel­la-Lu still struggling as Phaid's fingers closed around the crystal sphere. He took two quick paces that brought him up behind the giant tribesman. He took one last look at the little girl trudging through the snow and swung his arm.

  He caught Makartur behind and slightly below the ear. The big man grunted and dropped like a bundle of old clothes. Phaid let the crystal fall to the floor. There was blood on his hands. He wasn't sure if it was his or Makartur's. He faced Abrella-Lu.

  'Now are you convinced?'

  'I'm going to let the police in.'

  There were three of them, two normal sized cops in red jumpsuits and a hulking man mountain in armour. They came in fast with blasters out, obviously fired up to rescue a pretty and very naked damsel from her dastardly attackers. Abrella-Lu was right behind them giving direc­tions.

  'That's them. They had a fight. The shifty looking one without any clothes slugged the big one from behind.'

  Phaid couldn't believe that Abrella-Lu had worked the switch on him once again.

  'Wait a minute . . .'

  Rough hands grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground. Phaid started to protest but a swift boot in the kidneys shut him up. The man mountain stuck his knee in Phaid's back and held him down while his two companions carted away the inert form of Makartur. While he was restraining Phaid, he was also able to ask Abrella-Lu a few preliminary questions.

  'What's been going on here?'

  'These two tried to kill me.'

  'You know them?'

  'I never saw them before.'

  Phaid jerked.

  'She's lying . . .'

  The pressure of the cop's knee threatened to crack vertebrae.

  'Shut up. I'm talking to the lady.'

  Phaid shut up while he could still wriggle his toes. The pressure lightened up a little as the cop turned his attention back to Abrella-Lu.

  'You got any idea why they'd want to kill you?'

  'Who knows. I'm a courtier, anything can happen to us in these troubled times. Maybe they're Day One terrorists or maybe someone paid them. It comes to the same thing in the end.'

  'What about the other two stiffs?'

  'The big guy mistook the woman for me. The boy tried to intervene and that's how he got it.'

  The cop nodded and pointed towards the prostrate Phaid.

  'What about him. How come he's naked?'

  Abrella-Lu shot the cop a look of pure aristo.

  'Are you daring to suggest . . . ?'

  The cop quickly shook his head.

  'I wasn't suggesting nothing. I know what's good for me.'

  Phaid craned to see if he could catch the cop's express­ion behind the dark visor but it was impossible. The cop continued to look at Abrella-Lu.

  'You had best put some clothes on. You will have to come with us to record a statement.'

  He sounded a little regretful. Phaid supposed that he would have felt the same had he been in the cop's position. It wasn't every day that a humble officer is confronted by a naked courtier.

  Abrella-Lu disappeared into another room to dress. Phaid and the cop were left on their own. Phaid twisted his head around.

  'How about letting me up so I can put some clothes on too.'

  'Not a chance.'

  'You mean you're going to drag me off stark naked?'

  'You'll get a nice new suit when you get where you're going.'

  'Hey

  Phaid groaned as the cop's knee pressed harder into his back. The cop twisted Phaid's wrist behind him.

  'Time you shut up.'

  'Wait . . .'

  'Or do I get to shut you up?'

  'No . . . no.'

  The cop snapped a pair of manacles on to Phaid's wrists. He had set them much too tight. The plasteel cut painfully into Phaid's flesh. The cop finally removed his knee from the small of Phaid's back.

  'On your feet.'

  Phaid struggled to stand. It wasn't easy on a soft floor with his wrists locked behind him. The cop grabbed him by the hair and hauled him into a standing position. Abrella-Lu reappeared wearing a businesslike grey tunic and wide black pants tucked into short red boots.

  'Shall we go? I want to get this over as soon as I can.'

  The cop pushed Phaid forward. He almost fell into Abrella-Lu. She half smiled at him.

  'You know, you look pathetic. To think I really used to quite like you once.'

  Phaid was about to say something but thought better of it. The cop, however, looked sharply at her.

  'I thought you said you'd never seen this man before tonight.'

  Abrella-Lu flashed a brittle little smile at him.

  'I did.'

  'But you just said that you used to . . .'

  'Don't worry about it, darling. You're only an under­ling. Let your superiors sort it out.'

  With that, she swept out of the door. The cop took out his confusion on Phaid. He grabbed him by the back of his neck and pushed him roughly after her.

  Chapter 20

  The inquisitor pushed back his limp, straw coloured hair and sighed the sigh of a man who was starting to run out of patience.

  'You wouldn't care to confess to the iron pipe killings, would you?'

  Phaid exhaustedly shook his head.

  'No, not much.'

  'How about the midnight beheadings? He used to rearrange the pieces of his various victims. I guess you could call him creative.'

  'I don't want to confess to anything.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Quite sure.'

  'You're being difficult.'

  'I'm not going to confess to anything that I didn't do.'

  'So what did you do?'

  'Nothing.'

  'How about the eastside vampire?'

  'How many mass murderers do you have in this city?'

  The Inquisitor shrugged.

  'It's hard to tell. All we can do is count the bodies. We can't hope to catch more than about one in ten of them. You've got to see that that's why it's always good to get a few off the books. It makes it look better. I don't see what your objection is. You're almost certain to go to the steamer so you've got nothing to lose by copping to a few confessions. I mean, you're going to die anyway. Why not make our lives a little easier?'

  'Why should I?'

  'You'll stay in the White Tower for quite.a while before you get a slot in the steamer. The backlog on executions is quite appalling.'

  The Inquisitor was very young and slight. Almost like a boy masquerading in the exotic, pale blue uniform. He affected a limp wristed, effete attitude that Phaid found totally disconcerting after the brutality he had suffere
d during his first few hours in the hands of the police.

  'So?'

  'So you can either spend that time in some semblance of comfort or in extreme distress. If you play ball with us, we can make sure that you get on one of the privileged levels on the Tower. If not, you get on the Rat Row.'

  'What's the Rat Row?'

  'Don't even ask.'

  Phaid rubbed his tired eyes. For the last few hours he had been living in a waking nightmare. He was bruised and bloody. He had been beaten and kicked. He'd had his voice printed, his retina pattern recorded and a mind probe had lanced agonisingly through-his brain. He had only been given clothes at the end of the long, painful process that had finally delivered him into the hands of the pale, almost chinless Inquisitor.

  'So you're telling me that if I confess to a bunch of murders that I didn't do, I may have a better time in jail before I'm executed for a crime I didn't do either? Is that right?'

  The Inquisitor nodded.

  'You have a very good grasp of the situation.'

  Phaid sagged in the hard plasteel chair.

  'Can I think about this for a moment?'

  'Don't take too long. I really can't see what you're worrying about. Either way you're going to finish up dead.'

  'But it isn't fair.'

  'Precious little is these days.'

  'But I haven't had a trial yet. I didn't have any part in the attempted murder that I was arrested for. Suppose the court finds me not guilty? I could still be steamed for some crime I confessed to because you offered me a deal.'

  'That's the chance you have to take. It says on your file that you're a gambler. It shouldn't be too much of a problem for you.'

  The bright overhead lights bored into Phaid's skull. The Inquisitor had the benefit of small round dark glasses. Phaid had no protection against the harsh glare. He looked around the bare interrogation chamber as though seeking a way out. None presented itself. The Inquisitor flipped languidly through Phaid's file for what must have been the fiftieth time.

  'I wouldn't worry about going free. It's unlikely you'll even get a trial. There's a Condition of Emergency in force and the complaint against you was made by a courtier. That's quite enough to get you a place in the steamer. You sure you don't want to confess to a few unsolved crimes?'

  Phaid thought about Chrystianaville's favourite form of execution. The condemned were locked into steel cages like so many pieces of meat. The cages were slotted into a wide iron pipe in one of the deep sub basements of the White Tower. At the touch of a switch, superheated steam, excessive blowoff from the city powerhouse, blasted down the pipe and the condemned were literally steamed alive.

  Phaid wearily shook his head.

  'I'm not going to confess.'

  'You're being very stupid. Here you are, almost certain to be steamed and you won't do yourself a favour. Still, what can be expected from someone who goes after courtiers? What are you, a Day Oner?'

  Phaid tried to rest his arms on the table that separated him from the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor jabbed him with a short swagger cane.

  'Sit up. Don't slouch. You were about to tell me what you were.'

  'I'm not anything.'

  'You're dumb.'

  'I am?'

  'You should have picked a common whore if you wanted to go murdering. I knew a case, this fellow killed three whores; he cut off their heads, hands and feet. It was really a disgusting business. When we had him in here, he expressed his willingness to enlist in the police. After some discussion we accepted his offer. He's doing very well now. He's been made an underleader already. You unfortunately would never qualify for such a deal. You had to try and kill a courtier.'

  'I did no such thing.'

  'Oh yes you did.'

  The Inquisitor picked up Phaid's file.

  'It's right here in black and white. You confessed to the street officers that you went to the residence of ... what was her name again? . . . ah, yes, Abrella-Lu. You went to the residence of Abrella-Lu with the sole intention of killing her.'

  'That's not true.'

  'Are you telling me that there has been a clerical error?'

  'This is insane.'

  'It doesn't make any difference. The system is supposed to be perfect. If there has been a clerical error, there's virtually nothing that can be done about it.'

  'Why can't you leave me alone?'

  The Inquisitor took off his glasses. Behind them, he had pale watery eyes.

  'Alas, leaving you alone is not within the scope of my orders. I'm an Inquisitor. I push and push until I get everything out of you. We want everything, and I'll keep probing until you willingly give up everything.'

  'But I don't have anything. You even took my clothes away.'

  Phaid tugged at the coarse grey material of the prison issue coverall. For the twentieth time he read the number printed across the front. He couldn't quite get to grips with the fact that that number was him, and might be him for the rest of his life. Phaid knew that he ought to be terrified, but somehow he wasn't. His body ached and he was mentally and physically exhausted. The process that the police had put him through had left him incapable of being anything but numb.

  Also, the process wasn't over. Phaid raised his head. The Inquisitor was regarding him with what almost looked like a sad, sympathetic smile.

  'You know that it's only yourself that you're hurting. You already admitted to the attempted murder of a courtier.'

  'I didn't. How can I get that through to you?'

  'You can't. It's here on your file.'

  'But that's a lie.'

  'That doesn't matter. Once something is on your file, it becomes the truth for all official purposes.'

  'What can I do?'

  'Absolutely nothing.'

  Phaid slumped again.

  'You're telling me that I'm as good as dead.'

  The Inquisitor beamed.

  'Now you're starting to get the idea.'

  'Surely there's something.'

  'You could reconcile yourself to the inevitable.'

  Phaid shook his head.

  That's easy to say.'

  'You could also confess to a few other outstanding capital crimes and thereby ensure yourself of the best possible treatment until the time you get steamed.'

  'I can't.'

  'You'll probably get a few written in on your file, whether you like it or not.'

  'What?'

  'It happens.'

  'Can I have a moment to think about all this? There's rather a lot to absorb.'

  'Don't take too long.'

  'I don't want to die.'

  'You should have realised that before you went courtier hunting.'

  'But I didn't.'

  'Don't start all that again. It's on your file.'

  There was a long pause. Phaid knew that he should be considering all his options, evaluating if what the Inquisi­tor had told him was true. There was always the chance that it might be some sort of elaborate bluff. Somehow, though, Phaid didn't believe this. He found it hard to concentrate. His mind whirled round and round, ducking and weaving, as though it was unwilling to confront the knowledge that he was going to be painfully executed in the near future. He made his final appeal to the Inquisitor.

  'You've got to give me a moment. I'm having trouble getting to grips with all this. I was present at an attempted murder, I had nothing to do with it, but you're telling me that I've got to die because it says that I'm guilty on some file.'

  The Inquisitor smiled coldly and replaced his dark glasses.

  'That's about the situation.'

  'And the only option that I have is to confess to a few more crimes that I didn't do and then I might get slightly better treatment before they finally steam me.'

  The Inquisitor yawned.

  'We do seem to rather be going round in circles. My time is valuable.'

  'So's my life.'

  The Inquisitor chuckled.

  'You really are magnificently stubborn. When ar
e you going to realise that your life is quite worthless?'

  'Sweet Lords, isn't there a damn thing I can do?'

  The Inquisitor suddenly became impatient.

  'You can confess to a selection of old killings and stop holding up my work.'

  Phaid closed his eyes and sighed.

  'Okay, okay, I'll do it. Just show me what to do.'

  'Thumbprint here, here, here, down at the bottom there and one more takes care of it.'

  'I'm a mass murderer now?'

  'You had a very neat way of rearranging the severed pieces of your victims.'

  'I don't think I can stand this.'

  'You will, I promise you.'

  The Inquisitor pressed a concealed call button and two red armoured cops shouldered their way into the interrogation chamber.

  'He need more softening?'

  The Inquisitor shook his head.

  'No, just get him on to the next transport. He's cleared through to the Tower.'

  The nearest cop grabbed Phaid's arm and jerked him to his feet.

  'Well, Sunshine, aren't you going to have a wonderful time?'

  The official name for the White Tower was the Repub­lic Central Detention and Inquisitory Facility. Few people used it. To most of the citizens of Chrystianaville, the White Tower was the White Tower, a place of evil reputation; a place to be dreaded. Too many citizens had gone into it through its subterranean portals, and never come out again, for it to be anything else but a place of fear.

  Phaid had expected at least to see the daylight one last time when he was led out to the prison transport. This, however wasn't to be. The White Tower, the Central Police Complex and the Presidential Palace were inter­linked by a complicated network of underground tunnels.

  They provided alternative routes round the inner city for the Chrystianaville authorities, and those who'd been taken into their custody.

  There was no daylight and no sight of the sky for prisoners on the way to the White Tower. They were consigned to a world of ancient grey tunnels and harsh white light.

  The White Tower was a pale, rectangular box standing on end, almost like a squared off tooth. It was isolated by a wide expanse of bare concrete that surrounded it on all four sides. It gave the impression that it was being shunned by the other buildings. Its bleak, featureless exterior provided a total contrast to the more normal, busy decoration of the rest of the city. At night, the White Tower added insult to injury by actually glowing in the dark. The outside surfaces of the building were blanketed with highly charged jolt fields quite capable of killing anyone foolish enough to attempt scaling the walls. They were the final line of the prison's security, and, by way of a bonus, lent the place a sinister luminescence during the hours of darkness. It was visible from most parts of the city.