by Darren Shan
The guard slides the door open. I’m expecting a rope, but instead there’s a wooden platform to the largest pod I’ve yet to encounter. We file across it one at a time, and the door at the far end slides open as each person approaches, then closes behind them.
I’m last in line – I don’t know if I was positioned at the back for a reason, or if that’s just random – so I watch all of the others cross and disappear. As I’m crossing the platform, I get a feeling that I’m going to be attacked. I look around warily, fingers clenched, ready to defend myself, but nothing happens and after a few tense seconds I relax.
“Cool it, Archie,” I mutter.
Then I take the last few steps, the door opens, and with no idea of what lies ahead, I step into the Spin Zone.
FIVE — THE SPINNER
11
A giant glass cube has been constructed inside the pod, attached to the walls by transparent cables, so it seems to be suspended mid-air. The platform feeds into the cube close to its ceiling, and rows of glass benches run down to the floor, forming a sharply raked auditorium.
The benches stretch the width of the cube, with breaks for staircases, and connect with the floor about three-quarters of the way across. There’s some sort of steel-fronted machine set against the far wall, ten metres high and four or five wide.
The middle rows of benches are full, so we walk along a couple of blocks to our left and head down a steep staircase, finding seats several rows from the front, with a good view of the machine.
“What is that thing?” I ask.
“You’ll see when Urszula comes back,” Inez says. “She must have slipped out for a break. Even dragons need to rest.”
We’re waiting maybe half an hour before several women enter the cube and file to the front, heads bowed, moving slowly but fluidly, like nuns on their way to church. They’re not dressed in yellow uniforms, but I can tell by their officious air that they’re not spectators or gamblers. They span out across the front row to the far right, taking seats which have been reserved for them. Once they’ve settled, one of them rises, half-turns and nods.
People start making their way down the stairs. Oleg sighs, crosses himself for luck, then strolls down to join the rapidly forming line.
“Are they all gamblers?” I ask.
“No,” Maiko says. “The empress conducts most of her business from here. Some have come to challenge her, but others will be seeking help or advice.”
The officials hold short conversations with everyone, to determine their reason for requesting an audience with the empress. A few people are denied a meeting, and they tramp up the steps to the exit, but most are handed a small ball. There are seven different types, the colours of the rainbow, stored in glass boxes along the wall. The majority passed out are red or orange. Several are yellow, and Oleg is handed one of those, so I assume that’s the colour for those who’ve come to gamble.
Oleg is grumpy when he returns. He shows us the ball, which has the number 8 printed on it.
“Trust us to pick one of the busier days,” he huffs. “Usually she only takes on three or four fools like me a session.”
“We’ll be here for hours,” Dermot groans.
“Can’t we go away and come back?” I ask.
“No,” Inez says. “When they’ve finished handing out the balls, no one else will be allowed to enter, and if anyone leaves, they can’t return.”
“We could come back another day when things are quieter,” Oleg suggests.
“Sorry,” Inez says. “I need to get this over with, so that I can move on.”
“Besides,” Maiko laughs, “if we left now, you might not find the courage to return.”
“There is that,” Oleg concedes. He looks troubled. I think the enormity of what he’s doing has hit home.
“No one would blame you if you withdrew,” Inez says quietly. “You could leave the ball with us and walk away.”
“You’d face her in my place?” Oleg asks.
“She can’t,” Dermot says, “but Maiko or I would risk it.”
“Anyone can go up with the ball when the number is called,” Maiko says, “but it would be helpful if we had some warning, so that we could prepare. If you want to change your mind, this is the time to do so.”
Oleg seriously considers it, rolling the small ball between his palms, before shaking his head. “No, I’ll do it.” He giggles shrilly. “My mother told me I was destined to make a mark on the history books. It looks like she might have been right after all.”
The last person in line is handed a ball, and Urszula makes her entrance a few minutes later. She comes with a retinue of performers, the kind you’d find in a circus — jugglers, clowns, fire-eaters, mimes, all dressed in fanciful yellow costumes.
The performers divide and drift down the different staircases, the people in the audience applauding dutifully. Urszula is in the middle of a group on the central set of stairs, so I don’t get a clear look at her until she reaches the floor.
She’s not what I was expecting. I thought she’d be young, tall, fierce, but she’s a plump, elderly lady with curly, greying blonde hair and stooped shoulders, dressed snugly in a thick yellow cardigan, with a long, flowery dress and fluffy slippers.
“That’s the scary empress?” I whisper to Inez.
“Looks can be deceiving,” she replies softly.
Two of Urszula’s assistants carry a glass throne down the stairs and set it up close to the machine. Urszula seats herself and nods to let us know she’s ready.
The first person with a red ball is called and a worried-looking man hurries to the throne, where he makes the greet and quickly engages in conversation with the empress. She asks a couple of questions, then says something to an assistant. The man bows gratefully before leaving with the assistant to climb the stairs.
The next number is called.
The performers prowl the rows of benches while the official business is being conducted. A magician sits down next to me and asks if I’d like to see some tricks. I enjoy watching him perform – sleight of hand stuff, much the same as in the Born – and clap to show my appreciation as he moves on.
When the magician vacates the space, I spot a small girl standing on the bench, scowling at me. She’s no more than five or six years old, dressed in a short yellow skirt, with loose, knitted stockings that billow around her legs.
“Hello,” I smile. “Are you lost? Do you need help to find your mummy?”
The girl blinks slowly, then looks past me at Dermot and Maiko, who are doubled over laughing. “Who’s the vacant-eyed idiot?” she growls.
“Now, now, Jen,” Dermot tuts. “Be nice.”
“I no longer work for you,” the girl says sourly, “so I don’t have to play nice.”
“You were never any good at it anyway,” Oleg sniffs and she glares at him.
“Come to gloat, old stoat?” she snaps.
“Actually, he’s come to try and win your freedom,” Maiko says quietly, and the girl’s face crinkles.
“Why?” she barks.
“For an old friend,” Inez says through the folds of her scarf, leaning forward to reveal a glimpse of her face.
A smile dances across the girl’s lips. Then she scowls again. “If this loser is your best hope of breaking me out, you might as well not have bothered.”
“Ungrateful wretch,” Oleg huffs.
“Washed-up old amateur,” the girl spits.
Then they grin at one another.
“Archie, this is Baba Jen,” Maiko says.
“The actress we’ve come to free,” Dermot clarifies.
“You’re the thesp who lost her bet with Urszula?” I ask.
“Don’t remind me,” she groans.
“Aren’t you too young to gamble?” I frown.
Baba Jen gawps at me. “Is he really an idiot?” she asks Dermot and Maiko.
“No,” Inez answers, “but he hasn’t adjusted
to the Merge yet.” She turns to me. “Jen’s lived here for, what, six hundred years?”
“Thereabouts,” the child says dismissively, then sighs. “I’d better circulate before the empress sees me slacking and calls me over for a word in private.”
“She’s a hard taskmaster?” Dermot asks sympathetically.
“Hard as nails,” Baba Jen says, “but at least she knows how to run a tight ship, unlike you, you doddering excuse for a manager.”
Baba Jen waddles to another row, where she starts reciting poems for the pleasure of the punters, throwing in some curses and rude lines to spice things up. Dermot watches her with a dark look.
“Is she really that important to you?” he asks Inez.
“Yes,” Inez says with a grin.
“A pity,” Dermot huffs. “It would serve her right if she had to stay here and work for the empress for the next six hundred years.”
Then he crosses his arms and taps his foot impatiently, eager, as we all are, for the oh-so serious games to begin.
12
Not all of Urszula’s appointments pass as swiftly as the first. Some people are with her for ages, and on occasion things get heated and voices are raised angrily, though Urszula never loses her temper or shouts, even when she’s being roared at.
We’re waiting a few hours for everyone with a red or orange ball to be seen, and members of the crowd are growing restless, jeering those who spend a long time with the empress. The assistants let them jeer, and I get the sense that this is nothing new, all part of the sport.
The diplomatic meetings finally draw to an end and there’s a change in the atmosphere. Urszula draws aside to wash her hands, and her assistants run checks on the machine at the end of the room. Other helpers remove the glass throne, then their empress strolls forward and beams at the crowd.
“Here we are again,” she chuckles, and her warm, rich voice matches her sweet, grandmotherly appearance. “I thought everyone would have tired of my little Spinner by now.”
People laugh politely as I raise a questioning eyebrow at the masked Inez.
“That’s the name of the machine,” she says.
“Who’s first?” Urszula asks, and a woman walks down the steps, hands a yellow ball to one of the assistants, then nervously makes her way to the smiling empress.
Urszula makes the greet, then asks the woman’s name.
“Mandy,” the woman says quietly, then blushes as people applaud.
“Why do you want to challenge me, Mandy?” Urszula asks.
Mandy coughs and shakes her head.
“It’s alright if you want to keep your reasons to yourself,” Urszula says.
“It’s not that,” Mandy mutters. “It’s just… I’m not sure. I’ve been in the Merge a long time, and I’m ready to move on, and I figured I might as well chance my hand before I do, given all the times I’ve enjoyed watching you play.”
Urszula laughs pleasantly and hugs the blushing Mandy. “Bless you, dear. That’s fine, we don’t have to play for any real reason. But there has to be a stake of some sort to make it interesting. What have you in mind?”
“I was thinking I could stake a few years of household service,” Mandy says. “I could clean, wash floors, cook…” She trails off, and it’s clear she hasn’t given this much thought.
“Was this a spur of the moment decision?” Urszula asks kindly.
“Yes,” Mandy says. “I woke up this morning and decided to give it a go. I hurried here before I could change my mind.”
“A true gambler,” Urszula exclaims, and Mandy grins sheepishly. “I don’t think it would be fair to ask too much of you. How about a year of service if you lose, the bulk of your duties to include helping clean the Spin Zone — that way you can enjoy watching more games.”
“That sounds good to me,” Mandy smiles. “And if I win?”
“What would you like?” Urszula asks.
Mandy frowns. “As I said, I’m planning to move on. There isn’t really anything that I crave.”
Urszula mulls it over, then twitches her right index finger. “Niffelheim’s fires of release. I can arrange for an escort to Topaz. You can see some sights, maybe meet one or two royals, then head for the fires to check out of the Merge in style. How does that sound?”
Mandy’s face lights up. “Wonderful.”
The women move towards the hulking Spinner. Urszula lays her hand on one side of the machine and closes her eyes. I thought the Spinner had a steel front, but that was an optical illusion, because it fades away to reveal its open interior.
It’s a basic-looking abacus. There are nine bars running across horizontally, with two large, slowly revolving beads per bar. Numbers are printed on the beads, and as they casually spin, I see that they run from 1 to 9.
There are two wooden handles beneath the rows of beads, set around the height of Urszula’s midriff.
Urszula lets go of the Spinner and the beads gradually come to rest. Random numbers are face out.
“I’m sure everyone knows how this works,” Urszula says, glancing over her shoulder to smile at the crowd, “and if you don’t, you’ll figure it out quickly enough. Best of nine as always, Mandy. Would you prefer the left or right handle?”
“Left,” Mandy says, taking hold of that handle with her right hand.
Urszula moves around to grab the other handle with her left hand, so they’re standing shoulder to shoulder. “I’m willing to go first, to give you the advantage, unless you’d rather lead?”
“I’m happy to let you have the first move,” Mandy says.
Urszula holds her position for several seconds. The chamber falls silent, except for a soft sucking sound.
“What’s that noise?” I whisper to Inez.
“Urszula,” she says. “It’s a habit of hers. She always sucks and whistles when she plays.”
“She doesn’t do it to cause a distraction,” Oleg says. “If it puts her opponents off, she lets them plug their ears to block out the noise.”
I have a view of the side of the empress’ face, and now that Inez has drawn my attention to it, I see that her lips are twitching as she stares at the bead in the top right of the Spinner. Dave was like this whenever he sat an exam, always making little nervous sounds. He couldn’t help himself – he didn’t even know that he was making the noises – and it seems Urszula can’t either.
The empress pulls her handle and the bead starts spinning furiously. It moves so fast that the numbers are a blur. Urszula remains focused on the rapidly rotating bead, not blinking, continuing to make that annoying sucking sound. Ten or twelve seconds pass. Everybody in the Spin Zone is silent, staring at the spinning bead.
Urszula suddenly drives her handle forward and the bead comes to an abrupt halt. The number 6 is on display.
People start murmuring, discussing the number and Mandy’s response.
“Low,” Oleg mutters. “She’s got to go low.”
“I suppose it has to be low,” Mandy says, to a chorus of approving grunts and cries of encouragement.
“That’s all this is?” I ask, disappointed. “A high or low game?”
“You were expecting something more devious?” Oleg grins.
“Yes, after the big build-up and the size of the Spinner,” I admit.
“It does look more impressive than it is,” he says. “I guess the appeal lies in what gets staked, and Urszula’s mastery of the game.”
Oleg stops talking because Mandy has pulled her handle. The bead on her side spins wildly and Mandy stares at it, eyes wide, trying to get a fix on a low number. She waits even longer than Urszula did to make her play, and when she finally drives her handle forward, the number 4 is revealed.
Some people applaud, others scowl, and I see small beads being passed back and forth among various members of the crowd.
“What’s going on?” I ask Oleg.
“Side bets,” he says. “Gambling’s more fun w
hen you’re part of the action.”
One of Urszula’s assistants comes forward with a blue disc on the end of a long pole and hooks it over a peg near the top left of the Spinner.
“A good start,” Urszula says to Mandy.
“Just lucky,” Mandy says. She’s shaking slightly. “I couldn’t see the numbers. My heart was beating so fast that it affected my vision.”
“Try to calm down,” Urszula says. Then she laughs. “Or try to stay lucky.”
Mandy laughs too, then yanks hard on her handle – they obviously take turns at going first – and the bead on the left-hand side of the second pole starts spinning. She draws a 3 and Urszula goes higher and spins an 8. She spins an 8 again on her next go, so Mandy goes lower and spins a 2.
“What happens if they spin the same number?” I ask Oleg.
“They try again,” he says. “There has to be a winner each time.”
Mandy goes three–one up. She’s grinning, but then Urszula wins the next two spins and they’re back on level terms, and the grin disappears.
“You played this before and won?” I whisper to Oleg.
“Twice,” he confirms.
“Is there any skill involved? It looks like a complete game of chance.”
Mandy wins the seventh spin and her supporters give a big cheer.
“Opinions vary,” Oleg says when the cheers have died down. “From back here I’d say it’s pure luck, but when I was in front of the Spinner, I was convinced that I could track the numbers. I was probably fooling myself, but…”
Urszula wins the eighth round, meaning it’s four points each, so everything rests on the final spin.
“But?” I prod as Urszula delays pulling her handle, chatting to Mandy, milking the moment for the frustration and pleasure of the crowd.
“Urszula almost never loses a key bet,” Oleg says. “When the stakes are high, she invariably wins, so either she can follow the numbers, or something’s rotten in the state of Suanpan.”
“You think it’s a fix?” I ask, but Oleg raises a finger for silence. Urszula has yanked her handle and is staring at the spinning bead.
