by James Evans
“Shall we take a break, my dear?” said Marrinek after the croupier had changed up their tokens for a third time. The table was busy now as other players crowded around to follow Madame Duval’s bets and Marrinek was starting to worry that things might be getting out of hand. The tall man had left, taking his winnings and cashing out, but other players had replaced him and all were now nursing large piles of chips. “I could do with something to eat and maybe a drink.”
Madame Duval sighed and reluctantly scraped her chips into a small bag then stood up from the table. She smiled at the other players and thanked the croupier then stepped away and took Marrinek’s arm.
“That was fun,” she said as they walked away from the tables and back toward the restaurant, “what’s next?”
“Food,” said Marrinek quietly, “and a little rest. This much success is exhausting.”
They ate quickly at a small table with a distant view of the stage. The artistes still flew overhead but now their costumes had changed to become revealing almost to the point of not being present at all.
While they ate, Marrinek described his conversation with Captain Paltiel at the watch house.
“I think it’s safe to say that she hadn’t expected my visit. Not sure if it will have made any difference, though.”
Madame Duval picked at her food, her appetite strangely absent.
“I’m surprised you think it’s even worth the effort of trying. Everybody just pays the Watch and they leave us alone; you’re the only person I’ve heard of since I’ve been in town who has refused to pay. Well, the only person who’s still walking.”
“Fun, isn’t it?” said Marrinek, grinning.
Madame Duval shook her head, sadly.
“I know what you said and it would be nice to think that we could run an honest business without paying the Watch, but I still don’t believe it’ll happen.”
Marrinek leant forward, serious now.
“Maybe, maybe not, but either way we’re changing how things are done in this city. The North Enders, the Watch and now the Flank Siders.”
“And after that? What will you do once you control both gangs?”
Marrinek ignored the question, watching as a new troupe of acrobats bounced onto the stage and began their routine.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked suddenly, aware that he had missed something that Madame Duval had said.
“Never mind,” she said, shaking her head, “it wasn’t important.”
They watched the show for a little longer, taking in the sights. It was a well done and Marrinek was impressed, even though he’d now had an hour to grow used to the dim light and to soak in the atmosphere. Madame Duval had also adjusted, no longer gazing around with wide eyes but looking more carefully and noting specific details.
“It’s much like my own house,” she said as a waiter cleared plates and delivered a fresh course of meat and fish, “although rather larger. They’re selling sex and food and entertainment, that’s all, but they’re doing it on a grand scale.”
“And at the top of the market,” said Marrinek, watching as a group of young nobles strutted in from the street and headed straight for the gambling floors, their wealth advertised by their clothes and bearing.
“Have we got enough, yet?” murmured Madame Duval as Marrinek totted up their winnings, “It’s not that I’m not enjoying myself, of course, but…”
“A good start but not even close. For this to work, we’ll have to ramp things up a bit.” He shoved the chips back into the bag and stood up, holding out his arm for Madame Duval. Then they went back into the gaming hall, heading back to the falling ball game.
The crowd of players had changed and thinned and Madame Duval took a seat at the end of the row, nodding familiarly to the croupier. He eyed her warily but let her place her bet.
“Number twelve,” she said quietly, pushing a quarter of her chips out onto the board. Marrinek raised an eyebrow in mock surprise, leaning forward as the other players laid their own bets.
“Are you sure, my dear? That’s a rather large bet…” he said, just loud enough for the croupier to hear. Madame Duval laughed.
“Trust me, you’ll see.”
They watched as the croupier started the game.
“Red and fourteen,” said the croupier, as Madame Duval’s face fell. He scraped her stake across the table.
“Huh,” said Madame Duval, daunted but not yet defeated. She carefully racked her chips, dividing them into three piles, then she pushed one of the piles across the table onto number forty-six.
“Are you sure, dear?” asked Marrinek, concern leaching into his voice. Madame Duval said nothing and together they watched the ball bounce and skip across the pins.
“Yellow, seventy-four.”
Madame Duval coughed and looked over her shoulder at Marrinek. He shrugged and looked away. She turned back to the now clear table, set her shoulders, and pushed all her remaining chips onto number forty-six. Marrinek watched, focussing his power, then all eyes flew to the board as the ball was released. It fell, flicked across the board by the pins it struck, bounced on a random path by gravity and little pieces of wood, helped ever so slightly by minuscule pieces of Flow carefully positioned and quickly removed.
“Red and forty-six,” said the croupier, eyeing Madame Duval’s huge stake with open suspicion. Madame Duval shrieked with delight and turned to hug Marrinek, giving every impression of being utterly surprised. She kissed him hard, playing up to her role, then turned back to the table, flushed with the victory, as the croupier pushed across a stack of chips of the highest value.
Madame Duval pulled her chips into a pile in front of her and sat, staring at it. The value was colossal, a huge return on their initial stake, more than she had ever dreamt she might possess.
Around the table her fellow players clapped politely, buoyed by her success even if they hadn’t backed the same numbers or colours. How much had they won? She sat out the next round, too busy admiring her sudden fortune to place a bet.
Eventually she felt Marrinek touch her on the shoulder and she turned.
“Let’s take another break,” said Marrinek quietly, and together they stepped away from the table, their winnings jingling in Madame Duval’s bag and a crowd of disappointed well-wishers begging them to return. Marrinek laughed politely and gave them an elegant bow before turning away, his arm around Madame Duval’s waist.
At the edge of the gaming floor, he pulled Madame Duval into an empty booth and tugged the bell cord to summon a waitress. They sat in silence until their drinks arrived, then Marrinek leaned over the table so that he could speak softly.
“We’re being watched,” he said, allowing a leer to creep across his face as he pretended to be captivated by Madame Duval’s bosom, “but don’t look around,” he said as a look of sudden fear crossed her face.
“Management’s thugs, I think,” he said quietly, “which means we’re almost at the next stage. You ready?”
He looked at her as she sat, a little fearful, in the booth. Then she nodded, just a small jerk of her head.
“Good,” said Marrinek, tossing back his drink, “because they’re coming over.”
A huge shape loomed suddenly in the entrance to the booth. Meaty hands fell on either side of the booth’s entrance, blocking their escape, as the figure leant down to speak to them.
“My lord, my lady,” a voice said politely as the heavy head nodded to each of them in turn, “Mr Artas, the proprietor, would like to speak to you. If you could come this way...?” The figure straightened up and stepped back, one arm outstretched to guide them away from the booth. Behind him, other figures lurked.
Marrinek glanced briefly at Madame Duval then stood up and affected a heavy Imperial accent.
“Well, I don’t know why this Artas person wishes to speak to me,” he said with an air of complete confusion, “but by all means, lead on.”
He stepped out of the booth and waited for Madame Duval to take his arm. Then the
y followed their new acquaintance through a door between two booths and down a long flight of narrow stairs.
At the bottom, they turned onto a broad, dank corridor before stopping outside a large pair of double doors.
“Good luck,” whispered their huge guide, who opened the doors and ushered them into the dimly lit space behind.
The doors behind closed and, for a moment, all was dark and quiet.
Then powered lamps were activated and a roar rose, as if from a hundred delighted throats. Madame Duval clutched at Marrinek in sudden fear.
“The pit,” she hissed, looking around, eyes wide with terror, “they know!”
Marrinek looked around, searching for a way out. Then a gong boomed out across the huge space and the audience fell silent.
“Everyone is welcome at the Palace of Providence,” came a loud voice from above. Squinting, Marrinek could just about make out a figure on a plinth amidst the audience where he might have a clear view of everything that took place below.
“Everyone is welcome,” the voice repeated lightly, “everyone except cheats and thieves.” The audience screamed their hatred and Marrinek looked around at the smooth stone walls that rose from the floor of the pit, ten feet tall. The pit itself was maybe thirty feet across with a second set of doors in the opposite wall and a floor covered in grubby sand. Marrinek scuffed at the surface with his toe and found hard wooden boards beneath.
“So now we play a different game,” the voice continued, “a game where winner takes all when they leave the pit!” The audience roared their approval as Marrinek bared his teeth.
“I thought this sort of thing was outlawed?” he hissed at Madame Duval.
“It is! What difference does that make?” Her voice was small and angry and she clung to Marrinek, even as he struggled to remove his coat.
“There are no rules in the pit,” the voice said, “except the survival of the strongest. Let the contest begin!”
Marrinek succeeded finally in pushing Madame Duval away so that he had time to throw off his coat.
Then the doors opposite opened and two huge men appeared, one armed with sword and shield, the other with a long spear. Both word helmets and breastplates of shining steep and the strode onto the sand as if they had been born to it. Their arrival was cheered by the ecstatic crowd and the two men played up to it, holding up their arms to the gallery and waving to elicit greater applause.
“Stay behind me,” Marrinek said, shoving Madame Duval away from the circling men. He watched them for a few seconds as the voice droned on, introducing the house champions and listing their achievements in the pit. Sensing that his odds were rapidly deteriorating, Marrinek drew his knife, a pitiful thing compared to the long blade carried by the champion on the left, and threw himself suddenly forward.
The crowd saw immediately and the champions turned from their adoration to see Marrinek already close. The spearman turned quickly, more quickly than Marrinek might have expected from a man of his bulk, but not quickly enough to bring his weapon to bear.
Marrinek crashed into him and knocked him down. The man landed hard and the impact jolted the spear from his grip. Marrinek rolled desperately away and scrabbled for the spear, forcing himself up as quickly as he could. He backed away as the spearman levered himself to his feet, a look of rage on his face.
“First touch to me,” said Marrinek, piling on the scorn and emphasising his accent. He danced backward, laughing and swinging the spear, before stopping in front of Madame Duval, spear set as if it were a staff, head facing forwards.
The swordsman screamed something from behind the faceplate of his helmet but the spearman stood as still as a statue, less confident without his weapon. He took a step to his left, maybe hoping to encircle Marrinek, but a sudden stab of pain made him stop. He reached around and found the handle of Marrinek’s little knife jutting from the flesh of his lower back. The man yelled as he dragged the knife free and brandished it, foolishly. The crowd murmured their surprise then roared their support as the swordsman charged.
Marrinek jabbed with the spear and the swordsman pulled up short, swinging his weapon but not able to get close enough. The spearman screamed as he too ran at Marrinek but he hadn’t circled far enough and the spear swung swiftly across to strike him on the side of the head as soon as he came close. Down he went again, sprawling in the sand at Marrinek’s feet.
But that made an opening for the swordsman, who ran in swinging his blade. Marrinek dropped the spear and pushed power into his shield, catching the falling sword and pushing it away. The swordsman, off balance, staggered aside as the crowd gasped in surprise and shouted their anger.
Marrinek pulled more power and struck out with a thick cord of Flow, knocking the swordsman from his feet. To the crowd it seemed that the swordsman had stumbled and they yelled encouragement to their hero.
Marrinek scooped up the spear as the swordsman scrambled back, his face now showing fear. Shield up, he circled away from the jabbing spear, fending it off as best he could.
Marrinek pulled power to prepare another attack and suddenly the nausea was back. Head swimming, he staggered backwards and tripped on the outstretched legs of the spearman.
The swordsman, no stranger to taking advantage of sudden turns of fate, sprang quickly forward, sword swinging.
Marrinek shuffled back, spear abandoned, as the swordsman came on quickly. Roaring, the man slashed at Marrinek’s legs, throwing heavy strokes that raised clouds of sand and splinters from the floor.
Then there was a yell, a new voice. The swordsman jerked around in surprise as Madame Duval swung the spear. The blow crashed into the man’s upper arm and his numbed fingers lost their grip on the sword. The swordsman roared and switched direction, batting Madame Duval aside with the shield so that she fell against the wall of the pit, unconscious.
Marrinek stood now, fingers curling around the hilt of the sword, and he hefted it as the swordsman turned back to face him.
The spearman was also trying to stand, clutching at the sand as he tried to push himself to his knees. Marrinek kicked him in the face, snapping his head back. The man slumped back down again.
The swordsman circled around, eyeing Marrinek. Then, as the crowd roared, he charged, shield up. Marrinek swung the blade but his timing was off and it clanged uselessly from the man’s shield. Then he was down, the swordsman on top, sword arm pinned to the floor beneath the shield and the man was punching him again and again.
Marrinek punched back but his blows were feeble and the man shrugged them off.
With a desperation borne of real fear, Marrinek snatched for his Power, grappling with it, wrestling it into submission. A stinging blow to the head rattled his teeth and caused him to see stars but then he had it.
With a roar, he shoved a sharp needle of Flow at the swordsman, once, twice, three times.
The punches stopped and the man peered down, confused. Then blood dribbled from his mouth and he collapsed, dropping his full weight onto Marrinek.
The crowd went silent, unable to see what had happened. Then Marrinek pushed the corpse off and it flopped onto its back, blood everywhere. He heaved himself to his feet, clothes scuffed and torn and covered in blood.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as the crowd cheered their new hero, Marrinek walked wearily across the pit, retrieving his knife on the way, to kneel by Madame Duval.
She groaned as he touched her face, then opened her eyes and sat up. She looked up at him for a moment, then turned away and threw up on the sand.
“Better?” asked Marrinek, helping her to her feet.
“What happened?” she whispered, leaning in close, ignoring the blood.
“You saved my life,” said Marrinek wearily, “and now I think it’s time…”
The double doors opened again and Marrinek swung around to face them, Madame Duval slipping behind him.
“Cheats cannot prosper at the Palace of Providence,” said the voice as three more men, heavily arm
oured and with the look of professional soldiers, came onto the floor of the pit and spread out. The crowd didn’t seem to like that so much and their cheers were interspersed with boos and calls to release Marrinek and Madame Duval.
Marrinek scooped the sword from the floor of the pit as the three men drew their own weapons and edged forward, shields raised. He stretched, standing up straight to emphasise his height, then pushed Power into his bracer and turned to face the three soldiers.
“Who dies first?” he said casually, rolling the sword in his hand. Then he lashed out with Flow, striking the soldiers on the left and right, knocking them from their feet before leaping towards the one in the middle. Startled, the man stepped back and Marrinek hooked his foot with another column of Flow.
All three men crashed noisily to the ground and the crowd laughed, unable to see how it had happened.
“Are these your best?” shouted Marrinek above the crowd’s laughter, “I have had better threats from unpaid whores!” The crowd laughed again, even though the joke was weak. Marrinek flicked out more columns of Flow to knock the three men back down again then held up his sword. “Is this not victory?”
One of the soldiers tried to crawl away and Marrinek strolled forward and planted his boot firmly on the man’s back, forcing him into the sand.
“With men such as these,” he said, casually flicking a column of Flow into the shoulder of a half-risen soldier to spin him back to the ground, “who needs clowns?” He tossed the sword away and cut the power to his shield then kicked the legs from one of the soldiers and sent a column of Flow to knock the other two back to their feet, slamming their heads against the planks of the floor to keep them from rising again.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said to the crowd as they quietened, “I thank you for your time and your kind attention.” He gave them an elegant, courtly bow, turning to ensure all had been honoured, then he collected his coat from the floor, shrugged himself back into it and brushed off the sand. He smiled and held out his arm to Madame Duval, who took it with as much grace and poise as she could manage.
