Casino Infernale sh-6

by Simon R. Green

  “Never you mind,” said Molly. “The point is, Parris knew someone was coming. I don’t think he suspects us, personally, especially since I dried us out from the sprinklers; because if he did he’d have had all fifty-five of the Jacksons open fire on us the moment we reappeared. Take us out while we weren’t expecting it.”

  “That might even have worked,” I said.

  “Please,” Frankie said pleadingly. “No more burglaries. They’re bad for my nerves.”

  “Didn’t do mine any good,” I said.

  “The Medium Games are already under way,” said Frankie. “You need to make yourselves known there, while there’s still time.”

  “Why are they called the Medium Games?” Molly said innocently. “Is it because if you lose, you can only complain through a medium?”

  “You worry me,” said Frankie.

  * * *

  He led us over to the elevators, nursing a grim silence like a reprimand. We rose slowly through the hotel, and stopped at the fiftieth floor. The doors opened onto a really long corridor, stretching away before us into the far distance. There were no doors leading off, no side turnings, just the corridor, heading far and far away. Frankie raised his head and squared his shoulders, and set off. Molly and I went after him. And it was only then that I realised both walls of the corridor were lined with faces.

  Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of living faces staring out of simple wooden frames. Held in place behind polished glass, staring out at the world with knowing, horrified eyes. Their mouths moved with words I couldn’t hear. Young and old, all races; just faces now, trapped behind glass. No children. I don’t think I could have stood it, if there had been children. The faces watched us pass, with helpless eyes. Like so many insects pinned on a collector’s board, still endlessly suffering. So many trophies of Casino Infernale. I looked hard, but I didn’t recognise anyone. I think a few might have recognised me.

  “Are these . . . ?” I said, finally.

  “Yes,” said Frankie, striding along, staring carefully straight ahead. “These are the gamblers who lost their lives and their souls to Casino Infernale.”

  “Are they in Hell?” said Molly.

  “Might as well be,” said Frankie. “This is what happens when the Casino makes good its claim on your soul.”

  “What does the Casino want all these souls for?” I said.

  “There are a great many theories about that,” said Frankie. “Though of course the Casino, and the Shadow Bank, and whoever’s behind them, aren’t talking. The most common belief is that souls are currency, in the Great Game between Heaven and Hell. And that the Shadow Bank can trade in the souls it owns, to make deals with Above and Below. Don’t ask me what kind of deals; the general feeling is it doesn’t bear thinking about.”

  “I have seen similar faces, trapped under glass, in Crow Lee’s country house,” I said. “After he was dead, I set them free.”

  “But they were still alive,” said Molly.

  Frankie paused to look back at both of us. “You really did kill Crow Lee. The Most Evil Man In The World. Damn . . .”

  “I am not leaving these people like this,” I said. There was a cold anger in my voice, and Frankie flinched away from it. “I will free all these people before I leave Casino Infernale. I don’t care who they were, or what they might have done, this is just wrong.”

  “You didn’t mind standing by while Scott shot a man for something you did,” said Frankie.

  “I couldn’t save him,” I said. “I couldn’t do anything, then. I can do something here. And I will.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” said Frankie. “You never know who might be listening. These souls . . . are spoken for.”

  “Like yours?” said Molly.

  “I’m not going to talk about that,” said Frankie. “Let’s just say I don’t think you need to worry about ever seeing my face here.”

  “I will free these people,” I said. “Even if I have to bring my whole family here to help me do it.”

  “Of course you will,” said Molly. “That’s what you do.”

  “You worry me,” said Frankie.

  * * *

  We walked on down the corridor for some time, for a lot farther than should have been possible inside the hotel. More and more faces watched us pass, silently pleading. I didn’t make eye contact. It was the only way to cope. And finally a door loomed up before us, blocking off the end of the corridor. Molly leaned in close beside me.

  “We’re being scanned,” she said quietly. “Act natural.”

  “I wouldn’t know how,” I said.

  The door was so big we could see it long before we got anywhere near. Just a huge steel slab, with no obvious handle or hinges, or details. As we finally drew near, two oversized thugs in formal clothes appeared out of nowhere to block our way. They stood before the steel door, looking us over, arms folded tightly across their massive chests, daring and defying us to get past them.

  “Keep walking,” Frankie murmured, while falling casually back to allow Molly and me to take the lead. “Show no weakness; they can smell fear.”

  I headed straight for them, smiling widely. I’d faced down club bouncers before, in parts of London that would have scared the crap out of all fifty-five Jacksons. I let my hands close slowly into fists. I was just in the mood to hit someone who needed hitting. And they looked like they qualified. Molly leaned forward, grinning nastily. The two Security thugs held their post till the very last moment and then stepped aside. The door slid sideways, disappearing into the left-hand wall, and Molly and Frankie and I strode straight through.

  “It’s all about confidence,” said Frankie. “And brass nerve. If you haven’t got those, you don’t belong in the Medium Games anyway.”

  “We’ve never been short of either,” I said, and Molly nodded solemnly.

  As we actually passed through the open doorway, Molly’s head came up sharply.

  “This is a dimensional door,” she said. “Like the one we used earlier today. It could be taking us anywhere. Anywhere at all.”

  “Of course,” said Frankie. “The Medium Games are far too dangerous, and too private, to take place inside the hotel building.”

  And then we all stopped walking as we realised we’d arrived somewhere new. I looked back, and there was no sign of the steel door, or the corridor, or the hotel. We were standing on the top of a small grassy hill, with wide grassy plains all around. Down below us lay an Arena—an open circle of stony ground, surrounded by row upon row of circular stone seating, in raked ranks. Like . . . a miniature Colosseum. The stone looked old and beaten and worn-down. As though it had been here, and much used, for some time. No seats, just low stone walls, so people could sit on them and watch what was happening in the Arena, right in front of them. There were already some people in place, in strikingly modern clothes, sitting and waiting patiently, while others wandered back and forth between the raked rows, talking animatedly. No one went anywhere near the open circle at the centre.

  The dying ground.

  “Okay,” said Molly, after a while. “I am thinking gladiators, and not in a good way. And, I’m picking up another major null operating here. Covering everywhere, except for the circle in the middle of the Arena.”

  “Exactly,” said Frankie. “No magics or psychic influence possible anywhere, except on the fighting ground. So the audience can be sure no one can cheat or interfere in the Games.”

  Molly gave me a hard look. “You are not Pit fighting again. I had a hard enough job putting you back together again last time.”

  “I would rather avoid that, if possible,” I said. “I don’t like what that kind of Game brings out in me.” And then I stopped, as something caught my eye. “Hold everything, people, and look up.”

  We all looked up. At a night sky full of unfamiliar constellations. Stars burned fiercely, in all the colours of the rainbow, and three huge moons glowed bitter yellow against the dark. It was actually disturbing,
to suddenly see a night sky so different from the one I was used to. It felt as though someone had ripped the world out from under my feet, while I wasn’t looking. I glared about me. It all seemed bright as day. I looked down, at the ground. The grass beneath my feet had a definite purple tinge to it, among the dark green.

  “Those aren’t our stars,” said Molly. “We’re not in Nantes any more, Toto.”

  “Just how much power does the Casino have?” I said. “To power a dimensional door like that? To transport us to a whole new world just to play Games?”

  “Why do you keep asking me questions, when you must know by now that I’m not going to be able to answer?” said Frankie. “No! I don’t know where we are! No, I don’t know how we got here, or how they do it. For all I know it’s all done with mirrors. The important thing for both of you to concentrate on is that the only way for us to get back is for you to win at the Games.”

  “And win big,” said Molly.

  “Well, obviously,” said Frankie. “That is why we’re here.”

  He led us down the hill to the Arena, and the purple-green grass crunched dryly under our feet. Rows of stalls had been set up around the outer perimeter, offering complimentary champagne and mulled wine, along with the usual assortment of civilised nibbles. All taste and no substance, but absolutely guaranteed to be packed full of everything that was bad for you. I walked straight past the stalls, dragging Molly along with me when she showed signs of being tempted. My gaze was fixed on the Arena. There was something about the bare, brutal sensibilities of that open stone circle, surrounded by open stone seating, that made it seem just as brutal as the Pit. A very old game, and a very old spectacle, designed to appeal to our most basic emotions. To bring out the beast in us.

  Frankie strayed towards one of the stalls, and I grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back again.

  “Hey!” said Frankie, not actually fighting me. “I could use a little something for the inner man! I have been on the go all day. . . .”

  “Never trust goblin food,” I said.

  Frankie looked at Molly. “What?”

  “You can never tell where goblin fruit has its roots,” Molly said briskly. “He’s being paranoid and so should you. I don’t like this place. It doesn’t feel like a place where people come to play games. This is where people come to fight and kill and die, while other people watch and bet on the outcome, and have a good time.”

  Frankie shrugged. “That’s what Casino Infernale is all about. That’s what all casinos and all gambling is about. They’re just a little bit more honest about it here.”

  “Talk to me, Frankie,” I said. “Tell me things I need to know. What kind of Games do they play in this place?”

  “Just a handful of actual Games, really,” Frankie said quickly. “It’s more about the side bets. And remember, from now on, it’s all about the souls. The Casino makes all such transfers possible, and enforces the outcome, and of course the house always takes its more than generous cut along the way. Cheaters really don’t prosper here.”

  “But what Games are there?” I said. “What should we choose?”

  “I don’t know,” said Frankie, looking interestedly about him. “I never made it this far before.”

  He broke off abruptly, as both Molly and I grabbed him by the arms and swung him round to face us.

  “Then what use are you to us?” Molly said bluntly.

  “I know the general rules!” Frankie said quickly. “And I have talked to a lot of the staff about the Medium Games. They hear all kinds of things. . . . Look, I know how the Games work, and I know how they do things here. Basically, you have to challenge someone, before someone challenges you.”

  I looked back at the Arena. Stone seats, surrounding a stone circle of death. More and more people arriving, presumably from other dimensional doors. They filled the rows, usually in small chattering groups, eating and drinking and laughing, ready for the spectacle to come. Like so many predators with their nasty smiles and hungry eyes. And part of me wanted to kill every single one of them just on general principle.

  I was right, this kind of Game really did bring out the worst in me.

  A uniformed flunky approached us, and we all turned to face him. He stopped a respectful distance away, and bowed courteously. The uniform was basic; the person inside it even more so. Average height, average weight, all within acceptable parameters. It was the face that gave everything away. He had no hair on his head, no eyebrows, no trace there had ever been any hair on his face. And his features were strangely blank, utterly lacking in character. Almost a generic face. A generic uniformed flunky. Except, the clothes looked somehow wrong, on something that wasn’t actually human. Like dressing up a dog. He started speaking, in a calm uninflected voice, and I paid careful attention.

  “Mr. Shaman Bond, I regret to inform you, sir, that if you are contemplating wagering your soul in any of the Medium Games, that cannot be allowed. Our records show that the Casino already has a claim on your soul. It was used as collateral, some time earlier, by another player in another Game. It was lost to the Casino.”

  “I know,” I said. “I have already been told that and I would like the Casino to know that I am not at all happy about it. I would, in fact, very much like to see the Casino try to collect. But, that’s a matter for another time. I’m not betting my soul. I’m betting hers.”

  And I nodded at Molly, who smiled brightly at the flunky.

  “Hi there!” she said sweetly. “I’m Molly Metcalf!”

  The flunky bowed again, briefly. “We know who you are, miss. Your arrival here set off all kinds of alarms. Including a few we didn’t even know we had, until you woke them up. Our records indicate that there are already a number of claims in place on your soul.”

  “Yes,” said Molly. “But not by the Casino!”

  “True,” said the flunky. “Very well. There are . . . precedents. You may continue in the Games, sir and miss.”

  “You didn’t mention Frankie’s soul,” I said.

  “We wouldn’t accept anything that soiled, sir,” said the flunky.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “But, I have to ask . . . are you human?”

  “I am a generic human template, sir,” said the flunky. “Grown here at the factory farms, on behalf of Casino Infernale. I live to serve.”

  “This isn’t planet Earth, is it?” said Molly.

  “I do not know the name, no, sir and miss,” said the generic flunky.

  “Then where are we?” I said. “Exactly?”

  “Sector Seventeen, sir. Home to the Medium Games. I have not been programmed with any further information on these matters.”

  “Doesn’t the Casino have a . . . representative here, to run things?” I said.

  “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 . . .”