Casino Infernale sh-6

by Simon R. Green

  Chokehold.

  She turned into a horse, and I clung grimly to her neck as she reared up, kicking out her front legs and shaking her great head, trying to throw me off. When she found she couldn’t, she changed again, becoming a massive grizzly bear. I pushed my face deep into her dark fur, tightening my hold. She clawed at my back with her great paws, and I cried out as they raked my flesh to the bone; but I just healed myself and hung on. She became a huge snake, bucking and coiling and writhing, slamming me against the stone floor, over and over. But I wouldn’t let go. I grabbed my arm with my other hand, tightening the hold still further, holding on with all my strength. Until she couldn’t breathe any more, or the blood couldn’t reach her brain, and she passed out.

  I lay on the cold stone floor, breathing hard and shaking, my arm locked so tight around the returned Little Lord’s neck that I could barely feel it. I could have maintained the hold until she died, but I couldn’t see the point. I let go of her and stood up, and a generic flunky was quickly there, to raise one arm above my head, as the winner.

  The crowd cheered and applauded, happily enough. There hadn’t been much blood, and no death, but they’d been entertained. I jerked my arm away from the flunky, and looked down at the unconscious Little Lord. Such a small, pathetic figure, in the tatters of her suit. The top hat long gone. She could have won if she’d just thought to turn into something that didn’t need to breathe, or require blood flowing to the brain. But she’d never encountered anything like that.

  I walked steadily out of the Arena. The crowd had already stopped applauding. They’d hoped for more, from me and the Little Lord, but I was glad to have disappointed them. As I reached the front row of the stone seats, I could feel the change potion vanish within me, all the possibilities dropping away, until I was just me again. I was glad to feel them go. It’s hard enough just being me.

  * * *

  Molly was there, in the front row, waiting for me. She threw her arms around me as I left the circle and hugged me tight, as though she’d never let me go. I held on to her. The only thing in my life that always made sense in my ever-changing world. We finally let go, and stood back, and I grinned at her.

  “The old legends are always the best. Did you get good odds on me?”

  “Hell, yes!” said Frankie, joining us. “Mostly from people who’d never heard of Shaman Bond.”

  “We won over three hundred souls betting on you!” said Molly.

  “Three hundred and twenty-two,” said Frankie.

  Molly glared at him. “Isn’t that what I said?”

  “What are you planning on doing with all these souls?” I said.

  “Use them as collateral for future bets,” said Molly. “We’re here to break the bank, remember? Can’t do that, if we haven’t got the souls.”

  “I’m still concerned about what happens to these souls afterwards,” I said.

  “Well, of course you are, because that’s you,” said Molly.

  “Don’t think about it,” said Frankie, quite seriously. “You can worry about all that later, if there is a later. For now, please concentrate on the Games before you. Because from now on any lack of concentration will almost certainly get you killed. Change War was an easy Game against a relatively unskilled opponent. It gets harder, and more complicated, from now on.”

  Another generic flunky approached me. I didn’t bother asking if we’d met before. He bowed briefly, and presented me with a single small coin. I hefted it in the palm of my hand, and could barely feel the weight of the dull metal.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll bite. What is this?”

  “An obol, sir. A chit from Casino Infernale representing one soul. The soul of the Little Lord, won in the Change War.”

  I looked at the coin again. Small, roughly milled edge, the markings almost worn away. “This is a human soul?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s not very big, is it?” said Molly, leaning over for a closer look. “Rather humbling, I suppose, when you think about it.”

  “The obol represents the soul,” said the flunky. “Your receipt, sir, if you like. Don’t lose it. Casino Infernale is not obliged to offer a replacement.”

  “We didn’t get any coins from our side bets,” said Molly.

  “The Casino keeps a record of all such exchanges and transactions at the Games, miss,” said the generic flunky. “Even if it’s not immediately obvious. The Casino sees all, knows all. The record is all you need, to make further wagers. The obol is . . . ceremonial. A prize, to the winner of the Game. Apparently, humans value such things. I am told I wouldn’t understand.”

  “I’m not sure I do,” I said. I put the obol away, carefully, in an inner pocket.

  The flunky bowed, turned, and departed. I looked out into the stone circle, where two other uniformed generic flunkies were dumping the still unconscious Little Lord on a stretcher. They carried her out. Some of the crowd laughed at her, and booed, for letting the side down. I hoped the flunkies found her top hat.

  “She would have taken your soul, if she’d won,” said Frankie, trying to be kind.

  “An obol,” Molly said thoughtfully. “Isn’t that the coin the ancient Greeks used to put on the eyes of their dead to pay Charon the Boatman to ferry their souls across the river to the land of the dead? Maybe you’re not the only one here who’s thinking about the old legends.”

  “You’ve been watching the History Channel again,” I said. “Because you have to say something at moments like that.”

  I looked back into the stone circle. The Little Lord was gone.

  “What will happen to her?” I said to Frankie.

  “She has nothing left to bet with,” he said. “She lost her soul to you, so she can’t play in any more Games, or wager on them. The Casino will hold on to her until the Games are over and her final fate can be decided.”

  “Don’t get sentimental,” said Molly, sternly. “She would have been quite happy to see that happen to you.”

  “She just wanted to go home,” I said. “Where will they put her, Frankie?”

  “There’s a place in the hotel,” Frankie said carefully. “Somewhere safe and secure, for all the losers.”

  “As a face, in the corridor?” said Molly.

  “No,” said Frankie, immediately. “Those are the souls the Casino owns. They don’t own the Little Lord’s soul. You do, Shaman.”

  “Liking the Medium Games less and less all the time,” I said.

  “You have to play, to win,” said Frankie. “If you really are going to break the bank.”

  “My turn now!” Molly said briskly. “Come on, Frankie, we need to escalate things. What’s a good Game for winning big?”

  Frankie pointed across the rows of seating at a short cheerfullooking black man, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. He had close-cropped white hair, a hard-worn face, and an easy smile. And yet the people all around him still seemed to be going out of their way to give him plenty of room.

  “That,” said Frankie, in a surprisingly respectful tone of voice, “is the Bones Man. Got his name from old triumphs with the dominos, which were always known as bones in the Caribbean community of old London. Do I really need to tell you he’s a voodoo practitioner?”

  “I don’t know the name,” I said, frowning. “Not really my territory. . . . Is he dangerous?”

  “Of course he’s dangerous!” said Frankie. “Or he wouldn’t be here. He’s not a good man to play Games with; he has a reputation for needless cruelty. Likes to play with his victims before finishing them off. A bit too nasty, even for this crowd. I think they’d like to see him take a fall, but they’d still bet on him. Which is something we could take advantage of . . . You have a pretty bad reputation yourself, Molly, enough to perk the interest of the crowd. Challenge the Bones Man and win, and we could be talking serious souls.”

  “What game?” said Molly. “Change War?”

  “He wouldn’t lower himself,” said Frankie. “Far to
o entry-level, for someone like him. No, I recommend you challenge him to a Game of World War.”

  “Hold everything, go previous,” I said. “That sounds . . . excessive.”

  “Not that kind of World War,” said Frankie. “This is all about creating worlds, right there in the Arena. Whoever creates the realest world, with the most dangerous and most threatening inhabitants, wins. By overwhelming your opponent’s world.”

  “I can do that,” said Molly. “I’ve been around.”

  “That’s true,” I said. “You have. But are we talking about real worlds here, or imaginary creations?”

  “Little bit of both,” Frankie said cheerfully. “It’s all about what you bring to the circle. That’s what makes the Game so exciting.”

  “One world overwhelming another,” I said. “To the death?”

  “Can be,” said Frankie. “Usually . . . but you can always submit. Yield to a greater player.”

  I looked at Molly. “Don’t be proud. If you’re losing, quit. We can always play another Game.”

  “You never did have the knack for pep talks,” said Molly.

  And before I could say anything to stop her, or even slow her down, Molly strode off through the stone seats to confront the Bones Man. He knew she was coming, even though he had his back to her, and stood up to turn and face her at the very last moment. Still smiling his calm, implacable smile. I was already hurrying after her, determined not to be left out, with Frankie in my wake, but I stopped far enough short that she wouldn’t think I was fussing over her. Molly could get very upset if she thought that.

  “Molly Metcalf,” said the Bones Man, smiling almost fondly on her. His voice was rich and dark, almost avuncular. “Your reputation precedes you, me girl. What is it you want with me, now? You think to challenge me, little witch?”

  “Yes,” said Molly. “To a game of World War. You up for it?”

  “Well, well,” said the Bones Man. “I think that might be fun. And an honour, to take on one of your many accomplishments. I shall enjoy beating you. I shall enjoy making you bleed, and scream, and beg for mercy. Before you die. And your soul shall make such a fine addition to my collection.” He looked past her, at me. “You understand, of course, that your companion cannot aid you in the circle. No matter what happens to you.”

  “Now, then, you had to go and spoil it,” said Molly. “You were doing so well, all old-time villain with a sadistic streak . . . and then you let yourself down by showing how scared you are of Shaman and me. I don’t need any help to walk all over you, conjure man. I have had dealings with the loa; they know me and I know them. I don’t think you’ve got any surprises for me, old man.”

  The Bones Man was still smiling, even though it must have been a long time since anyone spoke to him that sharply. “Perhaps, me child. But you’d be surprised how many Games are won here in the audience before the Games even start. It’s all in the mind, me girl. After you . . .”

  “I don’t think so,” said Molly. “After you.”

  He laughed, and made his way unhurriedly down through the stone seats and into the Arena. Molly took the time to kiss me quickly, and then hurried out into the circle after him. She smiled and waved cheerfully to the crowd, as a generic uniformed flunky came forward to announce the Game, and the names of the competitors, to the crowd. There was general good-natured applause, and even a few cheers for Molly. The crowd might respect the Bones Man, but it was clear he wasn’t . . . popular. I sat down in the front row, while Frankie went off to work the crowd, for the best odds. I let him do it. I had eyes only for Molly and the Bones Man. More and more people were arriving, filling up the seats and talking excitedly, looking forward to a really good match. A good game, and a good death. That’s what they were there for. You could almost smell the anticipation in the air.

  And all I could do was sit there and watch.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Molly to win. I had absolute faith in her abilities, and I would back her against anyone and anything, up to and including Elder Gods and Ancient Ones. But I didn’t trust the Games, or the Casino, or the Bones Man, to play fair and by the rules. I had already decided that if I saw anything that looked like cheating, or even if she just looked like she was losing, I would set this whole world afire to protect her. She’d be mad as hell at me for interfering, but I’d rather have her alive and shouting at me than dead and silent.

  Frankie sat down on the seat beside me, just for a moment, out of breath from running back and forth in the crowd, pushing the odds as far as they would go.

  “Just checking in,” he said. “How many of the souls we’ve won do you want me to wager?”

  “All of them,” I said.

  “Are you sure? You don’t want me to hold some back, just in case . . . ?”

  “All of them,” I said.

  “You’re the boss!” And he was gone, flitting through the crowd, making instant new friends and jollying them into betting more than was sensible.

  A large thug in tailored combat fatigues suddenly loomed over me. I looked up, and he scowled at me. A very thorough scowl. Probably practised it in front of a mirror.

  “You’re in my seat,” he said.

  “No, I’m not,” I said.

  “That’s the best seat, so it’s my seat,” said the thug. “So move. Or I’ll move you.”

  I sighed, quietly. There’s always one. I stood up, kneed him in the groin, waited for him to bend over, and then rabbit-punched him on the back of his exposed neck. He fell to the ground. I sat down again and put my feet up on his unconscious body. Everyone else left me alone, after that. They could tell I didn’t want to be bothered.

  The generic flunky, or one very like him, gestured for Molly and the Bones Man to retreat to the far ends of the circle. They did so; Molly still waving to the crowd, the Bones Man walking slowly and calmly, as though in a deep concentration. The flunky then left the Arena with more than usual speed, and the crowd went suddenly quiet, watching intently, not wanting to miss anything. I leaned forward in my seat. I’d seen Molly do many amazing things with her magic, but I’d never seen her create a world.

  The Bones Man started first, while the flunky was still leaving the Arena. He gestured, quite calmly, and a huge dark jungle immediately filled his half of the circle. Tall trees bowed down with heavy luxuriant foliage, interlocking branches high above forming a giant canopy, blocking out the light. A menacing place, full of moist sweaty heat that spilled out across the first few rows of the audience. An oppressive jungle, with closely packed vegetation, and fat pulpy flowers, burning with phosphorescent fire like unhealthy ghosts. Things moved in the jungle the Bones Man had made. Horrible things.

  Dead birds crawled across the jungle floor, broken wings drooping as they hauled themselves along. Crippled animals, warped and twisted by unnatural forces, lurched out of the shadows, burning pus dripping from their empty eye-sockets. Great swarms of insects buzzed loudly on the hot still air, sounding mindlessly vicious and hungry. Even the great trees moved slowly under the Bones Man’s will, creaking loudly in sudden jerks. Everything seemed rotten and diseased, and even the light seemed poisoned. And then, the final touch, as dead men came walking through the jungle, heading straight for Molly, in her half of the circle.

  She didn’t budge an inch. “Zombies?” she said loudly. “How very . . . traditional!”

  She stamped her foot once, and winter fell upon her half of the circle. A terrible winter, of snow and ice and blazing sunlight. It hit the jungle dead on, and stopped it in its tracks. The freezing cold laid its powerful touch on everything at the jungle’s edge, painting it white with frost and ice. Freezing it in place. Vegetation shattered, and fell apart. The cold surged on, freezing everything it touched. Even the trees cracked, and fell apart, invaded by the awful cold. The vegetation died, the animals froze to death, and the insects fell lifeless from the bitter air. And the walking dead men slowed and stopped, frozen in place, and fell on their faces on the frozen ground
. All of the jungle was winter now, white shapes in snow drifts. Except for the Bones Man himself, standing in his own small circle of unaffected ground.

  He dismissed the frozen jungle with a wave of his hand, and the circle was empty again. He frowned, and surrounded himself with a new world, or perhaps more properly an old one. The familiar dimly lit back streets and alleyways, the Caribbean territory of his childhood, when new immigrants were packed into substandard tenements and left to make their own world. He stood in the darkest streets of old London, heavy with shadows because half the street lights had been smashed. The shadows were everywhere—deep and dark and full of menace. Not real things, these streets, probably, but how the Bones Man remembered them.

  Shadows seemed to move with a life of their own. The few remaining street lights hummed loudly and then exploded in showers of sparks, one at a time. Making more shadows. Dead rats with broken backs heaved themselves forward into the light, dragging lengths of pink intestines behind them, followed by cats that had been turned inside out. Just because someone in those streets had a taste for suffering. Windows in the surrounding buildings glowed unnaturally bright, and foul, and dark shadows moved like demons glimpsed in Hell’s light. The Bones Man looked just as at home in this new hell as in his jungle.

  And once again, dead men came shambling forward, heading straight for Molly, with old appetites stamped deep in their rotting faces.

  Molly snapped her fingers, and a great sandstorm rose up out of nowhere and swept forward, slamming into the dark streets. Brick red dust, from a red planet. More appeared around her, filling her half of the circle. The ancient overwhelming sands of the Martian plains, older by far than this world, and far less forgiving. The red sandstorm blasted through the dark streets the Bones Man made, scouring through the open spaces and blowing the zombies apart. The sands smashed the windows and the foul lights went out, and nothing moved there any more. And for the first time, the Bones Man took a step backwards. Because he’d never encountered anything like old Mars.

  He braced himself, surrounded by one small area of his own darkness, untouched by the sandstorm. And Molly smiled at him. She snapped her fingers, and Mars was gone. Replaced in a moment by the one place she knew best. The wild woods.