The Great Game

by O. J. Lowe

  “He makes a good point,” Longden said. Longden who as far as Okocha knew had never been out in the field in her life. “Why take risks if you don’t have to?”

  Aluka nodded in agreement. Aluka had been a field agent and therefore was probably more qualified to know what he was talking about. “Weapon can be more important than a hand or foot in this game. You need to have faith in that weapon that it’s going to work no matter what.”

  Arnholt said nothing.

  “Just one more thing,” Noorland said. “And I’ll stop monopolising your time. But this is something worth seeing. Behold!” He raised both hands out in front of him and pointed to the ceiling. Hands that now had simple-looking gloves upon them.

  Barker looked unimpressed. “If you’re going to impress us, it’s not…”

  Noorland smiled, took a jumping start from the floor onto the table and planted both hands on the ceiling, knocking his chair over. And he stayed there, hung there with the grin on his face only growing.

  “Sticky gloves. Can hang from the ceiling. Any surface really. Climb up walls. Make like a spider. Hide from the boss in the office.”

  “Really?” Barker said dryly. “I’m not sure you should be encouraging the staff to shirk their work and misuse company property at the same time. And you made that joke already, it wasn’t funny the first time.”

  Such a missed opportunity, Okocha thought, doing a poor job hiding his smile. Noorland’s foot was swinging not more than a foot from Barker’s head.

  “Ah, I’m not sure I need to encourage a lot of people here,” Noorland smiled, letting himself down. He scooped up his chair and removed his gloves, tossing them back in the box. “Must be the inspirational leadership in this building.” He winked at Barker. “Kidding, Leon. You’re doing a fine job.”

  Barker looked like he wanted to protest. Arnholt shook his head at him. Okocha wasn’t surprised. There were about forty or fifty people who could do Barker’s job in the building, easy. How many could do what Noorland had done? Guy was a genius.

  “Agent Okocha, could you please present anything you might have for us,” Arnholt asked, all eyes turning to him.

  Time to let it out in the open. Might be nothing. Might be everything. He had the projector in his pocket, a slim metal device with a lens. He tossed it on the desk, hit a button that set it into motion. Already he could hear it whirring as it warmed up.

  “Okay, so there was something unusual I happened on a few weeks ago. I was running control for Agent David Wilsin at his bout. One of Cyria’s former guys we tagged, speaking of Cyria, showed up in the same location acting suspiciously, I had him check out what he was doing. He met a guy. This guy.”

  The video-captured image of the Blank Slate did not give the man credit; it didn’t convey any of the graceful menace that he’d had in motion. “He’s a ghost.”

  “Looks pretty solid to me,” Noorland quipped. Longden laughed at that.

  Ouch!

  “We got nothing on him. Like he doesn’t exist. He’s gone through life; he hasn’t touched anything, done anything to anyone. If he has a bank account, it isn’t in his name. He has never been touched by law enforcement, he has joined no school or calling league. It’s a genuine impossible man. And I don’t know how that’s possible.”

  “Doesn’t look familiar,” King said. “And he’s quite remarkable. Not many men built like that.”

  “Those tattoos,” Aluka said, gesturing towards the image. “They a gang logo you think?”

  “Can’t tell. I ran them through the system,” Okocha said. “They match no gang on our records. And if they have members like this guy, I can’t see them being that under the radar.”

  “Let me see it,” Longden said. “Can you give me a zoom in.”

  He did that, let the screen focus in on the Blank Slate’s visible ink patterns. The picture wasn’t good, but Longden stared at it, screwing her eyes up until they were little more than slits. Still managed to look good doing it

  “Nah, doesn’t compute. You send me this image; I’ll have someone run through a comp search but it doesn’t match any of the big gangs. Maybe it’s a unique design. Maybe it’s a prison thing. Could be something or nothing. We get nothing, I’ll send it round every tattooist in the city where he was seen last.”

  “Of course, if he was in prison,” Leon said. “He’d be in the system. Ergo, there’d be a record of him and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He even managed to say it sniffily.

  “You know what,” Arnholt said. “He’s not that impossible.”

  “Sir?” Barker said.

  “Because if he was that good, he’d still be hidden. And we know he’s out there now. Sooner or later, this will be something he regrets. We have a rep. We need to keep that up. I want this guy found. The Eli McKenna incident? What do you have?”

  “McKenna refuses to talk,” Okocha said. “He’s scared out his mind. What we do know is that he came from Becksea, Premesoir before meeting with the Blank Slate. And there was a noticeable theft before he left.”

  “Go on?” Aluka asked.

  “From a museum there,” Okocha said. He pushed another button and a picture of the artefact appeared. Nobody there failed to recognise it, even in the dull brown gold rendering. The stripes, the pouncing pose, the trio of gold bands around each foreleg. Normally the tigress should have been pink but not here. “It’s a bronze statue of Melarius, the Mother of Gods. Not big but valuable.”

  “Why steal that?” Barker asked. “It’s hideous. And pretty noticeable.”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” Okocha said. “I mean, maybe some private collector would want it. It’s quite old, least five hundred years. At least. It’s entitled A View of Melarius. Dug some stuff up on it, apparently the artist claimed he saw Melarius in person and was inspired. Got it from an anonymous donor about fifteen years ago, someone who claimed to find it in a swamp if you believe that. I’ve put an alert out on it, it shows up anywhere, I want us to know.”

  “Good,” Arnholt said. “Now, last order of business.”

  Section Chief Aluka, representing the entire Unisco organisation out in the kingdom of Vazara stood up and cleared his throat.

  “Carcaradis Island,” he said. “This is nothing. Nobody in this room had heard of it until the Quin-C became held there, I bet. The island is nothing. Nothing there. Or there wasn’t until the building took place. What you haven’t heard outside of Vazara is the trouble linked to it.”

  “Trouble?” Noorland asked. “Wait, how come this is the first we’re hearing of this? Is this why we’re sending a big team there?”

  “Perhaps. See until holding this tournament, Carcaradis Island was left untouched because it is viewed as a holy place by some of the native Vazarans. Sacred even. Not to be touched by anyone.”

  Barker coughed.

  “I have been there,” King said. “It is remarkable. So much possible history hidden in plain sight there.”

  “It’s riddled with tunnels and tombs, caves and crevices full of secrets,” Aluka said. “There were natives there. ICCC officials made a deal with them to leave. They wouldn’t. All until one day they weren’t there any longer. And these are not pushover people. They wouldn’t bow before the ICCC. They’d fight to the death. Of course, all of this is speculation. Official story from the ICCC is that they left. How and where are not mentioned.”

  “Agent Longden,” Arnholt said. “Tell me what you found out about the company pushing for the development of Carcaradis Island.”

  Longden slid a data stick into the machine on the table and a picture of the Reims logo appeared in front of them.

  “Reims,” she said. “Old company, many faces, many names. The outside might change from time to time but the dealings never do. Again, on the surface, very respectable. They give heavily to charity; the current owner is a philanthropist and enthusiast about religious artefacts…”

  Okocha’s thoughts fell back to Eli McKenna and the
item he’d delivered to the Blank Slate. The museum piece and its lack of value.

  “Hmmm,” he said. It was hard not to put as much thought into that sigh as he wanted to. His head hurt already. There was a lot of mystery here, more than he wanted to contemplate. He liked things to be simple. This felt like it would be anything but.

  Chapter Seven. Boats and Bouts.

  “I say, we have a responsibility in this matter for not only our competitors but those who have made the trip to get out to this tournament and be there in person. We chose to stage it in the middle of nowhere, it was probably the best option for a place to hold it. But at the same time, we need to ensure that people can get there easily. The aeroport will not be able to sustain thousands of people coming through every day. I recommend we contact the cruise companies and come to some sort of arrangement now, before they take matters into their own hands.”

  ICCC executive Adam Evans in a meeting six months ago regarding the transport infrastructure ahead of the Competitive Centenary Calling Challenge Cup.

  The fourteenth day of Summerdawn.

  Sea travel had always appealed to Theo. There were things out in the middle of the ocean you didn’t see anywhere else. Those dark waters held mysteries he’d have loved to probe given the time. And there were so many ways of doing it. The smaller the boat the better the chance of seeing something unusual. After all, a boat like this wouldn’t likely draw something unusual or rare. They were classified rare because they were hardly ever seen. They certainly wouldn’t be about to expose themselves to a large unknown presence like this boat and all those on it. He’d once paid a guy to take him cross kingdom in a powerboat just solely on the off chance that he’d see a kraken. In other words, he’d played himself as bait. They were out here.

  Apparently.

  They had to be somewhere. His trip had been a futile one but he’d enjoyed it regardless, catching the sea air for a day. Some trips were never wasted, it all depended on what you wanted to take from them. Rumour had it somewhere that a lucky few callers had krakens. If he wanted to see one, it’d likely be out at the Quin-C. Maybe there was someone right here on this very boat. All these supposedly powerful callers meant the odds had to be surely better than average. But would they show it right now or wait for the tournament? He wouldn’t. He liked to keep his powder dry. If he revealed his hand now, it’d clue a few people in on what he could do, potentially losing him an edge in the future. He didn’t want to let them know. Sure, he’d been here before. But to compare him now and him then, they were two different beasts. He’d be fine. He’d fight for everything. They weren’t going to stop him.

  He’d taken in the sight of some of the callers walking onto the boat upon boarding, he’d recognised some of them, Wade Wallerington for one, a redheaded man in his thirties wearing a billowing waterproof cape that made him look heavier than he was. He’d never met the man but some of his exploits were already close to legendary. For the first time, he’d found himself realising just how daunting his task might be.

  Doubt didn’t suit him, it just made him cross with himself. He swallowed and tried to put it out of his mind. Wallerington wasn’t unbeatable. Nobody here would be. He just had to make sure he was on his game and he’d triumph.

  The boat itself was a pretty impressive specimen, if you liked boats. He found himself considering instead of thinking about the tournament ahead and the competitors. It was a real old-fashioned cruise liner, huge and cumbersome but cutting a neat swathe above the waves at a fair old rate of knots, large enough to fear little beyond an iceberg. Theo knew eight powerful hover jets held it above the surface of the ocean, propelling it along regardless of weather or wave.

  He found himself leaning at the railings surrounding the edge of the boat, staring back at the departing Canterage kingdom. He hadn’t hated his time there. He’d had some experiences, gathered some memories together. As places went, it had been quite charming; the people he’d encountered had been friendly enough. He’d gotten the points he needed to qualify, he had a few medals and minor trophies for his collection. Some new spirits to work with as well, including that wolf he’d acquired the other night. None of those new ones would be likely ready for the early rounds of the Quin-C. Get to the latter rounds, it was possible. Although would he risk introducing new cards into the deck at that point? Hard to say. He didn’t like changing a winning strategy. Maybe it’d depend on how things were going. How his originals were working out, who he was facing and so on. There was loyalty and then there was adaptability.

  Funny. No matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t keeping what lay ahead from his mind. Maybe he should just embrace it, see what was going to come and go with the flow. Not an ideal solution. Ideally the flow would go with him, rather than the reverse. He stood up, took his eyes from the water. No giant squid today. No sea monsters. Not even any curious fish too dumb to be of any use to him.

  Time to go. He leaned over further, let loose the spittle from his mouth and watched it fall, cutting into the wake of the boat with a tiny splash too far away to be heard over the engines.

  Inside the boat was nice, he had to admit as he entered the big sprawling hall that looked like it made up most of the upper deck interior levels. There had to be over two hundred people in here, some of them callers, some of them their guests although it was hard to tell them apart. Quite a few were already being exorbitantly loud and the tournament hadn’t even started yet.

  A mock sparring field had been set up in the middle of the room, two callers were already using it, one with a kos fairy, one with what looked like a crimson chimp. As the fairy unleashed fire towards it, the chimp sprang up into the air to evade it, its dark red fur glowing as it went for the ceiling, just about making it.

  An impressive leap, Theo noticed, the ceiling had to be a good twenty, twenty-five feet above the floor. Although not as impressive as what came next, the ape letting go, pushing itself from the ceiling and crashing down with both fists out into the much smaller fairy, the heavy blow flattening it immediately. He smiled at that briefly as the crowd let out an enthusiastic cheer and moved on towards the drinks table. He wanted some refreshment; his mouth hadn’t felt the same since he’d eaten those spiced nuts out of that vending machine at the aeroport back in Canterage. That suddenly felt a very long time ago.

  “Well look who showed up.”

  Theo stiffened, he’d heard that smug languid drawl before and it largely annoyed him, although not quite as much as the speaker did. More than once he’d given him a bloody nose, at least figuratively, and Connor Caldwell had replied in kind dealing out as good as he could get.

  He turned, glared at the stocky Canteragean, his hands in the pockets of his shorts. The man was a buffoon, he often gave off the impression he was arranging his crotch through his pockets, constantly furtively fondling himself.

  “I didn’t know we were going to the circus,” he said conversationally. Caldwell’s ginger brow furrowed for a moment, Theo felt thoroughly annoyed at his stupid face. His pointed little mouth sounded the word ‘circus’ silently before Theo felt the need to put him out of his misery. “Explains why they’re letting clowns like you on this ship.”

  “Clown? Me?” Caldwell sounded mock-insulted. It was the one part of his personality that grated him more than anything else, the man couldn’t take a hint. “Ah you’ve got to be messing with me. Always a funny guy, you Jamie.”

  “Don’t call me Jamie,” Theo growled. “Don’t you have someone else you could be bothering. Three hundred people on board and you’re here annoying me.”

  That grin grew. Theo exhaled out sharply. Fury knotted in his stomach.

  One…

  “Cheer up, man. You know how many people would want to be here? Loads and loads. You’re being a right grump and…”

  Two…

  “… Well just lighten up. C’mon, have a drink with me and we’ll reminisce about the old days.”

  Three… He clenched his hands into fists at
his side. To physically bloody that fat nose would have been a pleasure. Since he was always sticking it into people’s business. Besides, he’d hated the old days.

  “You know, I fought you, you fought me, we won, we lost, we had a good time. Sure, I won a few more than you did but hey, you did respectable for someone who’s basically still a newbie at the whole thing.”

  Four… Five… He was vaguely aware of his heart hammering, driving the blood against his ears.

  “Maybe I don’t want to drink with you,” he said slowly. “You ever consider that. Now leave me alone, or I’ll…”

  He wanted to say I’ll make you. Yet at the same time, he knew it would be an idle threat. Nothing more. Despite that big friendly goofus look about him, Caldwell was a pretty solid individual and was more than likely to take a swing at him if he felt threatened.

  “Ha, jokester,” Caldwell laughed, the bray of mirth irritating Theo even more. He clenched his fists together, tried to bite his tongue. He felt his nails digging deep into his palm, the sting taking his attention away from the urge to do something potentially stupid.

  “Tell you what, how about a bout for old times’ sake. You’re looking a little worked up over something.”

  Yeah, you. Theo rolled his eyes. No matter how many times he met him, and there’d been more than he’d like to remember, it felt like he came up with new and excruciating ways to grate on him. But, that left something. He knew he was better than Caldwell. Caldwell just didn’t know that was the case yet.

  But he would.

  He let a grin play over his face, imagining it to be the sort of one that a shark possesses just before it bites down. It felt uncomfortable, awkward even. Still if Caldwell noticed something off about it, he didn’t show it.

  “You know, you might just be right,” he said. “It’s been a long few days. So how about we fight. If I win…” He wanted to say piss off and leave me alone. He amended it very quickly. “… you leave me alone to enjoy the cruise in peace. I’m a tired man and I want to relax.”