Casino Infernale

by Simon R. Green

  “I could go and open the door,” I said quietly to Molly. “See what’s really out there.”

  “Really not a good idea,” said Molly, just as quietly. “First, you can’t use your usual . . . protection, in present company. And second, we didn’t see anything on the beach. What makes you think you’ll see anything here?”

  “No one is to open that door!” said Coll. “Monkton Manse has its own protections! I don’t think it can get through the door.”

  “Are you crazy?” said Morrison. “It’s already got in here once, to kill Phil! We need to get out of here! Out of this house, and off this cursed island!”

  “Best idea I’ve heard so far,” I said.

  I turned away and got out my Merlin Glass. But when I tried to activate it, nothing happened. The hand mirror remained just a mirror.

  “Okay,” I said quietly to Molly. “That’s . . . unusual. I didn’t think there was anything here powerful enough to block the Glass.”

  “If there really is a living god out there . . .” said Molly.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not convinced. This doesn’t feel right. I think we’re missing something. . . .”

  “It’s the Horse,” said Coll. “It’s found me.”

  “Shut up!” screamed Troy. “If you brought it here, then this is all your fault!”

  “Easy, Steph,” said Morrison. “The enemy’s out there, not in here.”

  “Maybe we should head for the back door,” I said. “The Fae Gate could get us all off the island.”

  “You really think we can get to the Gate before the White Horse catches us?” said Coll.

  “Come on,” I said. “It’s just a horse! How dangerous can it be?”

  “You saw what it did to Phil,” said Morrison. “I served two tours in Afghanistan, and I never saw anything that brutal.” He glared at Coll. “You should have told us. We’d never have brought you here if we’d known. . . . Why don’t you go open that door? Go outside! You’re the one it wants!”

  “Take it easy,” I said quickly. “If that really is a living god out there, the last thing we want to do is present it with a human sacrifice. So, let’s take a little time and think this through. Figure out exactly what we’re dealing with. No more stories, Hadrian; give us the facts. What exactly are we facing here?”

  “It’s a living god,” said Coll, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. “An idea given shape and form and power, by those who worshipped it for so long.”

  “Listen!” said Troy. “It’s stopped . . .”

  We all listened. There were no more noises from beyond the closed front door.

  “Is it gone, do you think?” said Troy.

  “Either that, or it’s standing really still,” I said. “Want to go open the door and take a look?”

  “What is the matter with you?” said Coll. “Why are you so eager to let the bloody thing in?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Danger makes me flippant.”

  “If it’s there, I can hit it,” said Molly. “I ain’t afraid of no Horse.”

  “You would be,” said Coll, “if you’d seen it.”

  Morrison turned suddenly, and ran back down the hallway. Troy called out after him, miserably, but he just kept going. Didn’t even look back. I started to go after him.

  “No!” Molly said immediately. “In situations like this, it’s always a bad idea to go rushing off on your own. It’s so much easier to pick off someone when they’re on their own.”

  “But we have to find him!” said Troy.

  “He could be anywhere, by now,” said Coll. “But you’re right, we can’t leave him to the mercy of the White Horse. Or the house . . . so, we split into two groups again, and this time we stick together. Troy, stay close to me. Molly, don’t let Shaman out of your sight. Whoever catches up with Morrison first shouts out and stays put. Molly, follow the house perimeter, see if you can get a glimpse of whatever’s outside.”

  He led Troy off down the hallway. She stuck so close to him she was practically hiding in his coat pocket. Molly and I looked at each other, shrugged pretty much simultaneously, and set off.

  • • •

  Monkton Manse was a really big house. It took a long time for us to work our way round the perimeter, staring cautiously out of each window in turn. Darkness had fallen, and the light from the house didn’t penetrate far into the shadows outside. It seemed to me that a really big White Horse ought to show up clearly, but I couldn’t see anything. We checked every room we passed, just in case the Horse had sneaked in, somehow, but there was no sign of it anywhere. I’d never felt comfortable in Monkton Manse, and now I was starting to jump at every moving shadow or sudden noise. If we really were under siege from a living god, I wanted my armour. But I couldn’t call on it without betraying my true identity. I wasn’t sure that really mattered any more, but I was reluctant to throw aside my mission until I was sure there really was a living Horse god on the prowl around Monkton Manse.

  The dead body had been real enough, but anyone can fake horse sounds. It bothered me that I hadn’t seen anything.

  “If it is the White Horse, can you take it down with your armour?” said Molly, casually.

  “Oh, sure,” I said. “I’d bet the strange matter in my armour against anything with four legs and hooves. Maybe we could offer it some sugar lumps.”

  “A concept, made manifest, and then buried for centuries because its own priests grew frightened of what they’d created,” said Molly. “What do you want to bet, Shaman, that when the Horse woke up, it woke up angry?”

  “But how powerful can it be after being asleep for so long?” I said. “That must have weakened it.”

  “Unless,” said Molly, “it’s been quietly rebuilding its strength, all this time. I’m more concerned with its state of mind. Finally released from its prison, after so many years, and immediately someone tries to break it to their will, to make it their slave. . . .”

  I looked at her steadily. “You were there, at the meeting, after they called it up. How much of that do you remember, now?”

  “Still only bits and pieces.” Molly scowled fiercely. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t there at the Working. My parents would never have allowed that . . . I can’t believe I forgot so much!”

  “You were in shock,” I said. “You didn’t want to remember.”

  “My past isn’t what I thought it was,” said Molly. “I’m not what I thought I was.”

  “Yes, you are,” I said firmly. “You’re the wild witch, the laughter in the woods, kicking arse in the name of the good and the true. And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

  And then we both looked round sharply as we heard a scream. It sounded like a man, facing something truly horrible, and then the sound broke off, and stopped. Molly and I were already off and running. It didn’t take us long to find Joe Morrison, lying dead on the rucked-up, bloody carpeting. Torn and broken, his ruined flesh was stamped with hoof-marks. There was no sign of Troy or Coll anywhere. I checked the body, shook my head at Molly, and then studied the surroundings carefully.

  “Odd,” I said. “I don’t see any hoof-marks in the carpeting, the whole length of this corridor. Or in the spilled blood around the body. Nothing to show anything else was ever here.”

  “Apart from the very thoroughly trampled body,” said Molly.

  “Well, apart from that, yes,” I said. “I suppose . . . if the White Horse is a supernatural creature, it wouldn’t have to make impressions on its surroundings if it didn’t want to.”

  “Try the Merlin Glass again,” said Molly. “I really don’t like this place.”

  “You could always teleport us out of here yourself,” I pointed out.

  She shook her head quickly. “I already tried. This whole island is set inside a mystical null, remember? I can’t get my bearings. . . . Th
e only way off Trammell Island that doesn’t involve a boat or a hell of a long swim are the established dimensional doors, like the Fae Gate. The Merlin Glass was powerful enough to get us in; I’m hoping it can get us out.”

  I shrugged, and tried the Glass again. I murmured the activating Words, and the image in the looking glass changed immediately to reveal the Horse’s huge white head, filling the Glass. It shone out of the mirror like a spotlight, supernaturally bright. The long bony face glared at me, and then surged forward, as though trying to reach out through the Glass. The crimson eyes were wide and wild, and full of a terrible old knowledge. Great blocky teeth showed in its snarling mouth. Molly cried out. I shut down the Glass, shouting the words at the mirror, and the image disappeared. The hand mirror was just a mirror again. I put it away, in my pocket dimension.

  “It was coming through,” said Molly. She sounded shaken. “And it felt . . . so much bigger than any living thing has any right to be.”

  “Okay,” I said. My voice didn’t sound quite as steady as I would have liked, but I pressed on. “We are facing a very determined living god. It’s already killed two people, for reasons that aren’t clear yet. What does it want with us?”

  “Not us, Eddie,” said Molly. “With me. It wants me, because I was part of the group that tried to tame it, and break it to their will.”

  “But you weren’t a part of the Working! You didn’t know anything about it until it was all over!”

  “I don’t think the White Horse cares,” said Molly. “You saw it, in the Glass. Did that look like a rational Being to you? No, it saw me. It’s marked me. And soon it will come for me. . . .”

  “Well, tough,” I said. “It can’t have you. You’re mine.”

  She smiled at me, and put a hand on my chest. “Am I?”

  “Forever and a day,” I said, putting my hand over hers. “I know you’ve been through a lot, Molly, but you have to get a grip on yourself. It’s just a horse.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It is. And I have faced far worse, in my time.” She seemed to straighten up, and her gaze sharpened. “Time to get back in the saddle . . .”

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s track the bloody thing down. I’ve got my armour, and you’ve got your magics; we can do this. Bloody horse isn’t going to know what’s hit it.”

  “Damn right,” said Molly. “Been a while since I’ve punched out a living god.” And then she stopped, and frowned. “But I can’t help feeling . . . that just maybe the White Horse is the innocent party in all this. It didn’t ask to be buried, called forth, and used.”

  “It’s killing people,” I said flatly. “And that crosses the line. My family exists to keep things like living gods from killing people.”

  There was another scream. It sounded like a woman, this time. Horrified, hysterical, and once again cut off, abruptly. Molly and I ran through the narrow corridors, to find the next body lying crumpled in a doorway. Stephanie Troy, who only ever wanted to do good and protect people, had been trampled to a bloody pulp. Broken bones protruded in splinters through the torn flesh, and one side of her face had been completely smashed in, a single great hoof-mark obliterating half her features. Her one remaining eye stared helplessly out, at the world that had betrayed her.

  I knelt down beside her, but didn’t try for a pulse this time. I couldn’t see the point. They were all gone now; three good-natured and good-intentioned young people, who would have been the next-generation leaders of the White Horse Faction. They had such great dreams; I should have taken them more seriously.

  “I let them down,” I said to Molly. “I was right here, and I couldn’t even keep them alive.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” said Molly. “Blame the mission. We weren’t briefed for any of this. There’s no way we could have anticipated . . . what’s happened here. There’s nothing you could have done for any of them. We got here too late.”

  “We’ve been too late all along,” I said angrily. “Always one step behind, while something else has been leading us around by the nose. I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this, Molly. I don’t think we understand what’s really going on here.”

  I subvocalised my activating Words, and my armour spilled out of the torc to cover my face in a golden mask. And through the expanded senses of my mask, I studied every detail of Stephanie Troy’s corpse. Every wound, every impact, every impression of a great hoof. I zoomed in on every detail, using the mask like a magnifying glass and a microscope; checking and collating and comparing every last little bit of evidence.

  Until quite suddenly, I spotted something interesting. All the hoof-prints were exactly the same. Same shape, same depth, same details. If this body had been trampled by a Horse, I would have expected four different and quite distinct hoof-prints. It might be a living god, but it was still a quadruped. Instead, there was the same single hoof-mark, over and over again. I called up several of the imprints on the inside of my mask, and superimposed them, one on top of the other . . . and they were all exactly alike. I dismissed my mask, stood up, and quietly explained my findings to Molly.

  “The White Horse wouldn’t take the trouble to trample its victims to death one hoof at a time,” I said.

  “So it’s not the Horse that’s been killing people,” said Molly.

  “No,” I said. “Whatever else is going on with the White Horse, I don’t think it gives a damn about the next generation of the White Horse Faction. I think . . . we have ourselves a very human murderer, in Monkton Manse. And unless someone else has been hiding here all along, which doesn’t seem likely . . . we know who the killer is.”

  “Hadrian Coll was my parents’ best friend,” said Molly. “It can’t be him. He taught me how to be a free agent!”

  “He was a double agent, working for my family,” I said. “He betrayed people to the Droods, over and over again. He never was who you thought he was.”

  “That was the job, all right,” said Coll.

  We looked quickly round, and there he was, standing in a doorway, half hidden in shadows, smiling at us. I had no idea how long he’d been there. He looked entirely relaxed, even calm. Didn’t even glance at Troy’s body. He nodded to me. “I should have known you’d be the one to find me out, Drood.”

  “How long have you known?” I said.

  “From the moment I met you. Your torc is well hidden, but I am half Drood, after all. I inherited the Sight from your uncle James, the legendary Grey Fox. Who was always quick enough to father a child, but never wanted to hang around to see how they turned out. I take it you are his nephew, the equally legendary Eddie Drood? Molly’s fellow. What happened to the real Shaman Bond?”

  “I took his place,” I said smoothly. “He doesn’t even know I’m here, using his name. But even with the Sight, you shouldn’t . . .”

  Coll shrugged, almost angrily. “You can’t spend as long on the run as I have, with learning to See all kinds of things that you’re not supposed to be able to.” He looked at Molly. “You, with a Drood. Never thought I’d see the day. . . .”

  “You don’t know me,” said Molly. “You don’t know anything about me. How could you, when you kept so much from me? How could you do this, Hadrian? How could you just murder these people, after they went to all the trouble of tracking you down, to give you a second chance?”

  “It’s all about survival,” said Coll, entirely unmoved. “I never asked for their help, or their second chance. And I certainly never wanted to be found. Bloody fools. Survival always comes first, Molly. I taught you that.”

  He stepped forward, out of the shadows of the doorway, into the light. Like the Regent had, so many years before. Coll carried a huge wooden club, with a steel hoof attached to the heavy end. The hoof, and much of the club, was soaked with blood and hair and gore. Thick crimson drops fell steadily from the club’s end to the carpet. A terrible, brutal weapon.

  �
�I arrived on the Island first,” said Coll, smugly. “Long before you two, never mind the Faction. I watched you from the Manse, while I decided how to play this. It gave me quite a turn to see you, Molly, all grown up. I almost gave it up then . . . almost. Survival has no room in it for sentiment, or pity. I’d brought this nasty little toy with me, carefully designed to confuse the issue. I hid it here, in the house. I still hoped I wouldn’t have to use it . . . if the White Horse didn’t show up. But it did. I knew it would. The new Faction leaders had to die, in a sufficiently brutal manner that no one would even try to reassemble the White Horse Faction again.”

  “But . . . why?” said Molly. “Why did they have to die? What did they do that was so much of a threat to you, that you had to bludgeon them to death?”

  “They found me,” said Coll. “And I didn’t want to be found. Couldn’t afford to be found. It’s the Horse, you see. It’s been chasing me, all these years. Because I’m the last survivor of the Working that called the White Horse forth, and then tried to control it. Because I’m the only one who might be able to put it down, and put it back under its barrow mound again. That’s why I disappeared so thoroughly, ten years ago. Why I’ve been on the run ever since. Always on the run, never able to stop and rest for long, running from one bolt-hole to another, so it could never find me. Until those three young fools tracked me down.

  “I still don’t know how they managed it. Someone must have talked. Someone always talks, eventually. But Troy and Adams and Morrison found me, and knocked on my door . . . when even the Droods didn’t know where I was.”

  “My family stopped looking for you years ago,” I said. “You were never that important to us.”

  Coll flinched, and then laughed. Briefly, and perhaps a little bitterly. “Oh, but I was important. . . . When the White Horse finally finds me, and has its revenge upon me, it will turn its hatred on all Humanity. For burying it under that mound for centuries. For the sin of not worshipping it any more. I’ve kept the world alive, all these years, by keeping the Horse’s attention fixed on me!”