“Just apply to one of the flunkies,” said Frankie. “And then make out your will.”
“If this is a free-for-all, then why don’t we both enter?” said Molly. “Should help the odds on us winning, if we’re in there together to watch each other’s back.”
“You could both enter,” said Frankie, “but the rules say there can only be one winner. You’d have to kill, or at least seriously maim, the other to be declared winner.”
“Then we won’t do that,” said Molly.
“It’s down to me,” I said firmly. “You’re an excellent fighter, Molly, but I’m the one trained on how to survive against all the odds.”
“This is the Pit, all over again,” said Molly. “I had a hard enough time bringing you back from the brink after you fought the Dancing Fool! And now you want to take on a whole bunch of people just like him? Are you crazy?”
“There is no one like the Dancing Fool,” I said. “And I promise you, I have absolutely no intention of fighting fairly this time. I plan to use lateral thinking and a hell of a lot of ducking and weaving.”
“Well,” said Molly. “That’s more like it.”
• • •
We went in search of a generic flunky, and I told him I wanted to take part in Last Man Standing. He just nodded, and led us out of the Arena, and out across the grassy plain, to a tall round stone Tower standing on its own. Not very tall, and not very large, three or four stories at most, but with a great many windows in the curving exterior wall. Lots of other flunkies were leading even more people towards the Tower. As we drew nearer, I could see there were open doorways at the base of the Tower, and a great many viewscreens floating in mid-air, giving views of the interior. A large audience was assembling around the circular base of the Tower, from every direction. Just sitting there in the grass, staring eagerly at the viewscreens. Our flunky stopped us just short of the doorways, and looked at me pointedly.
“The rules of the Game are quite clear, sir. You can only take in whatever is yours, and you must enter the Tower naked.”
I glared at Frankie. “You didn’t mention that part.”
“Didn’t I?” Frankie said innocently. “Must have slipped my mind.”
“Don’t worry,” said Molly. “I’ll mind your clothes.”
“Strangely enough, that isn’t what’s worrying me,” I said. “There’s all these people . . . I don’t like to.”
“Oh, get on with it!” said Molly.
I looked around and saw that everyone else was stripping off. And since they didn’t seem too bothered, and no one was making a fuss about it, I did so too. The wind felt very cold, and I felt very vulnerable, as I finally stood naked and shivering before an open doorway. No one else seemed to be paying me any attention; they all had their gaze fixed on the Tower, their minds set on the Game.
“See?” Molly said brightly, hugging my clothes to her chest. “Not a scar to be seen, anywhere. I do good work!”
“Not bad,” said Frankie. “Though I have seen better . . .”
“Hey!” said Molly. “You keep your eyes off my property!”
The generic flunkies began ushering everyone through the open doorways, and into the Tower. By now there was a whole crowd of players, dozens of us. All types and sizes, most of them in pretty good shape. And watching us, all around the base of the Tower, an audience of hundreds gathered to watch us fight and hopefully die, entertainingly, on the floating viewscreens. Frankie waved a quick good-bye, and moved off into the crowd to do what he did best. Molly waved, and then the generic flunky pushed me politely but firmly through the open doorway.
The inside of the Tower was just a great empty hollow, surrounded by a curving stone interior wall. People were filling up the empty space from all sides, hurrying in through the doorways. Some smiling, some serious, no one saying anything. And every one of us naked as the day we were born. Some it bothered, some it didn’t; a few stared openly. I looked up, to the top of the Tower. A single stone step protruded, at the very top. According to Frankie, just before the Game began a flunky would appear there, holding the sacred staff. He would drop it, and one of us would catch it. And then, we would all fight it out to see who could hold on to the staff. While everyone else tried to take it away, by any and all means necessary. Last Man Standing. And that, Frankie had assured me, was all there was to the Game. Be the last man, with the staff. No other rules.
The hollow interior filled up pretty quickly, but the flunkies kept pushing in more and more competitors. Even after we were all packed uncomfortably close together, still the competitors kept arriving. Forced through the doorways by firm, implacable flunkies. Until finally we were all packed so closely together, we could hardly move. No room left for modesty when we were all back to back, belly to belly, face to face. The heat inside the Tower, generated by so many bodies in such a confined space, quickly became intolerable. And then got worse. We were all of us sweating like fury, but the perspiration running down our bodies was the only lubrication we had, to allow us to move. And it didn’t take me long to realise that not everyone else in the Tower was entirely human.
Fur brushed up against bare skin, as werewolves and werebears and other furred halflings insisted on their presence. Unnaturally pale people with sharp teeth and crimson eyes—vampires, hiding their true walking corpse status behind flickering glamours. And from the smell of it, several ghouls, too. And on top of that, several only vaguely human shapes that might have been aliens or demons, or anything in between. Some had scales, some had bony carapaces, or vicious bone spurs protruding from their elbows, and some had too many arms. It would appear that invitations to Casino Infernale went really far and wide. I couldn’t help feeling at something of a disadvantage, in being only human. Except, that I had one very special ace, not at all up my sleeve.
We finally reached a point where the generic flunkies couldn’t force another body through the doorways and that was when the flunky appeared on the top step high above us, holding out the sacred staff. He called out once, to get our attention, and then just dropped the staff.
It seemed to float almost tantalisingly on the air above us, turning end over end as it fell. A hundred hands thrust up, eager to grab it, mine among them. The staff fell and fell, and finally one hand grabbed it out of the air. I turned towards it and someone kicked my feet right out from under me. I fell, slipping through the greased bodies around me, and hit the floor hard. And straight away everyone else trampled all over me, as the crowd surged back and forth in pursuit of the sacred staff. All kinds of feet slammed into me from every direction, knocking the breath right out of me. It didn’t take me long to realise that if I stayed down, I would be trampled to death.
So, I delivered short vicious punches, and back-elbows, in every direction; cracking bones and breaking ankles, until enough people crashed to the floor to allow me enough space to fight my way back onto my feet again. Bruised, and bloodied, but intact. Some more applied viciousness opened up a little more space around me, but there were any number of punches and back-elbows coming my way too, as we all surged this way and that, a hundred and more naked bodies fighting it out for one wooden staff.
Please don’t let me get a hard-on, I thought. People are watching. It would be so hard to explain, afterwards.
I could hear the crowd outside, enjoying the fighting. Watching it all on the floating viewscreens, laughing and cheering and applauding. They cheered especially loudly when they saw someone die. I couldn’t see the bodies on the floor, but I could feel them when my feet slammed into something hard and unyielding.
I could see the staff, held above our heads, being snatched from hand to hand. It didn’t look like much, just a length of wood covered with engraved runic symbols. Most people used it as a club to beat other people about the head with. It quickly became covered in gore and hair, dripping blood. Someone waved it back and forth triumphantly, and drips of
blood flew into everyone’s faces. Until the holder was beaten down by everyone around him.
Fists were flying everywhere. Knees came up, and feet kicked. We were all shouting and screaming at the top of our lungs, till the sound was actually painful. All of us caught up in the fighting frenzy, everyone against everyone else. Someone head-butted me in the face, but by the time I lashed out in return, my attacker was already gone, carried away by the movements of the crowd, and I punched out someone else instead. It didn’t matter. I had no friends here, only enemies. Blood dripped from my nose, but it didn’t feel like it was broken. I spat a mouthful of blood into someone’s face, and their returning fist shot past my head and punched out someone behind me. That was the Game.
More and more space was opening up, as more and more bodies crashed unconscious or dying to the floor. Just because no actual weapons could be brought in, didn’t mean you couldn’t get killed. Some people were weapons. I threw enough punches to keep everyone else at bay, while letting the Brownian movements of the crowd carry me away from the centre and all the way back to the interior wall. I felt definitely relieved as I pressed my back against the solid stone, because it meant that was one direction no attack could come from now. And then, finally, I could take time out from defending myself, and allow the effects of the Armourer’s potion to kick in. Finally, I could see the patterns in the crowd, and anticipate which attacks were coming my way, even before they happened. I ducked and dodged, and pulled other people in front of me to soak up the blows. I shoved people this way and that, so they would fight each other and not me. For the first time, I felt I was in some control of the situation.
Looking out across the heaving mob, it was quickly clear to me that the non-human fighters were targeting each other as the most dangerous players in the Game. Just as well, or we poor humans wouldn’t have stood a chance.
A vampire sank its fangs into the shoulder of a werewolf, worrying blood from the wound. A group of ghouls dragged down an alien and ate it alive. There was a sudden stink of guts on the air near me, as a group of things with too many arms turned a werebear inside out. Fangs and claws, blood and gore, and above it all, the sacred wooden staff moving jerkily back and forth, snatched from hand to hand. And I couldn’t help noticing . . . that the more dangerous players were actually cancelling each other out, by picking on each other. Until finally there were only humans left fighting for the prize. I stayed back by the wall and just let them get on with it. And they were all so taken up in their quest for the staff, and beating the hell out of anyone who got in their way, that they didn’t even notice me. They slammed into each other, hitting and kicking, gouging and tearing, until finally, eventually, there was only one man left, standing surrounded by a pile of bodies, covered in blood that mostly wasn’t his. Clutching at his gore-covered prize, and smiling. Last man standing—apart from me.
I coughed politely, to draw his attention. His head snapped round to stare at me. He glared at me with a cold, focused, murderous gaze. He really was very big, very muscular, and he’d soaked up a hell of a lot of punishment to get his hands on the staff. He kicked at a few of the bodies around him, moving them back to give him room to fight. One moaned, showing it was still alive. The big man stamped on the fallen man’s head, and the sound stopped. The big man brandished the sacred staff at me, daring me to take it from him. I barely recognised the thing, it was so crusted in blood and gore.
“Come here,” said the big man, the bloody man. “Come here, and I’ll kill you. I’ve killed so many to win this Game, one more won’t matter. Come here and let me kill you and I’ll make it quick. Make me work for it, and I will make you scream and beg and bleed before I finish you.” He smiled suddenly. “That is why I come to the Game, after all. Where else can you get to kill so many people, in the name of sport? I always have the best time here, every year!”
I reached into the pocket dimension at my hip, brought out my Colt Repeater, and shot him neatly between the eyes. His head snapped back, and he was dead before he hit the bodies piled up around him. The pocket dimension isn’t actually in the pocket of my trousers, or I’d never be able to wear another pair. It just hovers at my hip, and goes everywhere with me. Most useful thing the Armourer ever made for me. I slipped the Colt back into the pocket dimension, and it disappeared again. I clambered carefully over the fallen competitors, heading for the man I’d killed. Some of them made feeble sounds of protest, which meant some of them were still alive. I was glad about that. I didn’t want to think so many people had actually died for a stupid stick. I prised the sacred staff out of the dead man’s hand, wiped some of the mess away on his body, and then turned and headed for the nearest open doorway.
• • •
It felt wonderfully cool, out in the open air again. The crowd went wild, laughing and cheering and applauding. They did love a good surprise ending. Some of them came rushing forward, wanting to shake my hand or clap me on the shoulder. I let them do it, though I drew the line at being embraced. At least until I was dressed again. Apparently a lot of people had won a lot of souls, betting on me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Molly pushed her way through the crowd, holding my clothes, and a towel she’d acquired from somewhere. She glared at everyone else until they fell back enough to give us room. And then she towelled me down carefully, removing as much of the caked-on blood as she could. I hadn’t realised how much had ended up on me from other people. Molly bit her lip, as she saw the bruises under the blood, but said nothing. She helped me get dressed again.
A generic flunky approached me, and I looked him in the eye.
“Nothing in the rules against it,” I said.
“You are allowed whatever you carry in with you, sir,” said the flunky. “Though you did push it, a bit.”
I looked around, as Frankie came rushing up. “Tell me I won big,” I said. “Because I have had enough of these Games.”
“Of course we won big!” said Frankie, beaming all over his flushed face. “You wouldn’t believe how many souls we won!”
“We won?” I said.
“Oh, all right, you won,” said Frankie. “The point is, you now possess more than enough souls to get yourself a place in the Big Game!”
“About time,” said Molly. “Really don’t like this place.”
“Then let’s get out of here,” I said.
“Excuse me, sir,” said the flunky, politely but firmly. “You have to hand back the sacred staff.”
I looked at the soiled object I was still hanging on to. I honestly hadn’t realised I still had the thing.
“I don’t get to keep it?”
“No, sir.”
“Then what did I win? What’s the point of the Game?”
“The honour of playing, sir.”
I handed him the sacred staff. “So, I don’t get anything?”
“Of course you do, sir. You get your obol.”
He pressed the small coin into my hand.
“And this represents . . . ?” I said.
“The soul of everyone who fell, living or dead, in the Game, sir. Please follow me now, and I will lead you back to your dimensional door.”
“I will come back,” I said to him. “I will come back here, to help you.”
The generic flunky looked at me for a long moment. “Then I will look forward to seeing you again, sir.”
He led us back across the purple-tinged grass, back to the door, and our world. Molly slipped her arm through mine.
“First you want to free all the faces in the corridor, now you want to free all the flunkies in this world. You just can’t look away, can you?”
“The word over-ambitious does come to mind,” said Frankie, behind us.
“That’s my Shaman,” said Molly. “Can’t see a wrong without wanting to put it right.” She smiled at me fondly. “Just remember, we still have a war to stop. And you promised me you’d hel
p track down the Regent so I can get the truth out of him.”
“I hadn’t forgotten,” I said.
“I’m actually beginning to believe it,” said Frankie. “Maybe you really can break the bank at Casino Infernale, after all.”
Molly looked at him. “If you didn’t believe it before, why have you been helping us all this time?”
Frankie looked at her as though she was crazy. “For the money, of course!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Decisions Are Made, With Far-Reaching Consequences
I was bracing myself for another trip through the corridor of screaming faces, all those trapped souls I couldn’t help, but when the generic flunky finally opened the dimensional door it opened directly onto our hotel suite. I stepped through automatically, with Molly and Frankie almost stepping on my heels, but when I turned back to question the flunky . . . the dimensional door had already closed, and disappeared. It did feel good to be back. The world of the Medium Games had just felt wrong, in too many small, telling ways. Mars had actually been easier to deal with, because it was so different. I sighed heavily, and sank down onto the bed. I hadn’t realised how tired I was until I didn’t have to be strong any more.
“It would seem the hotel’s doors can drop us off wherever they want to,” said Molly.
“Then why did they make us walk through the corridor of trapped souls in the first place?” I said.
“To make a point?” said Frankie. “Remind us where the true power lies, at Casino Infernale? To put us in the right frame of mind for the Games? The Casino has been doing this for a long time, and it never misses a trick.”
“I need to take another shower,” I said, heaving myself back up onto my feet again. “I need to wash the Games off me.”
“Sounds good,” said Molly. “Think I’ll join you.”
“I think I’ll go for another walk,” said Frankie. “Maybe take a turn back into town, see if they’ve cleared up all those crashed Pteranodons yet. There’s a future in fast food to be made there, by someone with ambition and the right connections. . . .”
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