At Large

by Andrew Seiple

  “I know the way back now. It’s a hard trip over a bunch of mountains.”

  “We can go together,” Chase spoke. “After we’re done here, we’ve got business in Gnome. But after that, I’m thinking it’ll be best to get out of the country for a while. If you want to stick with us, that is, Bastien.”

  “I think I do,” the Muscle Wizaard said. “So long as you’re still paying. I’ll probably need money to legally pay a Wizard to teach me.”

  “Money won’t be a problem,” Chase promised, adjusting the last few fittings, and slipping on the clothes she’d bought to go with them. “And now I’ll need to borrow your eyes, please.”

  Chase stepped out of the booth, and the others gave her a good once-over.

  “Um...” Renny said. “Did you put on any armor at all?”

  “She’s got shoes,” the Muscle Wizaard said. “And bracers.”

  “I’ve also got a corset on under here. And I’m wearing PANTS!” Chase lifted her dress to reveal that her legs, in fact, were clad in leather trousers. Not the tightest she could have worn, but every halven knows to leave a bit of room for good meals and sedentary times.

  “Are you sure that’s enough?” The Muscle Wizaard said, running a hand through his beard. “I advised thin leather, but that’s a bit too thin. Maybe.”

  Chase grimaced. “It’s costing me ten gold for all of this. And that’s AFTER a lot of haggling. Anything heavier is probably going to be more than I want to pay.”

  “All right. It is literally your own hide if it doesn’t work out,” Renny said. “Oh! Hey, want me to stress test it for you?” Renny pulled a knife out of his bushy tail and waved it around.

  “No! Er, ah no, that’s fine. Let’s just pay and go. We’ve got a camino to visit.”

  “Casino,” the Muscle Wizaard corrected.

  “Yes, that thing.”

  It took some navigation to figure out the location of the address that Cagna had given them. Her directions had been brief and of little use to the three people who were by no means permanent residents of Arretzi.

  Several times Chase had to stop and ask directions. But after about half an hour of wandering, she saw the western wall narrow and slope down, and caught the gleam of water on the horizon.

  It was also the point where the smell of fish started to pervade her nose. Behind her, in her pack, Renny sneezed once. “I’m turning my nose off,” he whispered into her ear.

  “Good,” Chase advised, absent-mindedly. “We don’t want a repeat of yesterday.”

  “Don’t remind me. I can still taste those tannery scents in the back of my throat,” Renny muttered.

  Chase bit back a reply. Her feet were currently sweaty and hurting. Shoes took some getting used to. Granted, it was better than trusting her calluses to the bare cobblestones, and there were some truly dubious patches of dirt and substances starting to appear as they got closer to the waterfront, but still... still, it was an adjustment. It felt unnatural. Halvens were supposed to be barefoot, that’s why they had good thick patches of fur there!

  Still, the shoes were part of the armor, and the Muscle Wizaard assured her repeatedly that she’d get used to them. And a little bit of discomfort was nothing against the pain of losing toes, if random violence erupted again.

  But eventually Chase’s people-watching skills kicked in, distracting her from her footwear woes.

  Yesterday she’d noticed a tension in the crowds she’d passed, an unease and wariness.

  Today it was simmering. There was no laughter, not even nervous laughter. The streets had much less traffic... there were plenty of people out, but they were watching on corners, at stalls, or out of windows. They were watching and whispering to each other, and scrutinizing everybody with cold, angry eyes.

  This was what werewolves did to a city, she realized. It isn’t the deaths, though those are horrible. It’s the fear that they bring, the paranoia that they inspire. That’s the true horror of it; they could be anyone, and so everyone is suspect.

  She passed a small plaza where a group of children were playing a game that seemed to involve a lot of clapping and telling people to open and close their eyes. Not far, parents or other relatives watched, every one of them with a weapon of some sort near to reach.

  “This crowd is ugly,” The Muscle Wizaard rumbled. “If they don’t get satisfaction or a distraction soon, they’re going to riot.”

  “It’s to that point already?” Chase asked.

  “Beyond that point. If the Doge weren’t so well-loved, there’d be mobs in the streets and fires everywhere,” The Muscle Wizaard sighed.

  “I trust your judgment. I’m more used to dealing with individuals and small groups. Still very much a country mouse, as Cagna would put it.”

  “About that one,” The Muscle Wizaard asked. “How much do you know about her?”

  “I’ve known her for a day. She’s decent enough, although I don’t think she was lying about spending time as a Bandit and Highwayman.” Chase rubbed her chin. “But she doesn’t sugarcoat what her employer does. It makes me wonder why she’s working for him.”

  Now that Chase had the time to think about it, there were a few things about Cagna that didn’t add up. Nothing she could put her finger on, but the dog-woman had secrets, she was sure of it. Whether or not they were secrets Chase could afford to let lie or something that she’d have to dig up for her own protection was yet to be determined.

  But given the prospect, she knew which she preferred. Chase had spent most of her formative years finding out everything she could about the people who most had an impact on her life. She’d gotten to know them, dug out their secrets, knowing that it was the only way to protect herself and her loved ones.

  How to go about it, though?

  Now is the perfect time, actually, Chase realized. This is likely the only time I’ve got where Cagna won’t be with me. If I can get some clues from the Rossis or their employees quickly, then I can spend some time investigating her.

  “This is the address, I think,” Renny whispered, and Chase and Bastien stopped, staring at a plain wooden door. It looked like its neighbors down the block, doors set into old brick buildings. The windows were black, though a few glimmers shone out of cracks in what had to be tar.

  Chase knocked on the door, and it cracked open. “Yes?” Someone asked.

  “Pesce spada,” Chase said, stating the password that Cagna had given her.

  “Ah, my friends! Come in.”

  The door opened wider, and Chase nodded to The Muscle Wizaard.

  She had two goals for this trip now. And if there were answers to be had in this place, she’d find them...

  CHAPTER 11: HOUSE ODDS AND EVENS

  “There’s only four rules,” the doorman said, leading the way down a flight of stairs. Chase stared at the tails of his ill-fitting suit and did her best to navigate steps never meant for halvens.

  “The first rule is to keep your mouth visible at all times, unless you’re in the special line. That is because of the second rule, which is don’t use any skills. Not even if it’s one that has nothing to do with the games. We got people watching for that, you see. The third rule is simple; no fighting. This is a classy place, be respectful. The fourth rule...”

  He stopped before a door at the bottom of the stairwell, and looked them up and down.

  He timed his speech so that he’d hit this point at the same time as the door. Nice!

  Behind her, she heard the Muscle Wizaard grunt in appreciation. Of course another showman would recognize such a subtle touch.

  “The fourth rule is that who you are outside doesn’t matter. In fact, most people don’t want to know. If you are allowed to be in here, you are a noble to us. Doesn’t matter what you are outside. Treat every other patron accordingly, capisce?”

  “Of course!” Chase said, smiling brightly.

  The doorman scrutinized her for a long moment, and Chase was certain he was using a skill. But at last he grunted, an
d opened the door.

  Instantly a wall of sound rolled over her, and her ears flicked back. Laughter, cheers, groans, the ratcheting of metal and the clattering of wood.

  Taking a few steps forward, Chase left a bare and unassuming warehouse behind, and stepped into a wonderland of the sort that she had never imagined.

  Brightly colored cloth lined the walls, tapestries in red and gold and silver, depicting scenes of joy, merriment, and celebration. Everything from feasts to weddings to... oh my.

  Chase looked away, blushing. Humans. Humans are incorrigible.

  Putting her back to a fifty-foot-long tapestry that depicted an epic orgy, Chase surveyed the rest of the room.

  Chandeliers of spun crystal and glittering wire dangled above, hundreds of candles illuminating the crowd below. A velvet carpet wound and zig-zagged a path through the room, which upon further observation seemed to be divided between distinct areas.

  It was a very, very big room. She thought that several cellars had been joined together to make it, and instantly that brought to mind the shared basement between the Church and the Inn back in Bothernot. Chase went from amazed to on-guard and started searching for the exits.

  “What’s wrong?” Renny whispered in her ear.

  “I can’t find the exits,” she realized. Even the door behind her had vanished, the doorman closing it silently while she was indulging her eyes. A tapestry hung there now, and logically Chase knew there was a door there, but for the life of her she couldn’t see it.

  “We just arrived and you already want to leave? Come, let’s see what this place has to offer!” The Muscle Wizaard leaned down to clap a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she nodded in reluctant agreement.

  “No games to start with,” Chase decided. “Let’s get the lay of this place before we put money on the line.”

  It was the right decision.

  Though the casino was mind-blowingly large, the crowd was nowhere near to filling it up. Perhaps it was the time, perhaps it was the day, but it was a light crowd, Chase saw.

  Most of them had one thing in common.

  They all smelled of desperation.

  She’d seen it many a time back home, among her hormone-filled peers. Or when one of them got yearning for something unachievable... which was the same thing in a lot of cases, come to think of it. Chase’s ears twitched at the laughter that just wavered near hysterical, and she watched how fingers white-knuckled against green velvet on tables as dice fell. She smelled the sweat as she passed by silent groups fanning cards and trying to keep their faces still.

  The ones here now are those that need the money, she thought. Or something else? She peered through a gap in the crowd at a break in the wall, a darkened door with a line of nervous-looking men waiting before it, masked and fidgeting. They were older, she thought. The door opened and one came out straightening his clothes. A wash of perfume rolled out behind him, and a throaty female voice bid him well.

  “It’s not the quartiere carne, but the function is about the same,” the Muscle Wizaard said as they passed. “I’d imagine that they cater to more selective tastes.”

  “What?” Chase asked. “Taste? I don’t expect food has much to do with that.”

  “Ah! No, selective tastes is a polite way of saying that the people through that door do socially unacceptable things for great deals of money. Which is probably why the gentlemen are allowed masks. I’d wager the clothes are loaners too, and there are dressing rooms around here somewhere. They have to take all that stuff off if they want to go back to the regular games.”

  “Why are they all men?” Chase wondered. “Don’t women have special tastes too?”

  The Muscle Wizaard coughed. “Well, yes. But... well, it’s... I don’t know how it works exactly or why, but you only ever see men paying money for things like that.” The Muscle Wizaard said. “Mind you, I have had women offer me money for my time before when I was younger, so I know that can happen. I’ve had more men offer me money for that, though. And I honestly don’t know why it’s not more equal.”

  “Weird,” Chase said. And it was. Like anyone else her age she’d felt the changes of adulthood, and the hungers of the flesh. But unlike most of her peers she’d realized that her dreams required her to put those aside until she could safely fulfill them.

  That said, bedroom shenanigans weren’t entirely out of the question, and someday she expected she would investigate them more thoroughly. Starting in the shallow end. With someone that she could trust and was attracted to. Whose time she didn’t have to pay for.

  Still, her mind wandered, and she angrily tried to get it back on track. This isn’t the time! So instead of pondering on the fantasies available through that door, she remembered the shock and horror she’d woken to during last night’s attempted groping. THAT killed her libido before it got started, and Chase was able to get her mind on business.

  She cleared her throat. “So it’s a casino and a brothel—”

  “And a taverna,” Renny whispered, tugging on her hair until she looked over to a corner of the room that had been walled off by wine racks and glass partitions. Good glass, not the bubbly stuff she’d seen in the cheaper areas of town. Men and women sat at tables there, laughing and drinking.

  We’ve reached the end of the room already, she realized as she noticed the corner bar. It’s not quite as big as it seems.

  “This place is an enormous con,” Chase realized, as she turned back to the Muscle Wizaard. “It’s designed to keep you here, and everything fun here costs money. One way or the other,” she said as a richly-dressed man at one of the tables groaned at his dice and slid over a pile of silver.

  “But we’re not here for money, so we should be safe, right?” Renny whispered.

  “To a point. We have to look like we’re here for something this place provides, and...” she considered the line of gentlemen and the strong odor of liquor coming from the corner, “...money’s probably the safest thing to pretend to be after.”

  “Well then! Let’s see what games they have to offer,” The Muscle Wizaard gestured grandly, almost flattening a passing server. “Ah! Sorry!” he said as she ducked him without missing a beat or spilling a drink. “Wow! Such professionalism!”

  Chase flushed and grabbed his robes, tugging him as best she could. It was like trying to guide a mountain, but after a moment he got the hint, folded his hands into his wide sleeves, and followed.

  We are being watched, she realized as they moved between the tables. The... oh what were they called. The employees who ran the tables? Croppers? Whatever they were, they studied the trio as they passed... or rather they studied the Muscle Wizaard first, and Chase second. None of them took any real notice of the stuffed toy fox head sticking out of her pack.

  Best to keep it that way. “Don’t say a word, Renny,” she told the golem without turning her head, watching a few of the table people’s eyes snap to her lips. But hopefully they’d assume the big man behind her was named Renny, if indeed they could lip-read.

  As light as the crowd was, as early in the day as it was, most of the attended tables were occupied. Chase passed card games, marking a few she thought she knew. Dice games were a bit trickier, but after watching them a bit most seemed simple enough.

  Strangest of all were metal boxes with whirling tumblers rolling around in them, levers sticking out of the sides that people jerked down with satisfying CLUNKS and CLANKS.

  “Slot machines,” The Muscle Wizaard declared, when she stared at one of them for a minute too long. “Tinker contraptions. All pure luck, really. You drop a coin in, and depending on the symbols that come up, you might get more out.”

  Judging by the silvers that were disappearing into each machine, and the silvers and coppers that occasionally popped out when tinkly bells rang, might was too strong a word. “It’s entirely luck,” she realized, turning her head up towards her large companion. “The other games are against people. You can try to trick them—”

 
“Bluff them,” The Muscle Wizaard said gently.

  “—right, that’s what I said, more or less. You can try to... bluff them, and there’s some luck involved, but you’re still up against other people. Machines can’t be fooled. Not the way they’ve set them up, anyway. I mean, unless you’re an animator or something.”

  “They’re usually built with alarms if anyone tries to force them that way,” The Muscle Wizaard said.

  She scrutinized him. “You seem to know a lot about these things.”

  “This isn’t my first casino. I’ve helped work security at them before, during lean times. Even ran my show in a couple. They each have their own style, their own gimmick, but at the end of the day most are the same.” He frowned. “Though I’ve seen slot machines turn up in some truly weird places. Spots where metal is a luxury and nobody knows enough to even come close to unlocking the Tinker job, yet the local gambling hall always has slot machines. It’s one of the two big mysteries of these places.”

  “One of two? What’s the other?”

  “Come with me. It’s easier if you experience it for yourself.”

  Bemused, Chase followed her titanic friend towards what she realized must be the rough center of the gaming area.

  At it stood a raised dais, surrounded by four marble fountains, with the words ‘G.O Gamble!’ inlaid in gold around it. Tables filled the center, slot machines lined the edges, and the place even smelled better than its surroundings, though she couldn’t say how.

  And every table, every machine, stood empty.

  Chase frowned. This was a nice place, easily the nicest gambling spot in the entire casino. Why was it deserted?

  “Go on, head up there,” The Muscle Wizaard told her.

  But she knew the tone in the back of his voice. Heck, she’d heard it in her own voice, time and again.

  PER+1

  “You’re pranking me, aren’t you?”

  “Only a little,” he confessed. “It won’t hurt you or do anything that should set us back. Beyond expose you as a relative newbie, which is all right, I think?”