“It is. I don’t mind being underestimated.” In fact, it was her preferred method of operation, when she thought about it. She’d only survived the troubles in Bothernot because everyone involved thought they had bigger problems than one small halven.
Trusting in her friend, she tried to climb up the long steps that lined the sides of the dais.
And instantly she was looking back at the gaming hall.
Chase blinked.
She turned around and tried again—
—and again she found herself a few feet away, staring at a nearby table. The man running it shot her a sideways look and moved his jaw, clearly trying not to laugh.
“Ahem,” someone cleared her throat, and Chase turned to see a server pointing at a pair of velvet ropes off to the side of the dais.
“Oh, do I go through those to go up there?” she asked, innocently, heading toward the seemingly open and empty queue.
“No. I don’t think you can go up there dear,” the older woman replied and turned a small sign at the top of one of the poles supporting the ropes.
It read, PLAYERS ONLY.
Chase felt her eyes widen, and she hurried back to The Muscle Wizaard’s side.
A chill crawled down her back. This was one of the cracks in the world. This was the work of the demigods, the things that the Camerlengo was trying to keep hidden and away from the rest of the world.
“There’s a place like that in every casino I’ve ever seen,” the Muscle Wizaard said, falling in next to her. “I’ve only ever known a single man who could get inside those places, and he never told me how he did it. Everyone here’s a player, right?”
“There’s players and there’s players,” Chase said, still feeling that chill. “But I don’t think this will help us talk with the Rossis or find clues to our mutual problem, so I think we can safely ignore it.”
“Well of course,” The Muscle Wizaard sounded confused. “But you asked, and I thought you’d get a kick out of seeing the oddity. So... we should probably talk. Are you hungry?”
“Ravenous,” Chase realized. It had been a long walk to the docks, and she was carrying about an eighth of her own weight in the form of her new armor. Granted, she had good strength now thanks to recent job levels, but she was still a halven. And her stamina was entirely too low. “Let’s do elevenses. It’s a bit early, but more satisfying than brunch.”
“Bars in these places usually have food. And we can talk more freely there, everyone will be more interested in each other,” The Muscle Wizaard confirmed.
The taverna in the corner did have food. For certain definitions of ‘food,’ anyway. For Chase who had been raised on home cooking her whole life, it was a greasy, unappetizing mess. But she ate anyway, wondering at the mismatch. “This food is... not good.”
“Well, they don’t make much of a profit on it. They also don’t want people coming here just to eat, so they have to work to make sure it’s nothing that anyone could consider their favorite kind of food.” The Muscle Wizaard shrugged, a motion that made his pectorals roll under his robe like calving icebergs. He wasn’t eating his food, just shoving it around on his plate, so Chase felt a bit annoyed he hadn’t told her about this beforehand. But she put it from her mind and focused on business.
“You know casinos. This is good,” Chase said, speaking as quickly as she thought, searching for ideas. “We need to learn about the murdered patron. The Rossi patron. But nobody here is talking. They’re focusing on the games, or uh, romance.” That was a bit too kind a word for it. “The guests are going to be a bust. But the staff might know something about it.”
“They won’t talk about their employers on the floor,” The Muscle Wizaard said. “If this casino is like the ones I’ve known, they’ll have a different floor where the staff does all the work. All sorts of people, doing things from cooking to laundry to moving supplies and money around. They’ll talk and gossip, in their own lounges and halls that customers never see.”
Chase considered. “Every person I’ve seen working here has been human.”
“They’ll have a few other types working behind the scenes, where nobody sees them,” The Muscle Wizaard said. “A lot of times humans don’t get along with other races. So the casinos play it safe to avoid losing business. It’s ridiculous, but it’s business to them.”
“Still, my odds of sneaking back there are bad. You’d be a better choice to infiltrate... except you’re kind of distinctive.”
“I thought halvens were good at sneaking?” he frowned.
“The best way to sneak is to look like you should be there in the first place. And no,” Chase said, as her mind caught up with her mouth, and she started to decipher the way she’d been watched over the last hour or so. “The more we wandered the hall, the more they looked at me. They think I’m the rich person slumming, and they have you pegged as a bodyguard. Here’s what we’ll do,” she decided. “I’ll go out there and start gambling. I’ll make a show of giving you my pack, and after a few rounds you’ll pull me aside, and whisper in my ear. I’ll get angry and send you off, and you’ll storm away. Then, you’ll try to slip into one of the staff hallways. Renny will help you with illusions if it’s tricky.”
“Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” Renny asked.
“I’ll be fine. Once I lose enough money, I’ll come back to the bar and nurse some wine for a while, or something. Maybe talk with one of those lonely looking men to see if I can get some useful gossip.”
“I’ve heard worse plans,” The Muscle Wizaard said. “It’ll be risky, but the worst they’ll do is throw me out if they catch me, I think. This doesn’t have the feel of some of the nastier places I’ve had to work.”
“If it does get bloody, Renny can help you escape. Either way, if you’re not back at the bar in a few hours we can meet at... at the leather shop where I bought my armor. Sound good?”
“It’s probably worth the risk.” The Muscle Wizaard nodded. “Are you ready to gamble?” The Muscle Wizaard asked.
“Time to lose some money,” Chase said, hiding a wince as she got up from the table.
It was a good plan.
It was a solid plan.
And it probably would have worked, except for one thing.
Five minutes later, Chase stood in front of the slot machine she’d chosen to lose a few coins in, eyes getting bigger and bigger as the bells blared and rang, and gold shot like a fountain from its coin dispenser.
LUCK+1
Chase licked her lips, remembering just how high her luck was, after sinking so many levels into Oracle and Grifter.
“Er,” the Muscle Wizaard said, taking her shoulder again. This time his grip was a bit less gentle, and she turned to see quite a few men in suits around her, looking from her to the pile of gold.
“Uh, hi!” Chase said, beaming. “Beginner’s luck, huh? Wow...”
CHAPTER 12: HIGH STAKES GAMBLER
The needle hurt like hell. Chase bit down on the leather of her gag and tried to ignore the pain in her arm.
“There’s no smoke,” her tormentor declared, and someone else grunted.
Then the blindfold was off her face, and Chase was staring up at a tall, middle-aged human in a white suit. He had a flat-brimmed hat on his head, scars on his right cheek, and blue eyes rendered large and outsized by a rimless set of spectacles.
“Hello?” Chase said. “You know, if this is what I’ve won I think I would have preferred to lose.”
A grunt from off to one side, and Chase turned, angling to see around the humans in the room, until she saw the Muscle Wizaard. He was restrained just as she was, bound to a chair by entirely too many chains, and thrashing about as a man in physician’s robes stuck something into his arm.
“No smoke,” the physician declared.
Then pieces clicked into place. “That’s a silver needle, isn’t it?” Chase asked.
A gloved hand caught her face, turned it up to stare into blue eyes behind glass. “Now
why would you ask that?”
“Because half this damn city has made me take a silver test whenever I visit their shops,” Chase said, staring back, trying not to flinch. But she could feel herself shake. This situation had gone poorly ever since they’d let the casino staff take them back into the secret parts of the casino, to talk with the man in charge. Someone had shouted “Stunning Blast,” and it had all gone downhill from there.
At least she thought it had. Her memory got a bit fuzzy after that... spell? Probably a spell, had gone off in her face.
She turned her head to the side, playing at being afraid to meet the stranger’s eyes... though it wasn’t play, not really. This was the smallest she’d ever felt since she left Bothernot. The most helpless.
But as she looked around, she noticed something interesting.
Her pack was lying in one corner.
And Renny wasn’t poking out of it any longer.
My hidden weapon.
Suddenly her chances of getting out of there were looking a lot better.
“What is the meaning of this?” The Muscle Wizaard barked.
“Calm down, Wizaard,” Chase said, turning a much-less-fearful face up to meet her silent captor. “They’re afraid, that’s all.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, as she met his stare, unyielding this time.
WILL+1
“You’re not wrong,” he spoke again, blinking first. “But we’re not afraid of you. Keep that in mind, young lady.” He turned away, whipping his coat back, and striking a match with hands so fast she barely saw them move. Then he was smoking a pipe, his back to her, looking out a long, wide window that angled crookedly.
Chase’s vantage point was bad, but she recognized part of a crowd, and the glint of metal machines. That’s the casino hall! We’re above it, looking down on it.
Which was bizarre. She was pretty sure she would have remembered seeing a window of this size from below. But then again, most of this place was based on misdirection, it could easily have been hidden. In any case, it was the least of her worries right now.
“Leave us,” the white-suited man said.
“Sir?” One of the black-suited staff replied, looking from the Muscle Wizaard to Chase.
“I can handle them. If it comes down to it. It won’t, will it?”
“Not if you untie us,” Chase told him.
The white suited man waved his pipe in a commanding gesture, and hands freed Chase and The Muscle Wizaard from their chains. Then the servants withdrew, one by one, closing a thick door behind them.
Now that the crowd was gone, the room stood revealed as an opulent office. A heavy mahogany desk filled the space before the window, and golden sculptures and lanterns dressed the walls. The tapestries and paintings in here were a touch more tasteful than the ones on the floor, and a shag carpet deep enough to go up to Chase’s ankles coated the floor.
Well, all except the spot where Chase and The Muscle Wizaard had been deposited. That spot had a cheap rug thrown over it, and Chase’s blood ran cold for a second. They did that so they wouldn’t stain the good carpet if they had to kill us.
Then her eyes lit on a small table in the corner. It was draped with gold cloth and held a pair of statuettes holding dice and cards. One was a friendly looking woman, juggling dice, with a set of very thin wires holding them up in the air. The other was a surly looking man slouching at a table, throwing a tiny set of cards down in disgust.
Chase recognized those figures. “That’s Rando and RNG, isn’t it? That’s a shrine to the gods of luck?”
“Yeah,” the white-suited man grunted. “Don’t touch it, please. They hate that.”
“Are you an Oracle, then?”
“Cleric. Which is one of the reasons why you’re here right now. They told me you were coming.”
“Perhaps you’d better tell us what this is all about,” The Muscle Wizaard said. “We certainly weren’t cheating, so this treatment is entirely uncalled for!”
The man turned to face them, his scars sliding into shadow as his hat brim blocked the light from the window. “When the next jackpot rings, the hour of your death is here, Enrico Rossi. That’s what they told me when I prayed for guidance.”
“Enrico...” Chase felt her eyes narrow. “You’re supposed to be dead!”
He spread his arms. “They tore me up pretty badly a couple of nights ago. I figured it was best to let them think I didn’t survive. I’ve been hiding out here ever since.”
“You faked your death?” The Muscle Wizaard asked. “But why?”
“One last con. For all the good it’s doing.” he shot a glare toward the shrine. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that there’s no fate but that I make. I can beat the odds. I was just a piddly archer, back when Dona Tarantino called in her favor and brought me along on a werewolf hunt. This time? They’re up against a full-fledged Gambler.” He turned toward them, his hand twisting again, and suddenly it was full of shiny-edged playing cards. Shiny silver-edged playing cards, Chase realized.
“We’re after the werewolves too,” Chase said, speaking quickly. “We can help you—”
“Maybe. Either way we’ll see. Here’s how this is going to go,” he said, making the cards vanish as quickly as they’d appeared. “Your winnings are in your pack. I threw in an extra ten percent to pay for your time. You’re going to spend an hour with me. At the end of the hour, if nothing happens, then you’ll walk out of here with your pack and complimentary buffet tickets. It’s all-you-can-eat, you halvens go nuts for that sort of thing.”
Chase blinked. She’d never been in a situation where she’d ever had all she could eat. Then she shook her head. “And if the werewolves come?”
The Gambler puffed on his pipe and smiled. “You’ll be in the same room as their target. I figure one way or another you’ll improve my odds.”
“I don’t work for free,” said the Muscle Wizaard. “And I certainly don’t appreciate this sort of treatment.”
“Check the pack,” Enrico said, pointing with his pipe stem. “And tell me if you don’t think that’s enough for your time.”
The large man did so, and his eyebrows climbed into his hair. Then they narrowed. “Wait. Where’s Ren—”
“You drew blood from us without our permission, though,” Chase said hastily. “Was that really necessary?”
“Oh yeah. A werewolf with enough cool can ignore the pain of touching silver. But silver that breaks skin? The blood gives it away. Learned that one when we hunted their matriarch, all those years back.” Enrico took a seat behind the desk, the leather of his massive chair creaking as he settled in.
But he was sharp, and his eyes lingered on the Muscle Wizaard. “Is something missing from your pack, sir? It’s possible it might have fallen out in the scuffle. I can have my people check.”
“It’s my pack, and I’ll see if anything’s missing later. Is the gold fair enough, Bastien?”
“It’s quite a bit more than I’ve seen in a long time. Very heavy, I’ll have to carry it for a bit, I think.”
“Then, since we’re here for an hour or so, maybe we could focus on more important matters?” She smiled at the not-so-dead Rossi patron. “We came here looking for clues, ways to investigate that would let us tell our employer where the werewolves might be. Can you help us with that?”
“I wish I could. My family is working like hell to track them down. Me? I’m what they want. I’m hiding, out of touch, minimizing contact with the rest of my family. But if Rando’s prophecy is true, then I’ve been wasting my time.” His lips thinned.
I wish I could size him up. But he’s used to dealing with Grifters. I’m not practiced enough with silent activations... ah, this is frustrating. I need to get better at this, get better at the subtle skills. She made a mental note to train up once she got out of here. She couldn’t risk conversational foresight, not even when his back was turned. He might catch her reflection in the window’s glass.
So inste
ad Chase asked, “Is there anything you can tell us? Anything that might help? Maybe something about the night of the attack?”
Enrico shrugged. “They evidently came right over the manor wall. I woke up when my door got broken down. We always sleep with it locked and that saved me. My lover... not so much. Poor Federico never had much luck.” His eyes went misty behind his glasses.
Chase sat there in shock for a second. That’s a man’s name! Did he just admit to... well, why not? He thinks he’s going to die, and who are we to use that to blackmail him? Nobody with any clout, and his family would wreck us. Besides, the man’s dead anyway.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” The Muscle Wizaard said.
The fact that he was a lover of men bothered Chase for a few seconds, before she squelched it. That’s a remnant of Bothernot. That’s a stupid way of thinking that foolish old halvens want me to think. Why should I let it bother me? I’m on an adventure, we’re hunting werewolves, and I just got more gold than I’ve ever dreamed of having.
A little more analysis, and her ears twitched as a new thought occurred to her. He let slip something like this to a pair of strangers. Maybe because we ARE strangers. We’re in a weird position. He wants to talk about this, but given the stigma of men loving men, he can’t talk about it to anyone that matters. We don’t matter, not really. We could be his confessors, in a way.
That gave her an in.
And... she did feel invested, a bit. He was hurting. She had acted as a confessor, as a safe secret keeper for those who felt as he did, before. This was the right thing to do, regardless of how much information she could milk out of him.
“Please. Tell me about Federico.” Chase said, after a bit.
Enrico considered her, puffing on his pipe, letting smoke curl up to the ceiling in patterns to join stains long set into the wood. Just as she thought she’d overplayed her hand, he nodded. “I met him here, actually. Back when we were just a single basement and some plank tables on boards. Back when the family’s fortunes were... not so good.” He tapped the pipe out into an ashtray. “We’d just lost management of the quartiere carne. We’d settled things with the Tarantino famigilia, but the long fight had exhausted our coffers. Which is why they gave me the go-ahead to set up this place. It actually has a name, you know? Not that most people actually find it out.”
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