The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  “Do I have to tell you how under arrest you actually are?” the man asked, though there was no trace of humour in his voice. More exasperation. “I was having a nice time in there, instead I’m chasing you.”

  Funny. It appeared the muffler he wore to disguise his features also did a fair job of masking his voice. It sounded harsh, fake and way too deep. No way of telling who it was beneath that. He didn’t care, he just wanted an out.

  “Would it help if I said I was sorry?” he asked, tensing his muscles beneath him. Half a chance. It was better than nothing. If he could get past him, if he could get through the door, he might be able to get away. If he could get through it, he could blockade it, leave him trapped and…

  And then what?

  Still, better a chance of freedom. Hide! It’d be his only chance. Deep breath, he tried to rise to his feet only for the faceless man to react faster, plant his shoe into his chest with a violent motion, pushing him back to the ground. He went skidding backwards, several feet across the floor until he came to rest in an untidy heap in front of a rowing machine. Pain shot up through him in a dozen different places, he was certain nothing was broken but it was hard to be sure.

  “It wouldn’t. You’re trapped. There’s nowhere to go.”

  Not true. There’s always a way out. And with each chance losing weight quicker than the last, Max took a deep breath and yanked his summoner out of his pocket, suddenly desperate.

  “Oh, now you’re just being ridiculous,” the faceless man said as the sandhound materialised in front of him. It was an impressive specimen; sandhounds were native to northern Vazara, great chubby dogs with loose skin flaps all over, like they’d lost a lot of weight. Their faces had all been squashed in, bar their pointed noses which looked strangely awkward against the mess the rest of their visages offered. It stood on four giant spade-like paws, each tipped with ten stubby claws. This one was covered in a fine sand coloured down for fur, a giant purple tongue hanging out of its mouth. It didn’t look particularly dangerous.

  At least, not in the way that the spirit summoned by the faceless man looked dangerous. This one looked like an unholy blend between cat and lizard, four sprawled legs sticking out the sides of a body sporadically splashed with grey scales and mottled black and white fur. Twenty large spines rose up from its back, while the face was hammerhead shaped, a giant mouth lined with inch-long teeth and filled with a forked tongue. The eyes were a jaundiced yellow, at the other end its tail listlessly swept back and forth like a whip. Claws clicked across the lacquered floor as it paced back and forth, studying the sandhound.

  Max hadn’t seen one in the flesh before, but vaguely recalled it was called a veek. He gave the command and Uche charged across the floor, a frontal attack. The veek extended its claws and did the same, lunging viciously towards the sandhound with murder in its eyes. They collided, Uche’s bulk giving him the advantage in the smash. He had to weigh more, Max reckoned, he needed to use that to their advantage.

  Because he’d need to be lucky. Veek were not a common sight. To trap one, the faceless man must have a fair degree of talent. He couldn’t hope to outfight him for long. Somehow, he needed to just create an opening, all while the veek was starting to rake claws through Uche’s skin, the sandhound howling in pain as the veek continued to slash away, scrabbling clumsily up onto his back and digging into his neck. He could see the veek was struggling to gain purchase though, the loose skin a hindrance to its efforts.

  “Come on,” he muttered. Uche heard the command, started to shake like he was wet. The veek, taken by surprise lost its footing and hit the floor hard. The claws hadn’t done too much damage despite Uche’s protests. Sandhound skin was slightly permeable at the best of times, almost resembled individual particles rather than one layer of skin, fur and muscle. It was how they’d been named. Uche lunged, try to take the veek while it was on its side, only to discover it faster than expected. The veek twisted in the air, raked the whip-like tail across Uche’s face. More specifically, the eyes. Max winced as he heard Uche’s horrified yelp, the paws came up and started to rub at the squashed face. Blood was running down the fur. It didn’t matter from a detached point of view. Any damage to spirits wasn’t permanent. They weren’t technically alive. They could fight until the damage was too great for them to continue and they entered a catatonic state which passed for death.

  His wasn’t a detached point of view. He’d come to care for Uche very much and seeing the stricken sandhound pawing at his mangled eyes, sad little whimpers coming from him was heart-breaking. For a moment, Uche gave it up, sniffed the air and lunged in his opponent’s direction. But for a sudden dodge, it might have made contact, the veek twisting out of range of sandhound jaws. Even blinded, Uche wasn’t giving up on him, was still fighting for him.

  Not for long. The veek came in from the side, raised a paw and struck Uche a vicious blow on the neck, a terrific crack echoing around the gym. It was probably not a move any wild veek would ever have used. Where the claws had done only minimal damage, they’d been retracted this time. Instead the blow had been intended to incapacitate without the need for breaking the skin. Uche stumbled, suddenly woozy, his neck at an odd angle. He looked in awful pain. His legs could barely hold him up.

  The second blow came on the other side, the veek darting too swiftly for the stumbling sandhound to react to. The sound of bone shattering trumped the previous crack and Uche went down in a broken heap.

  Max couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. Poor Uche. He brought the sandhound back to the container crystal, dropped to his knees.

  “I give up,” he said simply. It was a little redundant. The faceless man had him bang to rights. There wasn’t any way out. He’d played the game and he’d been beaten hopelessly. Plus, by the sounds of it, those who should have been keeping an eye out for people like him were on their way. He held up his wrists, a show of surrender. Not much else he could do but go quietly and hope they went easy on him.

  As the on-boat security stormed in, David Wilsin raised his own hands in a sign of surrender. Especially given they were armed, and he didn’t want to get accidentally shot. How good they were would be open to debate, but he wasn’t about to trust that they were all calm and restrained like he’d been when deciding not to shoot the fleeing thief in the back.

  He didn’t turn his muffler off, either. He wasn’t about to show his face to this lot, not with legendary Vazaran corruption. He saw at least one of them recoil as he turned towards them and hid a smirk. It didn’t take much hiding. He’d seen the pictures of what faces looked like under the effect of mufflers and he doubted they’d even be able to tell where his mouth was. It probably looked like a whirlwind about to vomit to them.

  “Easy, guys,” he said, keeping his voice calm. Losing his temper here wouldn’t help things. His blood was up after the encounter and it’d be all too easy to lose his cool. “I’m with Unisco, I’ll show you my badge if you’ll permit me. I’ve got your thief right here.”

  The man in the lead glanced at him, then at the guy on the ground and then nodded curtly. Wilsin brought his badge up, glad he’d taken the chance to retrieve the piece of bait from the trap he’d laid and held it towards them. Their squad commander, a thickset dark-skinned man probably in his forties and wearing it badly lowered his weapon. Nobody else did. Wilsin couldn’t avoid staring at the moustache. Last time he’d seen that size and with that much hair, it had tried stealing food from him.

  “Toss it over,” another of the guards said. Something tingled at the back of his neck, maybe a bug, maybe part of him complaining it was a bad idea.

  “I’ll meet you half way,” he offered, making to toss it on the ground between them. He ignored the feeling at the back of his mind. Not every Vazaran he met was a criminal. Or a terrorist. Or a thief. Just some of them. The same as everywhere else you went. He’d met plenty who were good people. Well one or two. Okay, he liked Okocha back at headquarters. And that was about the length
and breadth of his own personal encounters. “Biometric check?”

  He slid open the case, pushed his thumb across the middle of the emblem and waited. He couldn’t see it, he knew the badge was lighting up, the circuits inside examining the print he’d just submitted. No better way to prove who he really was. Fool proof. Within seconds, it would prove he was who he said he was.

  “The bearer of this United International Spiritual Control Organisation official identification is authorised to carry out all duties considered part of the remit of the organisation under the Unifications Act. All assistance should be rendered wherever possible by the request and express approval of the Senate of the Five Kingdoms.”

  And relax. He let his breath escape him in one long exhalation as they lowered their weapons. One potentially tricky obstacle dealt with. He put his badge away and tucked his fingers in the loops of his waistband.

  “Sorry to crash in on your parade like this, boys,” he said to the leader of the patrol. He couldn’t help but notice the man looked a little disgruntled by the way the whole thing had gone down. Open hostility had been replaced by something a little harder to read but something in the way he stood suggested disquiet. It wouldn’t be the first-time local enforcement had gotten upset with Unisco for barging in on their duty. “If you want, I was never here. All credit to you and your men for apprehending this man. I don’t want the publicity.” He applauded them, the sound a little hollow in the empty gym. “Bravo for our brave on-board ship security. I feel safer travelling with this company.”

  The leader of the security team broke into a grin suddenly, his teeth yellow and smoke stained beneath that giant amount of lip hair. He holstered his weapon and approached Wilsin. Close enough for him to read the name on his badge. Everardo Ekili. Chief.

  “You’re good,” he said, his language better than broken but not quite as good as fixed. In the absence of Wilsin knowing fluent Vazaran, it’d have to do. Unisco agents were encouraged to be fluent in at least two of the native languages of the five kingdoms as well as the shared language but Vazaran wasn’t one of Wilsin’s. “You go to Quin-C, yes?”

  “I may be. I may not be,” Wilsin said. “Maybe I was just in the right place. And I didn’t want to take the chance he’d get away.”

  Ekili nodded, before offering his hand. “Good luck in the future. We’ll not forget this. Hey, you got any jobs going at Unisco?”

  At that, Wilsin had to grin. The muffler hid it though; he wasn’t worried about any trace of his reaction showing. Local law enforcement always wanted to know that. Everyone wanted the glamour of Unisco work. “Hey, we always need good people in tricky places. I could put in a good word for you, Chief Ekili.”

  He glanced down at the thief, paused. That kid who’d alerted them all about being robbed…

  “I need a favour,” he said. “One of the victims. I know them a little. Mind if I give them their stolen stuff back?”

  Ekili hesitated. Wilsin removed his hands from their position in his belt loops. “I’ll put in a really good word for you. It means something.”

  It really meant nothing but that was the trick. Everyone on the outside thought that Unisco work was running around shooting bad guys and bedding beautiful women. The truth wasn’t quite as glamorous. The one lesson he’d learned a very long time ago… Never underestimate the power of negotiation. Give a little, get a little.

  Matt was raging still at the theft, complaining to anyone who’d listen. Mia on the other hand was sitting tight lipped and silent next to him, both hands out on the table in front of her. All until a vaguely familiar face broke from the crowd, stood across the table from them. Matt recognised him. After all, David Wilsin was one of those callers probably famous enough to be recognised, if not perhaps mobbed in the street.

  “Should have just stayed where I was!” he said angrily. “I mean why do they have to transport us over there by ship anyway? I mean surely there’s enough aeroships in the kingdoms to take us there. All the credits they make off this thing and we’re being robbed on our ship! What the hells are they playing at?!”

  He looked like he expected an answer from Wilsin who shrugged politely and dropped Mia’s purse on the table. Her eyes lit up at that.

  “Found it outside,” he said. “Looks like he dropped it on the way out. Good fortune, huh?”

  He got the impression she wasn’t usually shocked into speechlessness. He watched her go red and stammered out some thanks, grateful surprise apparent in her face.

  “And as for you,” he said, looking over at her brother. He held up the pack of empty container crystals that had been stolen from him. Not cheap enough to be written off, not expensive enough that they couldn’t be replaced; he saw the grin on his face.

  Wilsin tossed the crystals back to the kid… He wasn’t a kid. Maybe ten years younger than him. Probably going to be one of the youngest here. His sister was very cute. Old enough for him to envisage bad thoughts about, young enough for him to feel guilty about it.

  “You two…” he said. “You’re Terry Arnholt’s kids, aren’t you?” They wore matching looks of surprise at his words.

  “You know our dad?” Mia asked, surprised. She then blushed as if to say, duh. A lot of people knew who their dad was. But, Wilsin quickly asked himself, how many have ever seen that family photo he keeps in his office? Probably less.

  “Yeah, in passing,” he admitted. “I try to get out and battle him once or twice a year. Skilled opponent. Glad they passed that ruling that standing champions weren’t eligible to enter here. He always gives me a fight.”

  “He’s the toughest,” Matt said proudly. “The strongest there is. I’ve never seen him lose.”

  Wilsin shrugged. “Hey, everyone loses. The trick is not to let it get you down. You don’t really lose until you start to doubt yourself.”

  “Plus, he’s coming out here to cheer me on,” Matt continued, looking more than happy at that. At least for a movement before his smile dropped. “I hope I don’t let him down.”

  Mia snorted. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”

  “Thanks sis,” Matt said, shooting her a grin. She squeezed his shoulder.

  “At least, I hope you don’t,” she added. “It looks bad on our family name if you crash and burn here.”

  “How reassuring you are.” Matt rolled his eyes at her. “Like you’ve never made an idiot out of yourself.”

  “I haven’t. At least not in a way I haven’t been able to fix.”

  Despite it all, David Wilsin had to smile. Whatever happened at the Quin-C, however good or bad he did, at least he’d have this memory to fall back on. This one good deed. He’d brought the smiles back to the faces of his boss’ kids. That was worth quite a bit.

  “Thanks again, Mister Wilsin,” Matt said. It looked like he might be about to say more before the on-board announcement system rang out loud, drowning out anything he might have said.

  “Attention. We will be arriving at Carcaradis Island in fifteen minutes. Can all passengers please ensure they have all their possessions with them upon departure. On a further note, any passengers missing belongings, please report to security before leaving the ship. Numerous items have been recovered and will be returned to you upon departure. On behalf of the captain and crew of the Wave Crest, we thank you for your patronage and hope you’ll travel with Wave Crest United in the future.”

  “Guess they caught the guy,” Mia said. “Lucky huh? Thank you, sir.” She gave him a smile. “My life is in this purse. Literally.”

  Wilsin smiled. “No problem.” It’s what I’m here for. Guess we’ll be getting off soon. I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got some stuff to collect.” Yeah that felt the best way to get away. He didn’t want to outstay the welcome. “I’ll be seeing you around probably.”

  And with that, he was away through the crowd, falling deep into the company of his own thoughts.

  Chapter Ten. Sharon Arventino.

  -Welcome to Carcaradis Island
. Please make your way through our Arrivals area in an orderly fashion where our ICCC volunteers will make you feel welcome.

  -DO NOT BUY ANYTHING FROM ANYONE SELLING ANYTHING WITHOUT AN OFFICIAL ICCC SELLERS LICENCE! DOING SO MAY RESULT IN LEGAL ACTION.

  Sign at each of the five docks, seen upon leaving the arrival ships.

  The fourteenth day of Summerdawn.

  “I ever tell you how much I really hate boat travel?” Scott asked, trying to hurry down the gangway amidst the crowds doing their best to disembark in a quick and orderly fashion, as the tannoy had requested. To say it was a complete and abject failure was a lie, he’d been jostled and elbowed several times already. Boat staff stood around directing them, there were too many people around him and it was starting to get on his nerves.

  He found having thousands of people around you fine when they screamed your name, willing you to win the bout. They weren’t up in your face then. It wasn’t anywhere near as pleasant when you were stuck in the middle of them and everyone was doing their best to push you along, a thronging surge of a crowd that just wouldn’t let up, people behind him pushing the three of them along in one constant stop-start motion across the deck as they hurried to get off and onto the island proper.

  “Should have flown,” Pete muttered, jerking his head aside to avoid being caught by the elbow of a tall Burykian. “You know, if it wasn’t a complete rip-off. Suppose it’d have been worth it just to not hear you moan all way through the trip.”

  “Hey, I didn’t moan all the way. Just this part,” Scott said defensively. He was feeling the exertions of the trip; he wanted to be back on dry land, off the ocean. His stomach twisted from the constant dipping of the boat across the caress of the waves. “Now I know what a suitcase feels like.”