The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  “Please, voice it,” Arnholt said. “We’re all ears.”

  “I think the Chief was right about there being something suspicious about this whole thing. I can’t help but think there’s a few isolated incidents too many here, rather there’s got to be a bigger picture. Harvey Rocastle, Maxwell Brudel, Jeremiah Blut, the triplets and their cohorts, hells even Carcaradis Island itself being used to hold the tournament. What’s the connection here?”

  For a moment the room went silent and then Lysa spoke up. “Credits?”

  “It’s always about credits,” Okocha continued. “Just hear me out. Okay, someone unknown paid Harvey Rocastle to do his little scouting mission here. Just as someone paid Max Brudel’s bail. Just as someone’s been paying Jeremiah Blut a small fortune for the last several years and even hired a gang of mercenaries who are notoriously not cheap. You hire the Suns in Vazara if you want it done right.”

  “I don’t know,” Nick said. “Agent Wilsin and I went up against those guys in the sewers, I don’t think they were the Suns’ best. We took them down too easily. I know we got the drop on them but still!”

  “That’s irrelevant. Maybe you’re just that good,” Okocha said dryly. Nick smirked at that and rested both hands on the table as if to say he wasn’t disagreeing. “My point is, to do this, you need an absolute fortune in credits. You need credits to burn. None of us could do it, just as an example. So, we’re looking at who might be able to afford it all.”

  “Well that narrows the list of suspects down from billions to thousands,” Wade said thoughtfully, furrowing his brow for a moment as he mulled it over. “Unless…”

  “Reims,” Leclerc said.

  “Reims,” Okocha repeated. “If you’ve sunk a small fortune into this island to not only hold a prestigious tournament here but also build an exclusive resort, you can probably stretch a bit more.”

  “And Reims do occasionally do sponsorships of callers,” Mel Harper offered. “So, maybe they did hire Rocastle.”

  “I’m certain they didn’t hire him to run off with Mia Arnholt though,” Fagan said. “It’s possible they brought him in to do the job and didn’t realise he was nuts. It’s not the first time that’s happened.

  “Agent Okocha, it’s a neat theory,” Arnholt said. “Unfortunately, you have a lot of conjecture and not much proof.”

  “I said it was a theory,” Okocha said defensively. “I think it’d make a lot of sense. But I fully agree you’re right. Until we have more to go on…”

  “Can you point out the flaws in your argument?” Brendan asked.

  It wasn’t a criticism, nobody thought as such. Unisco agents were often encouraged to consider all points of view regarding a theory, not to fixate on one outcome. Doing so was dangerous, it led to possible evidence being passed over because it didn’t fit.

  Okocha nodded. “I can. I mean, as the director said, it’s a neat theory. But I just can’t see it being likely. I mean Reims are a big company and there’s always that hint of shadiness about their business practices like any other massive corporation but it’s a bit of a step up going from competitive rivalry to outright murder. They have the resources but no motive. And what resources they are. Do they really need to do this? I don’t know, I’m not privy to the way their CEO’s mind works. Or maybe she doesn’t know anything about it. That weather statue or whatever the hells it is of Kalqus isn’t exactly practical.”

  “Unless you know how to use it,” Harper offered. “Which we almost certainly don’t. I’d suggest smashing the whole thing up if y’know, it wasn’t sacrilegious.”

  “Can’t do that,” Aldiss said. “It’s evidence.”

  “Any other theories about what’s going on?” Arnholt asked. “Or are we going to move past the speculation stage.”

  “Like I said,” Okocha said. “It was just a thought.”

  “I liked it,” Anne smiled at him. “I mean, saying they went through the process of moving the natives off the island and then them being found dead instead, there’s definitely something suspicious there. If Reims weren’t directly responsible for it, I think they had to have at least being complicit. I can see the Suns being hired for something like that.”

  “It’s a pretty big target,” Derenko said. “You don’t go after something like Reims unless you have a rock-solid case. You don’t aim unless you’re sure you can kill them. If we’re wrong, the fallout could be catastrophic.”

  “That is true,” Noorland said. “I think we should wait. Maybe it’ll all blow over. Maybe Agent Okocha is wrong and these are just isolated incidents. Wouldn’t that be nice? It’d make our job so much easier.”

  “We don’t do easy,” Pree said as the polite laughter died down. “But I agree with Agent Derenko. We can’t do anything until we know more.”

  “Exactly!” Arnholt replied. “Hence I made the choice not to inform the press of our discovery of the natives until after the tournament has concluded.”

  “Yeah, I wondered why I’d not seen anything about it in the media,” Nick said. “Half expected Kate Kinsella to start blaming Ritellia.” That brought a few chuckles.

  “If they should start their own investigation at this point, it might cause untold disruption to the tournament,” Arnholt continued. “And Reims made an unholy amount of effort to ensure that it took place here. I for one would like to know why. I’ll do it first thing the moment the tournament concludes.”

  He didn’t sound like he was justifying it. Just stating the facts. “And speaking of the tournament.” He rose to his feet. “Congratulations Agents Roper, Wallerington, Wilsin and Montgomery for getting to the knockout rounds. I speak for all of us here when I say, do us proud in the next matches.”

  Nick had his own plans, yet he found himself thinking back to the previous night as he wandered back into the plaza, hands in the pockets of his jeans. Targeting the daughter of a city champion like Arnholt was a stupid thing to do, it’d bring a massive amount of heat down on you. And that was even before you brought the whole director of Unisco variable into the equation. Combine the two and you’d have to be suicidal.

  Arnholt likely wouldn’t even have to ask. He was liked well enough by those who worked under him, a rare attribute to one so high, there would be volunteers to take his revenge by proxy if the need arose. He wouldn’t abuse his power by openly asking, but justice would be done. Just as it had been by Wade.

  That Rocastle fellow wasn’t going to be seeing the light of day any time soon. Probably for the best, Nick had seen him being carted away, just as he’d seen the daughter in the arms of that kid, Scott Taylor before it all kicked off, looking cosy with each other. Interesting. Idly he wondered how many guys Arnholt had made the attempt to run off his daughter in the past. Probably a few. He was an intimidating man, even before you knew he carried a blaster.

  Nick glanced at the time, cursed silently. The draw for the second round of the tournament was today and he needed to be there. Scratch that. He wanted to be there.

  He hadn’t missed much as he jogged into the stadium, uncomfortable memories of that first ever draw to take place at this competition coming back to him. They’d all been cramped down onto the battlefield, two hundred of them. How had they been whittled down to fifty so quickly, even with still a fair few more rounds to go yet? That was the key to winning though, surviving the attrition getting through the competition bore down on you. Unlike the draw for the group stage which had held scant attention to the competitors and observers alike, the atmosphere was buzzing here. Everyone, it seemed, was interested in what would come next.

  Because after all, it wasn’t just about winning here, it was about winning well. Scrape through, perform badly in your victory and you risked being eliminated. It was the time for the controversial ‘worst winner walks’ round, something participants in the competition absolutely despised. Because after all, every bout was a gamble your strategies might not come off on the day. Where Sharon was, he didn’t know, but she had to be
in here somewhere. He’d not told her where he’d been, Unisco had come first once again, and that was something he found himself regretting. He’d meet up with her afterwards. Maybe slip out when his name came up and see if he could procure some flowers for her. Pre-empt her in case she got snippy.

  Still, he settled in his seat and wondered what awaited. After all, he’d won his group, so in theory should be entitled to an easier draw than if he’d finished second. All the winners of the groups would be put in one pot, all the runners up would be put in another and they’d be drawn to be pitted against each other. Strange the competitors and the fans had shown up for it but most of the dignitaries who had been there for the opening ceremony weren’t.

  Ronald Ritellia hadn’t even shown up, sending his aide Thomas ‘Falcon’ Jerome. Nick had to concede that where nicknames went, it wasn’t a bad one. He’d gotten it from being the fastest to the political kill, a dangerous man to have fixated upon you but ultimately one who you wouldn’t trust to be in the top job. Jerome often gave off the impression he’d sell his entire family into slavery if there were a few more credits on the line for him.

  He’d been assured by Sharon that the man was dangerously good looking, he exuded a sense of danger that made him exotic and mysterious. Idly he found himself wondering once more what she’d say if she found out his history with Unisco, proving he was even more dangerous. He had a higher body count for one thing, even before that business with Jeremiah Blut and the Suns in the sewers. Even so, Nick had to concede he’d seen killers who looked less like killers than Jerome did.

  Picking up a microphone when everyone was settled, Jerome cleared his throat and began to speak. “Well hello there everyone. Lovely, lovely turnout. All to see me? You know how to touch my heart. Just as how this tournament is touching our imaginations. So far, we’ve seen some impressive stuff, and you know what? We’re not stopping there! Hells no, we’re taking what you’ve seen so far and we’re pushing it some more. It’s all down to our fifty combatants left to make this the best damn tournament we’ve ever seen. And as fifty becomes twenty-four, just remember. You’re just four matches from the final. You’re half way there. So, ladies and gentlemen honouring Carcaradis Island today, let me be the first to say, let’s get this show on the road!”

  Whatever the rumours about his personal life, he had a gift for whipping a crowd into a frenzy, Nick found himself applauding with the rest of them as Jerome reached over and thumped the button in front of him, the names appearing up on the screen above him to reveal the draw, the names matching up in a matter of seconds.

  Theobald Jameson vs Wim Antonio Caine.

  Katherine Sommer vs Matthew Arnholt.

  Sharon Arventino vs Darren Maddley.

  Wade Wallerington vs Mark Meadow.

  Elaine Harper vs Peter Jacobs.

  Steven Silver vs Scott Taylor.

  Nicholas Roper vs Glenn Wright.

  Harry Devine vs Meadow Laine.

  David Wilsin vs Iain Monks-Cooper

  Vincent Fratelli vs Reginald Tendolini.

  Jack Hawley vs Lysa Montgomery.

  Crystal Clear vs Mary Dale.

  Carlo Tyson vs Blake Reinhardt.

  Tengo Teevar vs John Sunday.

  Kelly Burgess vs Adebalo Drogba.

  Connor Caldwell vs Nwando Eliki

  Lucy Tait vs Gareth Smith.

  Orion Lamb vs Richard Bream.

  Caan Wickard vs Yvette Martial.

  Uri Stavale vs Carly Symonds.

  Timothy Jean vs Stefan Smiles.

  Rei Renderson vs Jane Ryan.

  Weronika Saarth vs Daniel Roberts.

  Kayleigh Chambers vs Willa Carpenter.

  Simon Shaw vs Edyta Bryckov.

  His first reaction was one of interest as he tried to think if he’d ever heard or fought Glenn Wright before. If he had, it wasn’t coming to him. Far more interesting was Sharon’s bout with Darren Maddley. Not for the first time in his life, Nick found himself struck by how often life felt the urge to have a laugh at someone else’s expense.

  “Happy with that?”

  “I think so,” Nick said as he looked at her. Sharon looked decidedly calm about what had just happened on screen, like she didn’t have a care in the kingdoms. “I mean, I don’t know too much about him, so I guess that means he’s punching above his weight. If he was that good, I think I’d have probably registered him before now. You?”

  “No, I never heard of Glenn Wright before this tournament. Or my guy, really. Have you?”

  “Maddening Maddley? Yeah, I know of him. And you should too, if I’m honest.” Nick’s expression said nothing else.

  Sharon shrugged at that. “Should I? I mean, I’ve met a lot of people in my life. That name sounds familiar, I mean a lot do after a while. Help me out here, will you?”

  “Darren Maddley. Son of Luke.”

  She knew then. “Luke Maddley? Wow.” Sharon didn’t quite know what to say. There was a name for the past, not one that offered up some pleasant memories. “I haven’t thought about him for a while.”

  “I hadn’t either. Not until… Well until I heard about Maddley the younger. He has some talent.”

  “And you already gave him a cute nickname?”

  “Well, he left an impression. You probably knew his father better than I did.”

  “You could say.” She didn’t have anything more to add. Although the memories hadn’t involved her personally, it didn’t make them any less painful. Sometimes stuff was just tragic and there was no getting away from it. He wasn’t going to let it go though.

  “I mean I remember he had that spell in the Serran Knights, he was strong. The videos are still in the system.”

  “Doesn’t matter how strong you are, there’s still the chance that you can crack. If you crack…”

  “You can break,” Nick finished. “And if you break, you can’t always be put back together again.”

  The tale of Luke Maddley had been one used as a cautionary for aspiring spirit callers over the years. The story of how such a steep rise can lead to a fall, the principle of what goes up will inevitably come down. The faster the rise, the faster the fall. He’d risen in Serran, gotten his summoner at the age of fifteen, having read everything he could on the subject theory, gathered every shred of knowledge he could accumulate and sought to use it. He’d studied the mechanics, he’d analysed the best way to tailor each spirit to its maximum based on the efforts of previous account he’d read, because he believed knowledge was power.

  The story went that as soon as he got out into the real world, he fell flat on his face. His approach, fine in theory, either hadn’t worked or needed tuning but something hadn’t been right. Maybe he’d been too caught up on the theories and the strategy to be able to focus on what was happening on the battlefield, more likely he was suffering from the lack of practice all fresh callers find themselves afflicted with. Either way, the young Maddley had found himself struggling to score victories not just in tournaments but in practice bouts on the road. Whatever he was going through with his spirits, whatever his strategies were, however he was building himself for the future, it just wasn’t happening. It was all a matter of public record, according to his posthumously produced biography and tournament records.

  The actual truth behind what happened next had long been disputed and debated, but what wasn’t up for discussion was he’d gotten that first win. He hadn’t just defeated the favourite in the tournament in Peruz, he’d absolutely destroyed him. The crowd had been silenced, shocked this stranger who hadn’t made it past the early rounds in any of his previous tournaments had suddenly stormed it. And although it might have only been the start, Luke Maddley had no intention of it being a fluke. Suddenly he was flush with success.

  He’d rose like a phoenix in the peak of life, seemingly unbeatable to all but the very best and even then, victories were often never decisive against him. He’d gone from a nobody to a major player in a matter of months. He’d married a for
mer Ms Premesoir and fathered a child with her, young Darren. He’d amassed a fortune, become a champion and a pundit, he’d even set up several academies to see that underprivileged callers could get the best advice and help available to start them on their journey without being beholden to sponsors. In just a few short years, he’d reached the top and he looked like he’d enjoyed every minute of it.

  He’d stayed there until that fateful day when Sharon Arventino had entered his life in a fight to decide the grand champion of Serran. Maddley had been the holder, Sharon had been the challenger, not quite a novice but neither the spirit caller she would become years later. Nobody in the stadium that night would ever forget what had happened, many who hadn’t been there made a habit of viewing the match footage once every few months. Some enjoyed seeing the spectacle of it for their amusement. Others just used it as a reminder of how quickly things could change if they weren’t careful.

  Maddley had gone out, done exactly as he had done in many of his previous bouts, same tactics that had served him so well over the past decade…

  And he’d bombed spectacularly. Sharon had outmanoeuvred him at every turn, hadn’t just beaten him, she’d annihilated him in crushing fashion, he’d barely managed to land a hit on her. Maddley had been so shocked he hadn’t been able to speak in full coherent sentences when talking to the press afterwards. Still, he’d had ten years of prime experience behind him and everyone had conceded that nobody was perfect forever. He’d get over it, put it behind him and move on.

  Except he hadn’t. In his next bout, he’d been smashed again. And again. And again. Many experts had theorised as to why this had been the case. Some had stated their opinion he’d gone stale, everyone had figured him out, he was too set in his ways to change, to adapt. Others said his nerve had gone with the first beating, his confidence shattered beyond repair. A third train of opinion had said that surely, he’d get it right again sooner or later and once again the five kingdoms would see the manic genius of Luke Maddley.

  In the end, nobody had been proven right. With depression overtaking him at his sudden failures, divorce looming over the failure of his marriage, the failure of his school and the shrinking of his fortune, Maddley had taken the easy way out. They’d found him in his office at the school, a blaster in his mouth and a new coat of paint needed for the ceiling.