The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  “Something I should be aware of, Ms Fuller?” She could hear the amusement. “Do tell, please.”

  That was when she went right out with it. “As you know, I’ve been keeping close to Mr Ritellia as per your orders. And recently I went with him to the hospital to visit someone injured in the recent incident when the ICCC building was attacked here on the island.” The building you blew up, she didn’t add. It wouldn’t add anything to the conversation other than the Mistress’ ire. “And there’s something that just keeps playing about in my head. Are you aware that Wade Wallerington pulled out of the tournament?”

  The Mistress bobbed her head briefly. “What of it?”

  Oh my… You really don’t see it? Are you really that clueless on this? Or is there something more to this? Alana wondered about it silently. Unisco did wear those devices that obscured their identities, maybe it left some sort of permanent psychological block on the mind of anyone who saw them.

  “Wade Wallerington says he was injured when the ICCC building was attacked. I’ve seen some of the footage of that attack. There was… Someone being chased and two chasing on dragons. Wade Wallerington owns several dragons. Someone got blasted at point blank range. His injuries match up with what you’d expect from that. Burns. Partial vision loss. I asked a doctor innocently, I managed to coax it out of him that the injuries were anomalous compared to the others injured in the incident. He put it down to bad luck.”

  The Mistress had stopped tapping her fingernails on the desk, she sat with her chin in her hands, deep in thought. For a full ten seconds she didn’t say anything, and Alana found herself curious as to what was going on inside that head.

  “Sometimes I find it hard to believe in luck,” she said. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

  As the words came out, Alana wondered if she’d just signed the death warrant of Wade Wallerington. If he was what she’d just voiced her suspicions as, the Mistress couldn’t let him live. It was unfortunate, but she’d made her choices and would have to live with them. That didn’t bother her as much as she thought it might. Killing Maddley and being ready to eliminate Ritellia if the order came, had changed things. She found herself wondering how things had gotten so far out of hand so quickly. This wasn’t what she’d signed up for. But it was to be what she’d ended up with. A means to an end. That was all it was.

  Paradise would come. And she would be there in the upper echelons of that paradise, if not a queen then perhaps a duchess or something similar. Everything would be worth it.

  It had to be.

  She assumed that would be the end of it, at least until the Mistress spoke again. “One more thing. My brother made contact. Well done, Ms Fuller. You make me very happy. Thank you. My eternal gratitude goes out to you.”

  The fourteenth day of Summerpeak.

  “I’m sorry,” Pete said. “Just explain this to me once more. I still can’t get my head around it.”

  “I’ve told you like five times now,” Scott replied, his temper rising. Okay, so it was hard to believe but that wasn’t the point. It was true, he’d experienced it for himself and if people couldn’t come to accept that, then there was something wrong with them. “It spoke to me. It called me bagmeat and ran off.”

  “I believe him,” Mia said. She was perched on one of the chairs, legs folded underneath her while she fiddled with her summoner. Pete rounded on her almost immediately, determined to call her on it. Inwardly, Scott blanched.

  “I’m sorry, you’re disregarding everything you’ve seen over the course of your life and just accepting his word on it? Really? Are you sure that’s the best idea?”

  “I also think it’s worth accepting sometimes things happen in life that are new,” Mia snapped. “I mean just because it hasn’t happened doesn’t mean it won’t. Are you really so confident we’ve seen every new thing this life has to offer?” She continued to stare at him until confident he wasn’t going to reply, then went back to fiddling with her summoner.

  “Forget the fact whether it spoke or not,” Scott said. “It’s not actually important right now. The important thing is capturing it. I need to do it. I really do. And given I tried once and it gave me the run-around, I need another way.”

  “Best way to trap ghosts is to use a particle barrier,” Pete said. “It stops them from, like you said, giving you the run-around. I mean I’ve never been a particular fan of using them to hunt spirits but if needs must, I’m sure we could rustle up one from somewhere.”

  “Yeah because particle barriers are really that common,” Mia offered. “They’re specialist equipment…”

  “They are but you can rig one up from other stuff,” Pete said. “I’ve been told.”

  “Can you rig one up from scratch?” Mia asked. Pete shook his head reluctantly. “Then why are you even bringing it up?”

  “Because there might be someone around here who can,” Pete retorted. “What are you even doing here anyway?”

  “Pete?!” Scott exclaimed. “No need, my man. No need. I’m taking any help I can get right now.”

  Besides, he wanted to add, she’s here because I want her to be here. He didn’t say it out loud. It brought up too many questions he didn’t want to answer yet. Not that he was ashamed there was something forming between him and Mia, he just wanted to enjoy that privacy while it was still something intimate to be celebrated. In time he’d be shouting it from the rooftops. Maybe when he won this entire thing. He had a chance now, he could feel it. He was getting closer. The third round was starting shortly, with Pete’s sister in the commencing bout. They all knew who they’d be facing now, it didn’t get any easier. In a way, it was why he wanted the ghost, he supposed. It’d be a powerfully addition to his squad. The way it had run rings around him and Palawi, if he could bring out its best, it’d make him harder to beat.

  Of course, even if he did manage to track it down before his bout with Weronika Saarth, there probably wouldn’t be any point in sending it straight into battle. Those who used untested spirits straight at the deep end did tend to regret it. It was a chance he just couldn’t afford to take.

  He was confident about it any way. He didn’t know much about Saarth. But rather her than Katherine Sommer, Pete’s opponent. He’d heard rumours about that woman, he’d seen her battle before and she was a merciless, Pete already looking worried. Scott knew he knew he had a tough fight ahead and while some part of him might be relishing it, he also knew Pete would have wanted someone easier.

  Hey, you need to beat the best sometime, buddy. Might as well be now. Going out now would hurt. Going out to the same opponent in later rounds would be even more painful.

  “Okay,” he said, suddenly startling himself out of his thoughts. “There has to be someone on this island who can rig together a particle barrier out of basic stuff. What say we go find them and ask them for their help? But on the sly, like. Because I don’t want this getting out. I don’t want someone else catching my spirit.”

  “It’s not your spirit until you claim it,” Pete said. “Remember that.”

  Scott felt a flush flare in his cheeks and he clenched his fists together, the action surprising him. That was a bit of an excessive involuntary reaction. He was right. It wasn’t his. He still needed to claim it. But… It felt like he was almost halfway there, was his in all but reality. He could still feel the traces of their connection, he could remember how it had spoken to him and there was a part of him that felt it no matter where he was.

  “Not yet,” he said softly. “But it will be, Pete. I promise you that.”

  The fifteenth day of Summerpeak.

  “And Theobald Jameson will be facing Sharon Arventino… Arventino… Arventino… Arventino…”

  That memory was going to haunt him, he knew it. The morning after the draw, he’d woken up with the words echoing through the mind. Sharon Arventino. Possibly the single toughest caller remaining in the competition since Wallerington had quit. Theo had snorted when he’d heard. So much
for being tough. He’d walked away when the going had gotten tough. It hadn’t sounded like his injuries were that bad.

  He hadn’t mentioned his thoughts to Anne. Not a chance that he was doing that. Not that he cared what she thought, of course. It just wasn’t relevant to any sort of interaction they’d had since then, and he wasn’t about to waste words on something that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that a tough opponent had been removed from the fields of play without him needing to face him. Because Anne Sullivan’s training or not, he doubted there’d have been much he could do to stop Wade should he come out in full force. In the five matches he’d won so far, Wade had been imperious, in a way, Theo felt it was a shame he wouldn’t be able to try his strength against him. Except he was also relieved that he wouldn’t have to.

  Besides he’d been training with Anne. And as sceptical as he’d been that it was a good idea, he had to admit it hadn’t been the worse one he’d agreed to. Anne was a deceptively skilful caller, she’d have to be given her history, already he’d agreed to visit her home town after the tournament to see her preside over one of the local competitions.

  Back when he’d been in the café having breakfast, she’d come over with that friend of hers and he’d been in a less than welcoming mood. Still she’d persisted, and he’d caught sight of her several times over the next days. He didn’t think she was stalking him. The way she moved, so graceful and delicate, he got the impression that he wouldn’t see her if she didn’t want him to. That thought was even more impressive when you considered she had such a distinctive appearance with her soft silvery hair.

  And then there’d been that one day that he’d turned, and she’d been there talking to Brendan King of all people and something had shifted in him. What they’d been talking about, he hadn’t been close enough to hear but it had looked a serious discussion. He’d waited until it was over, and they’d split, watched her come towards him. It felt like she had that uncanny ability to know who was in her surroundings, she’d homed straight in on him and given him a smile as he’d stood with hands in pockets feeling uncomfortable.

  “Theobald Jameson,” she’d said with a smile. “Hello.”

  He’d seen the twitch as he savagely corrected her, anger flooding him at the use of his full name. Nobody used his full name. He hated they used it on the draw for the competition, despite him insisting that they call him Theo. Theobald was the name his father had given him, and he despised it almost as much as he despised the man. He’d already changed his surname to break associations with him. Nothing to connect them now. “Don’t call me that!” he’d spat. “Theo, please. Just Theo. Nothing else.”

  When the shock had faded, he’d seen some trace of amusement on her face and if anything, it was quite soothing. When he reacted like that, people tended to avoid him, all part of the reason he did it. If he didn’t want to hear what people had to say, he didn’t listen to them. Period. Sometimes it was over before it even began.

  Was it a little stupid? Not at all. He didn’t think so. He only had so much time to become the best and he wasn’t going to waste it on niceties. That was for the weak. Those who wanted to be liked more than they wanted victory. He wasn’t one of them. Sure, there were those able to capture the hearts and minds of those around them, be adored and admired for not only being strong but for being a bleeding heart as well. Yet he’d noticed something about them. They were growing increasingly few. You could be one or the other, he honestly felt, and he wasn’t going to waste time on being liked. After all this wasn’t a popularity contest. It was a series of brutal battles and you couldn’t waste time with pathetic emotions like desire to be popular.

  His actions would bring him admiration.

  It wasn’t surprising Anne seemed to disagree with his outlook. A lot did, not understanding victory took sacrifice. She said she respected his single-minded desire and sheer stubbornness. Those first few training sessions had brought amusement more than anything else. He hadn’t seen the point, hadn’t wanted to see what she was on about. She had a pedigree as a caller, he could respect that, but what she was getting at here escaped him.

  He didn’t even know what had possessed him to agree with doing it. He’d done fine on his own for so long and why he should need it now… Except he’d remembered the bout with Nick Roper and it had put him into a cold sweat. He wasn’t ready for the best of the best. They could still beat him through a mix of sheer power and experience, tactics and willpower, all of which he could possess in theory but wasn’t there yet.

  His strategy had always been strong attack, strong defence, press the psychological advantage. Intimidate the opponent. He’d always considered it a good starting point, but Anne had put it to him another way. What happened when their defence was stronger than your attack? Their power greater than your ability to resist it? What happened when they weren’t intimidated by you? Only then did he start to understand the thinking behind what she was getting at. Sometimes, you need an alternative plan in case things weren’t going your way. And despite her slight figure and her youthful face, he got the impression she really wasn’t intimidated by his attempts to psych her out, he’d need to adapt to bring her down.

  Those first few battles with her, he’d played his usual strategy and he’d won. Then she’d slowly stepped up her game, adapted her own style each time so previous engagements were useless to draw upon. If he pushed, she pulled back, bringing him up short. If he hung back, she did the same, drawing on his dislike of defensive tactics. If he set up to counter attack, she didn’t give him the opportunities to hit back.

  The point, she’d told him, was that following the same strategy every time makes you predictable. And when you’re predictable, you’re easy to beat. She’d pointed out some of the other callers in the tournament and showed despite their lack of power compared to him, their unpredictability and guile made them a lot more formidable than they first appeared.

  Training with her, he had to admit, was dare he say, fun. She’d come out of nowhere and throw him a challenge, maybe put it in the form of a contest or a bet like she had the last time. Take me to dinner. He’d been amused by that. He’d had to do it, of course. She’d found the key to bringing down Atlas once again and that didn’t annoy him as it might have done. When he’d realised that, he’d almost felt physically ill with himself. What effect was she having on him? Before he would have been furious with a loss and now he was accepting it.

  Unsurprisingly she’d had words for that. Maturing. Sometimes, Anne had said, you need to accept things, that sometimes you can’t do everything. Sometimes you need to accept the loss wasn’t anything to do with you, the opponent was just that little bit better. It doesn’t do you down any less, use it as a spur to work harder in the future. Make sure it doesn’t happen again. Only if you refuse to learn from it, should you be angry and only with yourself.

  He didn’t want to take her to dinner. Theo didn’t know what she wanted out of him or why she insisted on helping. He hadn’t asked, she’d volunteered, and he’d often wondered about her intentions Either way, be they noble or selfish, she was the closest thing he’d had to a friend for a while. Someone he had a connection with.

  Normally he saw people in three ways. Potential rivals. Actual rivals. Everyone else. He needed a fourth space for her. Maybe she had a crush on him, that thought alone enough to make him feel acutely uncomfortable. He hadn’t spent much time alone with the opposite sex and in a way, he didn’t see Anne that way. He’d have beaten himself up a few weeks ago for even thinking something like this, but he didn’t want to ruin what had emerged between the two of them. Friendship. That word wouldn’t ever have entered his vocabulary then, yet it had snuck into his life without his permission, leaving him powerless to do anything about it.

  Theo had already made his decision though. A deal was a deal; his father had always drilled that into him. You make it, you follow through. He’d take her to dinner following his bout with Sharon Arventino. He’d honour th
e arrangement they’d had. He owed her that much. They’d continue to do what they did, then they’d see what the future held for them.

  The tests had been done and he’d felt their scepticism. He’d heard them tell him there was nothing wrong with him, but he’d insisted they go deeper, that they check his bloodwork again. They didn’t know what they were looking for, even if they did there was a chance they might not be able to heal him, but he’d done his best to make damn sure that they did everything they could. Their employer had certainly a big enough carrot dangled in front of her. It hadn’t taken long for him to work out her angle. She wanted what she wanted, he could help her with that if she helped him. It was a risky move, granted, he could still sense just about enough of her intentions to know serving her up the sort of power she sought would likely be a bad thing. What she would do with it would fail to benefit people beyond her and those she surrounded herself with. She would be the worst type of ruler should that day arrive; she would make Vazaran despot dictators seem like kind thoughtful men. She preached paradise but what she promised was domination. He got the impression it wouldn’t take long for the balance to tip from the benevolence she spoke to the cruelty she craved.

  Unfortunately, Wim Carson couldn’t bring himself to care. That was not part of his thinking process now. He had too many problems of his own to worry about what she might do. It was possible he may have misjudged her. He’d been faulting his own judgement for far too long, he couldn’t keep doing it. And he had his own agenda to pursue.