The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  “Yes, you.”

  “President Ritellia, do you personally accept any of the blame directed at you by some sections of both the Senate and the media?”

  He shook his head. “No. None of this is my responsibility. There was nothing I could have done to prevent it; I don’t lose sleep over it. Granted I feel sorrow for the loved ones of not just Sharon Arventino but also Darren Maddley and anyone else caught in the events transpiring here, but some people want to blame me for everything and that I find unacceptable.” He tried to avoid looking at Kinsella as he said it. He gestured for another. “Go on?”

  “Have you spoken to any of Ms Arventino’s close family since the death?”

  “Mr Roper does not desire to speak to me, I’ve been told. Nor does her brother or her mother nor her step-father. I have made efforts but been shot down. What more can a man do?”

  “Why would Mr Roper not wish to speak to you?”

  A tricky question, one he was prepared for with a quick deflection. “You’d have to ask him. I imagine that he’s going through some tough times and the shock of losing someone can be quite overwhelming. Doubtless he wishes to assign blame and instead of putting it where it is due, he apportions it to me. It’s a tactic slowly becoming more common in damaged societies as our lives go by. Sad but the only thing we can do is give him time and let him heal.” He could have gone on about the injustices of it all but chose not to. Better to keep it succinct, more quotable rather than airing his true grievances. Whine too much to these people and they’d go for the kill.

  “When do you see the tournament resuming?”

  “As you all know, the service for Ms Arventino is this afternoon, we hope to resume in two days’ time. A period of respect has been given, we can do no more. She’d want the show to go on and therefore that is what it will do.” If it was questions about the tournament, he’d field them all day. He preferred it to talking about the emotional stuff. Ritellia felt uncomfortable with the whole thing, still a little irked Arventino had had the temerity to be killed while the tournament was ongoing. It brought up all sorts of questions about the whole damned mess he’d rather not answer. Given another choice, he’d tell Reims and their bloody Coppinger woman to take a hike. They’d been nothing but trouble since it the start.

  Of course, if he’d done that, he wouldn’t have met the charming Ms Fuller. She smiled at him, her eyes neutral but her mouth warm and welcoming. She ran her tongue over the outline of her lips, he smiled back. Still Kate Kinsella tried to get his attention and just as pointedly he ignored her.

  “Yes?” He gestured for another question, saw Kinsella leaning forward to talk to the journalist in front of her, a younger redhead with nervous eyes. A protégé perhaps? Both irrelevant. The question came from a tall Vazaran, his hair in those ridiculous dreadlocks. No wonder people didn’t take his kingdom seriously with hairstyles like that. It was either those or big bloody beards that spoke of a serious lack of personal hygiene.

  “Mr President, is there going to be any extra security put on with the continuation of the tournament to ensure the safety of the competitors and the spectators? And the press?”

  Ritellia wasn’t alone in laughing at that last comment, it brought many cackling brays from the press pack as well. Privately he wouldn’t have been bothered if some lunatic chose to open fire in this room right now, provided he had the chance to get down behind his podium first. Still, he had an answer for this, a solution he was particularly proud of. “Yes. Yes, I have arranged for an extra security presence on the streets for the remaining weeks of the tournament. Thanks to a productive discussion with Mr Mazoud of the Vazaran Suns, there will be twenty of his best units keeping an eye out on safety concerns for the…”

  “You’re joking!” Kinsella said loudly. More laughter from the crowd, Ritellia frowned in her direction.

  “If that’s your question, Ms Kinsella, I’ll be happy to answer it when it’s your turn to ask one.” You know, first stop after never, he wanted to add but chose not to. He hoped she was suitably chastened by his reply. “But no, I’m not joking. As shown a week ago during the hostage event, our island police force is greatly inadequate for situations of that measure. With the support of the Vazaran Suns, plus the vaguely defined help from our friends at Unisco, I feel certain that we can get through the rest of it without any more trouble.”

  In the cabin, Okocha and Noorland looked at each other, hearing the smug condescension in Ritellia’s voice at the mention of their organisation, both rolling their eyes while across the room, Fagan let out a snort of derision. “Typical. I hate that fucking guy so much. Vague help… There’d have been way more people killed if it wasn’t for us.” Both he and Leclerc were getting ready to travel, Aldiss and Derenko doing the same in the other room. It had taken a few days longer than Okocha would have liked it to, but he’d gotten a hit on the location of Joseph Itandje and they were getting ready to move on it.

  “Can’t do much about the politicians,” Leclerc said. “I’ve seen things under stones preferable to Ritellia. But he’ll do anything to avoid taking the blame. Technically, none of this is his fault…”

  “Well it is,” Noorland said. “He saw the tournament was staged here. Sure, they say it’s an impartial vote, but you really think he doesn’t tell them where he would prefer it to be. And I’d imagine there’s a few lives made an unmitigated disaster because they didn’t comply with him.”

  “Any of you spoken to Nick since it happened?” Fagan asked, fastening a muffler to his belt.

  Okocha nodded sorrowfully. “I did.”

  “How’s he taking it?”

  “About as well as you’d expect him to be. Suffice to say not at all. Think he’s in denial.”

  “Got to feel sorry for the guy, no?” Leclerc mused. “He’d thought he’d got it all worked out and now this. One of those bad days I think. Out the tournament and out of love… No, that’s not right.”

  “He’ll still love her,” Noorland said. “It just... It’s never good when your loved ones die. You feel it, you know.”

  His voice took on a dull tone as he said it, as if remembering. “You’ll carry on living but it feels like your heart got ripped out your chest, like there’s a great hole where all the love and joy you once had should be. And everything you see, everything you do just makes it hurt more. Because there’s reminders everywhere.”

  “And it’s a bad way to die,” Okocha said. “I saw the autopsy reports. Massive trauma to the upper back, neck and head, they reckon it was a kinetic disperser. Those things are meant to be used against shields so have a guess what they did to her head, and then impaled on something that burned straight through her. They don’t know what did it. They’re genuinely stumped. Seen nothing like it. Wound instantly cauterized but there was no saving her.”

  “Poor bitch,” Fagan said. A sentiment most of them echoed with Ritellia’s press conference slowly reaching its conclusion on the screen in front of them

  “Funny though,” Okocha said. “I took Arnholt the report, was there when he had a read. There’s something going on there. There was a look on his face.”

  “Like what?” Noorland asked.

  Okocha shook his head. “Not sure. Like he recognised something. Anyway, not that it matters. No idea who did it, there’s no evidence of anyone going in or out of that room bar Arventino herself. The footage is too badly messed up to tell us anything.”

  “Messed up?” Leclerc asked. “How?”

  “Keeps going into static,” Okocha said. “It’s actually pretty incredible, each recording camera along the path from the elevator to her room goes down one after the other and starts to work again a few seconds later after the next one fails. And then does it again in reverse after we guess when the murder took place.”

  “Well that just sounds deliberate,” Noorland said. “Nothing you can do to repair it?”

  Okocha shook his head. “Nope. I already tried, I already failed.” He let out a sigh. A
dmitting you’d failed what should have been a simple task was never easy. He’d found the whole thing to be completely frustrating if he was honest. “Seriously! This was supposed to be a relaxing trip.” He hit his desk with his fist and bit back a yelp as pain shot through his hand.

  “Okay Will,” Noorland said. “Chill out. Told you before, it’s not your fault. If it’s beyond you, it’s beyond anyone.” He clapped Okocha on the shoulder. “And just for the record, ain’t no such thing as a relaxing trip. Not in this job. But I got to say, I didn’t think it’d be this bad.”

  “At least you’re missing out on this trip,” Fagan said. “The armpit of Vazara. Cubla Cezri. Worst hive of snakes you’ll ever find.”

  “I thought Tatmanbi was the armpit of Vazara?” Noorland asked. “Remember that place where all those kids got shot?”

  “Nobody ever remembers the good stuff about Tatmanbi,” Okocha said. “I spent some summers there as a kid, it’s not that bad a place. It just has a bad rep.”

  “Yeah child murder will do that for you,” Leclerc said serenely. “Is Cubla Cezri really as bad as my belligerent friend makes out?”

  “Probably worse,” Okocha deadpanned. “It’s not the sort of place you go unless you’re either hiding or hunting. Place is a mess, a warren of streets and alleys, it’s easy to get lost in there. And once you do, it’s hard to get out alive.”

  “Well, pack the Featherstones then?” Fagan grinned. “And a map.”

  “And don’t turn it into a war zone. Even the Sun’s don’t like going in unless they’ve got to,” Okocha added. “There’s more illegal ordnance lingering unchecked per head in there than the rest of the kingdom combined.”

  “Maybe just grenades then,” Fagan said. “Sounds like we don’t want to get made here too early.”

  Noorland shrugged. “Ah, maybe I’ll come along. Sounds like my sort of place. Besides, if it’s that dangerous, you need someone to stick with the ship. Make a quick getaway. It’s not like we’re brimming with pilots out here, eh?”

  “I don’t have a problem,” Leclerc said. “If you really want to come, more the merrier. Just approve it with someone first, yeah?”

  Noorland snorted. “Yeah, obviously.”

  Theo had mixed feelings about the whole thing as he stood in the afternoon sun, watching the procession move down the street. On the one hand, he genuinely didn’t have a bad word to say about Sharon Arventino. On the very few occasions he’d had any interaction with her, she’d always been nice to him, courteous and never condescending. He’d found that rare from someone in her position. Pretty and powerful. In short, an absolute prize of a woman. On the other hand, she’d been a powerful caller in her own right and there was a part of him left a little smug knowing he’d be the last person ever to have battled her competitively. And the last person to have beaten her. That sent a warm feeling through his stomach, would do no end of wonders for his own legend.

  He felt uncomfortable in the formal wear, the stiff black tunic and pants but showing respect meant doing things you didn’t like apparently. Beside him, Anne wore a simple black dress as they stood, a pair of faces amongst thousands as the coffin made its way down the streets of the resort, suspended on a quad of repulsorlifts. Black banners adorned the streets, hung from the awnings of shops and stalls and from the street lights. Just plain black with the occasional picture of Sharon’s face transposed onto them in liquid silver, some bearing the message for her to rest in peace and how she’d never be forgotten.

  Six walked with the coffin, guiding it on its way, Nick Roper and Peter Jacobs at the head, the other four Theo didn’t know but given one looked like an older version of Jacobs, he’d have hazarded a guess at him being his father. The silence was everywhere, occasionally broken by the squawking of gulls and ocean birds as they made their way towards what was to be her final resting place. Next to him, Anne’s eyes were red and blotchy as she hugged herself, her skin a little cool despite the afternoon sun.

  “It’s not fair,” she muttered. “So many assholes in the world and only the good die young.”

  “Life’s a bastard sometimes,” Theo agreed. Feeling monumentally awkward, he reached to put an arm around her. She was shaking slightly, he felt a faint twinge in his gut for her, an emotion he wasn’t entirely familiar with. It felt weird. Sorrow? Pity? Either of them could have felt like the right term “You just have to keep going despite it, I think.”

  She rested her head against his shoulder, he could smell lilac from her shampoo, a clean, fresh scent he found soothing. For a moment, he found it difficult to form the words. “Because… I don’t know. Something about taking a beating and getting back up. Never going to stay down. She wouldn’t have wanted that. You get what I’m saying.”

  “Yeah.” Anne sounded better as the words left her mouth. More than that, they sounded amused, just about avoiding any hint of disrespect considering where they were. “You really suck at the consolation; you know that?”

  Theo said nothing. Privately he agreed. Outwardly, he kept his face stoic, ran the tip of his finger through the locks of her hair. She let out a little sound of contentment, it almost startled him into ceasing. “Don’t,” she said. “It’s nice.”

  “Okay,” he replied, a little bemused. “I’m sorry. I try to avoid funerals. First one I ever been to.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Don’t like to think too much about the past. Or I didn’t used to. Too painful. I grieve in my own way.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Trying desperately not to,” he said, meaning every word. It was true. He’d never gone to his mother’s funeral, despite his father begging him. In a way, he regretted it the more he tried to avoid thinking back to it. He’d loved his mother just as much as he hated his bastard of a father. He’d missed out on the chance to say goodbye because he wanted to stick it to the old bastard. What the hells was wrong with him?

  Sure, it wouldn’t have been a turnout like this. Not for some woman whose name wasn’t anywhere near as well-known as her husband or, Divines willing, her son. But still, that was irrelevant. She was his mother and suddenly he found himself filled with regret. He’d been to the grave since but never stayed long, it made him feel things he was uncomfortable experiencing. “Some pain I just don’t need.”

  “You’re a complex individual,” Anne mused. “Stubborn too. Have you ever thought that the pain serves a necessary function? You can’t heal without it. Bottle it all up and you’ll suffer and burn far more over the course of time.”

  “I’ve done okay so far,” Theo said defiantly. She looked at him, gave him the fish-eyed look of disbelief. “And I’m not in pain over Arventino’s death. I didn’t know her that well.”

  “And you’re in denial.”

  “No, I am…” He almost fell into the trap, gave her a sarcastic grin. “So, if I deny that I’m in denial, doesn’t that make it true? Sort of?”

  “I think you’re thinking too hard about it,” Anne said. “All I’m saying is you can’t cut yourself off completely. We all have demons, we can’t always exorcise them completely. But you shouldn’t let them control you. That way lies ruin and the point of no return.”

  “The point of no return,” Theo said softly. “Used to think that sounded like a pretty good destination, if I’m honest.”

  “What do you mean?” Anne looked surprised at his words. “Are you mad when you say that?”

  “No.” He paused, not quite sure how to explain what he meant. “What I’m trying to say is it’s all about progress, right? You start on a journey, you mean to get somewhere and eventually you’ll either get there or you’ll fall short, right? But there’s always a point where there’s no going back. As you go on the journey, you change, you mature. You’re not the same person come the end as you were when you started and sometimes I just wonder when the point is you can’t come back. I wanted so badly to get away from who I was that I couldn’t wait to leave.”

  “But yo
u’ll still be the same person. You’ll still have the same problems in your past, you’ll still be running from them…”

  “I’ve never run from anything,” Theo said suddenly, his voice cold. He didn’t like the way it sounded, he tried to temper it without success. “What I mean is… Ah, I don’t know what I mean. We’ve all got things we’d rather forget.”

  “Yes,” Anne said simply. “And sometimes we have to face them rather than flee. You can’t outrun your past, it has a horrible way of catching up with you. You think she’d know that more than anything.”

  She gestured to the coffin, now almost out of sight. Some of the crowd were following it, others were already milling away. The funeral was being broadcast across the five kingdoms, it had dominated the media despite Ronald Ritellia’s earlier attempts to steal back some of the limelight for himself. The actual service had been victim to only a limited number of places despite heaving masses desperate to attend. Theo thought that was a little disturbing if he was honest, so many people so desperate to do something morbid. Granted, it was part of the unofficial caller’s code. If someone dies, even if you don’t like them, it’s just good to honour their memory even if just briefly. He’d done his bit here, both him and Anne.

  “Did you know her?” he asked. “Arventino?”

  Anne shook her head. “Not well. But we have some mutual friends. I knew her vaguely, spoke to her a couple of times. Fought her once or twice…”

  “You win?”

  Anne scoffed. “Draw and defeat. She was one tough cookie.”

  The faintest embers of a fire started to burn in Theo’s stomach, a blister of pride mixed with guilt. “Yeah, she was,” he said. “She sure was something.”

  The zent conducting the ceremony had been flown in from mainland Vazara especially for the event, Stoatley, Pete thought he’d said his name was. Apparently amidst all the desperation to construct the resort, one thing the builders had conveniently forgotten to add was a church. Pete didn’t know if that was significant or not. There were all sorts of resort towns that had churches, like that place in Premesoir notorious for drunken couples getting married without thinking it through.