Casino Infernale sh-6

by Simon R. Green

  “All right,” I said. “What marvellous toys do you have for me to play with, this time?”

  He actually winced. “I do wish you wouldn’t call them that, Eddie.”

  “Do you have something to make sure I win, every time?” I said.

  “Casino Security would spot anything that obvious in a moment,” said the Armourer. “We have to be more subtle than that.”

  He rummaged around in one of his desk drawers, and brought out a very familiar-looking handgun, in a worn leather shoulder holster.

  “We’ll start with the Colt Repeater,” the Armourer said briskly. “You’ve used this often enough before. Standard issue. No recoil, aims itself, and never runs out of ammunition. Fires steel bullets, silver, wood, and incendiaries. As required. The ammo teleports in from outside, so Casino Security shouldn’t be able to detect the gun’s extra-curricular capabilities. . . .”

  “They’ll know it’s there, though,” I said. “Won’t they just confiscate it?”

  “Everyone at Casino Infernale goes armed,” said the Armourer. “Or no one would dare turn up. Gamblers like to play rough, and they’re always ready to defend themselves, and their winnings. As long as your gun is clearly for personal use, and apparently small and limited, Security won’t bother you. All their staff will be much better armed, of course.”

  “Such as?” said Molly.

  “Just assume the worst, and you’ll be right more often than you’re wrong,” said the Armourer.

  “Terrific . . .” said Molly. “I notice you’re not offering me any weapons.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of insulting you, my dear,” the Armourer said gallantly, and Molly actually giggled.

  “Why the shoulder holster?” I said, hefting the weight of the gun and holster in my hand, dubiously. “Why can’t I just keep it in my pocket dimension, until I need it?”

  “Because we don’t want the Security staff even suspecting you might have such a thing,” the Armourer said sternly. “Keep the gun in plain sight, where they can see it.”

  I shrugged out of my jacket, and struggled into the shoulder-holster straps. I’ve never liked the bloody things. It’s like trying to put on a bra, in the dark, backwards. In the end, Molly had to help me. She does have more experience in these matters, after all. Bras and shoulder holsters. By the time we were finished, and I had my jacket on again, feeling very self-conscious about the bulge over my left chest, the Armourer was waiting to present Molly and me with two thin glass phials, each containing a deep purple liquid that seethed and heaved as though trying to break through the glass. I couldn’t help noticing that the vials were not just stoppered, but wired shut. This did not fill me with confidence.

  “A simple memory enhancer,” said the Armourer, beaming. “So you can count cards, calculate the odds, detect patterns in the run of play, and more . . . should give you just the edge you need, against even the most proficient and practised players.”

  I looked suspiciously at the bubbling liquid. “How long will the effect last?”

  “Good question,” said the Armourer. “No idea. Make a note of when the stuff stops working, and be sure to let me know.”

  “Has anyone actually tested this before?” said Molly.

  “Oh, yes,” said the Armourer. “Lots of people.”

  “Where are they!” demanded Molly. “Show them to me!”

  “Don’t be such a baby,” said the Armourer. “Get it down you. Yes, right now! So it will have a chance to sink into your system, and Security won’t be able to detect it.”

  Molly and I took one glass phial each. My phial felt unpleasantly warm to the touch. We looked at each other, for mutual comfort and support, and then carefully peeled away the heavy wire holding the stoppers in place. The purple liquid jumped wildly in the phial, as though sensing a chance to escape. I popped off the stopper, put the phial to my lips and knocked it back in one. My lips thinned back from the bitter over-taste, and then I swear to God my eyes squeezed shut so tightly, it forced tears down my cheeks. My throat tried to turn inside out. I have never tasted anything so foul in my life. Including that chalky white kaolin morphine muck they used to force on me when I was poorly as a kid. And too weak to fight them off.

  God, it was bad! I wanted to rip my tongue right out of my mouth and throw it on the floor and stamp on it, in the hope that would stop the taste. I grabbed the Armourer’s large gin and Red Bull and gulped it down, trying to cauterise my taste buds.

  Molly waved her hands wildly, tears of pure horror jumping from her wide-stretched eyes. “Somebody bring me a dog’s arse, right now! So I can chew on it, to get this taste out of my mouth!”

  I handed her the Armourer’s gin bottle, and she sucked it down hard.

  “Big babies,” said the Armourer.

  The nuclear fallout in my mouth began to recede, and I was able to breathe properly again. Molly was still sucking at her gin bottle. I looked reproachfully at the Armourer.

  “I am still working on the taste,” he admitted. “But it could save your life, at Casino Infernale! I think . . . it works on the old principle of if it tastes bad, it must be doing you good. The effects should start kicking in after two, three hours. Don’t worry about side effects.”

  “You mean there aren’t any?” I said.

  “No, I mean there’s no point in worrying about them, because there’s nothing you can do to ameliorate them. They don’t last long. Just grit your teeth and hang on to something solid, until it’s all over. Or, more likely, all over someone else.”

  “Let me kill him,” said Molly, still hanging on to the gin bottle.

  “Get in the queue,” I said.

  “You’ll like this,” said the Armourer, temptingly. He offered Molly and me two small objects: flat black plastic, like key fobs without the fobs.

  “Look pretty damned ordinary and innocent, don’t they?” the Armourer said proudly. “You each keep one, and make sure you keep them separate. Security won’t even know you’ve got them. If anyone should challenge you, just say they’re lucky charms. That always goes down well. They’re completely innocuous, until you fit them together. Once joined and activated, this clever little device operates as a sort of top rank can-opener. Able to open any box or container.”

  “Such as a safe?” I said.

  “You’re learning!” said the Armourer. “Can I please have my gin bottle back, Molly? It may not be worth much, but it is of great sentimental value. Thank you. Oh, come on, the two of you; it wasn’t that bad. . . .”

  “Yes, it was,” I said firmly.

  “It was even worse than that,” said Molly.

  “Puts a nice shine on your fillings,” said the Armourer. “Now, finally: a pack of playing cards. Look pretty damned normal, don’t they?”

  He thrust the pack into my hands, and I shuffled them a few times, and fanned out a few cards, to look them over.

  “Marked?” I said. “Infrared, ultraviolet?”

  The Armourer sniffed. “Nothing so obvious. This . . . is a chameleon deck. You can substitute it for any other pack of cards, and this pack will immediately take on all the characteristics of the pack it’s replacing. Identical, down to the smallest detail. Except that this deck is preprogrammed to ensure you win, every time. Any game, any variation; the pack will provide you and you alone with the winning cards, every time. No matter who deals, or how many times the pack gets shuffled. But, you have to get really close to the deck you’re replacing, for the chameleon aspect to kick in.”

  I put the cards in my jacket pocket. Molly glared at the Armourer. “I don’t get any toys?”

  “You don’t need my help,” said the Armourer. “You have your magic. But do be careful, Molly; Casino Security will go to great lengths to prevent you from using all your usual tricks and practices.”

  “Really like to see them stop me,” said Molly.

  “They will,” said the Armourer. “Unless you’re very subtle.” And then he stopped, and looked at me, and somethi
ng in his face changed. He looked . . . sad, and concerned, like all the people I’d passed in the corridors before. Who looked like they knew what was coming, and were sorry for me. The Armourer, my uncle Jack, was looking at me with something particular in mind, and he looked . . . guilty. “And now, Eddie,” he said slowly, “we come to the unfortunate part. The necessary, unpleasant part.”

  “The memory drug doesn’t count?” said Molly.

  “I’m sorry, Eddie,” said the Armourer, his gaze fixed on me, so sad, so sad. “I really am very sorry, but there’s no other way to do this.”

  “What?” I said. “What are you talking about, Uncle Jack?”

  I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. My stomach muscles tensed painfully. There was a sense of something really bad in the air, a foreboding of something awful just waiting to happen. I felt like I should be running. Molly glared quickly about her, looking for a threat. She could feel it too.

  “Ethel!” said the Armourer. “Show yourself, please.”

  And just like that, the familiar comforting red glow appeared in the Armoury, confining itself to the Armourer’s workstation. Warm rosy red light fell over me like a spotlight, picking me out; a spiritual pressure I could feel holding me in place, even as it embraced me. Ethel manifested in the Armoury, and immediately all the lab assistants stopped what they were doing and hurried forward from all sides. Many of them were carrying surveillance tech and recording gear, along with some other stuff I didn’t even recognise. All of them eager for a chance to study our mysterious other-dimensional benefactor.

  “Well done, boys and girls,” said the Armourer. “Nice reaction times. Watch all you like, but don’t get too close.”

  “And whoever’s doing that, stop it immediately,” said Ethel.

  One particular piece of tech suddenly went up in smoke, and the assistant carrying it retired, coughing heavily.

  “I like it here,” Ethel said comfortably. “So many interesting things . . . and look at all the toys! I want to play with all of them!”

  “What are you doing here, Ethel?” I said. “You never leave the Sanctity!”

  “She’s here because I need her to be here,” said the Armourer.

  And then he stopped. There was something more he wanted to say, but somehow he just couldn’t bring himself to say it.

  “Let me, Jack,” said Ethel. “It’s all right. He’ll understand.”

  “Understand what?” I said. “What’s going on here!”

  “I have to remove your torc, Eddie,” said Ethel. “It’s the only way we can get a Drood into Casino Infernale.”

  “Oh, come on!” I said. “Can’t you just disguise it, or alter it?”

  “No,” said Ethel.

  “The kind of Security people you’ll be dealing with would see through any disguise we might try,” said the Armourer. He made himself look at me, and the naked sorrow and suffering in his gaze clutched at my heart with a cold, hard hand.

  “Strange matter weighs heavily on the world,” said Ethel. “All I can do is remove it completely.”

  Molly moved in close beside me. I don’t know what was in my face, but she didn’t like looking at it.

  “Without your torc, you’ll be completely unprotected,” said the Armourer. “Nothing to stand between you and the dangers of the Casino. There’s a good chance I’m sending you to your death, Eddie, and the only excuse I have is that it’s necessary.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Eddie,” said Molly. She placed a comforting hand on my arm. “Tell them to go to Hell. Tell them to get someone else for their suicide mission. I’ll stand by you. You know that. It doesn’t always have to be you!”

  “Yes, it does,” I said. I hardly recognised my own voice. It sounded numb, shocked. “It does have to be me, because I have the best chance of succeeding and coming back alive. It wouldn’t be fair . . . to hand this off to someone else. Someone less prepared, with a worse chance. This is too important to let someone else screw it up because they were second choice. So it does have to be me. Go ahead, Ethel. Do it.”

  “Eddie . . .” said Ethel.

  “Do it!” I said. “Do it now, before I change my mind.”

  The torc disappeared from around my neck. Just vanished, drawn back into whatever unnatural place Ethel found it. I felt it go, and it felt like being skinned. Like having a layer of my soul ripped off. Afterwards, Molly told me I screamed. I don’t remember. I think I made myself forget. I think I had to. The next thing I do remember, I was on the floor . . . on my knees, sobbing like a baby. Molly was on her knees beside me, holding me in her arms, rocking me back and forth and murmuring comforting words to me.

  “You bitch!” I heard her scream at Ethel. “What have you done to him?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Ethel. “But I couldn’t just take the torc away. Casino Security would still have been able to detect that it had been there. Strange matter leaves marks. I had to alter you right down to the genetic level, Eddie. So you’re not just a Drood without a torc; you never were a Drood. Never have been a Drood. You’re Shaman Bond, and you always have been.”

  “Just what I always wanted,” I said, bitterly. “To have never been a Drood.”

  “When the mission is over, you come back here and Ethel will reinstate your torc,” said the Armourer.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Thanks for everything, Uncle Jack.”

  I made myself stop shaking, with an effort of will. Molly let go and sat back. She brought out a handkerchief and wiped the cold sweat off my face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so angry. I started to get to my feet again, and Molly was quickly there to help me. She carried most of my weight, until I could carry it myself. I looked slowly about me. There were lab assistants everywhere, some of them recording my reactions, but none of them said anything. Molly glared about her, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t have the words. I felt cold, and empty. Violated. I’d never felt so naked and vulnerable before.

  “It’s all right, Eddie,” said Molly. “You’ve still got me.”

  “You’ve still got me,” I said. “I’m still here. Most of me, anyway.”

  “I will make them pay for this,” said Molly. “Make them all pay. . . .”

  “No,” I said. “Don’t. Please. Anything for the family, remember?”

  “I know what I’ve done to you,” said Ethel. “Do you forgive me, Eddie?”

  “Ask me later,” I said.

  She disappeared, her red glow gone in a moment. And what little comfort her light had given me went with her. Still without saying anything, the lab assistants turned and left, taking their tech with them. I would have liked to put their silent departure down to tact, and understanding, but I doubted it. There just wasn’t any reason for them to stay any longer. So all that was left was Molly and me, and the Armourer. He sat down in his chair, looking older and more tired than ever. I sat down facing him, and Molly sat down beside me. She held my hand in both of hers, like she would never let me go. And for a while, we all just sat there and looked at each other.

  “Was it really that bad, Eddie?” the Armourer said finally. “It looked bad.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, Eddie. There just wasn’t any other way. You said it yourself. This mission matters.”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “I know. Anything, for the family.”

  He winced, and looked away from me.

  “I hate your family, Eddie,” said Molly. “Always have, and always will. Because they do things like this to people. To their own people.”

  “I would have taken your place if I could, Eddie,” said the Armourer. “I would have given up my torc to take another run at Casino Infernale. I volunteered. Argued my case before the rest of the Council. I would have spared you this, if I could. But the family wouldn’t let me go. Apparently, I’m too valuable to risk in the field. I had to fight them just to be allowed to take you to the Summit
on Mars. I wanted you to have some fun first.”

  “It’s . . . all right, Uncle Jack,” I said.

  “No, it isn’t,” he said. “It’ll never be right between us again. I’ve poisoned what we had, for the family.”

  We sat a while longer, each of us lost in our separate thoughts. The Armoury seemed surprisingly quiet, subdued. Molly wouldn’t let go of my hand. The pain was gone; the shock was gone. I just felt . . . cold. Finally, the Armourer forced himself up out of his chair, his face calm and composed again, as though nothing had happened. He was just a man with a job to do. He searched through the various drawers under his desk, brought out a hefty buff envelope, and handed it to me. I made myself take it, and look inside. Molly looked too, and wrinkled her nose at the wad of documents and papers.

  “What’s this?” she said. “You want him to sign a disclaimer, so he won’t sue you?”

  “This is what those in the field call a legend,” he said, ignoring the anger still dripping from every word she spoke. “Spy talk for a complete set of documents, all the paperwork an agent needs to support his identity in the world. Driving license, photo IDs, credit cards, old letters and photos, everything to prove Shaman Bond has a real history in the world. Normally, Eddie wouldn’t need it. He’s a familiar face in the scene. But this is Casino Infernale, so we don’t take chances.”

  I leafed quickly through the various papers, and then distributed them here and there about my person.

  “Don’t I get a legend?” said Molly. Her voice made it clear that while she hadn’t forgiven him, she was ready to play the game again if I was.

  “Use your own,” said the Armourer. “Just be yourself. They’ll have heard of you. In fact, you’re exactly the kind of person they’d expect to turn up for the games. And, hopefully, your infamous reputation will help to hold everyone’s attention, and distract the Security people from seeing your companion as anyone but the shifty and shady Shaman Bond. You shine brightly, so he can hide in your shadow. . . .”

  “Is that it?” I said. “Are we done now?”