I looked at Frankie. “That’s it? Just the prestige, and happy to be alive? No prize money?”
“Not here,” said Frankie. “People play this kind of game for the fun of it, to show courage and gain instant respect. If you win. There is a lot of money to be made in the side bets, but this is really all about courage and skill and being completely fucking insane.”
“And this is your idea of what we should do next?” said Molly.
“It’s risky, yes, but a good win here would be more than enough to guarantee you access to the next level. Whilst also ensuring that everyone you meet there would be seriously scared of you.”
I nodded, and strode forward. Before I could get a rush of good sense to the head and change my mind. I made myself known to the barker, and he flashed me a wide and knowing smile, clapped me on the shoulder, and roared out my name to the waiting crowd. They managed a few good-natured cheers as I climbed down the iron-runged ladder into the Pit. There were a few taunts and insults, but I ignored them. I wasn’t here for the crowd. I walked slowly round the Pit, getting the feel of the place. It was surprisingly cold, and the air stank of blood and spilled guts, of sweat and testosterone. It felt like a bad place to die.
And then my opponent came swarming down the ladder, jumping the last few rungs in his eagerness. He spun round to face me, smiling coldly, and my heart sank. I knew him. And not in a good way.
The Dancing Fool strutted round the Pit, bouncing on his feet to test the resilience of the packed earth floor. The fastest fighting man in the world. He could hit you so fast you wouldn’t even know you’d been hit till you woke up in hospital. He liked to claim his particular brand of martial arts was based on old Scottish sword dances, which was bullshit, but it didn’t stop him from always wearing a kilt. In a tartan I knew for a fact he wasn’t entitled to. His edge came from his very own special gift: to know what you were going to do, before you did it.
Déjà fu.
He was big and broad, and moved like the professional he was. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and a darker heart. And he knew Shaman Bond was really a Drood, because we’d worked together before.
It hadn’t ended well.
Lots of people in the crowd recognised the Dancing Fool, and roared his name approvingly. Just by being here, he guaranteed a show—blood and death in the grand manner. He smiled and waved at all the hot watching eyes, and I just knew the odds against me were going through the roof. Hopefully Molly and Frankie were keeping on top of it. The Dancing Fool finally strode forward to face me, and I sighed, and nodded to him.
“Hello, Nigel.”
His smiled disappeared in a moment, and he scowled fiercely at me. “Don’t call me that, Shaman. Only my friends get to use my given name, and you never did qualify. Even when I thought we were both working on the same side. Never thought you’d see me again, did you, Shaman?”
“You’re looking well,” I said. “Considering Walker shot both your knee-caps off at Place Gloria.”
He sniffed loudly. “You can get anything repaired, if you have enough money. And if you’re motivated enough. I swore I’d have my revenge on you, Shaman! And so when a little bird told me that you’d be coming here . . . and that you wouldn’t have your precious armour to hide behind . . . well! How could I resist? A fair fight at last. I’m going to tear you to pieces, Shaman.”
“Walker was right,” I said. “I should have let him kill you.”
And I went straight for him, even before I’d finished talking. There was no point in hanging about, and there was always the chance I’d catch him off guard and get one good punch in. But of course he was expecting it, and he was so very fast. . . . My fist whooshed through the empty air where he had been just a moment before, and he hit me in the side, hard. I staggered away, clutching at myself, half-blind with pain and gasping for air. I was fast and skilled, well trained and experienced, versed in all the really dirty tricks . . . but he was just so damned fast. I spun round, head down, hands up to defend myself.
I never stood a chance.
The blows came out of nowhere. The first fist slammed into the side of my head, and the earth floor jumped up and hit me in the face. I didn’t even realise I’d fallen until he kicked me again and again in the ribs, to get me moving again. I heard ribs break, felt splinters grind in my side. I coughed hard, and blood filled my mouth. Not a good sign. I forced myself up onto my hands and knees, and a fist came flying down, hitting me so hard in the back I was slammed right back to the earth floor again. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. The pain blotted out everything else. I squirmed around on the floor like a fish hauled up out of the water, hardly able to breathe. The only thing that saved me was that the Dancing Fool took time out to go strolling round the Pit in a lap of honour, smiling and waving to the screaming crowd.
I spat out a thick mouthful of blood, and forced myself up onto my feet. I was swaying, and I could barely raise my fists without crying out, but I was up. The Dancing Fool looked around, saw me, and laughed delightedly. He got to play some more. He came at me again, impossibly fast, dancing round and round me, hitting me wherever and whenever he wanted. Every blow hurt like hell, and every blow did damage, but I stood my ground and took it and wouldn’t go down again. Because I had a plan.
I was outclassed, and we both knew it. I was a good scrapper, but he was a professional. I’d only ever beaten him before because my armour protected me, and made me as fast as he was. Now all I had was stubbornness, and one desperate plan.
At first, the crowd cried out and applauded every time he hit me, yelling out suggestions on the best ways to break and kill me. But as I rocked back and forth, taking the punishment but stubbornly refusing to be beaten, parts of the crowd came round to my side, yelling out encouragement. They did love an underdog, even if they wouldn’t bet on one.
I staggered back and forth across the increasingly bloody earth floor, protecting my head as best I could, because one good shot to the head would leave me dazed and vulnerable. And that would be the end of it. More bones broke, more blood flew on the air, as the Dancing Fool spun and stamped around me, enjoying himself. My left arm hung broken and useless at my side, and I couldn’t see out of one eye. I hoped it was just puffed shut. And still I wouldn’t fall, wouldn’t give in. Because bit by bit the Armourer’s potion was kicking in. Showing me the patterns in how the Dancing Fool moved and held himself and planned his attacks.
Until I could read the cocky little bastard like a book.
I put my back against the wall, as though I hadn’t known it was there, as though I had nowhere else to run. The Dancing Fool came in close to throw a punch, and I saw it coming. His fist slammed towards my head with incredible speed, and I turned my head aside at just the last moment, so that his fist flashed by my head and buried itself deep in the earth wall behind me. Just as I’d planned.
I heard bones crunch as they broke in his hand. I saw the look of shock, and then pain, in his face. And then more shock, as he discovered his hand was trapped, buried deep, locked fast in the earth wall. And in that brief moment, as he put all his attention into trying to pull his hand free, I summoned up the last bit of strength I’d been saving and punched him savagely in the throat. I felt his trachea break, felt his windpipe collapse. Blood shot from his mouth, and all the sense went out of his eyes. He was still trying to pull his hand out of the wall, even as he made horrid choking sounds. I hit him again, with my one good hand; a vicious blow that slammed in right under his sternum. Hit a man there hard enough, and you can disrupt the rhythm of his heart. The Dancing Fool fell to his knees, his face blank, his eyes rolling up. One arm still stretched above his head, from where his hand was still trapped in the wall. He couldn’t breathe, and his heart was struggling. I looked down at the exposed back of his neck, and I rabbit-punched him.
The first blow probably killed him. I hit him six more times, as hard as I could, just to be sure.
I killed him. Not because he might have revealed who I
really was and put an end to my mission. Not because he was a professional killer who needed killing; not because the world would be a better place without him. No. I killed him because he hurt me so badly, and because he would have killed me.
The crowd was going wild at the unexpected victory. Jumping up and down, clutching at each other, screaming and shouting like they’d never stop. I could barely see them, and the sound seemed to be coming from a long way away. I didn’t care. I was looking at Nigel, lying dead before me on the cold earth floor. A small, broken, pathetic thing. I leaned over, and spat blood on his face. And then I turned away and limped slowly back to the iron ladder. It took me a long while to climb back up, with only one working arm.
Molly and Frankie were waiting for me at the top. Molly looked at the mess the Dancing Fool had made of my face, and swallowed hard. She and Frankie helped me over the edge of the Pit, and then held me up between them as they half-led, half-carried me away. I tried not to cry out, but every movement hurt so much. Molly put my good arm over her shoulders, so she could carry more of my weight. Her face was white with shock, and her eyes were full of rage. Wherever she looked, people fell back to give her more room.
“Hell of a fight, Shaman!” said Frankie. “Hard core!”
“Shut up,” said Molly.
People came forward to congratulate me from every side, and Molly drove them back with hard looks and harsh language. Frankie left us for a while to collect the winnings from his side bets. He came back laughing.
“You wouldn’t believe how much money we’ve made, betting on you!” he said happily. “No one thought you stood a chance!”
“Shut up,” said Molly.
“Is that it?” I said. “Have I done enough to get through to the next level?”
“Hell, yes!” said Frankie. “Major prestige! Dangerous prestige! But I have to say . . . you look like crap. Just saying, but . . . maybe you should quit now? While you’re still ahead?”
“No,” I said.
“Let’s get you back to our room,” said Molly. “Once we’re out of the null zone, I can work my healing magics on you.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said, or thought I said. After a while, I managed a small smile. Blood leaked from the corners of my mouth.
“What?” said Molly.
“Those were just the Introductory Games,” I said. “Can’t wait to see what the next level’s like. . . .”
CHAPTER SIX
Robbery with Attitude
I don’t remember how they got me to the elevators. I remember drifting in and out, sudden flashes of pain, of people and places, and Molly yelling at Frankie to support more of my weight. I remember the taste of blood in my mouth, and light that hurt my one working eye, and voices that seemed to come from far, far away. I was broken. I knew that, but I couldn’t seem to care.
I remember being in the elevator, and Molly crying out with relief as the null lifted and her magics returned. She quickly cast a levitation spell on me so I could hang in mid-air, unsupported. It felt like being carried on the backs of angels. Molly leaned tiredly against the wall of the elevator, getting her strength back. The front of her dress was covered in blood. My blood. Frankie stood at the back of the lift, sulking because Molly had yelled at him. I looked down, and saw blood dripping steadily off me, to form a widening pool beneath my floating feet.
The elevator doors finally opened onto our floor, and Molly quickly floated me out of the elevator and down the corridor to our suite. I settled into the embrace of the levitation spell, like snuggling into bed. It felt good, peaceful, distant . . . far less painful than being hauled around. Any sudden movement meant fresh pain, sudden spikes that jolted me out of my protective daze, waking me up. I didn’t want to wake up. Molly opened the door to our suite and sent me floating in with a wave of her hand. I caught a glimpse of Frankie looking quickly up and down the corridor, to see if anyone was watching, and then he hurried in and locked the door behind him.
Molly lowered me onto the bed as carefully as she could, but I still cried out despite myself. Even the soft and supportive mattress was enough to put pressure on my broken body, and set all my wounds crying out again. Molly sank down onto a chair by the bed. She looked exhausted, and bad as I felt there was still enough of me left to worry about her. A simple levitation spell shouldn’t have taken that much out of her. Frankie dithered at the foot of the bed, hardly able to look at me, as though what he saw disturbed him.
“Should I ring for the hotel doctor?” he said. “I really think I should ring for a doctor. I mean, look at the state he’s in!”
“No doctor,” said Molly. “I can see how bad he is. I’m not blind! But I wouldn’t trust any doctor this hotel might provide. We can’t have anyone knowing how bad he is, and there’s always the chance the doctor might be able to tell who and what he really is. . . . You’d better be right about the surveillance bugs in this place, Frankie, because I am getting really tired of having to talk in circles. Anyway, we don’t need a doctor. I can heal him. As soon as I get my second wind. There’s something wrong here. . . . I think there’s a low-level null working everywhere in this hotel, hidden under the surface. Just enough to make every kind of magic an effort, and slow the players down. Give the Casino an advantage. . . .”
“You can sense that?” Frankie said dubiously.
“I can feel the extra effort involved,” said Molly.
“Can you still heal him?”
“I once brought him back from the shores of death,” said Molly. “This is just damage . . . I can fix damage. Go outside, Frankie, you’re a distraction. Guard the door, warn me if anyone’s coming, and don’t let anyone in unless I tell you otherwise.”
Frankie nodded quickly, and left.
“I thought he’d never go,” I said.
Molly levered herself up out of her chair and leaned over me, her face close to mine. “Hush, sweetie. I didn’t realise you were awake or I’d have put you under with a sleep spell.”
“No,” I said. “Don’t. I’m afraid to sleep. Afraid to let go, in case I don’t wake up again. This is bad, Molly. Really bad. I can feel . . . broken things, grinding together inside me.”
“That little bastard really did a job on you,” said Molly. “Who was he? It looked like he knew you, and you knew him.”
“An old friend,” I said. “And an old enemy. That’s the spy game for you, mostly.”
“I know, sweetie. Now shut the hell up so I can work on you.”
“Yes, doctor,” I said.
“We can play doctors and nurses later,” said Molly, trying to smile. “When you’re all better.”
“Can I be the doctor, for a change?”
“If you’re good.”
She kissed me briefly on the forehead, and then stood back, facing the bed. She frowned intently, her whole face a mask of concentration. She didn’t wave her hands around or chant incantations; most of that stuff is strictly for the rubes. She just gathered her strength, and drew energy from the hidden worlds so she could do what she needed to do. And just like that my body became transparent wherever she looked, so she could See inside me, and See how bad the damage was. The spell must have leaked at the edges, because I could See what she was Seeing.
My left arm was badly broken, in three places, splinters of shattered bone piercing the torn skin. Ribs were broken and shattered, all down one side. Some of them had pierced the lung. I could See great areas of internal bleeding, moving inside me like slow dark tides. Molly looked at my head. I couldn’t See what she Saw, but it must have been really bad, judging by the look on her face. It was actually something of a relief, to know I had good reason to feel this bad.
I was breathing as shallowly as I could, because even the smallest movement hurt so badly I had to fight to keep from crying out, when Molly finished her scan and shut off the spell. She sat down in her chair again. She was crying, silently. Great fat tears, rolling down her cheeks. I wanted to reach out a hand to her, but I could
n’t.
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t, love, please.”
“Dear God, you’re a mess,” said Molly, sniffing back her tears so she could try to sound professional again. “I can’t believe how much damage you took in that fight. I can’t believe you hung on that long, to take him down.”
“Growing up with my family,” I said, “you learn to take punishment and keep going. I had to kill him, Molly.”
“Hush. . . .”
“I had no choice! He had to die, because he knew who I was, knew me from before. He would have told everyone if I’d let him live.”
“You had no choice,” said Molly. “He would have killed you. And if you hadn’t killed him, I would have. For what he did to you.”
“Can you fix me?” I said. “If there is a null operating here . . .”
“Low level,” said Molly. “I spit on their null. It’ll just make the job that little bit more difficult, that’s all. Means I’ll have to do it the hard way. And I’ll have to put a screen over us, to block out the bugs. Can’t have anyone watching this. Now shut the hell up and let me concentrate.”
“Yes, dear,” I said.
She spoke Words of Power over me, and I could feel her presence growing in the room, eclipsing everything else. I could feel her, as closely as I felt myself. Her mind, her soul, reaching out to me. Linking herself to me. And then she healed me, by taking my injuries into herself. She lay down on the bed beside me, taking my hand in hers, and one by one she took every broken thing inside me . . . and made them hers. I heard the bones in her left arm break, three times, but she never made a sound. My arm was immediately whole again, and I felt the magic course through her, as her bones healed in a moment. She stirred and stiffened on the bed beside me, sweat running off her face as she concentrated, taking my hurts and making them her own, so she could mend them inside herself. Because an injury shared is an injury halved, or at least weakened, and easier to deal with. My pain disappeared as she embraced it, and then rejected it. And she never cried out once. I knew what she was feeling because I’d felt it first, and I could only marvel at her strength.
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