Tall trees surrounded her, old trees and ancient, even primordial. From when we all lived in the forest, because there was nowhere else. Green grass and green leaves, and living things everywhere. All the triumphant vegetation of old England, untouched by human hand. Bright sunlight, full of life, shining down through the trees in great golden shafts. Birds singing, filling the air with joyous noise. And all the old creatures of England’s past: the wolf and the boar, the bear and the stag, the lion and the unicorn.
England’s Dreaming.
The sunlight blazed forward, into what was left of the Bones Man’s darkness. Throwing back the dark and dispersing the shadows. And where the clean light touched the broken creatures, it healed them. The rats and cats ran away, into the woods; turning their backs on the dark in favour of a new wild freedom. The last buildings disappeared, replaced by trees, and the Bones Man backed away, bewildered, as his world was destroyed.
In Molly’s woods, birds came flying down to dart and circle around her. The beasts bowed down to her, and she patted their faithful heads. My heart ached to see the world she’d given up, for me. A single squirrel hopped forward to stare at the Bones Man. He glared down at it, and raised a foot to stamp on it. The squirrel fixed him with a cold eye.
“Don’t even think about it, rube.”
It hopped back into the woods. The sunlight blasted forward, and the dark was gone. Leaving the Bones Man standing alone, blinking dazedly, in his half of the circle.
He tried to call up one world after another, but they all failed and fell apart, in the face of the wild woods. He had nothing half so strong or half so vital. He had nothing to offer, in the face of the woods we all came from. So he just gave up. He bowed to Molly, and sank down on one knee. Molly looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded briefly. The birds and the beasts left her, and the wild woods faded slowly away. Nothing left but an empty stone circle, with a beaten man and a triumphant woman. The audience made a soft sound, as though they hadn’t wanted Molly’s woods to go.
She strode forward to face the Bones Man, who rose smoothly to his feet again to face her.
“So,” said Molly. “I own your soul now.”
“Hardly, me child,” said the Bones Man. “I would not be so foolish as to risk my own spirit on a game of chance. You have merely won the souls I won in earlier games. And much good may they do you, being the small and pitiful things they are. Be careful, little witch; some of them are . . . restless. And watch your back, for I will revenge myself upon you for this humiliation.”
“Go for it,” said Molly. “I mean it; right now. You’ll never have a better chance.”
“In a time of my choosing,” said the Bones Man. “The lords of the loa will tear your soul apart.”
“Oh, piss off!” Molly said loudly. “Sore loser!”
The Bones Man gathered up what little of his dignity remained, turned, and strode away. The crowd booed him and cheered Molly. A uniformed flunky came forward and presented Molly with her obol, her symbol as winner of the Game. And while she was distracted with that, the Bones Man attacked. The crowd cried out a warning, and Molly spun round to see the Bones Man transform himself as he took on the aspect of the voodoo loa he served: Damballah, the snake god. He rose up, growing larger, becoming huge and swaying, a massive serpent . . . and Molly braced herself, stray magics discharging around her raised hands. I was already up and running forward, my Colt Repeater in hand. But before either of us could do anything, a dozen flunkies appeared out of nowhere, surrounding the massive serpent in a great circle. They didn’t speak, or move, but the snake collapsed, falling in upon itself, becoming just a man again.
The Bones Man stood alone, surrounded by things not wholly men.
“We have been given power in this place,” said one of the flunkies, “to enforce the rules of the Games. Such behaviour as this cannot go unpunished.”
“You think you can hurt me?” said the Bones Man. “You small, stupid, artificial things?”
“We can do more than that,” said the generic flunky.
And just like that, the Bones Man lost his shape. His face melted away, replaced by simple, characterless features. His hair fell out, his name disappeared, his existence reworked. Made over, into just another generic flunky. He stood there helplessly, not knowing what he should do yet. The flunky who’d spoken turned to Molly and me.
“We will take care of him until he is ready to take on his duties here. The rules of the Games must be followed.”
He looked at the gun in my hand, and I put it away. The flunkies left the circle. I hugged Molly tightly, and she hugged me back, and we left the circle arm in arm.
* * *
“You weren’t worried, were you?” Molly said cheerfully. “He never stood a chance.”
I looked at her thoughtfully. “What was all that about I know the loa, and they know me? Is there anyone you didn’t make a pact with to gain power when you were starting out?”
“I don’t think I missed anyone,” said Molly. “I was very thorough, and very motivated.”
“Some day your past is going to catch up with you,” I said. “And all those pacts will have to be honoured. And on that day, I don’t know if even I will be able to protect you.”
“Worry about that when it happens,” Molly said briskly. “Ah, Frankie’s here. How did we do in the betting?”
“One thousand, four hundred and thirteen souls!” Frankie said proudly. “Can’t speak for the quality, of course, but . . .”
“Do we have enough to get us into the Big Game?” said Molly.
“Not yet,” said Frankie. “But one more really big win should do it.”
“So, what next?” I said. “Who do I have to challenge, and what do I have to play?”
“I think everyone here knows enough now to be wary of both of you,” Frankie said carefully. “So you’ll have a hard time getting anyone to go up against you, one on one, in any game. And that affects the odds I can get. . . . But, there is a Game, a group Game, where we could still get really good odds. It’s a bit risky, but . . .”
“The Games we just took part in weren’t risky?” said Molly.
“Not compared to this,” said Frankie. “Because the Game I’m thinking of is a free-for-all. Anyone can enter, and it all comes down to Last Man Standing. Or at least, last person still alive.”
“Okay,” said Molly. “That doesn’t sound too bad; what makes it so specially risky?”
“Most people who participate in this Game are lucky to get out alive,” said Frankie. “You can’t take any weapons in with you, but anything else goes. It’s all about survival. But outside, you can bet on any number of things! How long you’ll last, what kind of damage you’ll take, as well as whether you last long enough to win. This isn’t a Game I’d recommend to most people, because with so many participating, anything can happen. But you do seem to have that certain lucky something going for you. . . .”
“How do I get into this Game?” I said.
“Just apply to one of the flunkies,” said Frankie. “And then make out your will.”
“If this is a free-for-all, then why don’t we both enter?” said Molly. “Should help the odds on us winning, if we’re in there together to watch each other’s back.”
“You could both enter,” said Frankie, “but the rules say there can only be one winner. You’d have to kill, or at least seriously maim, the other to be declared winner.”
“Then we won’t do that,” said Molly.
“It’s down to me,” I said firmly. “You’re an excellent fighter, Molly, but I’m the one trained on how to survive against all the odds.”
“This is the Pit, all over again,” said Molly. “I had a hard enough time bringing you back from the brink after you fought the Dancing Fool! And now you want to take on a whole bunch of people just like him? Are you crazy?”
“There is no one like the Dancing Fool,” I said. “And I promise you, I have absolutely no intention of fightin
g fairly this time. I plan to use lateral thinking and a hell of a lot of ducking and weaving.”
“Well,” said Molly. “That’s more like it.”
* * *
We went in search of a generic flunky, and I told him I wanted to take part in Last Man Standing. He just nodded, and led us out of the Arena, and out across the grassy plain, to a tall round stone Tower standing on its own. Not very tall, and not very large, three or four stories at most, but with a great many windows in the curving exterior wall. Lots of other flunkies were leading even more people towards the Tower. As we drew nearer, I could see there were open doorways at the base of the Tower, and a great many viewscreens floating in mid-air, giving views of the interior. A large audience was assembling around the circular base of the Tower, from every direction. Just sitting there in the grass, staring eagerly at the viewscreens. Our flunky stopped us just short of the doorways, and looked at me pointedly.
“The rules of the Game are quite clear, sir. You can only take in whatever is yours, and you must enter the Tower naked.”
I glared at Frankie. “You didn’t mention that part.”
“Didn’t I?” Frankie said innocently. “Must have slipped my mind.”
“Don’t worry,” said Molly. “I’ll mind your clothes.”
“Strangely enough, that isn’t what’s worrying me,” I said. “There’s all these people . . . I don’t like to.”
“Oh, get on with it!” said Molly.
I looked around and saw that everyone else was stripping off. And since they didn’t seem too bothered, and no one was making a fuss about it, I did so too. The wind felt very cold, and I felt very vulnerable, as I finally stood naked and shivering before an open doorway. No one else seemed to be paying me any attention; they all had their gaze fixed on the Tower, their minds set on the Game.
“See?” Molly said brightly, hugging my clothes to her chest. “Not a scar to be seen, anywhere. I do good work!”
“Not bad,” said Frankie. “Though I have seen better . . .”
“Hey!” said Molly. “You keep your eyes off my property!”
The generic flunkies began ushering everyone through the open doorways, and into the Tower. By now there was a whole crowd of players, dozens of us. All types and sizes, most of them in pretty good shape. And watching us, all around the base of the Tower, an audience of hundreds gathered to watch us fight and hopefully die, entertainingly, on the floating viewscreens. Frankie waved a quick good-bye, and moved off into the crowd to do what he did best. Molly waved, and then the generic flunky pushed me politely but firmly through the open doorway.
The inside of the Tower was just a great empty hollow, surrounded by a curving stone interior wall. People were filling up the empty space from all sides, hurrying in through the doorways. Some smiling, some serious, no one saying anything. And every one of us naked as the day we were born. Some it bothered, some it didn’t; a few stared openly. I looked up, to the top of the Tower. A single stone step protruded, at the very top. According to Frankie, just before the Game began a flunky would appear there, holding the sacred staff. He would drop it, and one of us would catch it. And then, we would all fight it out to see who could hold on to the staff. While everyone else tried to take it away, by any and all means necessary. Last Man Standing. And that, Frankie had assured me, was all there was to the Game. Be the last man, with the staff. No other rules.
The hollow interior filled up pretty quickly, but the flunkies kept pushing in more and more competitors. Even after we were all packed uncomfortably close together, still the competitors kept arriving. Forced through the doorways by firm, implacable flunkies. Until finally we were all packed so closely together, we could hardly move. No room left for modesty when we were all back to back, belly to belly, face to face. The heat inside the Tower, generated by so many bodies in such a confined space, quickly became intolerable. And then got worse. We were all of us sweating like fury, but the perspiration running down our bodies was the only lubrication we had, to allow us to move. And it didn’t take me long to realise that not everyone else in the Tower was entirely human.
Fur brushed up against bare skin, as werewolves and werebears and other furred halflings insisted on their presence. Unnaturally pale people with sharp teeth and crimson eyes—vampires, hiding their true walking corpse status behind flickering glamours. And from the smell of it, several ghouls, too. And on top of that, several only vaguely human shapes that might have been aliens or demons, or anything in between. Some had scales, some had bony carapaces, or vicious bone spurs protruding from their elbows, and some had too many arms. It would appear that invitations to Casino Infernale went really far and wide. I couldn’t help feeling at something of a disadvantage, in being only human. Except, that I had one very special ace, not at all up my sleeve.
We finally reached a point where the generic flunkies couldn’t force another body through the doorways and that was when the flunky appeared on the top step high above us, holding out the sacred staff. He called out once, to get our attention, and then just dropped the staff.
It seemed to float almost tantalisingly on the air above us, turning end over end as it fell. A hundred hands thrust up, eager to grab it, mine among them. The staff fell and fell, and finally one hand grabbed it out of the air. I turned towards it and someone kicked my feet right out from under me. I fell, slipping through the greased bodies around me, and hit the floor hard. And straight away everyone else trampled all over me, as the crowd surged back and forth in pursuit of the sacred staff. All kinds of feet slammed into me from every direction, knocking the breath right out of me. It didn’t take me long to realise that if I stayed down, I would be trampled to death.
So, I delivered short vicious punches, and back-elbows, in every direction; cracking bones and breaking ankles, until enough people crashed to the floor to allow me enough space to fight my way back onto my feet again. Bruised, and bloodied, but intact. Some more applied viciousness opened up a little more space around me, but there were any number of punches and back-elbows coming my way too, as we all surged this way and that, a hundred and more naked bodies fighting it out for one wooden staff.
Please don’t let me get a hard-on, I thought. People are watching. It would be so hard to explain, afterwards.
I could hear the crowd outside, enjoying the fighting. Watching it all on the floating viewscreens, laughing and cheering and applauding. They cheered especially loudly when they saw someone die. I couldn’t see the bodies on the floor, but I could feel them when my feet slammed into something hard and unyielding.
I could see the staff, held above our heads, being snatched from hand to hand. It didn’t look like much, just a length of wood covered with engraved runic symbols. Most people used it as a club to beat other people about the head with. It quickly became covered in gore and hair, dripping blood. Someone waved it back and forth triumphantly, and drips of blood flew into everyone’s faces. Until the holder was beaten down by everyone around him.
Fists were flying everywhere. Knees came up, and feet kicked. We were all shouting and screaming at the top of our lungs, till the sound was actually painful. All of us caught up in the fighting frenzy, everyone against everyone else. Someone head-butted me in the face, but by the time I lashed out in return, my attacker was already gone, carried away by the movements of the crowd, and I punched out someone else instead. It didn’t matter. I had no friends here, only enemies. Blood dripped from my nose, but it didn’t feel like it was broken. I spat a mouthful of blood into someone’s face, and their returning fist shot past my head and punched out someone behind me. That was the Game.
More and more space was opening up, as more and more bodies crashed unconscious or dying to the floor. Just because no actual weapons could be brought in, didn’t mean you couldn’t get killed. Some people were weapons. I threw enough punches to keep everyone else at bay, while letting the Brownian movements of the crowd carry me away from the centre and all the way back to the interi
or wall. I felt definitely relieved as I pressed my back against the solid stone, because it meant that was one direction no attack could come from now. And then, finally, I could take time out from defending myself, and allow the effects of the Armourer’s potion to kick in. Finally, I could see the patterns in the crowd, and anticipate which attacks were coming my way, even before they happened. I ducked and dodged, and pulled other people in front of me to soak up the blows. I shoved people this way and that, so they would fight each other and not me. For the first time, I felt I was in some control of the situation.
Looking out across the heaving mob, it was quickly clear to me that the non-human fighters were targeting each other as the most dangerous players in the Game. Just as well, or we poor humans wouldn’t have stood a chance.
A vampire sank its fangs into the shoulder of a werewolf, worrying blood from the wound. A group of ghouls dragged down an alien and ate it alive. There was a sudden stink of guts on the air near me, as a group of things with too many arms turned a werebear inside out. Fangs and claws, blood and gore, and above it all, the sacred wooden staff moving jerkily back and forth, snatched from hand to hand. And I couldn’t help noticing . . . that the more dangerous players were actually cancelling each other out, by picking on each other. Until finally there were only humans left fighting for the prize. I stayed back by the wall and just let them get on with it. And they were all so taken up in their quest for the staff, and beating the hell out of anyone who got in their way, that they didn’t even notice me. They slammed into each other, hitting and kicking, gouging and tearing, until finally, eventually, there was only one man left, standing surrounded by a pile of bodies, covered in blood that mostly wasn’t his. Clutching at his gore-covered prize, and smiling. Last man standing—apart from me.
I coughed politely, to draw his attention. His head snapped round to stare at me. He glared at me with a cold, focused, murderous gaze. He really was very big, very muscular, and he’d soaked up a hell of a lot of punishment to get his hands on the staff. He kicked at a few of the bodies around him, moving them back to give him room to fight. One moaned, showing it was still alive. The big man stamped on the fallen man’s head, and the sound stopped. The big man brandished the sacred staff at me, daring me to take it from him. I barely recognised the thing, it was so crusted in blood and gore.
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