The Great Game

by O. J. Lowe

  “Tell me, my dear. What do you really think of the good Mister Ritellia and don’t mince your words if you don’t want to.”

  She smiled slowly, aware that the Mistress couldn’t see her. “I think he’s a complete shit. I’ve fantasised about killing him. I’d rather walk naked through a scorpion pit than let him touch me again. How he got to be president of anything is beyond me. I’d say he’s a buffoon but that’s giving him a little too much credit.”

  The Mistress sounded like she had a smile in her voice. “You really don’t mince them, do you Alana?”

  “But,” she said quickly, just in case. “And please take this compliment the way I intend it, it’s a sign of how much I trust I have in you that I let him. I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.”

  In the Mistress’ voice, she was sure she could hear the smile growing smile. Maybe she was wrong. “I thank you for your candid honesty. Although not as much as I thank you for your faith in me. It’s ultimately the efforts of people like you that will see our goals to fruition. You haven’t failed me, unlike some on that island who shall remain nameless.”

  Alana smirked at the lack of mention regarding Rocastle. Doubtless that was who she meant, it was a shame she hadn’t derided him further. That would have just about made her day better.

  “Tell me something else. What do you really imagine I have you doing out there? I’ve purposely left you out of the loop but now I think I owe you the whole story of your mission. You’ve sacrificed your dignity; it feels only right I reward you in some small way right now.”

  “You’ve got me sleeping with the head of possibly the largest independent political organisation in the five kingdoms,” Alana said. “You had me discuss with him the nature of the future. I assume you’re looking to replace him in some way…” She paused, remembered something Ritellia had said the previous night over dinner. “… But you might not have too much of a say in things.”

  “Oh really?” The Mistress sounded politely amused and just for a moment, she found herself hoping horribly that she hadn’t overstretched herself. “Do carry on.”

  “Thomas Jerome. He’s…” Alana paused, searching for the right words. “… It feels like he’s trying to make a bit of a name for himself out here. Here, there and everywhere, always shooting his mouth off to the media, he did the draw for the second round. There’s something going on there. I’m surprised Ritellia hasn’t slapped him down yet.”

  The Mistress laughed. “I’m waiting for him to try.”

  “Excuse me?!” Alana couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. “Why do I get the feeling I just told you something you already know?”

  “Never underestimate the power of being able to manipulate that which you can control,” the Mistress replied softly. “If you intend to create a new world, the old one needs to be torn down. The ICCC does not work. It’s had its day, men like Ritellia and Jerome and their cronies need to be kicked out. I can’t just wave my hand and bring it into existence, would that I could. It takes effort on the part of us all. The best reform always comes from reaction, I’ve always said that. The best way to get reform is to prove categorically that things are going wrong is to lose the public’s faith in that which needs them more than they’re willing to admit. Individually, the man in the street can’t do anything. Throw them all together and things may happen. You change it by force, they’ll protest it. You make it think it's their idea and they’ll wave it through happily.”

  She paused, Alana heard the breath of laughter in her voice. “I leaked the tapes of your nightly encounters with Ritellia to Jerome.”

  That hit her like a knife in her heart, Alana subconsciously stood up a little straighter and took great lengths to keep the composure in her voice. “I see.” She wanted to shout angrily at that, demand how the Mistress could do such a thing. “I assume you were going to tell me about this at some point.”

  “I am now. You know why they call him the Falcon, right? He knows when to strike at the best moment and with great haste. He has leverage over Ritellia. Ritellia can’t slap him down once he knows that. Jerome comes more and more into the public eye, he’s nothing if not a savvy operator. With that public notoriety comes the support a man like Jerome can gather for himself a lot of friends, a lot of support, he can make promises he wouldn’t have been able to keep before. Kwan-Sun and Klaus Zynski… Pfft, Jerome will make a much more appropriate head of the ICCC for our purposes. The man would stab his own mother for a sandwich.”

  Alana got it, right there and then and once more she had to admire both the brains and the sheer nerve of the Mistress. “Jerome challenging Ritellia for the leadership? I get the impression of him that Tommy Jerome would be a terrible leader. What his supporters in the ICCC would ask of him wouldn’t endear him to the people in the street. There’d be public outcry over time.”

  “Exactly. Worst case scenario for us, Ritellia fights a long hard campaign, wins but everyone knows his fallibility, the chinks in his armour. He’s too busy keeping his enemies at arm’s length, he can’t do the job properly. Best case scenario for us, Jerome wins hardily and things get progressively worse to the point that the public lose faith in the ICCC. When that happens, we’ll hopefully be in position to see that things get shaken up. The best way to trick the people is to see that things end up so terrible that they’ll take any sort of alternative with willing arms. It’s quite a simple trick when you think about it.”

  Just for a moment, Alana found herself speechless. And worse, the Mistress seemed to know it as well.

  “That’s to be your initial monument in our new history. The woman who brought about the start of the end for the ICCC. It’s impressive considering where you were just a few years ago.” Alana had to admit she was right in that concern. “Although that is for the future. For the moment, I have another mission for you. My brother is on that island, he’s competing. I want you to reach out to him for me. He won’t talk to me, it’s something I very much wish for us to be fixed. I want him to be part of this. That is your new job for the time being. Rebuild what has been broken between us.”

  In a way, Alana realised as she processed the order, that might be even harder than some of the other assignments she’d been given.

  “I’ll make every effort, Mistress,” she said. “I wish I could guarantee it but I think that would be unwise. All I can promise is that I’ll give everything I have in attempt to make it happen and I hope that it’s enough.”

  She really did. It wasn’t wise to fail the Mistress. It wasn’t wise at all.

  Across the street, she saw Fuller close her summoner and stretch her toned arms in the afternoon sun, a small smile playing across her lips as she watched the other woman go back into her room and to Ritellia. Holding onto someone’s trust was a curious thing. To keep it, sometimes you had to give something back. You need them to know that you trusted them and they were wise to retain it in you. Her little reveals to the other woman might offer some succour following her shameful moments with Ritellia. She didn’t regret making her do it. Fuller had a job to do. She was doing it. She’d be rewarded. End of. If she had regrets about what she’d done, that her choice. She hadn’t had to do it. She’d had the outlines, the directives and the rewards laid out to her. And she’d made a choice that nobody had forced her into making.

  She let her own summoner drop around her neck and stared down at the island around her, the resort that she’d seen built. Nice to finally see it teaming with life. Just as she’d always imagined it. Her trip out here had been sudden and she’d felt the urge for some sun, as well as checking in on how things were panning out. Domis was still overseeing Rocastle’s retention to her home, Dale Sinkins was still chasing down leads, the rest of her merry crew was running about their business and for the moment, she felt content with things that they’d work out.

  Maybe she should have spoken to Fuller face to face. Or to her brother. Now though, she didn’t feel like it. Maybe, just maybe she’d take in on
e of the bouts, take her mind off what lay ahead long enough for her to relax. Ever since she’d put the plan into motion, she’d found herself on edge more and more and she doubted it was going to get better before it got worse unfortunately.

  “So, Sharon Arventino versus Darren Maddley,” Carlton Bond said, looking out across his panel of pundits at the side of the battlefield. “What thoughts do we have? Obviously, there’s going to be a bit of history here, not between the two combatants but between the Arventino name and the Maddley name. Sharon was the first one to comprehensively beat young Darren’s father in a bout. We all know that, we’ve all seen the footage of that time Luke Maddley went into meltdown. Choksy, you were in the stadium that day, you were beaten by Maddley Sr a few times before his collapse as a credible challenger, can you see a lot of the father in the son?”

  Choksy Mulhern considered it, making a big show of musing over the question before grinning. “Well obviously I’d say Luke Maddley was a much more experienced caller than his son at this stage. But we never saw Luke Maddley in the Quin-C so we can’t say how he would or wouldn’t have performed.”

  “There’s definitely something there with the son,” Pree Khan offered. “Maybe he’s taken what happened with his father to heart, maybe he uses it to fuel him on. Maybe it doesn’t affect him, you’d have to ask him about it yourself. The point is, the children of famous callers often need to live up to the reputation of their parents. And Luke Maddley’s reputation, well I wouldn’t want it. We saw this yesterday, sorry Terrence, when young Matthew Arnholt went out to Katherine Sommer…” Arnholt waved it off without a hint of offence at the comment. “… Sometimes it can be hard. My mom was decent. I like to think I surpassed her. Some callers get swallowed by having a famous family name. Others take it as a challenge.”

  “If it was me in young Maddley’s shoes,” Arnholt said. “I would be desperate to win here, not just to avenge the spectre of what happened to my dad, but to make a claim on my own future. That’s what he needs to do. He needs to say, yeah, I don’t care what happened in the past. I care about the future. You can’t change the past. If he beats Sharon Arventino here, it doesn’t change the fact that she started the chain reaction that finished off his father, it just means that he probably gets more recognition. People might start to whisper.”

  “Is it possible for him to do it? Darren Maddley finished second in his group, Sharon Arventino won hers, it looks a mismatch without seeing a spirit unleashed. Do you think he can win?”

  “It’s possible,” Choksy said. “I think she is a very distinct favourite but the favourite doesn’t always win. Let’s not forget that. It’d be an easy job if they did.”

  “It’s a cliché, but a good one,” Pree said. “Unfortunately, I don’t think he has a chance. She’s too good, she won’t lose to him.”

  “I agree,” Arnholt said. “Not a chance Sharon doesn’t go through to the next round.”

  Carlton Bond cleared his throat, gazed at the camera with his showman smile and rubbed his hands together. “Okay so we all know the drill now. Just before the start of the bout, we’re going to get a close-up of the randomiser to see how many spirits the two combatants will use. Remember, it won’t be less than three, it won’t be more than nine. We saw a nine spirit start yesterday morning when Theobald Jameson and Wim Antonio Caine went at each other, we saw only five as Matthew Arnholt went out yesterday afternoon to Katherine Sommer. What’s it going to be now? Sharon Arventino versus Darren Maddley starts in moments. And we are all looking forward to what is surely going to be a fantastic bout. It’s been many years in the making, a rivalry between not just callers but between families and ultimately history. We’re going to see something special here. Join us in a few moments.”

  Both Terrence Arnholt and Prideaux Khan had been proved right in very rapid fashion following the conclusion of the bout. The headline writers for all the media outlets found themselves enjoying a field day, all their work a variant on the ‘Lightning Does Strike Twice’ theme, she had a few of them on screen next to her as she looked down from the private box. It was just as luxurious as the considerable price she’d forked over for access to it upon arrival at the stadium, plush seats, a refrigerator full of expensive wines, even a viewing screen showing the punditry taking place at the side of the battlefield.

  With four spirits each, the battle had quickly gotten underway with Sharon unleashing Gamorra onto Darren Maddley’s first spirit. And then his second. And then his third in quick succession. The fourth managed to get some licks in but it had been too little too late, the applause had taken Sharon and Gamorra off the field and into the next round. What hadn’t been quite so neat was the argument that had taken place at the end, a furious Maddley rushing over to confront his conqueror in vociferous fashion.

  She could see how angry he was, the fury and the sorrow and the rage and the despair mixed up in one delicious cocktail. How angry he must be right now. And angry people did desperate things. The poor lad, he’d inherited a poisoned chalice of a family name and now he’d done his own bit in dragging said name through the mud. Right now, she smiled, he could use a friend.

  He hadn’t been on Rocastle’s list. But that man’s judgement had proven to be flawed before. Getting himself arrested had displayed that. She would deal with him later. She’d need to. Either bring him under the thumb further or have Domis take him out and break his neck. Hmmm… A delicious thought occurred to her. Rocastle had tried to kidnap the daughter of the famous Terrence Arnholt, a man on the viewing screen in front of her. Maybe she could destabilise the establishment further by seeing if she could link him with Rocastle’s fate, take her plans for the fall of the ICCC that little bit further at an individual level. Pin it on him somehow, if she needed to. It was an interesting idea; one she’d like to develop further if the need arose.

  For now, she had a job of her own to do. She could use a proxy for it, yet that strangely didn’t appeal to her. She could be very persuasive when the mood took her. And besides, she’d never ask anyone to do anything she wasn’t willing to do herself…

  It would be a calculated risk exposing herself like this. But what was life without a little more risk?

  She’d found the room easily enough, although in hindsight she wished it had presented a bit more of a challenge. Because she didn’t want to get the impression however slight it might be that this would be an easy mission. If it started off hard, she’d be more alert and focused on the task moving forward rather than starting easy and slowly ascending in difficulty, meaning she was facing an uphill struggle before she even started.

  Alana Fuller sighed and knocked twice, leaning against the frame, her mind already examining the dozen or so potential ways to get inside and coming up blank in so many possibilities. If he didn’t want to talk to her, then she couldn’t make him.

  He did look a little like the Mistress in the face, she had to admit that as he opened the door, an easy-going grin on his face. Divines knew she’d never seen any look like that on the Mistress. Maybe that was why they’d never gotten on, maybe he lacked the killer instinct she seemed to pride so much. He was balding and paunchy though, where she was slender and well groomed. Either he’d let himself go or he really didn’t want to be associated with his past.

  “Why hello,” he said. Big smile. Friendly voice. Very much unlike her employer. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

  Another deep breath, why did she find herself so hesitant with this. He wasn’t going to bite her, he looked like he might even listen to her. All she wanted to do was relay her message and leave. But something wouldn’t let her. Call it professional pride, call it a desire to please, she couldn’t just let it go.

  “My name is Alana Fuller,” she said slowly. “And…”

  “Pleasure, Alana.”

  “Well I come bearing a message,” she continued. “For you.”

  He cocked an eyebrow to the side, running her up and down with his gaze, any hint of self-consciousn
ess she might once have felt lost on her. She’d done enough in her life that him examining her wasn’t going to be an embarrassment. “For me? You don’t look like a messenger, you know.”

  She looked down at herself in the clothes she’d chosen to wear, business casual still presenting the right impression of professionalism and met his smile. “I’m an executive messenger,” she said. “Delivering the messages others can’t be trusted to. And this is quite an important one.”

  “Important? For me? Surely not.” He sounded mock disbelieving in a way that made her want to smile. For all her troubles, all her thoughts about what would come, here was someone she didn’t want to envy yet there was something there that made her feel a little wishful. To have that little care in the world…

  “It’s from your sister.”

  That got a reaction, she had to admit, his eyes widened and he made to slam the door on her. She reacted just that little too quickly for him, jamming her foot into the door before letting out a scream of pain as it smashed shut on her, agony suddenly rushing through her body for a moment. She could feel it throbbing, hoped fervently it wasn’t broken.

  Immediately the door opened again and he caught her as she almost fell through the space, a look of concern on his face.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he said, suddenly looking genuinely upset. “My bad. I didn’t mean to hurt you, you okay? You need an ice pack?”