Rosalie’s father had been employed at King Games ever since she was a child, but the high security meant she’d never before been allowed inside the grounds. Now she gazed about her curiously. The factory building was situated at the top of a high mound, on the site of an old medieval castle whose ruins were still visible, scattered round about in a wide circle. The ancient boulders poked through the grass like jagged teeth.
What a dismal place. The autumn sun was descending and long, menacing shadows spread down the hill. The office staff had long since left for home. Rosalie wasn’t given to flights of fancy but the sight of all those empty windows, plus the ghostly sound of the evening shift printing lottery tickets in the basement, chilled her more than she liked to admit.
She rounded the hill and pulled up outside Reception. A stocky, dark-haired man stepped forward as she exited her car.
‘James King.’ He stretched out his hand, his ice blue eyes meeting hers.
In the early days of setting up her own consultancy, Rosalie’s small stature, her childlike blue eyes, and waves of thick blonde hair had set her at a disadvantage. Her business had grown in reputation since then, but Rosalie had never forgotten that people in the trade had once dismissed Miller Software, nicknaming its owner ‘Princess Geek’. Now she examined James King’s strong features, the hard line of his mouth, the faint lines of strain. Refreshingly, he gave no sign of doubt at her appearance, or of underestimating her abilities.
‘My father told me you needed help with some coding,’ she said.
He nodded, the pressure of his hand cool on hers. ‘We have an urgent deadline for a lottery scratch card game, wanted for Halloween. Writing the program for it has presented us with all sorts of difficulties. Clive – your father – told me you’d be able to fix it, if anyone could.’
Rosalie murmured something non-committal. James swiped his pass key on the door. She would have loved an opportunity to look around but he proceeded to guide her at a swift pace through the lobby and into the lift. They began their ascent, and Rosalie examined the owner of King Games surreptitiously. Her father had described James King as highly intelligent and a commanding leader. Rosalie had expected an older man, and was surprised to find him not much older than she was. Despite this, he gave off an aura of quiet authority and with his straight figure and broad shoulders he seemed to fill the lift.
The doors opened, and James marched Rosalie on past several empty offices until finally they were behind the locked doors of the IT room.
‘Security have sent up a swipe key for you.’ He dropped a rectangle of plastic on the desk before removing his jacket and tugging on his tie to loosen it. In the silence of the room, Rosalie was once again aware of his nearness. Heat filled her cheeks, and she bent to retrieve her notebook from her bag.
James reached across to pick up a folder from the desk. ‘Has your father explained exactly what our difficulty is?’
Rosalie shook her head. ‘He didn’t go into details over the phone for security reasons. He just told me his IT team had run into a problem, and he asked if I would come and help out urgently.’
James turned to face her. ‘People speak very highly of you in the programming industry.’
Rosalie felt herself redden at his compliment and muttered something in reply. Then she cursed herself for her gaucheness. James didn’t appear to notice. He reached into the folder and drew out the prototype for the lottery ticket.
‘This is what we need to produce,’ he said, pushing it across the table towards her.
Rosalie examined the design curiously. There were six orange pumpkins to be scratched off to find a winning number, and an additional three scratch areas, indicated by a black cat, a cartoon ghost, and a witch. The text was printed in gold, in a foreign language. 3 x Ṽ1.000.000 aẑ gewin!
‘Three prizes of a million volcheks to be won,’ James explained. ‘Volcheks are the currency used in Valdovia. The Valdovians are very big on Halloween, or Hallowmas as they call it. Their celebrations start on October 1st and go on every day, right up until the 31 st There’s literally a fortune riding on this game.’ He replaced the print out on the desk and brought the computer to life. Hundreds of lines of code flashed up on the screen. ‘The rules are complicated. If a player scratches off three matching items in game one, he can go on to choose from one of the ‘multiplier’ scratch areas, which are then factored into his winnings.’
Rosalie leaned in closer to take in the screen. There was an underlying urgency in James. His shoulders were tense and his back a little too rigid, but he explained the complications in the game methodically, without rushing. From time to time his clear blue gaze met hers with a question, checking to see she followed. Each time, she answered with a small nod.
After a while Rosalie took the mouse from James’s hand and began scrolling through the lines of code, absorbed in the problem that had defeated her father and his team. James stood, stretching wearily. He had rolled his sleeves up, and the muscles on his arms tautened as he flexed them. He ran his hands through his hair.
‘How about a coffee?’
Rosalie nodded, and James felt in the pocket of his jacket for some coins for the machine in the corridor. When he returned, bearing two steaming cups, Rosalie was scribbling in her leather-bound notebook. She didn’t hear him enter until he placed the black coffee beside her. She wrinkled her forehead, laying her pen neatly in the fold of the book.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘It seems your IT staff are perfectly correct. With the parameters as they are, this game can’t be programmed. The code will go into an endless loop.’
James took a slow sip of his coffee. A pulse beat in his temple. When he finally spoke, his voice was harsh. ‘Your father informed me that he and his team would be able to write this program. He was adamant about his capabilities, in fact. I signed a contract to supply a Halloween game to the Valdovian government because of his promise.’
Rosalie felt the blood drain from her face. She knew how serious this mistake could be for King Games. ‘I’m sorry, James. My father was wrong. It can’t be coded.’
James placed his cup on the desk and flexed his fingers. The room fell silent, apart from the humming of the computer. The boss of King Games rubbed the side of his strong jaw. ‘This isn’t the first time your father has made promises he hasn’t been able to keep.’
Rosalie felt panic rising. She knew her father. He often made idle boasts about things he couldn’t actually do in reality, but she’d never imagined he would ever jeopardise the company he worked for. She pushed back her chair. ‘It can’t be done.’
James stood, gazing down at her. ‘It must be done,’ he said. ‘And delivered in time for Halloween.’ Then he took a step back, running his hands through his hair again. ‘I’m sorry. I realise this is your father’s mistake. But everyone speaks very highly of you. I’m asking you to please look at it again.’ When Rosalie shook her head, he exclaimed, ‘I’ll pay you double what I offered.’
Rosalie’s eyes widened, but still she picked up her briefcase, her hands shaking a little. ‘It’s not a question of money,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry, James. It would take a magician to code this.’
James’s frown deepened. ‘This company, and your father’s livelihood, depend on it. We can’t afford to break our word with Valdovia. I’m asking you to keep trying until morning. If you can’t manage it by then, well and good. But in the meantime –’
Rosalie opened her mouth to protest but James caught her hand in his and pressed it urgently. ‘Rosalie. Please.’
His blue eyes bored into hers, and a strong pulse beat in the base of his throat. For a couple of seconds they stood there, gazing at one another. Then Rosalie moistened her lips and gave a slow nod. ‘Very well. If you insist, I’ll try again.’
For a heady moment she thought James was about to embrace her. The breath caught in her throat. He moved nearer, and she could make out the shadow on his jawline, and the faint scent of him, male and warm.
Then he stood back abruptly, leaving a gap where his body had been. ‘I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.’
‘Well,’ she said with a half laugh. ‘I’d better start my impossible task.’
‘Should I stay with you?’
Rosalie thought about it, then shook her head. As much as she’d like James to remain, his all too solid presence was far too distracting. ‘I’ll work alone.’
He nodded reluctantly. ‘OK. I’ll be in my office. But let me know straight away if you need anything.’
Rosalie made out the outline of James’s erect frame through the safety glass as he moved away down the corridor, and then he was gone. She sat back at the desk and gazed at the lines of code. If King Games were fined a fortune for breach of contract, what then? Would her father lose his job? Would the business go under? And what about the people who worked in the factory? Would they lose their jobs, too?
She wiped the screen and stared at the winking cursor. Then she began to take the first tentative steps at weaving together a new program. The image of plucking threads of code from the air and spinning them into yarn would have given her pleasure in other circumstances but the anxiety of the task in hand obliterated everything. There was nothing to do but work on doggedly, exploring every aspect of the game, following each strand of code as it looped and weaved in ever more convoluted patterns. The hours inched by. Rosalie’s eyes began to droop, and the lines on the screen began to blur. She ran a test program, but again the code span into a loop. It was hopeless!
The silence in the room was broken by the sound of a cleaning trolley clanking to a halt. Outside in the corridor someone fumbled with a swipe card, and there came a muffled, foreign-sounding curse. The door burst open. In the opening stood a small, wrinkled figure, his face brown as a nut, his bald head protruding from his overalls like a tortoise.
‘Clive Miller’s daughter.’ The cleaner’s guttural voice was thick with malicious delight. ‘Welcome.’
II
Rosalie rose to her feet. Her eyes were bleary from gazing at the screen, and her head ached. She stared at the cleaner, who was not much taller than she was. Somehow, despite his size, he radiated malevolence. Her skin prickled.
‘How do you know who I am?’ she asked.
One of his drooping eyelids closed in a wink, and he tapped a finger to his nose. ‘Secrets, secrets, Rosalie.’ His small black eyes darted to the screen. ‘I wondered how long it would be before your father called you. The Hallowmas game.’ He grinned, showing a set of yellowed teeth. ‘And have you solved the puzzle?’
‘Who are you?’ A tremor of fear ran through Rosalie. The small figure in front of her had a dreamlike, almost nightmarish quality.
‘I’m just a poor Valdovian cleaner.’ He gave a humble shrug that was belied by the cunning in his expression. ‘But perhaps I can help you.’
‘You?’
The cleaner pulled up the chair James King had used and sat his squat form in front of the screen, ignoring Rosalie’s protest. He began flicking through the lines of code.
‘Hmm, hmm, this is good, good.’ He nodded to himself, pronouncing ‘good’ with a guttural sounding ‘gut’. When he came to the last piece of code Rosalie had written – the part where the program stuck again and again – he muttered to himself, ‘A zero indicates that everything went OK, and a one –’ He tabbed further down the screen. ‘One, one, one, one, one. A one indicates that something has gone wrong.’ He looked up at Rosalie, his eyes flashing mischief. ‘What a lot of ones, Rosalie.’
‘You know how to write this program?’ She gazed at him, dumbfounded.
The cleaner swivelled round and leaned back in his chair, squat legs spread grotesquely wide. ‘Who would have guessed it of a poor cleaner?’ His beady eyes glinted sarcasm. Then he added with chilling softness, ‘I can make this program work. For the right price.’
Anger shot through Rosalie, overriding her fear. ‘What do you mean?’
He cackled, sweeping his gaze over her. ‘Oh, not that.’ He raised his eyes to her face. ‘I want one of the three winning Hallowmas tickets when the game is printed.’
‘Oh well I can’t – I mean there are safeguards. Security. King Games can’t just hand a winning ticket out.’
‘I’m sure you will work out a way. Ask James King nicely.’ He gave her another lascivious glance. ‘I think he likes you.’
‘No.’ Rosalie’s protest rang round the room. ‘That’s stealing. Why don’t you just tell my father you know how to write the program? King Games will pay you well.’
‘Pah.’ The cleaner stood then, bored. ‘If you’re not going to help me, then I won’t help you.’ He made for his trolley and began to busy himself with his duster and polish.
Rosalie shook her head. This strange, disturbing creature couldn’t possibly achieve what she and her father had failed to do. The cleaner began to move his feather duster across the blinds, whistling a happy tune as though completely unconcerned.
Rosalie approached her desk again and looked at the lines of code, which were filled with the tell-tale ones that signified the program hadn’t worked. She chewed her lip. Perhaps she could let the cleaner have a go, and see if he had any ideas. She had nothing to lose, and there was no chance of James King having to pay him with a million-winning ticket, because it couldn’t be done.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Try and code it.’
The cleaner put down his duster with a sly chuckle. ‘And when it works, you will give me a million-volchek-winning ticket.’
Misgivings ran through Rosalie again but she shrugged it off. The Hallowmas game couldn’t be programmed. She’d stake everything on it.
The cleaner took a seat at the computer and to Rosalie’s astonishment began typing at lightning speed. Lines of fresh code flashed up the screen, and the single digits of failure gradually became zeroes before her dazed eyes. It was as though a magician had taken over the system. The program grew and grew, the cleaner inputting numbers and formulae without a pause. No one could write a program at that speed. It was pure gobbledegook.
Rosalie sighed and retrieved her bag from the floor. The time at the bottom of the computer screen indicated it was nearly dawn. She’d been up all night but at least she’d done what she could. If James King were fined a fortune by the Valdovian government for reneging on his contract, and if her father and hundreds of others lost their jobs because of it, it wouldn’t be for want of trying.
The cleaner stood and returned to his trolley. Rosalie yawned, overcome with weariness. ‘Oh well, I told James King it couldn’t be done.’
He patted her hand, and Rosalie flinched away from the sliminess of his touch. ‘Run the program through your system, and you will see that it works.’ He pulled the trolley towards him and made for the door. ‘You can deliver the game in time for Halloween. And remember what I said.’ His eyes narrowed, and waves of such malevolent intent rolled off him that Rosalie shrank back. ‘I want one of the three winning tickets. And if I don’t receive it, you will suffer.’
‘But –’ Rosalie glanced from the screen to the cleaner. ‘That’s impossible. And anyway, even if I could get you a ticket, how will I find you? I don’t even know your name.’
‘I will come to collect.’ He pulled the trolley through the door and turned to give her one last smile, baring his teeth in a terrifying fashion. ‘I know where to find you, Princess Geek.’
Then the door swung shut behind him.
Rosalie ran to the computer and began tabbing through the code. A sickening feeling gathered in the pit of her stomach. What magic was this? The cleaner had bypassed the parameters, using a stroke of programming genius. She checked the final lines again, and sank into her chair, hands shaking. How was this possible? And if the lottery tickets were delivered in time for Halloween … how could James King possibly deliver on the cleaner’s devilish bargain?
III
James had only intended to shut his eyes for a few moments but exhausti
on had mastered him. When he woke in his office, all his muscles were aching and dawn was breaking over the rooftops. He roused himself with a start, cursing himself for his unusual lapse. When he entered the IT room, he found Rosalie staring at the screen. She turned to face him, her elfin features showing such weariness and confusion he darted across the room and caught hold of her. ‘Rosalie! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you so long.’
To his dismay, she lifted her hands to her face and sank down into her chair.
‘What is it?’ He dropped down beside her, and her head sank onto his shoulder.
‘It works,’ she said shakily.
He stilled, his arm around her, and she raised her pale face to his. There were dark shadows under her eyes but she gave him a glowing smile. ‘It works. You can deliver in time for Halloween.’
James listened in taut silence as she told him her tale: how she’d been on the verge of abandoning the program when the Valdovian cleaner arrived; how the cleaner knew exactly who she was; and most incredibly of all, the cleaner sitting down to rewrite the program.
James sat back on his heels, shaking his head slowly.
‘Test it yourself,’ Rosalie said, sensing his doubt. ‘Or get the IT team to test it when they come in. It works.’
He stood, gazing at her awkwardly. She seemed convinced that what she said was true. ‘Rosalie, we don’t have a Valdovian cleaner.’
She gave a tired laugh. ‘He was here, I’m telling you.’ There was a wildness in her eyes that was more than just exhaustion. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘Watch this.’
She pressed start on the test game and almost instantly the screen ran its success message. Rosalie twisted round to look at him. ‘See?’
James rubbed his chin, his emotions veering wildly from elation to dismay. ‘I’ll have to get the team to check this.’
‘Of course.’ Rosalie smiled, more cheerful now that she seemed to have convinced him. ‘Get my dad to test it. But I know already, it works.’
James met her gaze. ‘If we manage to deliver this to Valdovia in time for Halloween – well, I won’t have words enough to thank you.’
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