Casino Infernale

“But you’re betting with our lives!” I said.

  “Oh, no,” said my uncle Jack. “Not just your lives, Eddie. They don’t play for money at Casino Infernale. They play for souls.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Take a Chance on Me

  We came home from Mars to find the old chapel waiting for us like a familiar pair of arms. It felt disturbing, but delightful, to go so quickly from an alien world to a place of such pleasant familiarity. The Armourer and I armoured down, and Molly sent her bark sideways again. She looked fine, but my uncle Jack looked . . . tired. Older. The three of us just stood together for a while, getting our mental breath back. Because even people like us need to take time out, now and again, to recover our bearings and recharge our batteries.

  “Will everyone else get home okay?” I said, finally.

  “Oh, sure,” said the Armourer. “And the Tombs will shut themselves down.”

  “What if someone decides they want to hang around?” said Molly. “Dig out a few secrets?”

  “The Tombs can look after themselves,” said the Armourer. “You really don’t want to outstay your welcome there.”

  “Louise did,” said Molly. “She said she liked it there.”

  “Yes, but she’s weird,” the Armourer said kindly.

  “What about Natasha Chang?” I said.

  “I’m sure someone will give her a lift home, if she needs one,” said the Armourer.

  “I wouldn’t worry about her,” said Molly. “Take a lot more than a bottle over the head to slow that one down.”

  “Why would anyone want to help her, when she was ready to kill us all?” I said.

  “Now, that was always on the cards,” said the Armourer. “She is Crowley Project, after all. Bad Deeds R Us, where betrayal comes as standard. But . . . no one ever bears grudges over what happens at Summit Meetings. Not when you might need to work with them some day.”

  “What happens on Mars, stays on Mars,” I said solemnly.

  “Well, quite,” said the Armourer.

  And then he insisted we all beat our clothing, and stamp our feet hard, to shake off any Martian dust we might have picked up. He crouched down, his knees creaking loudly, and carefully brushed up what few grains he could find, before dropping it all into a small specimen jar, and sealing it very carefully. He straightened up, slowly. I went to offer a helping hand, and he stopped me with a hard look. I should have known better. He tucked the jar away, somewhere about his person.

  “I’ll study that later, then store it somewhere safe,” he said happily. The Armourer does love his work.

  “Excuse me,” I said, “but what’s so dangerous about Martian dust?”

  “I don’t know,” the Armourer said darkly. “That’s why I’m going to study it, and store it somewhere safe.”

  “You said . . . all the Martians are dead and gone,” I said. “Long gone . . . so who else could there have been in the Tombs, watching us?”

  “Beats me,” said the Armourer.

  “I could always ask Louise,” said Molly, just a bit threateningly.

  “Nothing lives in the Martian Tombs,” said the Armourer, firmly.

  “So what the hell did J. C. Chance See, with his horrible eyes?” I said. “Martian ghosts?”

  “God, I hope not,” said the Armourer. “Help me with this Door, Eddie. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  Together, we pushed Merlin’s Door into place against the chapel wall, and the moment we stepped back the Door just faded into the wall and disappeared, leaving nothing behind but an expanse of unbroken stonework. The Armourer sniffed loudly, turned away, and led us out of the old chapel. I was the last out, and I hesitated in the doorway, looking back. It would have been good to see the ghost of old Jacob, one last time. But there was no trace of him anywhere. There are miracles in my world, but rarely the ones you want.

  I was just starting to turn away when the old television set suddenly turned itself on, and there on the screen was a ghostly image, grinning out at me.

  “Jacob?” I said.

  The television shut itself down. The screen was blank, the image gone—if it had ever really been there. It might have been him, or it might have been one last practical joke, arranged before he left. Jacob always did like to have the last laugh.

  I left the old chapel, and heaved the door back into place. The ivy waved good-bye as I walked away.

  • • •

  The Armourer led us back through Drood Hall, heading for the Armoury. Like an old horse with the scent of the stables in his nostrils. He was clearly tired now, just plodding along with his shoulders bowed and his head down. People hurried back and forth through the corridors and hallways, and after a while I began to notice that they were looking at me. Not the usual Oh God it’s him back again . . . but more . . . sad, concerned. As though they knew something I didn’t and were commiserating in advance. I would have liked to stop and question some of them, but I didn’t like the way the Armourer was looking. The trip to Mars had taken a lot out of him, and I wanted him back in the Armoury where he belonged, as soon as possible. Hopefully, the familiar surroundings would invigorate him again.

  Molly didn’t give a damn how tired he was. She kept badgering him about the Regent, and demanding the Armourer return control of the Merlin Glass to me, so we could get back to the Department of the Uncanny, and she could pin the Regent to the wall till she got some answers out of him. The Armourer finally had enough, and turned his old head sharply to glare at her.

  “The Regent isn’t at the Department, just now. He’s gone to France.”

  “What?” said Molly. “He didn’t say anything to us . . . what the hell is he doing in France?”

  “He went some time back, to prepare the way for our assault on Casino Infernale,” said the Armourer.

  “Why would the head of the Department of the Uncanny intrude on our mission?” I said. “And why has he gone personally, instead of sending his own people?” I was missing something here. I could tell.

  “He had to go himself,” said the Armourer, “because your parents have been at Casino Infernale for some time. Playing the games, putting pressure on the bank. Setting things up for you.”

  “But why is the Department of the Uncanny getting involved with Drood business?” I insisted, honestly confused.

  “This is Summit business,” said the Armourer. “My father, and your parents, are working with us on this case.”

  “Because . . . no one ever really leaves the family?” I said.

  “You’re learning, Eddie,” said the Armourer.

  Molly made a rude noise. “How is it you know so much about the Regent’s business?”

  “He’s my dad,” said the Armourer. “We keep in touch; always have. Even though we couldn’t tell you, Eddie.”

  “Yes . . .” I said. “We are going to have words about that, Uncle Jack.”

  “It was for your own good, Eddie. Your protection.”

  “That whole We know what’s best for you attitude is one of the main reasons I ran away from this family, first chance I got,” I said.

  “I feel the same way myself, sometimes,” said the Armourer. “We will talk later, Eddie. About many things. I promise.”

  • • •

  Back in the Armoury, everything looked much the same. Except for the bits that had exploded or caught fire in our absence. Sometimes I don’t think of the Armoury as a scientific laboratory, more as evolution in action. It was raining very heavily in one corner of the Armoury, complete with thunder and lightning. A bit much just to test a new kind of umbrella. The Armourer seemed pleased to be back on his own territory again; stumbling along, not hurrying, smiling amiably about him at lab assistants who were usually much more preoccupied with whatever it was that was going horribly wrong right in front of them.

  The Armourer finally sank dow
n into his favourite old chair, complete with extra cushions and safety straps, in front of his personal workstation. He let out a long slow sigh of relief.

  “Good to be back!” he said. “But then, the best part of a holiday is always coming home again.”

  “Didn’t you enjoy being on Mars?” said Molly.

  “I don’t enjoy leaving the Hall much at all, these days, truth be told,” said the Armourer. “It takes so much out of me. Don’t even like leaving the Armoury, some days.”

  He started rummaging through his desk drawers, looking for food and drink and his private little bottle of pick-me-ups that he likes to think no one else knows about. I took a careful look around at the lab assistants, making sure none of them were getting too close. One young man was holding his melting arm over a sink, and swearing bitterly. A young woman was chasing frantically after a giant eyeball with its own heavily flapping bat wings, flailing about her with a really big butterfly net. The eyeball bobbed happily along ahead of her, always just out of reach. And two lab assistants stood quietly and thoughtfully at the edge of a combat circle, making notes on clipboards as their two shadows fought it out inside the circle.

  Someone else was emptying the water from a fire bucket over a burning bush. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.

  I’d expected my uncle Jack to put the kettle on, and make us all a nice refreshing cup of tea. My family runs on hot sweet tea and Jaffa Cakes. Instead, he pulled out a bottle of Bombay gin and a glass, and poured himself a more than healthy measure. He didn’t offer Molly or me one. He added a good measure of Red Bull to his gin, and then dunked a Jaffa Cake in it. Neither the drink nor the cake seemed to restore him much. It worried me to see him like this. Watching the Armourer host the Summit on Mars, standing tall and sharp and authoritative, had been like seeing the Uncle Jack I’d known as a child. The man who was, once upon a time, one of the best field agents the Droods ever had. Now, that much older man’s fires seemed to have burned out. He looked up suddenly, and caught the expression on my face. He smiled, briefly.

  “Don’t get old, Eddie. It’s hard work.”

  Embarrassed, I looked away. Molly stole two chairs from nearby workstations, and we pulled them up opposite the Armourer, and sat down. He finished his drink, and looked thoughtfully at the various bits of high tech and partially disassembled weapons scattered across his work surface. He reached out to pat his computer fondly, like a favourite pet. The machine was wrapped in mistletoe, and long strings of garlic. Which may or may not have added to its processing power.

  “That’s new,” I said, pointing vaguely at something green and brown, in a pot. “What is that?”

  “A bonsai wicker man,” the Armourer said proudly. “Only one in captivity.” His voice was firmer now, his eyes clearer.

  Molly leaned in close, fascinated. “What do you burn in it?”

  “Chestnuts, mostly,” said the Armourer.

  “Uncle Jack,” I said, and he looked at me sharply. He knew I used his name only to put pressure on him. “I think it’s time you told me what’s going on, Uncle Jack.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is time, Eddie.” He sat back in his chair, and considered me thoughtfully. “Very well. Down to business, eh? Good, good . . . Casino Infernale is being held in the city of Nantes, in France, this year.”

  “Hold it,” I said. “With something this important, shouldn’t I be getting the full briefing from the Council?”

  “Thought you were in a hurry, boy? Still . . . caution; always a good thing. I’m telling you what you need to know, because I know more about this than anyone else. I was involved in one of the earliest attempts to break the bank at Casino Infernale, back in the mid-sixties. Don’t ask me the exact date. I’ve never been good with dates. . . . Anyway, this particular mission was the first and only time I ever worked in the field with my brother James. We were both building a reputation, back then, and they’d already started calling James the Grey Fox. This was a carefully planned mission, with two very experienced field agents, and it still all went to shit in a hurry and we had to run for our lives. Hopefully, you two will do better.” He stopped then, for a long moment, his gaze far away, lost in yesterday. He looked old again. Even frail. He roused himself, and continued. “It’s been a long time since I was out in the field. Walking up and down in the world, changing history from behind the scenes. Now just hosting a Summit takes it out of me . . . which is why you get to go to Nantes, and not me.”

  “What went wrong?” I said. “On the mission, with you and James?”

  “Casino Security was on to us from the start,” said the Armourer. His mouth pulled back, as though bothered by a bad taste. “We thought we were being so clever, swaggering around hidden behind our brandnew identities and immaculately crafted disguises. But hotel security spotted our torcs the moment we walked in. They were just waiting for us to start something, so they could kill us both and prove they weren’t afraid of no Droods. . . . We had no choice but to abandon the mission and take to our heels. Ended up being chased across the hotel roof by a whole army of heavily armed goons. Ah, the good old days . . . But you don’t want to hear this.”

  “Of course I do!” I said. “You hardly ever talk about being a field agent, any more. When I was a kid, I used to love sneaking out of lessons to come down here and listen to all your stories.”

  “Glory days,” said the Armourer. “You’ll understand when you’re older, Eddie. You can’t afford to live too much in the past, if you want to get anything done. But the past can seem so much more tempting than the present, because that’s the only place you can meet your old friends. . . . No. No; concentrate! I never told you this story before, Eddie, because we made such a mess of it. The Casino Security people threw everything they had at us: guns and magics, incendiaries and shaped curses. James and I would have liked to stand our ground and fight; show these cheap thugs what Drood armour and training could do. But we had to get away. We had to get the information home . . . that they could See our torcs. Not many could, then. So we headed for the roof, to make our escape.

  “We were on the penthouse floor, you see. Casino Security couldn’t touch us until we actually broke a rule. For fear of upsetting the other gamblers. If they thought Security thugs could just jump them any time, for no reason, they wouldn’t come. Gambling, serious gambling, only works if it’s protected by the rules. Anyway, word got to us that there was a hidden safe somewhere in the penthouse main office, with all kinds of useful information in it about Casino Infernale and the Shadow Bank that funded it. So James and I sneaked up there and broke in, trusting to our armour to hide and protect us. But the moment we opened the office door, every alarm in the world went off at once. And dozens of over-muscled, heavily armed, Security goons appeared out of nowhere. To drag us down, and haul us away for . . . questioning.

  “James and I fought our way out, easily enough. Weapons and numbers were never going to be enough against Drood armour. We stove in chests and broke in heads with our golden fists, and threw huge men against the walls with such force that we broke the walls as well as the men. And laughed while we did it. Glorying in death and destruction. We were younger men then, and thought being the Good Guys justified anything. . . .

  “We took the elevator to the roof. We couldn’t go down, because it sounded like all the Security people in the hotel were coming up, with God alone knew how much heavy-duty weaponry. So we went up, to the maintenance level directly below the roof. The elevator slid smoothly to a halt, and James and I looked at each other. We knew there was bound to be massed nastiness waiting on the other side of the elevator doors. So, we smashed the door controls so the bad guys couldn’t get in, and then bashed holes in the elevator roof. In films there are always inspection panels you can use to get out, but there aren’t any in real life. Hollywood lies to you all the time. So, we burst up through into the elevator shaft, and then clambered up the cables to the ro
of exit.

  “Once outside, we went to the edge and looked down. We were a very long way up. Tallest building in Nantes, by far. We could see right out across the city. The wind blew across the roof with savage force, enough to rock us back and forth on our feet even in our armour. I could hear feet hurrying up the stairs to the roof—lots of feet. James and I looked frantically about us, but there was no obvious way down . . . so we ran for the far edge of the roof, to buy us some time. Hoping we’d find something there we could use. A door burst open behind us, and armed men spilled out onto the roof, opening fire on us with every kind of weapon you could think of.

  “James and I kept our heads down, and ran for all we were worth. When you’re in the armour, Molly, you feel like you can run like the wind. We sprinted, faster than a racing car, golden arms pumping at our sides, and the roof just flew past. Bullets, and other things, ricocheted harmlessly off our armour. A few hit us hard enough to make us stagger, but we just kept going. We both knew surrender wasn’t an option. They’d vivisect us alive, right down to the genetic level, to learn the secret of Drood armour. So we ran. I don’t think either of us was laughing, any more.

  “And, just like that, we ran out of roof. We skidded to a halt at the edge, our golden heels digging furrows in the concrete surface . . . and when we looked down it was the same dizzying drop, hundreds and hundreds of feet. No way down, and no way back. Bullets were still ricocheting from our armour, and blowing chunks out of the roof around us. We were trapped. Just standing there on the edge, looking down, made my head swim. Drood armour has many fine qualities, but flying has never been one of them. I looked at James.

  “‘We’re going to have to jump,’ I said.

  “‘Are you crazy? The fall will almost certainly kill us,’ he said.

  “‘Let’s cling to the word almost,’ I said.

  “‘The armour will probably survive the drop,’ said James. ‘But I hate to think what the impact of the sudden halt will do to what’s inside the armour. If they ever find a way to open it up, they’ll be able to remove what’s left of us with spoons.’