“Very unprofessional,” said Molly.
We strode past him, through the doors and into the lobby. Frankie followed close behind, growling under his breath. Inside, the lobby was packed full of all kinds of people, from legitimate players to obvious hangers-on, all of them milling around and chattering loudly, forming into small groups and then breaking up again, as they tried to find someone who knew what the hell was going on. Though with everyone clamouring at the top of their voices, it was a wonder any of them could hear what anyone was saying. There was a definite feeling of unease on the air, and more than a hint of hysteria.
Someone had misbehaved, that was clear, and punishments were in the offing. There was so much commotion no one even noticed Molly and me returning, along with a seething Frankie. But we’d barely got inside the door when the hotel manager, Jonathon Scott, came striding into the lobby, accompanied by half a dozen large and muscular gentlemen, carrying machine pistols at the ready. Scott looked coldly furious, and his muscle men looked coldly professional. And just like that, everyone in the lobby shut the hell up to watch Scott’s every move with wide, watchful eyes, like frightened children.
The men with Scott all looked exactly the same. Big black men in quasi-military uniforms. With exactly the same face. I didn’t have to be told who they were; that I was finally getting a clear look at living examples of the legendary Jackson Fifty-five. Their dark scowling faces all showed exactly the same expression of practised intimidation, and they all moved in the same way, with an eerie synchronicity. They spread out across the lobby, covering the crowd with their guns. Some people took one look at the infamous mercenary soldiers and ran, heading for the nearest exits, but still more Jacksons appeared, spilling out of every door and exit with guns at the ready, to herd everyone back again. They didn’t say anything; they didn’t have to. A sense of imminent danger hung heavily on the air—a feeling of blood and death ready to happen at any moment.
I looked carefully around me. All the ways out of the lobby were very thoroughly blocked off. If Scott should order the Jacksons to open fire, it would be a massacre.
“They don’t look that tough,” said Molly.
“But they are,” said Frankie. “Please don’t start anything.”
“Is there a null operating?” I said quietly to Molly.
“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe,” she said. “Major null. I couldn’t produce a bunny out of a top hat.”
“Then let’s not start anything, just yet,” I said.
“What do we do if they open fire?” said Molly.
“Hit the floor first, and hide under the bodies,” I said.
“What if they fire through the bodies, to make sure?” said Frankie.
“Well, hopefully by then I will have thought of something else,” I said.
One of the Jacksons noticed we were still talking, and came forward to glare at us. Molly and I moved to stand close together, and regarded the Jackson thoughtfully. He stopped, and looked at us. He’d been a soldier for many years, you could see it in his movements and in the way he held himself, and he knew a real threat when he saw one. I could tell just from looking at him that he’d seen pretty much everything bad the world had to offer, and that he hadn’t got where he was today by taking unnecessary risks. He gave us his best scowl, checked we weren’t obviously armed, and decided he was as close to us as he needed to be.
“Pay attention!” said Scott, into the silence of the lobby. He didn’t sound like a manager, all calm and patient and dedicated to the comfort of his guests; he sounded like a man who served Casino Infernale. “I regret to say . . . that there has been a major breach in hotel security. Someone has betrayed the trust placed on you, as guests. Someone has broken into Franklyn Parris’ private office.”
A short anticipatory murmur ran through the crowd at the name of the man in charge of the Games, but it was quickly shut down by threatening looks and movements from the Jacksons. Everyone looked quickly at everyone else, in search of a culprit. But since everyone there looked equally suspicious, and equally guilty, that didn’t really help much. There was also a certain look of admiration on many faces—that anyone had dared take on the man in charge. Of such things are reputations made. Frankie looked at Molly with something very like horror.
“How close did you come to getting caught?” he said, very quietly.
“Shut up,” said Molly. And she stamped on his foot, hard.
“Mr. Parris is extremely annoyed at having his privacy invaded,” said Scott. “He has therefore authorised me to punish someone. Since we cannot know who the guilty party is, and it seems unlikely that they will do the decent thing and own up, I have decided that someone will be punished . . . right here. Right now. Someone chosen entirely at random. To make the point that no one defies the rules at Casino Infernale.”
Scott produced a gun from inside his jacket. A simple, brutal handgun. Another quick murmur rose and fell, as the crowd realised they were going to see someone die. That Scott was just going to pick one of them, and shoot them dead. Just to make a point. Some of those present looked quite excited at the prospect. Scott moved forward, and everyone fell back before him. The manager swept his gun back and forth, quite unhurriedly, his cold gaze moving almost impartially over the people packed together before him. Here and there, men and women tried to back away, but either the people behind them wouldn’t let them, or there were armed Jacksons in place to prevent them. Scott paused before one man, who made a high-pitched hysterical sound, and then dissolved immediately into a tower of water that splashed to the lobby floor and ran away.
“Now that’s what I call nerves,” said Molly. “He wet himself.”
There was a sudden burst of nervous laughter, but it didn’t last long, in the face of so much tension and a very real threat. Scott was still pressing forward, moving his gun back and forth, taking his time, savouring the moment. The Jacksons were still standing solidly in place, making sure no one got away. Men and women flinched and clutched at each other as the gun targeted them. Some cried out, involuntarily. A few begged and pleaded shamelessly until the gun moved on, and then they cried bitter tears of relief and self-disgust. Some tried to hide behind other people, who fought them savagely off. Scott looked at me. I stepped forward, to put myself between him and Molly. I didn’t think about it; just did it automatically. Molly quickly shouldered past me, to stand between me and the gun, shooting me an angry glance to remind me that I didn’t have my armour’s protection any more. That honestly hadn’t occurred to me. I glared at Scott. I didn’t know what I’d do if he settled on Molly, but I knew I’d do something. Frankie hid behind both of us. And Scott and the gun moved on, leaving us behind.
Someone was about to die, because of something Molly and I had done, but I didn’t even consider confessing. Partly because I still had a war to stop, and partly because just by being here, at Casino Infernale, all of these people were guilty of something. I’m not normally that cold, or at least I like to think not, but these people deserved everything that happened to them.
And then Scott suddenly raised his gun and shot a man in the head. Quite neatly and proficiently, straight between the eyes. The man’s head jerked back, as blood and brains spattered the faces of the people behind him. They cried out in shock, but they didn’t say anything. The man crumpled bonelessly to the floor, his face blank and empty. He hadn’t even had enough time to look surprised before he was dead. Silence lay heavily across the lobby. Some people looked angrily at Scott, some looked relieved, but nobody looked shocked. This was Casino Infernale, after all. You had to expect things like this. Sudden death. Unfair death. It was part of why people came. Scott nodded briefly, satisfied, and put his gun away. He gathered up the Jacksons with his eyes, and led them out of the lobby.
• • •
Everyone else relaxed, and started talking again. Chattering loudly and excitedly, laughing nervously,
speculating wildly on what might have been behind what just happened. If anyone there knew the dead man, no one was admitting to it. They all stayed well back, giving the body plenty of room. Quiet uniformed staff came forward, bearing a stretcher, and removed the body with casual ease. They had clearly had to do it before.
“Who was that?” said Molly, to Frankie. “Who was it who just died?”
“No one important,” he said, coming out from behind us now the danger was over.
“How can you be sure?” I said.
“Because if it had been someone important,” Frankie said patiently, “I would have known them. Mr. Scott chose his target very carefully, and not at all at random. He couldn’t afford to kill a Major Player, or even a potential Major Player, because of all the money and prestige such people bring to the Games. And, because you can’t kill a Major Player that easily with just a gun, even inside a major null. They always have some hidden protections. No, Scott had to kill someone, for the pride of the hotel, and Franklyn Parris, so he chose a nobody. Someone whose death wouldn’t matter. He was just making a point, after all.”
“I really don’t like this place,” said Molly. “Such small evils, such petty malice. I’d expected something more . . . romantic, from a big operation like Casino Infernale. Tragic betrayals, major reverses, souls lost and won on the flip of a coin . . .”
“Please,” said Frankie, “it’s just a business.” He paused to look at us both accusingly. “Did you really . . . ?”
“Yes!” said Molly. “Of course we did! We told you we were going to!”
“I didn’t think you’d really do it!” said Frankie. “And I certainly didn’t believe you’d actually be able to get into his office!”
“Bit of a failure, there,” I said. “We cracked his safe, but there wasn’t anything useful in it. Parris knew we were coming. Just like before . . .”
“What?” said Frankie.
“Never you mind,” said Molly. “The point is, Parris knew someone was coming. I don’t think he suspects us, personally, especially since I dried us out from the sprinklers; because if he did he’d have had all fifty-five of the Jacksons open fire on us the moment we reappeared. Take us out while we weren’t expecting it.”
“That might even have worked,” I said.
“Please,” Frankie said pleadingly. “No more burglaries. They’re bad for my nerves.”
“Didn’t do mine any good,” I said.
“The Medium Games are already under way,” said Frankie. “You need to make yourselves known there, while there’s still time.”
“Why are they called the Medium Games?” Molly said innocently. “Is it because if you lose, you can only complain through a medium?”
“You worry me,” said Frankie.
• • •
He led us over to the elevators, nursing a grim silence like a reprimand. We rose slowly through the hotel, and stopped at the fiftieth floor. The doors opened onto a really long corridor, stretching away before us into the far distance. There were no doors leading off, no side turnings, just the corridor, heading far and far away. Frankie raised his head and squared his shoulders, and set off. Molly and I went after him. And it was only then that I realised both walls of the corridor were lined with faces.
Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of living faces staring out of simple wooden frames. Held in place behind polished glass, staring out at the world with knowing, horrified eyes. Their mouths moved with words I couldn’t hear. Young and old, all races; just faces now, trapped behind glass. No children. I don’t think I could have stood it, if there had been children. The faces watched us pass, with helpless eyes. Like so many insects pinned on a collector’s board, still endlessly suffering. So many trophies of Casino Infernale. I looked hard, but I didn’t recognise anyone. I think a few might have recognised me.
“Are these . . . ?” I said, finally.
“Yes,” said Frankie, striding along, staring carefully straight ahead. “These are the gamblers who lost their lives and their souls to Casino Infernale.”
“Are they in Hell?” said Molly.
“Might as well be,” said Frankie. “This is what happens when the Casino makes good its claim on your soul.”
“What does the Casino want all these souls for?” I said.
“There are a great many theories about that,” said Frankie. “Though of course the Casino, and the Shadow Bank, and whoever’s behind them, aren’t talking. The most common belief is that souls are currency, in the Great Game between Heaven and Hell. And that the Shadow Bank can trade in the souls it owns, to make deals with Above and Below. Don’t ask me what kind of deals; the general feeling is it doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“I have seen similar faces, trapped under glass, in Crow Lee’s country house,” I said. “After he was dead, I set them free.”
“But they were still alive,” said Molly.
Frankie paused to look back at both of us. “You really did kill Crow Lee. The Most Evil Man In The World. Damn . . .”
“I am not leaving these people like this,” I said. There was a cold anger in my voice, and Frankie flinched away from it. “I will free all these people before I leave Casino Infernale. I don’t care who they were, or what they might have done, this is just wrong.”
“You didn’t mind standing by while Scott shot a man for something you did,” said Frankie.
“I couldn’t save him,” I said. “I couldn’t do anything, then. I can do something here. And I will.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” said Frankie. “You never know who might be listening. These souls . . . are spoken for.”
“Like yours?” said Molly.
“I’m not going to talk about that,” said Frankie. “Let’s just say I don’t think you need to worry about ever seeing my face here.”
“I will free these people,” I said. “Even if I have to bring my whole family here to help me do it.”
“Of course you will,” said Molly. “That’s what you do.”
“You worry me,” said Frankie.
• • •
We walked on down the corridor for some time, for a lot farther than should have been possible inside the hotel. More and more faces watched us pass, silently pleading. I didn’t make eye contact. It was the only way to cope. And finally a door loomed up before us, blocking off the end of the corridor. Molly leaned in close beside me.
“We’re being scanned,” she said quietly. “Act natural.”
“I wouldn’t know how,” I said.
The door was so big we could see it long before we got anywhere near. Just a huge steel slab, with no obvious handle or hinges, or details. As we finally drew near, two oversized thugs in formal clothes appeared out of nowhere to block our way. They stood before the steel door, looking us over, arms folded tightly across their massive chests, daring and defying us to get past them.
“Keep walking,” Frankie murmured, while falling casually back to allow Molly and me to take the lead. “Show no weakness; they can smell fear.”
I headed straight for them, smiling widely. I’d faced down club bouncers before, in parts of London that would have scared the crap out of all fifty-five Jacksons. I let my hands close slowly into fists. I was just in the mood to hit someone who needed hitting. And they looked like they qualified. Molly leaned forward, grinning nastily. The two Security thugs held their post till the very last moment and then stepped aside. The door slid sideways, disappearing into the left-hand wall, and Molly and Frankie and I strode straight through.
“It’s all about confidence,” said Frankie. “And brass nerve. If you haven’t got those, you don’t belong in the Medium Games anyway.”
“We’ve never been short of either,” I said, and Molly nodded solemnly.
As we actually passed through the open doorway, Molly’s head came up sharply
.
“This is a dimensional door,” she said. “Like the one we used earlier today. It could be taking us anywhere. Anywhere at all.”
“Of course,” said Frankie. “The Medium Games are far too dangerous, and too private, to take place inside the hotel building.”
And then we all stopped walking as we realised we’d arrived somewhere new. I looked back, and there was no sign of the steel door, or the corridor, or the hotel. We were standing on the top of a small grassy hill, with wide grassy plains all around. Down below us lay an Arena—an open circle of stony ground, surrounded by row upon row of circular stone seating, in raked ranks. Like . . . a miniature Colosseum. The stone looked old and beaten and worn-down. As though it had been here, and much used, for some time. No seats, just low stone walls, so people could sit on them and watch what was happening in the Arena, right in front of them. There were already some people in place, in strikingly modern clothes, sitting and waiting patiently, while others wandered back and forth between the raked rows, talking animatedly. No one went anywhere near the open circle at the centre.
The dying ground.
“Okay,” said Molly, after a while. “I am thinking gladiators, and not in a good way. And, I’m picking up another major null operating here. Covering everywhere, except for the circle in the middle of the Arena.”
“Exactly,” said Frankie. “No magics or psychic influence possible anywhere, except on the fighting ground. So the audience can be sure no one can cheat or interfere in the Games.”
Molly gave me a hard look. “You are not Pit fighting again. I had a hard enough job putting you back together again last time.”
“I would rather avoid that, if possible,” I said. “I don’t like what that kind of Game brings out in me.” And then I stopped, as something caught my eye. “Hold everything, people, and look up.”
We all looked up. At a night sky full of unfamiliar constellations. Stars burned fiercely, in all the colours of the rainbow, and three huge moons glowed bitter yellow against the dark. It was actually disturbing, to suddenly see a night sky so different from the one I was used to. It felt as though someone had ripped the world out from under my feet, while I wasn’t looking. I glared about me. It all seemed bright as day. I looked down, at the ground. The grass beneath my feet had a definite purple tinge to it, among the dark green.