“Mr. Shaman Bond, allow me to present to you . . . Leopold, the famous gambling priest. Jacqueline Hyde, famous for all sorts of unpleasant things. Earnest Schmidt, head of the reformed Brotherhood of the Vril, who wants very much to be famous one day. And a gentleman who prefers to be known by his old sobriquet, the Card Shark. Once, the most famous card player of them all.”
We all nodded to each other, more or less politely. The only one I didn’t already know was the fat old man called the Card Shark. His name meant something, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. . . . He sat half slumped in his chair, bulging out of his suit as though he’d outgrown it, his stomach pushing out the bulging, food-spattered waistcoat. He had large fleshy hands, not quite as steady as they should have been, and a broad sweaty face with unhealthy grey skin. His eyes were flat and dark and suspicious. He didn’t look at all well. He looked old and tired, as though he should have been in some retirement home, and that, at last, helped me to place him.
The Card Shark dismissed me with a glance, which was as it should be. He had no reason to know Shaman Bond. Wouldn’t have lowered himself to move in such circles. But he’d have known my cousin, Matthew Drood, back when Matthew was the family’s main field agent in London. He’d amassed quite a file on the infamous Card Shark—a man already well past his prime, but still a fearless and much feared card player in all the sleazier gambling houses in London. The Card Shark got his reputation from driving other card players to their deaths. The Shark liked to goad inexperienced young players into games and bets they weren’t ready for, and then demand every penny he was owed, immediately. Many suicided when they couldn’t pay.
I thought the nasty old scrote had retired. Was he back here for one last big game? And if so, how did he get this far? Last I heard, he was broke and vegetating in some nursing home. Could Casino Infernale have funded the Card Shark’s return, so Parris could be sure of at least one celebrity name at his first Big Game?
I made a point of looking away from the table and the players, and gestured at the great steel-shuttered windows.
“What’s out there?” I said to Parris. “Where are we, exactly? Why aren’t we allowed to see?”
“Because you wouldn’t like it,” said Parris. “It would only distract you from the game. All you need to know is that this is home ground to the Shadow Bank. And we take our privacy very seriously.”
I looked across at the bar, where Molly was perched on a high stool opposite Eiko. They were talking quietly to each other, not even bothering to hide their mutual hostility.
“Only the players are allowed to sit at table,” said Eiko. “You are allowed to observe, Miss Metcalf, as long as you don’t try to interfere.”
“Well, whoopee,” said Molly. She shot me a quick reassuring glance, and then glared at the bartender. “Give me a bottle of brandy and one glass. I would offer you a drink, Miss Eiko, but I’ve only got the one bottle.”
Eiko ordered a single glass of saki.
“Am I the only guest here?” said Molly.
“No one else took advantage of their plus one,” said Eiko. “Unless you count Jacqueline. But then, in my experience, I have found most gamblers to be solitary types.”
“Are you sitting here to keep me company, or to keep an eye on me?” Molly said bluntly.
“Yes,” said Eiko.
“If we could have your full attention, Mr. Bond?” said Parris.
I pulled out a chair, sat down at the table, and stared openly round at my fellow players. They looked me over just as openly. I supposed they weren’t used to playing with people they didn’t already know at this level of Casino Infernale. I smiled easily about me.
“So!” I said brightly. “Let’s all get acquainted. Why are we all here? You first . . .”
“One last big game,” said the Card Shark. His voice was harsh and breathy, as though he had trouble getting enough air. “To prove I’ve still got it. That I’m still the best.”
It had to be said, no one else at the table looked particularly convinced. Most of them were looking at the Card Shark with barely disguised contempt.
“Go on, Shark,” said Jacqueline. “Make yourself at home. Ruin someone’s life and drive them to suicide.”
“Why are you here?” Schmidt said to Jacqueline. He sounded politely interested.
“It’s no secret,” said Jacqueline. “I need to find a way to separate myself from Hyde, so we can exist separately. So we can be properly together, at last.”
“But you’re from the Nightside,” said Leopold. “If you couldn’t find an answer there . . .”
“Who says I didn’t?” Jacqueline said harshly. “But miracles cost money, lots of money, even in the Nightside. Perhaps especially in the Nightside.”
“I am here to fund the Vril,” Earnest Schmidt said flatly. “The world is waiting for us, waiting for a Fourth Reich to bring Order out of Chaos. The world is waiting for the reformed Brotherhood of the Vril to return from the shadows and force the world to make sense again. Movements cost money. So here I am. Look on my cards, ye mighty, and despair.”
“Molly and I were attacked on our way here,” I said, “by big blonde Nazi girls, riding flying lizards. Pan’s Panzerpeople.”
“I know nothing of this,” said Schmidt, not even looking at me.
A brandy bottle flew past his head, barely missing him, followed by raucous laughter from the bar. Schmidt went pale, and developed a twitch.
“I know,” I said quickly to Parris. “She’s my responsibility.” I looked back at the bar. “Behave, Molly. Or they’ll throw both of us out of here.”
“Spoil-sports,” said Molly. “You, bartender. Give me another bottle. And if you say I’m cut off, I’ll start cutting bits off your anatomy.”
“Girls just want to have fun,” I said to Parris. I looked at Schmidt. “The Pan’s Panzerpeople are all dead now. So are their Pteranodons. Hope you kept the receipt. Maybe you can get your money back.”
“I am here to raise funds for Mother Church,” said Leopold. Intervening graciously.
“What’s the matter, priest?” said Jacqueline. “The Church doesn’t own enough land, or cathedrals, or works of art?”
“I raise money for charity,” said Leopold. “For orphanages and missionaries. Feed the hungry, and pass out Bibles to the lost.”
“Ever think maybe you’re part of the problem?” said Jacqueline.
“No,” said Leopold.
I studied him thoughtfully. “How do you justify owning souls, priest? Doesn’t it bother you?”
“I have been given a special dispensation by the Church,” Leopold said calmly.
“And what happens?” I said. “To the souls you own?”
“Souls are currency, or ammunition, in the Great Game between Heaven and Hell,” said Leopold. “You might say . . . the souls I win have been conscripted, to my side.”
“Slavery is still slavery, however you justify it,” I said.
“Then how do you justify owning souls, Mr. Bond?” said Leopold. He seemed genuinely interested in my answer.
“I don’t,” I said. “But then, I don’t have to. I’m a bastard, not a priest.”
“I work for the greater good,” said Leopold. “The sacrifice of the few is sometimes necessary, if the many are to be saved.”
“Even conscripts should have some say in what happens to them,” I said.
“You are a far more thoughtful man than I expected,” said Leopold. “We should talk, afterwards. I’m sure we’d find a lot in common. Why are you here, Mr. Bond?”
“I’m here to break the bank,” I said, and everyone managed some kind of smile at that.
“Really,” said Schmidt, smiling avuncularly, if a little coldly, “I think all of us would admit, if pressed, that we are all here for the thrill of the game. Even you, priest.”
“Perhaps especially me,” said Leopold, calmly.
“Before we start,” said Jacqueline, “I want a bigger chair. Because this one will just break when I change into Hyde.”
I think it was the way she said when rather than if that put the wind up everybody. Including the armed guards around the room, who immediately snapped to attention and aimed their guns at Jacqueline. Parris gestured to Eiko, who hopped down from her bar-stool and left the room through the dimensional door.
“I’m assuming there is a null zone generator in this room, somewhere,” Molly said loudly. “To keep everyone honest. And to keep Jacqueline . . . Jacqueline. Can she really become Hyde, under these conditions?”
“I’m afraid she can,” said Parris. “Hers is a pre-existing condition, a result of taking the Hyde potion long ago. So we must all therefore rely on Jacqueline’s self-control.”
I shot a look at Molly, who nodded briefly to me. We were both thinking of the potion the Armourer gave us, before we left Drood Hall. And then we all looked round sharply as the door banged open and Eiko strode in, leading two security guards carrying a really big chair between them. They set it down at the table, and backed quickly away. Jacqueline looked the chair over, and then tried it out for size. She looked small and lost in it. She nodded, briefly. Eiko went back to the bar, hopped up onto her bar-stool, and went back to glaring at Molly. The two security men left the room, at speed, closing the door firmly behind them. There then followed a certain amount of changing chairs and jockeying for position, because no one wanted to sit next to Jacqueline Hyde any more. In the end, Leopold sat down on one side of her, and not to be outdone, I sat down on her other side. Schmidt and the Card Shark immediately sat down on the other side of the table, facing us. Franklyn Parris sat at the head of the table, and produced a pack of playing cards. He smiled easily about him, shuffling the pack with calm, practised movements.
“I shall be dealer,” he announced. “As the only truly impartial figure here. The game is, of course, poker. The traditional game, with no cards showing. None of the . . . amusing variations. Poker is the only game to have a real, almost mystical significance to all Major Players. A matter of chance and skill, and a test of character, poker has always been the Big Game, to decide the future of all souls won at Casino Infernale.”
He set the pack of cards down carefully on the polished tabletop, and then produced, apparently from nowhere, a large red-lacquered box, to set down beside the cards. He waved his hand over the box, and the lid slowly opened. Parris then consulted a list, and counted out piles of obols for all of us. To serve as our gambling chips. I wasn’t entirely surprised to find that everyone else had a much bigger pile than mine. The next largest pile belonged to the Card Shark, presumably courtesy of the Casino. I examined the obols I’d been given. Each small coin had been stamped with a stylised death’s head, on both sides.
“Cool,” I said. “Cool touch.”
“We thought so,” said Parris. And then he dealt five cards to each of us, round and round, while we all watched with avid eyes.
I picked up my cards, and took a look. A pair of eights, and three assorted hearts. Didn’t mean a thing to me.
I hadn’t played cards in general, and poker in particular, since I was a kid. And only then because all forms of gambling were strictly forbidden at Drood Hall. If it was against the rules, I was up for it, back then. But . . . it didn’t take me long to discover that I had no gift, no skill, and no luck at all when it came to cards. So I gave it up, very quickly. Never once felt the urge to go back.
I looked at my cards again, with what I hoped was my best poker face, and hadn’t a clue what to do for the best. I could discard as many cards as I wanted, and take more from the dealer, in the hope of improving my hand . . . but I had no idea what the relevant odds were. So I sat back, and allowed the others to make up their minds behind their various poker faces, and waited for the Armourer’s potion to kick in. Only to quickly realise that the potion only helped with card counting and pattern recognition. Neither of which would be any use until a few hands of cards had been played. By which time . . . I could have lost all my carefully gathered souls.
Everybody anted up, throwing the bare minimum of coins onto the table, to show they were entering the game, and I had to go along. And then everyone discarded some cards in return for others, while I thought furiously. Finally, Parris looked at me and raised an eyebrow when I just smiled at him, placed my cards face down on the table, and shook my head.
“I’ll play these,” I said.
And while everyone else was still staring at me, I pushed forward every single coin I had, to start the next round.
“All of it,” I said brightly. “Every damned obol. Anyone want to see me?”
I saw Molly sit bolt upright at the bar, out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t dare look at her directly. She was looking at me as though I’d gone mad, and to be fair, so was everybody else. But, because everyone else at the table was an experienced gambler, and knew what they were doing . . . they assumed I knew what I was doing. So they all folded, and threw their cards in. Rather than throw good obols after bad. I smiled again, and raked in all the coins already bet. With one single bluff, I’d just about doubled the number of souls I had to bet with. Enough for me to sit back for a few hands, watch the game develop, and allow the Armourer’s potion to kick in. I leaned back in my chair, and felt my heartbeat slowly fall back to something like normal.
Parris reached for my cards, and Schmidt suddenly leant forward.
“No!” he said. “I want to see the cards our callow young friend thought so highly of.”
“Sorry,” I said, pushing the cards over to Parris, still face down. “You didn’t pay for the privilege of seeing them.”
“Quite correct, Mr. Bond,” said Parris, shuffling my cards back into the pack.
“So,” said Schmidt. “That’s how this game is going to be played.”
My first big win had surprised, if not necessarily impressed, everyone else, and they were all very cautious in their betting through the next few rounds. I anted up the bare minimum, just enough to stay in the game, and watched the other players as closely as the play. My card counting skills eased in almost without me noticing, and I was soon starting to recognise patterns in the play. Just enough . . . to give me an edge. The cards went back and forth, and I won a few hands here and there, while avoiding what might have been nasty losses. The other players were taking me more seriously now, and genuinely seemed to believe I knew what I was doing.
And then the Card Shark bet big, just as I had. He bet all his obols, all his souls, on one hand of cards. And then he sat back and glowered around the table. Only I knew he couldn’t have the kind of cards he needed to win that big. I’d been counting. So I called him. It took pretty much everything I had. The Card Shark glared at me, outraged that a nobody like me should dare to call him. He wasn’t giving anything away; he’d looked angry and outraged at pretty much everything and everyone since he sat down at the table. There are, after all, all kinds of poker faces. He turned to Parris, who was already shaking his head.
“No credit, Card Shark. You can only bet what you bring to the table. You have bet, and Mr. Bond has called. It’s time to see the cards.”
The Card Shark turned his over: a pair of kings. While I had three eights. And that was that. The Card Shark had bluffed, trying to intimidate the table with his old reputation, and he had lost. The others looked at him almost pityingly. The Card Shark lurched to his feet, and pointed a shaking finger at me.
“Cheat! I call cheat! There’s no way you could have bet that much, on a hand like that, unless you knew what I had!”
“I suspected,” I said.
“Enough,” said Parris. “There is no room at this table for a sore loser. Perhaps you should have stayed retired, Mr. Fisk.”
“No! No! Give me another chance,
another stake!” The Card Shark looked wildly around him, as the nearest armed guards moved forward. He was still begging and pleading, without shame or pride, to be allowed to stay at the table, where he belonged, when he was dragged bodily out the dimensional door. He was crying when the door slammed shut after him, and the sound cut off abruptly. Parris smiled apologetically around the table.
“Some players just don’t know when to quit.”
And then the door slammed open again, and the Card Shark was back, brandishing a gun he’d somehow managed to take off one of the guards. We all sat very still as the Card Shark pointed the gun unsteadily at Parris.
“Give me another chance,” he said harshly. “Just enough souls for a few more hands, enough to get back in the Game. I’m not being cheated out of my comeback!”
“It was never going to be a comeback,” Parris said calmly. “Merely one last chance to play at the big table. Don’t be a fool, Mr. Fisk. Give me the gun.”
“I won’t give up!” said the Card Shark. “I’ve got a gun, so you have to listen to me! I didn’t come all this way just to be beaten by a nobody! You gave me the souls. Give me some more! You can afford it! I can do this!”
“So,” said Schmidt, glaring at Parris. “The rumours are true. You did back a player of your own.”
“You tried to fix the Big Game, Mr. Parris?” said Leopold. “I am shocked, I tell you, shocked.”
“There has been no interference in the Game,” Parris said carefully. “I merely wanted to be sure that there would be someone at the table that other people had heard of.”
The Card Shark suddenly pointed his gun at me. “You couldn’t have beaten me, you little shit. Not you!”
“You bluffed and you lost,” said Leopold. “No one likes a bad loser. This is no way to end a long and distinguished career, Mr. Fisk. Please leave now, before things get out of hand.”
“I’ve got a gun!” said the Card Shark, desperately.