Alex Verus Novels, Books 1-4 (9780698175952) (111 page)

I was silent. “Well, I'd hoped for better,” I said after a moment, “but I guess I'll take what I can get. What's the exception?”

“I think Variam might have a future as a Council Keeper.”

I stared at her. “You're kidding.”

“Not at all.”

“Vari hates Keepers!”

“So he told me. I understand he and Anne came under investigation last year.”

“If by ‘came under investigation' you mean ‘were arrested,' then yes. And Vari had issues with them before that. He thinks the Council abandoned them both and he's . . . pretty much right. He's got a giant chip on his shoulder about mages in general and Light mages in particular, and if there's one group you're going to blame for what Light mages do, it's the Keepers.”

“I understand, but all the same I think that's where his abilities would be best appreciated. He's a fighter and he's determined, and he's an essentially active personality who needs work to do. He'll always have some difficulty with discipline, but the Council have employed fire mages before, you know. The Keeper orders are where they traditionally put them.”

“And the fact that he's associated with a Dark mage?”

“In my opinion, that's the strongest reason to recommend it. The Keepers are the only arm of the Council who deal with Dark mages on a regular basis. Firsthand knowledge of Dark culture without being a Dark mage would be a selling point to them. If Variam can convince them he's what he says he is, there's a good chance they'll give him the chance to prove himself.”

I thought for a minute. “Did you have someone in mind?”

“I gave Variam the contact details of a Keeper who I think might be a good match. The decision has to be his, of course.”

I turned it over in my mind and shrugged. “Well, I still think it still sounds weird, but I guess it could work. What about Anne?”

“Anne is going to be more difficult.”

“Why?”

“Well for one thing, she's a life mage.”

I frowned. “Why's that a problem?”

“Because life mages can do more than heal.”

“They can do the opposite, I know.” I'd seen Anne do it, though only twice. “I don't see how it matters. Pretty much every mage can kill you one way or another.”

“From your point of view, perhaps,” Dr. Shirland said. “But most mages are rarely threatened, and when they are it's usually in a way they can understand and deal with. And if they're an elemental mage, then of course they have their shields. A powerful protection, at least against most things.”

“Life magic goes through shields?”

“As if they weren't there. I've never seen it myself but I've spoken to people who have. Just imagine how frightening that would be. Always to have been in a privileged position, safe and powerful, and to have that suddenly taken away. A life mage who can touch another person can do literally anything they want to them.”

“But if you're looking for an apprentice—” I began, then stopped.

Dr. Shirland nodded. “Typically in a master-apprentice relationship, all the power lies with the master. But with a life apprentice, every time the master comes within arm's reach he places his life in her hands.”

I thought about it, then shook my head in frustration. “It still doesn't make sense. Okay, I can see why that would make some mages jumpy, especially the paranoid ones. But they can't be like that all the time. I mean, mages get life magic treatments, don't they? They have to let life mages get close
sometimes
.”

“Ones they trust.”

“And they wouldn't trust her,” I said with a sigh. Now I saw what she was getting at. “Because of Sagash and Jagadev and the murders last year.”

“Yes,” Dr. Shirland said. “They'd consider her—potentially, at least—touched by darkness.”

I brooded over that for a moment. “Could you change their minds?” I said.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think they may be right.”

I looked up in surprise. Dr. Shirland was looking steadily at me. “What do you mean?”

“Anne was held by Sagash for a period of nine months,” Dr. Shirland said, “beginning almost four years ago and ending a little over three years ago. Has she spoken to you about what happened over that period?”

“She doesn't talk about it.”

Dr. Shirland nodded. “During our conversation, Anne spoke freely about her life since she and Variam moved in with you. However, the closer we moved to that time, the more reticent she became. I could feel it casting a shadow over everything she said.”

“Yeah, but . . .” I raked my fingers through my hair. “The whole reason Anne got involved in all this was because Sagash kidnapped her. And the reason Vari got involved was because he went to try to rescue her. They're the
victims
in all this. It's not fair to blame them.”

“It's not a matter of blame. If I approached anyone to refer Anne as an apprentice, the first question they'd ask would be whether she was potentially dangerous. And I wouldn't honestly be able to answer no.”

“That's ridiculous,” I said. “Anne's probably the nicest person I know. She won't even kill flies. She might be
powerful
, but she's not dangerous. She's . . . I don't know. Innocent.”

Dr. Shirland gave me a look. “I don't think she's quite so innocent as you believe.”

I started to answer and then stopped.

Last winter I was called in on a missing-persons case. A contact of mine from the Council had noticed that apprentices were going missing but didn't know who was doing it or how, and he sent me to find out. I found out. It led to me and Anne being trapped in a room stacked with dead bodies, being hunted down by a once-human creature called Vitus Aubuchon. I'd distracted Vitus and Anne had killed him. Don't get me wrong, it had been more than justified—not only had Vitus been the one
responsible
for all those dead bodies, he'd just cut Anne's throat and had been in the process of trying to kill me too.

But looking back on it, I had a disturbing thought. Getting good with spells takes time and effort. When apprentices try something new they usually spend ages fumbling around before they can make it work, and even then they're clumsy. Anne hadn't been clumsy. She'd ripped Vitus's life out of his body in a single action. It had been very quick and very efficient.

I looked up to see that Dr. Shirland was watching me. “What happened to her when she was with Sagash?” I said.

“Anne did not volunteer details.”

“Did you find some out anyway?”

“You mean by entering her mind?”

I gave a nod.

Dr. Shirland looked at me with raised eyebrows. “You're asking me if I entered her mind to search her memories and feelings without her consent—an action that not only would be a breach of trust but which would also add further psychic damage to what was clearly already an intensely traumatic experience?”

“Pretty much.”

“No.” Dr. Shirland's tone made it clear the subject was closed.

“Sorry,” I said. “Just checking.”

There was a pause. “So is there anything you can do?” I said.

“With finding her a master?” Dr. Shirland shook her head. “I don't think there's anyone I could recommend in good conscience until this is resolved. I invited her to come back and talk further, but she gave me a very polite refusal.”

I sat in silence for a little while. “Well,” I said at last, “thanks for the help. I appreciate the effort.”

“You're welcome. Call me if you'd like to talk again.”

* * *

I
spent the journey home thinking, and was still thinking as I walked through the shop and started up the stairs to my flat. As I climbed I heard a
thud
from above, followed by another
thud
five seconds later.

Variam was slumped on the sofa in the living room. Vari is short and wiry, with Indian-dark skin and thin arms and legs. He wears a Sikh turban and dresses in clothes that always seem to have just been thrown together but still manage to look good. Despite how small he is, Vari's got presence; he draws attention wherever he goes, and seems to make friends and enemies equally fast. Right now he was sprawled with his legs out, glowering. As I walked in he threw a tennis ball to bounce off the wall with the
thud
I'd heard earlier before catching it again. He flicked me a glance and went back to glaring at the wall.

I stepped over Variam and went into the kitchen to fetch myself a drink. Once I'd filled the glass I came back in and leant against the doorjamb, watching Variam chuck the ball against the wall with a
thud
each time. “Want a drink?” I said.

Variam gave a negative sort of grunt.

“So I'm guessing you didn't like what she had to tell you.”

Variam shot me a look.

I walked over and dropped into an armchair with a sigh. “The Keeper idea might not be a bad one, you know. I thought it was crazy at first, too, but it does kind of make sense.”

“I don't care about the Keepers.”

“What is it, then?”

Variam bounced the ball off the wall with another
thud
, and took a while to answer. “It's just me.”

“What is?”

“All the time, she was talking like me and Anne were going to be somewhere different. If I signed up with some Keeper we'd be split up, right?”

“Well, there might be some way . . .”

Vari looked at me.

I raised a hand. “Okay, okay. Yeah, you probably would be. You'd still be able to see her, but apprentice training is pretty focused. You wouldn't be able to do everything together anymore.”

Vari went back to throwing the ball. “Would that be so bad?” I said.

“We're supposed to stick together,” Variam said.

“Hard to fit in with getting a master.”

“What if I get one and Anne doesn't?”

“It's not like I'm going to kick her out. She can still stay here.”

Variam threw the ball to go
thud
again. “Supposed to be my job.”

“Why does it matter to you so badly?” I said curiously. Since I've known Variam he's always watched over Anne, but I've never asked him why.

Variam was silent and I knew he was thinking about answering, but when he finally spoke all that he said was, “I don't want to talk about it.”

I glanced at my watch. It was ten to seven, and looking through the futures ahead I could tell that Luna would arrive in five minutes. “Luna and I are going to be out till late,” I said, getting up. “If you get hungry there's a fish in the fridge.”

chapter
3

I
t was a summer evening in Leicester Square. The sun was dipping behind the buildings to the west, shafts of golden light slipping down the streets to light up the shop fronts and windows. The square was packed with people, Londoners and out-of-towners and tourists all crowding together into one noisy boisterous mass. Along the north side sketch artists had set up shop, selling caricatures and celebrity portraits to the curious, while the square of grass itself was scattered with sitting people. The smells of cooking food drifted from the restaurants all around the edge, pizza and noodles and steak.

Luna and I sat at a table at the edge of one of the outdoor restaurants, right by the rope barrier that marked off the seating area. “How much do you know about probability?” I asked her.

“A little,” Luna said with a shrug. “We did it in school.”

I took out a deck of cards and sorted quickly through it, taking out the four aces. “An event's probability is a measurement of how certain we are that it'll occur. If we're sure it won't happen, the probability is zero. If we're sure it will happen, the probability is one. Otherwise it's somewhere in between.” I showed the aces to Luna, then put the rest of the deck away and shuffled the four aces together. “If I keep shuffling these four cards, what's the probability that the ace of spades will be on top when I finish?”

“Uh . . . a quarter?”

I nodded. “A shuffle isn't random, but if it's being done properly it might as well be. Too many variables.” I finished shuffling and dealt the four cards facedown. “If I tell you to pick a card, what's the probability you'll pick the ace of spades?”

“A quarter again?”

“Pretty much. You could probably do better if you paid attention to my patterns, but if you just guess then that's right.” I pointed at one of the cards. “What's the probability
that
card's the ace of spades?”

“Still a quarter.”

I shook my head. “Wrong. It's zero.” I pointed at another card. “Zero.” Another card. “Zero.” The last card. “One.” I flipped it to show the black-on-white of the ace of spades.

Luna frowned for a second, then her frown cleared. “Oh, I get it.”

“While the cards are being shuffled, they're random,” I said. “Once they're dealt they're not random anymore—you just don't know what they are. That's the difference between your magic and mine. I can't change how the cards are dealt, but I can see them. But you
can
change how the cards are dealt. Your magic works on all those little chaotic unpredictable things—reflexes, bounces, how something falls or slips. I think if you practise enough you should be able to start controlling it.”

Luna gave me a suspicious look. “Why did you take me out here to tell me this?”

I gave Luna a grin. “Because tonight we're going there.” I pointed across the square to the bright lights of the casino.

* * *

T
he Empire Casino is on the north side of Leicester Square, dwarfed by the cinemas towering around it. It's not the nicest casino in London and it's not the most high-class, but it does have one big thing in its favour: it's anonymous. Its position right in the heart of the West End means that it gets a near-constant stream of tourists and travellers and businessmen, which is handy when you don't want to attract attention.

Luna got carded at the door. “Oh look, he thinks you look under twenty-one,” I said once she was done.

“Yeah, yeah,” Luna said as we walked down the steps into the entrance tunnel. “I still don't think this is going to work.”

The tunnel opened up into a lobby with two stairways leading farther down: one to the slots and the poker room, the other to the main casino floor. I gave the receptionist a nod and headed towards one of the flights of stairs. “Look, my curse hurts things,” Luna said, keeping her voice down. “It doesn't do helpful.”

“It protects you.”

“It protects me from
accidents
. There's a difference.”

We came out onto the casino floor and into a hubbub of noise. The casino was laid out in two storeys, the main floor taken up with gaming tables and the bar while the balcony running around the room above held restaurants and a lounge. Although there were no windows, the room was filled with light: from the ceiling a yellow-white glow shone from flashy-looking chandeliers, and on the walls big projection screens displayed sports matches. The air smelt of fabric and sweat. “You remember last year?” I said. “When Deleo and Khazad tracked you down in that parking garage?”

“Yeah . . .”

“They were using a tracer. Your curse burned it out from thirty feet away.”

“I guess.”

“So that was more than just protecting you from accidents,” I said. “The tracer was dangerous only because it could have showed them where you were, but the curse fried it anyway. That means one of two things. Either the curse picks up on what you subconsciously
know
is dangerous, or it's got enough awareness to be able to recognise indirect threats and neutralise them on its own initiative. Which means it ought to be able to help you in other ways too.” I gestured to the floor around us. “This is your element. Pure chance is exactly what your magic has power over. I think you can do this.”

“All right,” Luna said with a sigh. “I'll give it a shot.”

I pulled a pack of notes from my pocket. “You buy chips on the tables. If you lose this, come back and I'll get you some more.”

Luna counted it, eyebrows raised. “Five hundred pounds?”

“Yep.”

“Isn't that kind of a lot to throw away?”

“Wait till you see how much the other players lose,” I said. “Have fun.”

* * *

O
nce Luna was gone I took a walk through the casino, letting the sights and sounds wash around me. It had been a while since I'd been in one, and being here again felt like coming back to an old home.

I used to spend a lot of time in casinos, back in my early twenties. By the end of the summer of ten years ago I'd broken away from Richard and his remaining apprentices for good, but I was in bad shape. The extended nightmare of my last year in Richard's mansion and that horrible final battle with Tobruk had left me seriously screwed up mentally and I wasn't in any condition to start putting my life back together. On top of that I had no home, no money, and no prospects. All I had was myself and my magic.

So I turned to gambling and got my first nice surprise in a long while when I discovered how easy it was. Okay, there were a few hiccups (it turns out casinos are quite happy to decide that you must be cheating
somehow
even if they can't prove how), but once I learnt to be careful it was a low-effort, risk-free source of income. There was a real rush to it too, at least to begin with. I'd just spent the best part of two years being the runt among the apprentices, always having to watch my back in case a more powerful mage decided to squash me. Now all of a sudden, instead of being below everyone else, I was above them. I could take everyone else's money and there was nothing they could do about it. It was exciting.

But over the years the excitement faded. I learnt the same thing that everyone learns sooner or later:
nothing's
any fun if you can have as much of it as you like. When you're poor money's desperately important, but the wealthier you get the less it matters. I like money for the freedom and the independence that it gives me, and that works only up to a point—once you're over a certain limit then getting any richer doesn't help.

I also started to feel sorry for the people I was taking money from. The men (and it's mostly men, though you do get the odd woman) that you meet in a casino aren't the most attractive guys in the world, but they're still people and often they're gambling with money they really can't afford to lose. I started to go less and less often, and finally I just stopped. I have enough money in my bank accounts—I don't need to keep stealing.

So as I went around the tables I didn't make much of an effort. I played blackjack, and although the table maximum was a thousand pounds I kept my bets small, winning just enough that I'd be able to resupply Luna if needed. As I did I kept an eye on her, watching through the crowd. She'd gravitated to the roulette tables and occasionally I'd see the silver mist of her curse drift outwards to touch the wheel. I could tell she was doing something, though I wasn't sure what. When the table she was playing at broke up I went to join her at the bar. “How's it going?” I asked as she ordered.

“Badly.”

“How much did you lose?”

“I don't want to know,” Luna said gloomily. “About half.”

“Get anywhere?”

“Well, every time I sit down at a table, everyone seems to start losing,” Luna said. “The wheel on that last one just came up zero three times in a row. Does that count?”

The bartender came back with Luna's drink and she took a sip, turning to look out over the casino floor. I gave her a glance as she did. She was wearing a yellow-gold dress that set off her pale skin, and she had her hair loose around her shoulders instead of in the bunches that she'd used when I'd first known her. It made her look older, more like an adult. She was annoyed, but it was a positive sort of annoyance, the kind where you're trying to solve a problem. Luna's come a long way since the day she first walked into my shop. “You look good,” I said. “The dress Arachne's?”

“Oh, thanks,” Luna said, looking pleased. “It's the outfit she was showing me in the spring. She did some alterations for me.”

“What kind?”

“The shoes are flat, see?” Luna said, lifting a foot to demonstrate. “And the way the skirt is cut lets me run in it. The purse has got a pouch for my whip, and it's roomy enough for that pocket kit you gave me.”

I blinked at Luna. “Well, points for being prepared, but what exactly did you think we'd be doing tonight?”

“I have no idea. I'm just going to be ready for when the fight starts this time.”

“There's not going to be a fight. We're just here to play.”

Luna gave me an extremely sceptical look. “I'm serious,” I said.

“Uh-huh,” Luna said. “How many magic items are you carrying again?”

“Nothing much.”

“Like?”

“Just a few condensers,” I said. “And a feather ring and a decoy. Oh, and some glitterdust. And my gate stones, but I always carry those. I guess one or two others. Maybe three or four.”

Luna just looked at me. “What?” I said. “Most of them aren't even for combat.”

“And you wonder where I'm getting this from.”

I shook my head. “Whatever makes you happy. I'll be in the poker room.”

* * *

T
o reach the poker room I had to go through a tunnel of slot machines, their lights blinking blue-yellow-white, but the poker room itself was quieter. A steady murmur of conversation blended with the rustle of cards and the clink of chips, and cheesy eighties music played at a low volume over the speakers. I found a seat at a table and joined in.

Poker's a mixture of probability and psychology, and it's probably my favourite of the card games. Although there are rules on what hand beats what, poker isn't actually a game of who's got the best hand—it's a game of wagering based on incomplete information. If you have complete information (such as by oh, say, divination), then there's no challenge. So as I started playing I deliberately
didn't
look into the future to see what hands everyone else had. It spoils the fun, and it's harder for me to justify to my conscience. In games like blackjack and roulette you're playing against the house, but in poker you're playing against the other customers of the casino.

An hour or so passed and I settled into the game, slipping into that particular mental zone of focus. New players came; old players left. Luna didn't call, which I took as a good sign.

The player opposite me at the table, a balding businessman with a round face, went all in against the scruffy-looking guy to my right. His two pair met a straight. The businessman banged the table, swore in Cantonese, and left. A few minutes later he was replaced by a kid.

I was the blind on the next hand. The kid raised high, and I folded. Next hand I was dealer. The kid checked, I raised, he reraised, and I folded again. I folded the next few hands, and the kid did the same. Next round I was dealt a pair of queens. I raised, the kid reraised, and I matched him. He called my raises all the way to the river and showed a middle pair. I got back what I'd lost from the earlier fold and some more besides.

Next round the same thing happened again. The kid kept on raising at me, ignoring everyone else. Sometimes it worked, but he lost more than he won. “Very aggressive,” I said as his single ace fell to my top pair. The kid didn't answer.

Two hands later we ended up head-to-head again. “Two players,” the dealer said, laying out the flop.

“You know, I'm starting to think you're following me,” I said, glancing at the face-up cards. There was a two, a five, and a nine. My ace-five gave me a pair, and I had position.

“So this is how you make your money,” the kid said with a faint American accent. He knocked on the table to check.

I gave the kid a sharp glance. “Depends who I'm playing against.” He was twenty or so, with messy black hair, and he looked athletic and fit. I threw in a chip.

“Raise of five pounds,” the dealer said. He was Australian, with ginger hair and a beard, and his name tag said
BRUCE
. He turned to the kid, who matched the bet without looking. The dealer put out another card. It was another two. The kid checked again.

“Been in the country long?” I said, tossing in more chips. The kid's accent and body language were close to British, but slightly off.