Casino Infernale (29 page)

“See? Not at all complicated, once you get your head round it, is it? All right, yes, the odds are stacked against you right from the start . . . but this is roulette we’re talking about.”

“So you can die right there at the table of old age, if you keep losing?” I said.

“Happens all the time,” said Frankie. “That’s part of the thrill of playing—to watch someone else check out, right next to you.”

“Is everyone here crazy?”
I said, loud enough to turn several heads in my direction. “Why on earth would any sane person want to play a game like that?”

“This is Casino Infernale,” said Frankie. “The risk is part of the attraction. Sane people don’t normally come here.”

“How does the wheel work?” said Molly, tactfully changing the subject while I calmed myself down again.

Frankie shrugged. “Some kind of future tech. Fell off the back of the Nightside. Supposedly, it started out as some kind of medical technology, where a future doctor could give you extra years of life, topping you up as and when needed. Trust Casino Infernale to make a game of chance out of something intended to save lives. This roulette wheel is a game of life and death; but then, aren’t they all?”

“Don’t get smug,” I said, “or I will slap you a good one and it will hurt. Right here, in front of everyone.”

“Don’t blame the messenger for the message, boss,” said Frankie.

“I get to play, this time,” said Molly, very firmly. “You took all the risks before, even the ones you didn’t know about. Look at you, you’re still shaking. I won’t let you put yourself through that again.”

“I’m not arguing,” I said. “You’re right. I’m not in any shape to play sensibly.”

“Do you want to go back to our room and lie down?” said Molly.

“And leave you to play alone?” I said. “Not going to happen. Too many sharks in these waters. Besides, someone’s got to keep an eye on Frankie while he’s handling the money from the bets.”

“Well, really,” said Frankie. “Anyone would think you know me. . . .”

We wandered over to join the crowd round the roulette wheel. Just in time to see someone bet on Red twenty-one, and the ball jump into the slot at Black twenty. The whole crowd made a sound as though they’d been hit, and we all turned to look at the poor loser—a woman of a certain age in a dress and makeup far too young for her. Even the man she’d clearly come in with backed away from her, as though she’d suddenly become contagious. The woman shot him an angry look of betrayal, and then turned reluctantly back to face the croupier. He was smiling, and it was not a good smile. He held up a small hour-glass, and everyone around the table held their breath. The croupier turned the hour-glass over, and as the sands started falling, the woman grew older. Twenty-one years weighed down on her, cruelly and implacably. Her face wrinkled, and her body shrank in on itself, until an old woman stood beside the roulette wheel, weeping helplessly for her lost years. No one did anything, said anything, to help her. Most of those watching were smiling a smile very like that of the croupier. This was what they were there for. The old woman stumbled away from the table, and left the room. Alone.

I looked at the roulette wheel. “If it was up to me I’d smash that bloody thing into splinters . . . I don’t like this, Molly. Far too many random factors involved.”

“But if you win big here, you win really big,” said Frankie. “Extra years of life, handfuls of cash from the side bets, and major prestige. And it’s not like any of the other games are going to be that much easier, or fairer. Winning against the odds is the whole idea.”

“And we do have an edge, this time,” said Molly. “An edge that can’t be affected by any null zone. Remember the potion the Armourer gave us?”

“Remember it?” I said. “How could I forget? I’ll still be able to taste that muck when I’m dead and six months in my grave!”

“A potion to let us see the patterns in any game,” Molly said patiently. “Just looking at this game, I can sense the weight of the ball and the stresses in the wheel. All the patterns that decide where the ball turns up. I am pretty sure I can predict which number the ball will choose, every time. And since the potion is a part of our system, the Casino won’t be able to spot it, and the null can’t affect it.”

I looked at the roulette wheel, and she was right. I could see the patterns in the play, clear as day. Given the mechanical workings of the wheel, predicting the outcome was child’s play. It was like reading a pack of marked cards. I could feel the weight of responsibility sliding off my shoulders.

“Okay,” I said. “Go play, Molly. Have fun. Bet big, and take that smiling little croupier for everything he’s got. And Frankie, get the best odds you can from the crowd.”

“No problem,” said Frankie.

He moved off into the crowd, grinning and glad-handing everyone who didn’t run away fast enough, while Molly elbowed her way forward into a prize position at the side of the table. I hung back. I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as though anything could go wrong, this time. But I didn’t trust that feeling any more. People at the table realised they were standing next to the infamous wild witch Molly Metcalf, and quickly fell back to give her room. She smiled sweetly at the croupier, and exchanged a whole wad of money for a single chip to play with. The croupier smiled and nodded and went out of his way to flatter her, and Molly slapped him down with a single look.

People came hurrying forward from all over the room as the word spread that Molly Metcalf was playing roulette. Some clearly wanted her to win, some just as clearly wanted to see her lose hard, and most just wanted to see the wild witch in action. Frankie moved among them like a shark with his mouth open, taking them for everything they had. The people might admire Molly and her reputation, but no one believed she could beat the wheel.

Molly took her single chip and placed it firmly on Red twenty-one. Biggest bet you could make: twenty-one years of your life. One way or the other.

The croupier looked round the table. “Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen!”

Everyone played, but no one else wanted to place a chip beside Molly’s. The croupier spun the wheel, the ball went whirling round and round, clattering from place to place, and finally ended up in Black seventeen.

“No!” I said. “That’s not possible!”

No one paid me any attention. They were all looking at the small steel ball, and then at the young woman who’d just lost twenty-one years of her life. I was the only one there who knew just how wrong it was. Given that ball, in that wheel, there was no way it could have ended up in Black seventeen. Until I looked really hard—and saw the hidden mechanism behind the wheel. The croupier cheated.

Molly looked slowly around her. Everyone was backing away from her. Partly so none of her bad luck would rub off on them, partly so they could get a better look at what was about to happen. The croupier smiled at Molly, and held up his hour-glass. Molly looked coldly back at him.

“Do your damnedest. My sisters will avenge me.”

A shudder ran through the crowd at that, and even the croupier balked for a moment. The croupier had cheated, diverted the ball, and looking into Molly’s eyes, he knew that she knew. But who would believe her? I knew, but how could I prove it without revealing how I knew? Without revealing I was a Drood, and throwing away my mission?

I was here to prevent a war. To save who knew how many lives. I couldn’t risk my mission, just to save Molly from something she could probably undo herself, given time. She would understand. The croupier held up his hour-glass and waggled it in front of Molly, taunting her. And I reached for my Colt Repeater. Because no one messed with my Molly.

And that was when a harsh, buzzing artificial voice shouted out,
“Cheat!”

The croupier glared around him immediately. “Who dares call me cheat?”

“That would be me,” said the Thirtieth Century Man. He stomped forward, with loud crashing footsteps. An incredibly tall, broad, and heavy man, in an outfit that seemed to consist mainly of black leather straps. His marble white flesh was whorled with long streaks of steel, the meat and the metal fused seamlessly together. He was a cyborg, from some unknown future; a mixture of living and nonliving materials. His face was a collection of flat surfaces, with glowing golden eyes. I’d encountered him before, wandering through the sleazier flesh pits of old London town, trying to find something to interest him. He didn’t know how he ended up in our time, and was desperate to find a way back. People said he had an affinity for all things mechanical, and could see how anything worked at a glance.

(Other, less kind people said he was queer for machines.)

He gestured roughly at the roulette wheel, with one oversized hand, and the ball jumped from one slot to another as the cyborg worked the hidden mechanism, calling out each number in advance. The croupier’s face went white, and he started edging away from the table, looking for the nearest exit . . . but Jonathon Scott was already walking towards him, with two large Security men.

“This . . . is intolerable,” said Scott. “Two proven cases of cheating in the first hour of Casino Infernale! This could damage our reputation beyond repair! And that it should be one of our own staff who is caught this time . . . ladies and gentlemen, allow us to make proper recompense.”

He gestured to his two Security men, who moved quickly forward to grab the croupier by the arms and hold him still. He didn’t even try to struggle. He was already in enough trouble. Scott took the hour-glass from the croupier’s hand, and held it up so everyone could see it.

“This man is the guilty party, so it is only proper that he should pay for his crime. Molly Metcalf, please allow the Casino to pay you the twenty-one years you rightfully won, courtesy of the man who cheated you.”

He turned the hour-glass over with a dramatic flourish, and as the sands began to fall, so the extra years fell upon the croupier. He was a young man, and he cried out miserably as the best years of his life were taken from him; until a middle-aged man stood slumped between the two Security men. Weeping silently, for what he’d lost. I might have felt sorry for him if I hadn’t seen him enjoying it so much when it happened to other people. I looked at Molly. She threw back her head and laughed out loud. She didn’t look any younger, but she practically glowed with new energy. I turned to thank the Thirtieth Century Man, but he was already gone.

“This roulette wheel is closed,” said Scott. “Until we can have it replaced. Please continue with the other games! Enjoy yourselves!”

He strode away, and the Security men dragged the still sobbing croupier after him. A number of people who’d played the wheel before hurried after him, raising their voices. Scott just kept going. I cautiously approached Molly.

“How do you feel?” I said.

“I feel great! Marvellous! Full of energy . . . I feel like I could take on the whole damned world!”

“Never knew you when you didn’t,” I said, and she laughed and calmed down a little.

“There was no way the croupier was running that scam on his own,” she said briskly. “The Casino made him the scapegoat to avoid awkward questions. Frankie was right. We can’t trust anyone here.”

“So,” I said, “does all this new energy mean you’ll be able to break the null zone from now on?”

“Unlikely,” said Molly. “Doubt it. I don’t think the Casino would give me anything I could use against it.”

“Good point,” I said. “Does it mean you’ll live twenty-one years longer now than you would have?”

“I don’t know . . . in theory. But in practice, given the kinds of lives we lead . . .”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “I really don’t like this place, Molly. I think it’s bad for us. Whether we win or lose.”

“What did you expect?” said Frankie, sauntering over with another red leather reticule, bulging with cash. “This is a place of temptations. Win or lose, it’s bound to affect you.”

I looked round sharply as the Thirtieth Century Man came over to join us. I hadn’t heard him leave, and I hadn’t seen him come back. Which, given the sheer size and weight of the man, should have been impossible. I was thinking vaguely about cloaking shields when he nodded brusquely to me, and addressed me abruptly with his buzzing artificial voice.

“I thought you should know, you have friends here. From the Department of the Uncanny. But this is the only time I can assist you openly. Can’t help you again without risking my cover, and I have my own mission.”

“What are you doing here?” I said. “Did the Regent . . .”

“Hush,” said the Thirtieth Century Man. “Not a name to use in a place like this. Point is, he got word there might be a working time-travel device tucked away here, somewhere. Just a rumour, nothing solid. But one, we don’t want people like this to have it. And two, it could be a way home for me. So, you continue with your mission, and leave mine to me.”

He strode away, and we watched him go. It wasn’t like we could have stopped him to ask more questions, even if we’d wanted to. I looked at Molly and Frankie.

“That’s twice we’ve been saved at the last moment, by someone else. I think we’re pushing our luck.”

“Come on!” said Frankie. “It’s a casino! Pushing your luck is what it’s all about. So, what next?”

“A chance to catch my breath would be nice,” I said. “But I think the sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

We looked around the room. None of the other games appealed to me, for all kinds of reasons. Too small, too slow, too risky . . .

“You only need one more big win,” said Frankie. “I suppose . . . there is always the Arena.”

“You have gladiators here?” said Molly.

“Not as such,” said Frankie. “They call it the Pit. Just a big hole in the ground, really. The usual: two men enter, one man crawls out barely alive. Everyone else bets on the outcome, and makes lots of money. It’s win or die, hand-to-hand fighting, no weapons allowed.”

I remembered looking down the gun at Jules, wanting him to die so I could win.

“I’m an agent,” I said. “Not an assassin. I came here to gamble, not kill people.”

“I don’t think anyone here cares what you want, sweetie,” Molly said carefully. “But you’re right. This isn’t for you. You don’t have the killer instinct. So I’ll do it. I can take care of myself in a fight, and the way I feel right now I could kick anyone’s arse!”