Critical Failures III (Caverns and Creatures Book 3) (21 page)

Chapter 26

Passing through the walls into the city proper felt like an accomplishment, but Stacy harbored no illusions about being safe. She’d taken one last look behind her before stepping through the gate, and hadn’t seen any angry, drunk wizards hot on her trail, but if Scott was after her, he wouldn’t have any more trouble than she did passing through the gate. There were no checkpoints, no questions, barely even a passing glance from the guards posted outside. And those passing glances she got felt less like
I wonder if she’s a terrorist
, and more like
Check out that sweet ass
.

Another safety concern was the types of people who populated this city. Sure, back at the villa there were four guys who probably wanted to rape and murder her, but at least they had Mordred’s orders not to. The same couldn’t be said for the people around here.

The word ‘people’ might have been generous. There were all sorts of creatures roaming around that Stacy wasn’t sure qualified as people. There were, of course, the elves and dwarves and whatever Cooper was, but she’d been expecting those. It was the other things that gave her pause. Furry things, scaly things, toothy things. Things with hooves, things with horns, things with tails. About a quarter of the population looked like the DNA of some random animal had been spliced with that of a human.

Stacy hugged herself and kept to the center of a broad road, jumping every time some mutant freak grunted, hissed, snarled, clicked, buzzed, or even just looked at her. She plodded forward with no idea where she was going or what she even hoped to find. There was some kind of open space up ahead, a city center maybe. For now, that would be her goal.

“Excuse me,” said a man’s voice from behind her. A finger touched her right shoulder.

Stacy spun around and planted a boot right between the man’s legs. He folded up like a lawn chair and fell on his side. He was human, bald, and dressed in a simple gray robe. She drew her sword and pointed it down at him.

“Why the nuts?” gasped the man on the ground. “Why is it always the nuts?”

“Who are you?” said Stacy, making an extra effort to keep her voice from shaking. “What do you want with me?”

“You looked lost,” said the man. “I was going to ask if you needed directions.”

“Ho there!” said one of two uniformly armored guards stomping briskly toward them. “What’s all this?”

“Shit,” said the man on the ground. “Kingsguard.” He looked up at Stacy. “Listen, lady. There is no due process here. They will throw your ass in the slammer and forget about you. Put the sword away.”

Due process? The slammer?
Stacy slipped the sword into the sheath strapped to her back, surprised at the grace and effortlessness with which she did so. The bald man stood up.

“Who would disturb the king’s peace?” demanded the slightly larger of the two guards.

“It was a misunderstanding,” said the bald man.

“Drawing a weapon unprovoked is a jailable offense,” said the guard. He looked at Stacy. “Did this man threaten you?”

That was odd. Were they focused on him now? Did they just want to arrest anyone? Or maybe they wanted –

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” said the bald man. The two guards nodded as the bald man led Stacy by the arm a few feet away. “Do you have any money?”

“What?” said Stacy.

“They’re looking for a bribe. Don’t even try to argue. It’s just the way things are done here. If you screw up, but they don’t see you as a real threat, they’ll just let you off a couple of coins lighter in your purse. You don’t want to see the inside of a Cardinian prison. You can bet your buns there’s no cable TV.”

“Who
are
you?”

“We can talk once they’re gone. I’d really hate for you to have to give up that beautiful sword. Do you have any money or not?”

“I don’t know. Let me look in my bag.” It only now occurred to Stacy how unusually light the bag slung around her shoulder was. It didn’t feel empty when she’d grabbed it at Scott’s villa, but even now it didn’t feel quite as heavy as that strange weapon she’d thrown inside it. She opened it up, but it was too dark inside to see anything. She put her hand inside and felt nothing, not even the weapon. She turned to the guards. “I’ve been robbed!”

The smaller guard rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Pathetic.”

“Come on, then,” said the larger guard. Both of them started walking casually toward Stacy and the bald man. “We’re placing both of you under arrest for disturbing the king’s peace.”

“Aw come on, guys,” said the bald man. “I’ve got money back at home. If you just follow me there.”

The younger guard snorted. “That’s exactly what we aim to do. Follow you home. Your
new
home, that is.”

Stacy noticed something strange. Not only could she not feel anything inside the bag. She couldn’t even feel the inside of the bag itself. She put her arm deeper inside, all the way up to the elbow, and still couldn’t feel the bottom. Her hand should be poking right through it by now.

“Holy crap!” she said. “Check this out.” Her entire right arm was submerged in the bag, all the way up to her shoulder. Raising her arm, she let the bag go with her other hand. She looked like an amputee, but she could feel her arm and hand just fine. “Where the hell is my arm?” she said, waving her bag-covered stump around.

The guards stopped in their tracks, looked at one another, and started laughing.

“What are you doing?” whispered the bald man.

“I don’t know!” Stacy whispered back at him.

“Say gold.”

“What? Why?”

“Just say it!”

“Gold,” said Stacy. Suddenly, she felt something in her phantom hand. Several somethings. They were cold, hard, circular, and metallic. Coins, about the size of a silver dollar. She pulled her hand out of the bag to discover she was holding a fistful of solid gold coins. “Holy shit!”

The guards were still laughing. Now they clapped as well, as if Stacy had been performing a comedy act.

“Yes, very nice,” said the bald man. “Now if you’ll kindly pay these gentlemen, we can be on our way.”

“Oh,” said Stacy. “Okay. Here you go.” She slapped the whole handful, maybe a dozen coins in all, into the larger guard’s open palm.

“Wait!” said the bald man. “No!”

“Huh?” said Stacy.

“Thank you kindly, miss,” said the smaller guard with a polite bow.

“You two stay out of trouble now,” said the other one as he let the coins trickle out of his hand into a small pouch on his belt. The two of them rushed off like they suddenly had somewhere important to be.

“A coin a piece would have gotten rid of them just fine,” said the bald man. “You didn’t have to give them so much gold.”

“Yeah, well I’m not from around here.”

“I guessed as much.”

“Yes,” said Stacy, giving the bald man a narrow-eyed stare. “You did. And just how did you guess?”

“I’ve seen new players enter the city before. You stick out like a sore thumb growing on someone’s face.”

“Was I that bad?”

“You looked like Glenn Beck lost in Harlem.”

Stacy nodded. “That’s pretty bad.”

“Now I’ve got a question for you,” said the bald man. “If you’ve only just arrived here, how did you manage to come by a vorpal sword and a Bag of Holding?”

“I stole it from some guys who kidnapped me. They called themselves the Horsemen.”

“Shit,” said the bald man. He put out his hand. “My name is Stuart, and there are some people I think you should meet.”

Chapter 27

Julian sat on a bench across the street from the Beauregard Resort and Casino. Ravenus was perched on top of the bench next to him.

“That’s a lot of rooms,” said Julian.

“Indeed,” said Ravenus. “That’s the tallest building I’ve seen for miles around here.”

“It’s the tallest building in the state of Mississippi,” said Julian. “How the hell are we supposed to find Mordred’s room?”

“I could fly by and peek into windows,” suggested Ravenus.

“Thanks,” said Julian. “But that won’t do. Mordred knows you.”

“You could inquire with the tavern staff.”

“Not here,” said Julian. “They’d never give that kind of information to some guy coming in off the street.”

“Not even if they were
magically
persuaded?”

Julian nodded. “Good thinking, Ravenus. A Charm Person spell would probably do the trick, but I used up my last first level spell for the day to get here.”

“It is unfortunate that your horse met such a tragic end at the hands of that… what did you call that again?”

Julian hung his head. “A bus.” He should have ordered the horse to stand in one place.

Ravenus patted a wing on Julian’s shoulder. “He was taken before his time.”

That much was true. That horse had a good ninety minutes left in him at least.

Julian thought about his repertoire of zero-level spells. None of them seemed particularly beneficial for gathering information, but one of them might come in handy at –
No, it was a stupid idea. But as long as they were just going to sit around and wait anyway…

“Ravenus,” said Julian. “Hang out here for a little while. I’ll be back.”

“Of course, sir.”

Julian crossed the street and strolled through the front entrance of the resort. He had always been too broke and too cheap to be much of a gambler, but he’d been in here a few times before when coworkers or classmates had talked him into it. The incessant ringing of hundreds of slot machines led him to the part of the gaming area he was familiar with. He’d developed a strategy for always coming out ahead at casinos. He would sit at a bar, tip the bartender ten bucks, and slowly feed twenty dollars’ worth of credits into a video poker machine while the bartender kept feeding him complimentary drinks. Sure, he’d always lose the twenty dollars eventually, but when he thought about how much it would cost him to get that shitfaced at a standard bar, he counted himself way ahead.

Right now, however, Julian was interested in neither slot machines nor video poker. He walked over to the table games area, and there it was, like a big, shiny pie stuffed with cash. Roulette.

Having no money on him, he had one small obstacle in his way before he could put his idea to the test. He walked over to the roulette wheel and looked for an easy mark.

He settled for a woman in the tail end of middle-age. Shiny sequined dress, gaudy jewelry, white hair, plastic-surgery stretched face, and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth with a good inch of untapped ash at the end. The best part was that she appeared to be unaccompanied. This was a lonely, bored, rich old woman whose only thrill left in life was throwing money away.
Perfect.

Julian sidled up to the table next to her. “19 feels lucky.”

“Heh!” the woman said through the side of her mouth not holding the cigarette. “If I was 19, I’d feel lucky too. But I always bet on black.” She pushed stacks of red chips to various black numbers on the table, and then a larger stack on the box labeled
Black
. If there was a strategy at work here, Julian didn’t know what it was. But then, he wasn’t a roulette player.

“Suit yourself, but twenty bucks says it lands on 19.”

The old woman gave him a scrutinizing stare, then turned back to the table. She placed a single red chip on the square marked
19
. “I suppose I better make sure I win either way. You’ve got your bet.”

“Mage Hand,” Julian mumbled to himself in a British accent.

“What did you say?” asked the old woman.

“Nothing,” said Julian. He focused on the roulette ball. If he was wrong about this, he was in for an awkward exit.

Once the other players had placed their bets, the dealer spun the wheel. For a moment, the ball broke free of Julian’s mental tether, bouncing around erratically. Julian’s heart skipped a beat, but he stayed focused on the ball, and soon locked in on it again. He let the ball continue bouncing freely while the wheel spun, giving it a couple of forced bounces here and there to reassure himself that he had the kind of control over it that he thought he did. When the wheel slowed down, he took complete control of the ball, trying to mimic its natural bouncing action until he plunked it down in the number 19 pocket and held it there.

“Nineteen!” said the dealer, raising an eyebrow at Julian. “The force is strong with this one.” He slid seven stacks of red chips to the woman’s single chip, then slid them all over to her.

She, in turn, slid one stack to Julian, apparently unconcerned that it was five dollars more than what she owed him. “Do that again,” she dared him.

Julian felt a rush like he hadn’t felt since he’d turned into an elf. In the game world, he’d just been some loser sorcerer stumbling through a game that he didn’t understand the rules to. Here he was the only fucking sorcerer in the world. Casinos were equipped for a lot, but they weren’t equipped for
magic
. He had power here. He had control.

“Why don’t you try it?” asked Julian. “Go ahead. Pick a number. I have every confidence in you.”

A cocktail server appeared out of nowhere in Julian’s personal space with a tray full of drinks. Her uniform appeared to be specifically designed to draw attention to her breasts. “Would you like something to drink?”

Julian forced himself to look at her face, and felt the Mage Hand spell dissipate. That was interesting. He’d assumed he would have to use up another spell every time the roulette wheel spun. But if his focus hadn’t been compromised by the glorious cleavage he was trying so hard not to stare at, he would have been able to hold onto his control of the ball indefinitely.

“Interesting,” he murmured to himself.

“Sir?” said the server.

“Oh right,” said Julian. “I’m sorry.” He pointed to the tallest glass, not really giving a shit what was in it. “I’ll have one of those.”

The server handed him the drink, which he had assumed was meant for someone else, right off the tray. “Good luck, sir,” she said with a wink.

“Thanks,” said Julian. He gave her the top chip from his stack. He sipped his drink. It was sweet and boozy. Turning back to the old woman, he said, “So what’ll it be?”

The woman finally tapped two inches of gravity-defying ash into the ash tray while giving Julian a long, hard stare. “Okay. How about seven. That’s lucky, right?”

“Sounds lucky to me,” said Julian, placing his entire stack on number 7.

The old woman nodded and placed a fifty-dollar chip next to Julian’s stack. Other players around the table placed their bets on various squares, but nearly all of them put at least one chip on number 7. The dealer spun the wheel.

Julian took a nice long swig of his drink and coughed into his hand. “Mage Hand.” To his surprise, the booze seemed to help him latch onto the ball with his mind, like he and it were in some kind of intimate dance. Or maybe it was just easier because he’d already done it once. When he plunked the ball down into the 7 pocket, the whole table erupted in cheers.

Julian necked the rest of his drink and put a fist in the air. “WOOOO!” he screamed as his twenty dollars turned into seven hundred.

“Me next!” said a perky brunette. It took Julian a second to realize she was talking to him.

“Excuse me?”

“Let me pick the next number.”

“Okay,” said Julian. “Have at it.”

“Twenty-four!” said the young woman, hesitating to place a chip there.

“Twenty-four it is,” said Julian, shoving all of his newly acquired stacks across the table.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the dealer. “The maximum bet for this table is one hundred dollars.”

“Oh,” said Julian. “Okay.”

“You might find the High Rollers area more to your liking.”

“No, that’s cool,” said Julian, not wanting to cut his spell off just yet. “I’ll hang out here for a while longer.” He withdrew most of his chips, leaving behind a hundred dollars’ worth.

His bet was nestled in the middle of a bunch of other bets, and the rest of the table was bare.

So this is what a gambling high feels like.