“How much money will we be given to work with?” I said. “On the grounds that I am sure as hell not funding this myself.”
“I told you,” the Armourer said firmly. “At Casino Infernale, it’s never about the money. In the big games, you play for souls. There are lesser, introductory games, where you can play for money, or objects of power, or years of service. But those games are strictly for the small fry, and you won’t be bothering much with them.”
“I still see one major stumbling block to our getting in,” I said. “Casino Security were able to See your torc, and Uncle James’. Our armour has changed since then, but certain people are always going to be able to See my torc. Hadrian Coll did, on Trammell Island.”
“Never liked the man,” said the Armourer. “You did say he was dead, didn’t you? Good, good . . . Don’t worry about the torc. We think we have an answer.”
“All right,” I said. “What marvellous toys do you have for me to play with, this time?”
He actually winced. “I do wish you wouldn’t call them that, Eddie.”
“Do you have something to make sure I win, every time?” I said.
“Casino Security would spot anything that obvious in a moment,” said the Armourer. “We have to be more subtle than that.”
He rummaged around in one of his desk drawers, and brought out a very familiar-looking handgun, in a worn leather shoulder holster.
“We’ll start with the Colt Repeater,” the Armourer said briskly. “You’ve used this often enough before. Standard issue. No recoil, aims itself, and never runs out of ammunition. Fires steel bullets, silver, wood, and incendiaries. As required. The ammo teleports in from outside, so Casino Security shouldn’t be able to detect the gun’s extra-curricular capabilities. . . .”
“They’ll know it’s there, though,” I said. “Won’t they just confiscate it?”
“Everyone at Casino Infernale goes armed,” said the Armourer. “Or no one would dare turn up. Gamblers like to play rough, and they’re always ready to defend themselves, and their winnings. As long as your gun is clearly for personal use, and apparently small and limited, Security won’t bother you. All their staff will be much better armed, of course.”
“Such as?” said Molly.
“Just assume the worst, and you’ll be right more often than you’re wrong,” said the Armourer.
“Terrific . . .” said Molly. “I notice you’re not offering me any weapons.”
“Wouldn’t dream of insulting you, my dear,” the Armourer said gallantly, and Molly actually giggled.
“Why the shoulder holster?” I said, hefting the weight of the gun and holster in my hand, dubiously. “Why can’t I just keep it in my pocket dimension, until I need it?”
“Because we don’t want the Security staff even suspecting you might have such a thing,” the Armourer said sternly. “Keep the gun in plain sight, where they can see it.”
I shrugged out of my jacket, and struggled into the shoulder-holster straps. I’ve never liked the bloody things. It’s like trying to put on a bra, in the dark, backwards. In the end, Molly had to help me. She does have more experience in these matters, after all. Bras and shoulder holsters. By the time we were finished, and I had my jacket on again, feeling very self-conscious about the bulge over my left chest, the Armourer was waiting to present Molly and me with two thin glass phials, each containing a deep purple liquid that seethed and heaved as though trying to break through the glass. I couldn’t help noticing that the vials were not just stoppered, but wired shut. This did not fill me with confidence.
“A simple memory enhancer,” said the Armourer, beaming. “So you can count cards, calculate the odds, detect patterns in the run of play, and more . . . should give you just the edge you need, against even the most proficient and practised players.”
I looked suspiciously at the bubbling liquid. “How long will the effect last?”
“Good question,” said the Armourer. “No idea. Make a note of when the stuff stops working, and be sure to let me know.”
“Has anyone actually tested this before?” said Molly.
“Oh, yes,” said the Armourer. “Lots of people.”
“Where are they!” demanded Molly. “Show them to me!”
“Don’t be such a baby,” said the Armourer. “Get it down you. Yes, right now! So it will have a chance to sink into your system, and Security won’t be able to detect it.”
Molly and I took one glass phial each. My phial felt unpleasantly warm to the touch. We looked at each other, for mutual comfort and support, and then carefully peeled away the heavy wire holding the stoppers in place. The purple liquid jumped wildly in the phial, as though sensing a chance to escape. I popped off the stopper, put the phial to my lips and knocked it back in one. My lips thinned back from the bitter over-taste, and then I swear to God my eyes squeezed shut so tightly, it forced tears down my cheeks. My throat tried to turn inside out. I have never tasted anything so foul in my life. Including that chalky white kaolin morphine muck they used to force on me when I was poorly as a kid. And too weak to fight them off.
God, it was bad! I wanted to rip my tongue right out of my mouth and throw it on the floor and stamp on it, in the hope that would stop the taste. I grabbed the Armourer’s large gin and Red Bull and gulped it down, trying to cauterise my taste buds.
Molly waved her hands wildly, tears of pure horror jumping from her wide-stretched eyes. “Somebody bring me a dog’s arse, right now! So I can chew on it, to get this taste out of my mouth!”
I handed her the Armourer’s gin bottle, and she sucked it down hard.
“Big babies,” said the Armourer.
The nuclear fallout in my mouth began to recede, and I was able to breathe properly again. Molly was still sucking at her gin bottle. I looked reproachfully at the Armourer.
“I am still working on the taste,” he admitted. “But it could save your life, at Casino Infernale! I think . . . it works on the old principle of if it tastes bad, it must be doing you good. The effects should start kicking in after two, three hours. Don’t worry about side effects.”
“You mean there aren’t any?” I said.
“No, I mean there’s no point in worrying about them, because there’s nothing you can do to ameliorate them. They don’t last long. Just grit your teeth and hang on to something solid, until it’s all over. Or, more likely, all over someone else.”
“Let me kill him,” said Molly, still hanging on to the gin bottle.
“Get in the queue,” I said.
“You’ll like this,” said the Armourer, temptingly. He offered Molly and me two small objects: flat black plastic, like key fobs without the fobs.
“Look pretty damned ordinary and innocent, don’t they?” the Armourer said proudly. “You each keep one, and make sure you keep them separate. Security won’t even know you’ve got them. If anyone should challenge you, just say they’re lucky charms. That always goes down well. They’re completely innocuous, until you fit them together. Once joined and activated, this clever little device operates as a sort of top rank can-opener. Able to open any box or container.”
“Such as a safe?” I said.
“You’re learning!” said the Armourer. “Can I please have my gin bottle back, Molly? It may not be worth much, but it is of great sentimental value. Thank you. Oh, come on, the two of you; it wasn’t that bad. . . .”