“I will not stand for this,” I said. “I will do something about this.”
“Many people have said that, sir,” said the generic flunky. “But we are still here.”
“You never met anyone like me,” I said.
“That’s enough, Shaman,” Molly said quickly. “You do like to promise things, don’t you?”
“People manufactured to be slaves?” I said. “I’m not having it!”
“The Games,” Frankie said urgently. “You have to make a start, get your challenge in, before you’re noticed by some of the sharks operating here.”
“If you’ll excuse me, sir and miss,” said the flunky, “I have my business to be about.”
He bowed, and left. There wasn’t even any character in the way he walked, or held himself. More like a toy that had been wound up and left to run.
“The more I learn about this place, the less I like,” I said. “I don’t think my family knows nearly enough, about the Casino, or the Shadow Bank, or the people behind them . . . if they are even people. Dimensional doors, people factories . . . Once this mission is over, I will get some answers. . . .”
“First things first,” said Molly, soothingly. “We have to win here, and win big enough to get us into the Big Game, if we’re to break the bank. And get your soul back. That is why we came here, remember?”
“If you survive the Medium Games,” said Frankie.
Molly tapped me urgently on the arm, and pointed out a familiar figure moving casually through the stone seating, meeting and greeting with professional ease. Earnest Schmidt, current leader of the reformed Brotherhood of the Vril. He seemed in no hurry; happy to talk his poison to anyone.
“Maybe I should challenge him,” I said. “Nothing like kicking the crap out of a Nazi to brighten up your day.”
“Don’t aim so high,” Frankie said immediately. “He has many souls, and he knows his way around the Medium Games. You want someone who’s as unfamiliar with everything as you are. Someone like the individual currently heading our way.”
A somewhat less than medium height, very slender, and very striking figure was striding confidently towards us. Dressed in full formal attire, complete with top hat, gloves, and spats, and a monocle screwed tightly into the left eye. He stopped before us, nodded jerkily, and then had to pause to stuff his monocle back into its eye socket again. He struck a haughty pose, and did his best to look down on me. Which is not easy, when you’re at least a head shorter.
“I say!” he said, in a high breathy voice. “You’re that Shaman Bond chappie, aren’t you? I’m told you did frightfully well in the Introductory Games, even if you were mostly saved from your own folly by the assistance of others. You do understand that won’t happen here.”
“And you are?” I said.
“I am the Little Lord!” snapped the aristocratic figure. Somewhat taken aback and even affronted at not being immediately recognised. “Aristocrat of the Nightside and Gambler Supreme! Winner of many Games, and my soul is still my own! Not a mark on it . . .”
“Do you know which planet we’re on?” I said.
He sniffed, dismissively. “As though that matters. I’m a gambler, not a tourist!”
Molly leaned forward suddenly, to get a really close look at the Little Lord, and then crowed triumphantly. “I knew it! You’re a woman!”
“What?” I said.
“Shut up!” said the Little Lord.
“You’re a woman!” said Molly. She put both her hands on the Little Lord’s chest, and had a good feel. “You’ve got breasts! You’re female!”
“Not officially!” said the Little Lord, backing away several steps. She glared at me. “And I challenge you, Shaman Bond, to a game of Change War!”
Molly gave every indication of going after the Little Lord again, possibly to pull her clothes open for a fuller investigation. I grabbed Molly by the arm and pulled her back.
“Behave, Molly!” I said sternly. “You’re not at home now.”
Frankie murmured urgently in my ear.
“Accept the challenge. It’s a simple, basic Game, one on one, win a soul or lose one. A good introduction to the Medium Games, and a chance to make a good impression in front of the crowds.”
“Very well,” I said to the Little Lord. “I accept your challenge.”
“Wait a minute,” said Molly. “We don’t even know what the Game involves yet!”
“Too late, old dear,” said the Little Lord, smiling frostily. “Mr. Bond, I shall make you pay for these indignities, sir!”
And she hurried away, heading for the Arena.
“Little Bitch,” said Molly.
The Little Lord’s back stiffened, but she pretended not to hear and kept going. Striding down through the stone seats, heading for the circle at the heart of the Arena. Top-hatted head held high. I considered blowing a raspberry after her, but decided against it. I had my dignity to consider. I looked at Frankie.
“All right,” I said. “What have I just agreed to, on your advice?”
“Change War,” said Frankie. “You both take a potion, provided by the Casino, a mixture of classic Hyde formula and Chimera Venom. Gives you both the short-term ability to transform your body into absolutely anything your mind can conceive of. You both change shape repeatedly, trying to outmanoeuvre and overwhelm each other, until one of you turns into something the other can’t match. Basically, you just keep fighting in one form after another until there’s a clear winner. And a loser, of course.”
“Didn’t I see this in a Disney film once?” said Molly.
“The thought of you watching a Disney film feels frankly unnatural,” said Frankie.
I thought about it. “Is there any way I can get out of this Game?”
“No!” said Frankie. “No, really, you don’t want to do that! This is a good deal! You’re a trained fighter, and a Drood, so you’re bound to have encountered far weirder and more dangerous things than the Little Lord! You can outclass and outfight her and . . . and walk all over her!”
“If it’s such a good deal, why are you getting so loud?” said Molly.
“I don’t want to kill the Little Lord,” I said to Frankie.
“You won’t have to,” he said quickly. “Just . . . overpower her. We can get really good odds on you, in the side betting!”
I looked at Molly, and she nodded reluctantly. “Do what you have to do, Shaman.”
“Good thing Jacqueline’s not here,” I said. “To see what they’ve done with Hyde formula.”
“Don’t be naive,” said Frankie. “Who do you think sold the details of the formula to the Casino in the first place? In return for an invitation, and enough money to play with?”
I took my time walking down through the stone seating, towards the circle. I really didn’t want to fight anyone, after what I’d been through in the Pit, but there was no denying the idea of Change War intrigued me. I had some experience in changing the shape of my armour, but to actually change my body . . . into someone or even something else . . . I made myself smile and nod easily to everyone I passed. The crowds were really gathering now, filling the stone seating, pressed shoulder to shoulder. Many were already discussing Shaman Bond and the Little Lord with cold familiarity, like two racehorses. Bets were being placed. It all seemed very sporting and civilised, until you remembered they were wagering other people’s souls. I stopped, right at the edge of the circle. The Arena. Nothing could happen, nothing could begin, until I stepped into the Arena. The Little Lord was already there, strutting up and down, waving to the crowd in a haughty, affected manner. As though they were privileged to be watching her. I suppose, if you’re going to play a part, play it all the way.