Another uniformed flunky appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. He stepped into the circle, bearing a silver salver with two champagne flutes on it. No point in putting it off any further. I strode out into the circle, and the crowd cheered me in a mostly good-natured way. The Little Lord came forward, and we both stood together before the Casino’s generic flunky.
“Have we met?” I said, peering into the familiar characterless face.
“No, sir,” said the flunky. “An easy mistake to make. I am told we all look alike to you. Please, drink. So that Change War can begin.”
The Little Lord snatched one of the champagne flutes from the tray, and tossed the clear liquid back. She slammed the glass back onto the tray and walked quickly away. I picked up the remaining glass and studied the contents carefully.
“How long will this stuff last?” I said, to the flunky.
“As long as it needs to, sir. The act of winning, or losing, acts as a psychic trigger to shut down the potion’s effects. It’s all been very carefully worked out, sir. We have done this before. Win, and the Little Lord’s soul is yours. Lose, and your opponent takes control of Miss Molly’s soul. I am not permitted to take anyone’s side, but I believe I am allowed to say ‘Good luck, sir.’”
He bowed, and stepped back. Not a trace of emotion anywhere, in his face or voice. Just waiting for me to drink so the Game could get under way. I looked out into the crowd and there was Frankie, moving quickly back and forth, nailing down those important side bets. I hoped he was getting good odds. I looked round and there was Molly, standing right at the front of the crowd, in the first row. I moved over to stand before her, still holding my champagne glass. We stood and looked at each other for a long moment.
“What are you doing here?” I said.
“You don’t have to do this,” said Molly. “I could do this for you. I’ve as much experience as you, and I can hold my own in a fight. You know that.”
“I have to do this,” I said steadily. “If the horse throws you . . .”
“Then you shoot the bloody thing in the head and move on!” said Molly. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Shaman.”
“Perhaps I have something to prove to myself,” I said. “You don’t know how close I came to losing against the Dancing Fool. I had to descend to his level to win. I don’t like how that made me feel. I need to win this, Molly, and I need to win it . . . in a good way. To be myself again.”
“Oh, hell,” said Molly. “Just . . . don’t get chivalrous. Kick the crap out of the Little Tranny, and come home safely.”
“Now there’s a sentence you don’t hear every day,” I said.
I smiled at Molly, and she smiled at me. And then I turned away from her and strode out into the stone circle, to where the generic flunky was waiting patiently for me. The Little Lord was standing stiffly in place now, impatient to get started. I toasted her with my champagne flute, and gulped the clear liquid down. After my horrid experience with the Armourer’s potion, I didn’t want the stuff lingering in my mouth any longer than necessary. I braced myself, ready for some really horrible taste, some open assault on my taste buds . . . and was surprised to discover that the potion had no taste at all. I might as well have been drinking tap water.
I looked suspiciously at my empty glass, wondering whether someone might have cheated, and slipped me water instead of the potion, but no, I could already feel the stuff working within me. Feel the potential opening up of all the things I could be. The generic flunky took the empty glass away from me and left the circle, but I barely noticed. I felt like I could be anything, anything at all. That I could rise up into the sky like a giant and drag down one of the moons, or dissipate into a deadly mist that would poison everyone who breathed it in. Turn myself into anyone or anything I’ve ever met. And I’ve been around. All the possibilities jostling within me, just bursting to get out . . .
I looked across at the Little Lord as she carefully removed the monocle from her left eye and tucked the glass safely away in an inside pocket. And then she looked at me and smiled, coldly and dismissively. As though she’d already worked out every possibility in her mind, and won every time. And all that was left now was the formality of playing it out. I had to smile at that. I had been places, and seen things, and done things, far beyond her imagination. The Little Lord wasn’t going to know what hit her. Except, I didn’t want to play the Game that way. The Casino’s bloody, brutal way.
So I just sauntered around the perimeter of the circle, bouncing along full of life and energy, ignoring my opponent to wave and smile at the crowd, who didn’t quite know how to take that. It sure as hell wasn’t We who are about to die, salute you. Fighting in the Arena was supposed to be a grim, deadly affair. That’s why they came. You weren’t supposed to have a good time in the Arena. . . . My actions seemed to actually incense the Little Lord, who had to keep turning just to face me.
“You’re not taking this seriously!” she said, accusingly.
“I’ve had enough of serious,” I said brightly. “Not really my thing. It’s supposed to be a Game, isn’t it? Then let’s play! Let’s enjoy ourselves; have some fun!”
“This isn’t a game,” said the Little Lord. “It was never meant to be a game! Just a contest of skill, with souls on the line!”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t still have a good time,” I said, reasonably. I slammed to a halt and looked steadily at her, my hands thrust casually in my pockets. “Why did you challenge me, rather than anyone else? Did you see me fight in the Pit?”
“You fought in the Pit?” said the Little Lord. “And won?”
“Well, obviously,” I said. “If I hadn’t won, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”
“I chose you at random,” said the Little Lord. “Because I didn’t know anything about you. Therefore, you weren’t a Major Player. I couldn’t risk that. Not after I sacrificed so much to get this far. I will beat you!”
“Why?” I said. “Why is winning so important to you?”
“Because it’s my only way to get home again!” said the Little Lord, harshly. “I want to go home!”
“You’d take my soul to do that?” I said.
“I’d take a thousand souls!” said the Little Lord. “And that’s the other reason why I chose to challenge someone I didn’t know. So that whatever happens to you, it won’t bother me so much.”
The Little Lord stamped her foot hard, and her formal clothes burst apart as her body exploded into tightly stretched flesh and muscle. She rose up before me, a huge and powerful figure, a living engine of destruction. The Little Lord had gone for the most obvious choice: a Hyde. But not a female Hyde, not just an evil version of herself. Like Jacqueline before her, the Little Lord had taken the formula at face value. She had become the legendary bogeyman; the biggest, strongest, most deadly man she could think of. A real man, at last. I could see the proof hanging down, between the dark tatters of what had been her exquisitely tailored trousers. And I couldn’t help but grin. The Little Lord might be living her dream, right now, being all a man could be . . . but I was ready to bet that she hadn’t thought it through. That there was one part of being a man that she hadn’t considered, because she’d never had to.
So I didn’t even bother to change into anything else. I just walked right up to the Hyde, smiling sweetly. The Hyde reared up before me, his huge hands opening and closing, smiling his own harsh smile as he got ready to tear me into little pieces. He reached out to me and I lunged quickly forward, inside his reach, and kicked him good and hard in the nuts.