Firefly - Carnival, page 17
part #6 of Firefly Series
“I bet,” said Kaylee. Look at her, thought Mal, puffing up with pride on the doc’s account. Not that she was gettin’ anywhere. Fella couldn’t see what was right in front of him. Girl like Kaylee—he should be honored by her attention.
“Five hundred platinum?” said Anna.
“Before the fireworks tomorrow,” said Mal. “And since my main plan to get that was, not to put to fine a point on it, stealing back Roberts’ merchandise from whoever had taken it away from, I am now without both plan and platinum—”
“Don’t worry,” said Anna. “I’ll pay.”
“You’ll what?” said Mal.
Katarina laughed. “Anna’s very rich. Disgustingly rich.” She gestured round. “Who do you think bankrolls all this? The house, the whole operation. I think she likes being a gentleman adventurer.”
“What I like,” said Anna, “is seeing Jacob Roberts suffer. For that reason alone, I’ll pay this ransom.”
“Oh,” said Mal. “Well, in that case, miss, if you’re willin’, I’ll gladly take you up on that kind offer.”
“See, Cap’n,” said Kaylee. “Comin’ all the way out here wasn’t a waste of your time after all. Doin’ the right thing never is.”
“Not sure that’s a claim that would hold up for long under too much scrutiny, Kaylee,” said Mal, “but I ain’t disagreein’ that today seems to be pickin’ up as a result.”
“There’s one condition,” said Anna.
“Here it comes,” said Mal, sinking back into his seat.
“I want your help to bring down Roberts. Captain Reynolds— you say you don’t like what he does. But do you mean that? Enough to help put a stop to it?”
“What you sayin’ exactly?” said Mal.
“You and your people—you’re the ones that can prove the connection. Between the Guild House here and Roberts. Maybe we can pin something on Roberts and Becker that will stick at last.”
“Oh… I ain’t so sure…”
“Mal,” said Inara. “You’ve done this kind of thing before.”
“You heard what Ava had to say, Mal,” said Kaylee.
“They’ve done this to other girls, Mal,” said Inara. “And they’ll keep on until someone stops them—”
“Bì zuǐ, the two of you! Please just shut up!”
“He’ll help,” said Inara.
“I suppose I will,” said Mal. “Must confess I’m enjoy seein’ old man Roberts’ face when we bring him to heel. That man took on far too many airs and graces for someone up to neck in this amount of niú shi.” He eyed Anna. “Easier if I have my two people back.”
Anna smiled. “Consider yourself paid.”
* * *
Around the table in the Golden Balloon, the champagne was now freely flowing, the punters gladly imbibing, and the girl in the black dress still winning. Over the course of the last twenty minutes, the word had spread that something big was happening. The crowd around the table had grown steadily larger, people pushing at each other for a view of the proceedings. They howled for joy as the wheel spun once again, and the brass ball, which seemed to them almost to be doing her bidding, obligingly dropped into place on eighteen, red sun. Joseph Liu, standing next to a worried man in a gaudy shirt, watched with interest—but not, as yet, with concern—as the girl collected the slips that represented thirty-two thousand platinum.
“Help,” whispered the man in the bad shirt. “We’re going to die.”
“Not yet,” said Joseph Liu, quietly. “Not quite yet.”
“She gorram won!” yelled the big man in velvet. “She gorram went and won again!”
“Sweet Mary mother of Christ and the whole host of heavenly angels!” cried Emory Braxton. He took off his top hat, threw it in the air, and caught it neatly by the brim. “Sugar,” he told the girl, “you’re nearly there! One more go, sugar! One more and you’ve done it!”
“Lay your bets,” said the croupier, when Joseph gave her the sign. “One more spin to go for the win of a lifetime. The wheel’s been lucky tonight…”
“Not for me it ain’t,” cried one of the other punters. “I’m down a hundred platinum!”
The crowd laughed. They’d all lost a little, here and there. Joseph watched the faces around him carefully. Was this the moment when the magic wore off? When they all pulled back the curtain and saw how things really worked? That the house might not win, but it never, ever lost? The girl made her choice and pushed every last one of her slips forward. “Ten,” she whispered. “Red sun.”
“Come on, the lot of you!” cried Emory Braxton, may heaven smile upon heart and his bottomless wallet. “Can’t leave this sweet little thing out there alone!” He took a mighty swig of champagne. “Who’s in? I’m in! I got five thousand platinum here… Who else? We can match her bet! Come on, fellas! We’re with you, sugar!”
“I’m in!” someone cried, from just behind him, while his wife hissed, “Jacky! No!”
Too late. The money was on the table. Fueled by the drink with which Joseph had plied them, egged on by Braxton, more and more people came forward, offering up amounts small and not-so-small that quickly matched the girl’s stake. The croupier glanced over at Joseph, who gave the smallest of nods. Everything could proceed.
The crowd laid their stake. So did the girl. The croupier spun the wheel. Joseph watched the girl, trying yet again to work out how she was doing whatever it was she was doing. She watched the wheel, humming, for a couple of seconds and then, while it was still spinning, she relaxed and waited for what was clearly, to her, inevitable.
The wheel slowed. The ball rattled, and then landed, right on target.
Ten. Red sun. How did she know?
Whoops of delight and astonishment went up, and even the losers seemed not to mind they’d lost those stakes to make this girl a fortune. And particularly not when the slips were handed over, and her face lit up, and a river of laughter bubbled up from her. Emory Braxton laughed out loud. “See that?” he cried. “I told you, sugar! I told you! The sun always comes up!”
By now, the whole casino had ground to a halt. Huge cheers and applause rose up, a standing ovation for the little girl who had beat the Big Wheel. Joseph Liu, applauding with the rest of them, stepped forward and addressed the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “What an amazing night we’re having! This young lady has matched the biggest win we’ve ever seen here at the Golden Balloon. I hope I’m not being forward when I say I imagine you’ll remember tonight for the rest of your lives. I know I will!”
Loud hoots of raucous laughter. Incredible, Joseph thought. They all believed somehow that the house had lost. The house never, ever lost.
“Our lucky winner here,” he turned to the girl and whispered, “What’s your name?”
“Joy,” she whispered.
“Joy,” he told the crowd, and a roar went up: Bless you, sweetheart! Gorram princess! We love you, Joy!
“Joy and I,” said Joseph, “are going to go have a few drinks to mark this special occasion, and in the meantime, I hope you all enjoy the champagne I’m sending round—and a platinum slip for everyone in the building.” Huge cheers. “Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen—it’s a lucky night here tonight at the Golden Balloon!”
Joseph waved his hand again, and a couple of his larger staff appeared. Gently, the girl and her associates were moved away from the wheel and through the hall. “Please don’t hurt us,” said the little man in the hideous shirt. “I had no idea she was going to go that far. All we needed was five hundred—”
“Keep quiet,” said Joseph, “and keep smiling. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to do exactly what I said. I’m going to pay you your winnings, and then I’m going to send you on your way.”
The man in velvet looked disappointed. “Huh. Was hopin’ for some shootin’.”
“Not tonight,” said Joseph. “We don’t do things that way on Bethel. Not any more.” At least, not in a place run by the Liu family.
He was as good as his word. In the back office, he paid up and passed round a little champagne, extracted the names of both men (as well as the name and location of their ship, just in case). They toasted their success; the little man, Wash, relaxed; and soon that was that.
“Well,” Joseph said, once the ceremony was over, “it’s been a pleasure meeting you all. And now it’s time for you to leave. There’s a car outside, ready to take you all back to Serenity, and I would warmly and respectfully ask that you do not return.”
Wash was shaking his hand vigorously. “I promise that I am never doing anything like this again.”
“Sixty-five thousand ruttin’ platinum!” crowed Jayne. “I ain’t never seen anything like it in my whole gorram life!”
The girl held out her hand, upon which Joseph bestowed a tender kiss. “Good night,” he said. “It’s been fun having you here.”
“It was everything I hoped for,” she said
Joseph took her arm and escorted her back through the hall and toward the exit. On the way past, she stopped by one of the machines. She pulled the lever, the machine shuddered, and a single coin came toppling out.
“Biggest win now,” she said. “No power in the ’verse can stop me.”
Joseph picked up the silver coin, and, with the most beautifully executed bow, handed over the small treasure. “Zhu fu ni, mèi mèi,” he said. “Enjoy the rest of Carnival.”
* * *
Upstairs, the Roberts’ residence was in near darkness, a single lamp at the far end of the landing just enough light to show where the staircase began. Zoë and Book inched their way noiselessly toward this and, once they were there, Zoë moved forward to look down on the hall. Fancy, as Kaylee would say, all white marble and gilt furnishings, and harshly and brightly lit. Not much in the way of cover there, and certainly plenty of folk about to cause them difficulties, should they decided to be troublesome. Music and laughter and chatter came up from the party in the garden below. As Zoë watched, a man in a fine gray suit, sporting a richly embroidered waistcoat, came into the hall and headed toward the staircase. She saw the bulk underneath his jacket where a weapon lay. Slipping back, she gestured to Book to hide. They both pressed into the shadows. When the man came to the top of the stairs, he went the other direction down the corridor. Zoë breathed a sigh of relief. She nodded the all-clear to the Shepherd, and he moved forward to get the lie of the land.
“No easy way out,” Zoë murmured. “Soon as we enter that hall, we’re seen.”
“I don’t mind,” said Book. “I think I’d like to make our presence felt.”
“You sure about that, Shepherd?”
“Quite sure.”
He led the way downstairs. He seemed all fired up by new purpose, arising from his not inconsiderable anger. With any other man (Mal, say) Zoë would be a mite concerned right now, knowing that this kind of anger generally led to mistakes. Not with the Shepherd. To Zoë’s expert eyes, he looked more alert, more focused, than she had ever seen before. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Book turned to her.
“Ready to put on a show?”
“Reckon so, preacher.”
They stepped out into the bright light. They strode side-by-side through the hallway and into a big reception room, where they found a handful of guests mingling, making small talk over canapes. There were gasps of surprise as they went purposefully past. Folks jumped out of their way and the conversation turned into fearful whispers.
“Guess we don’t look the kind to have received an invitation,” remarked Zoë.
“Roberts’ mistake,” said Book. “He should have played more nicely with us.” He gestured with his pistol toward a pair of open doors that overlooked the garden. “Still, it would be impolite not to pay our respects to our host. This way, I think.”
They went out onto a wide terrace that ran along the back of the house. Zoë looked out across the garden. There were, by her estimate, maybe fifty people out here, chattering and laughing, eating and drinking. The music from the string quartet wove around them. There was Roberts, at the heart of this great web of luxury, his arm around a beautiful woman—a companion, no less, by the looks of her. Best of everything for Jacob Roberts.
“Ah,” said Book. “There he is.”
People were starting to notice them. The music faltered. Book lifted up his pistol, fired a shot up into the air, and the music stopped, abruptly. So did the talk. Roberts turned around. The expression on his face when he saw Book standing there, pistol aimed at his heart, was one that Zoë would recall with considerable pleasure in later days.
“Jacob Roberts!” the man named Derrial Book cried out, and his voice, ringing out clear like the trumpet on Judgement Day, brought the whole gathering to silence. “Listen now to the word of God! Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord, and recompense, for the time when their foot shall slip; for the day of their calamity is at hand, and their doom,” Book pressed his finger against the trigger, “their doom, Jacob Roberts, comes swiftly!”
Lǎo tiān yé, thought Zoë, he surely ain’t gonna kill him cold blood? Seeing Book’s face, she wasn’t rightly sure, and she made ready to knock the pistol out of his hand. Last thing they needed was a murder charge, with more’n fifty witnesses… The Shepherd’s arm moved, shifting the target away from Roberts. Zoë saw Roberts follow the line of the pistol and realize exactly where the Shepherd was now pointing the gun.
“Jesus Christ, man!” Roberts cried out. “Are you insane?”
The Shepherd fired, right into the heart of the firework display. The first charge went off with a huge blast, sending off sparks sufficient to set the rest going. Bangs and sparks and all manner of explosives, going off all around. Folks began to scream and run for cover.
Book turned to Zoë and said, in a mild tone, “I’m ready to go now.”
“Me too, Shepherd. Me too.”
“As for our getaway… That fine red flyer we saw from the library window. I recall we were of similar mind?”
Zoë, more concerned now with the armed men hastening toward them, raised her own pistol and said, “We were indeed. And I hope, preacher man, I never have cause to find myself on the wrong end of your desire for retribution.”
“Zoë,” he said, “I doubt you capable of deeds requiring such.” He took one last look at his handiwork and, with a satisfied nod, turned to run with her down the driveway toward the red car. Zoë leapt into the front and started the machine up. Book, in the passenger seat, leaned out of the window and fired his pistol.
The flyer rose and sped off. In the rear mirror, Zoë could see the flames of their purifying blaze rising up into the night. Book settled back into his seat.
“Did you hit anyone?” said Zoë. She looked back and saw a man with a beard clutching his leg in agony.
“He ain’t dead,” Book said crisply. “Tonight, and in this particular company, I’m not averse to causing a little wounding.” He wiped his hand across his mouth. “And may God have mercy.”
* * *
Inside, the big fancy car supplied by Joseph Liu was bigger and fancier than anything Wash could have imagined in his wildest dreams. Leather seats and polished finish. Drinks and—Tā mā de, were those snacks? A car filled with snacks? Grabbing packets of NutsSaltiNuts, he filled his pockets, opening a couple more of the tiny bags and stuffing down the contents as if the nuts were magical nuts that would disappear on the stroke of midnight.
“Nuts!” he said, indistinctly, his mouth full of them. “I love this world! I love this car!” Jayne, spread out in the seat opposite, reached for one of the open bottles of champagne and drank deeply. “Gorram champagne, Wash!”
River was humming and clutching the case of money—lots and lots of money. Wash clutched his head. “Wǒ de mā,” he said. “How did you do that?”
“It was easy,” said River. “The wheel sang to me. Sang to me in a major key. All I had to do was listen to her.”
“I ain’t got no idea what that ruttin’ means,” said Jayne, “and I ain’t bothered. Sixty-five thousand gorram ruttin’ platinum!” He took another swig of champagne and held out the bottle. “Neither of you want any of this?”
“Strangely not,” said Wash. He found another bottle, and some glasses—proper, fancy, flutey, glasses—and poured out champagne for River and himself. They clinked them together. She giggled. “Bubbles,” she said. “Nucleation sites. Caused by impurities in the glass. They tickle!”
“Whatever you say, River,” said Wash, and drained his glass.
By the time the car drew up alongside Serenity, the three of them were more than slightly hysterical and considerably more than slightly drunk. Wash and Jayne grabbed half-a-dozen more bottles of champagne, and they tumbled out of the car and on-board Serenity. In the dining room, River put down the money down on the table. She opened the case, slowly, and as she did, Wash and Jayne sighed with pure pleasure.
“Look at that,” said Jayne, with a kind of reverence that would have warmed the Shepherd’s heart. “Gorram fortune! I ain’t seen a stack of cash like this in… Well, I ain’t never seen a stack of gorram cash like this!”
Wash, trying to remember that there had been a reason for going out and doing this, said, “We should get onto Roberts. Get the ransom paid straight away. Get Zoë back—”
“Now hold on a ruttin’ minute,” said Jayne.
“Mal won’t mind,” said Wash. “He’ll be back any minute, anyway…” (Where the hell was Mal, come to that…?) “Why wait?”
“I’m not sayin’ wait for Mal, I’m sayin’ I ain’t wastin’ my money on ransom—”
“Wasting?”
“I want to make sure I get my share—”
“You’ll get your share, Jayne,” said Wash, “just as soon as we’ve made sure that Zoë and Book are safe—”
“I ain’t bein’ cheated,” said Jayne, doggedly. “Not again. Not over this one. Sick of bein’ cheated. Not again. Not ever—”
“Honey,” said a familiar voice, “is this zhàn dǒu de yī kuài ròu botherin’ you?”
Wash spun round. “Zoë!” He was in her arms within seconds. “Why are you here? How are you here? Was there violence? Was there wounding? Are there wounds?”
