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I hand the ball to a frowning assistant, then present myself to a bemused Urszula. “Hi,” I wheeze as I make the greet with a shaking hand. “I’m...” I pause. I was going to announce myself as Archie, but something loftier seems more in line. “Archibald.”
I don’t tell her my Merged surname, as that would tip her off to the fact that I’m a locksmith. (Even though I still don’t really consider myself a locksmith, despite the fact that everybody else here does.) She probably wouldn’t be wary of me even if she knew – my inner voice tells me that the vast majority of locksmiths wouldn’t recognise the Spinner for what it really is – but best not to take any chances.
“Archibald,” Urszula says, returning the greet. “I was under the impression that I’d be playing a thesp called Oleg.”
“Nerves got the better of him,” I mutter, “so I agreed to step in.”
“You’re with the thesps?” she asks.
“I’m new to the team,” I reply honestly.
“An actor?” she asks.
“No,” I say, “but I’m considering a career change.”
“You’ll have to put your career plans on hold if I defeat you on the Spinner,” she laughs, then claps commandingly. Baba Jen appears beside us a few moments later. The diminutive actress is scowling up at me.
“I think this young gentleman has come to play for your freedom, little cherub,” Urszula says. “Am I correct, Archibald?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“What’s your impression of your knight in shining armour?” the empress asks Baba Jen.
“I’m doomed,” she growls.
Urszula stifles a laugh, dismisses the actress, then faces me. “This is no trifling matter, Archibald. Jen gambled the rest of her life away, so if you play me and lose, you’ll have to join her in service to me, and death will be your only way out.”
I gulp. “Couldn’t we set a shorter term?”
Urszula shakes her head. “Jen is mine, and I won’t let her go without a fight. Understand?”
I understand all too well — she has the power to twist the Spinner any way she wants, and she’s going to use it to crush me, to make sure that Baba Jen stays put.
The empress is waiting for a reply, so I nod shakily.
“Do you accept the risks?” she asks.
“Yes,” I croak, then flash her a weak smile. “I’m feeling lucky.”
“What a coincidence,” Urszula says. “I feel lucky too. To be clear, if you win, Baba Jen walks free. If you lose, she remains in my employ, and you will also have to serve me for the rest of your life. Agreed?”
I’m tempted to back down, but that voice – that damn, elusive, frustrating voice – says, “Do it.”
“Agreed,” I whimper.
“Then step forward,” the empress says, “and let’s find out which of us Lady Luck truly favours today.”
I gulp and approach the menacing-looking Spinner.
“Would you prefer the left or right side?” Urszula asks.
“I’ll go left,” I say and grasp the handle, which is carved out of wood, worn smooth by the sweaty grip of countless hands over the decades.
Urszula steps up next to me, taking hold of the handle to my right. “I assume you’d prefer if I went first?” she asks with a sly smile.
Her smugness annoys me. She’s used to winning and assumes that everyone will lunge at the smallest of advantages. So, even though it’s senseless to reject the offer, I sniff and say, “I’m happy to lead.”
People in the audience murmur, intrigued, and I imagine a lot of bets are being laid against me. If Urszula is surprised, she masks it, and simply tilts her head again. “In your own good time,” she purrs.
I spend several seconds squeezing the handle. I wriggle and flex my fingers, letting them settle into a naturally comfortable position.
Then I pull the handle.
The top bead on my half of the Spinner starts to spin. I stare at it without blinking, and spot – or imagine I spot – the occasional number flashing by, but there’s no way of predicting where it will stop. I can tell within a couple of seconds that, despite what they might convince themselves, nobody has ever won by visually mastering the spinning beads.
But as they move, my fingertips detect tiny shifts in the handle. The sensations are incredibly faint and spread across all four fingers and thumb, like pins and needles, only far less evident. I’m sure the vast majority of gamblers never notice the gentle tingles, and if I wasn’t anticipating them – thanks to the voice inside my head – I’d have missed them too.
I whisper the number 3 to myself, over and over, tracking the dancing atoms inside the handle. As I said to Inez, the Spinner is basically a giant lock. There are tumblers and levers inside the handles, linked to the beads, but the pieces are tiny and incredibly hard to manipulate.
I drive my hand forward, silently repeating the number 3 inside my brain.
5 comes up as the bead stops spinning.
“A great start,” Urszula says. “That’s always the hardest number to bet against. Damned if I go high, damned if I go low. So let’s just go eeny meeny miny... low.”
She pulls her handle and holds it there a while, staring at her bead as it revolves at top speed. She doesn’t make any out of the ordinary noises, content to let this one play as it will.
When she pushes her handle forward, her bead stops on a 6. Urszula closes her eyes and groans with fake frustration while Cal, Maiko, Dermot and Oleg cheer. (I don’t hear anything from Inez.)
“First blood to the young locksmith,” Urszula says as an assistant pins a blue disc to my side of the board. “Maybe luck is on your side today.” She pulls her handle again and winks at me as she whispers, “But I wouldn’t bet on it.”