1??????????????Soul Bound

  1.1????????????Finding her Feet

  1.1.7??????????An Extreme Response

  1.1.7.21???????The third option

  Self, any ideas?

  Hmm. Mycroft’s idea was the only lead she had. She needed to build on it. There was something, it was on the tip of her tongue. She looked around for inspiration.

  There was Carlo’s triptych, half finished. On the left was short Alderney, portrayed as an innocent child in a Dorian chiton, flowers in her hair, about to be defiled by a leering Jincan. On the right was tall Bungo, like an angel painted by Gianbattista Tiepolo, flowers falling from his hands as a bloodthirsty VamaKali cut him down. In the centre was Bulgaria, obviously aged yet rippling muscles showing in a pose like an ancient discus thrower as he threw the bleeding Pierrot upwards towards the sea and the tentacles of the Kraken in the background. The whole composition was full of dynamism and symbols of religion, sacrifice and life-cycles.

  Religion. Cycles. The Underworld. A bard. Something in her mind clicked. Devils liked a wager, did they? There was no wager in history more famous than that of Orpheus’ trip to the Underworld. The meme repeated again and again. Hades and Persephone. Izanagi visiting Izanami in Yomi-no-kuni. The devs had to have thought about this, and that meant there ought to be a way, even if it was just a one in one million chance. It was better than no chance, and it would let her take control of the narrative, make her death mean something, rather than just running out the clock.

  She went over to the sword, where mobs of her friends were still engaged in pointless debate, and switched to talking in private to Metathiaxioniel.

  Kafana: {Hey Metathiaxioniel. Did you come up with any options you like?}

  Metathiaxioniel: {Nope. Either way I’m fucked.}

  Kafana: {If I suggest a third option, do you have a way to find out whether your Princess Salma accepts it?}

  Metathiaxioniel: {A knight bother the Princess? It would have to be an amazingly tempting deal. Yes, I can communicate back with the Inferno. I need to be able to, in order to send them souls and check the receipts. I’m listening.}

  Kafana: {You don’t like the first option, in which I die and you end up for aeons at the bottom of sea accruing interest on your debts. I don’t like the second option, in which I make sure you get so many other souls that you’re willing to free mine in exchange.}

  Metathiaxioniel: {So what’s the third option?}

  Kafana: {A wager. With Princess Salma on one side, and on the other side you and me.}

  Metathiaxioniel nodded, and she continued:

  Kafana: {I assert I am a Bard and claim Bardic privilege. I offer to visit her realm in your company, and play for her and her throng, protected by her hospitality until I finish. I’ll need my physical body and my selection of my instruments and other items, to play at my best. If she disagrees that I am a Bard, after listening to me play until the coming dawn on Covob, then she wins two souls, plus a thousand years’ interest upon your debts.}

  Metathiaxioniel: {What?}

  Kafana: {If she confirms my status as a Bard, however, then she pays me for my songs and music according to her means, acts as a good host by letting me, including my body and all my things, return safely to the Sanctum in Torello at this coming dawn, with no outstanding debts and a guarantee from her of no revenge or animosity against me by her or her throng.}

  Metathiaxioniel: {Nice for you. What’s in it for me?}

  Kafana: {What do you want? A raise in rank? All your debts paid off? Keep it reasonable and we’ll make it a condition of the wager. We rise together or we fall together. What do you say? It is that or the ocean. Your choice.}

  Metathiaxioniel: {I hear the fishes in the deeps are very pretty. Calm and relaxing.}

  Kafana: {But?}

  Metathiaxioniel: {But watching fishes while waiting for debt-slavery ain’t my style. I’m an up-and-coming devil, I am. I’ll propose the wager. Back in a bit.}

  {Minion, please send to Alderney: “I’ve got a plan. It probably won’t work, but win or lose it should give you a nice narrative. Don’t let the others interfere, please.”}

  [From Alderney: “I saw you practising costume changes. We may joke about it, but we trust you. Go do your thing. I’ll be rooting for you.”]

  Metathiaxioniel: {She accepted. I am authorised to transport you when you request it. A couple of pieces of advice. Firstly, you didn’t negotiate protection against the environment, so make sure you’re fireproof. We’re big on illusions, and some of them cover cliffs. Secondly, no matter what she says, once you start playing don’t stop until she says the words “You win the wager” three times. Those exact words, not even the slightest variation. I won’t wish you luck. In the Inferno you make your own luck, or you don’t have any. Don’t expect her to stick to the rules. It’s all about power.}

  {Sys, please warn me 10 minutes in-game time, before the dawn.}

  [Yes friend. And I will wish you good luck. If you survive, I promise to learn to sing with you.]

  Ok, equipment check:

  Looking at her equipment, she realised Bungo had probably been right. Somewhere in a pre-prepared plot there must be a slot needing a particular shaped piece before a flag could be raised, activating something major. And for better or worse, the expert system in charge of story generation had decided that, with a little nudging, she could be chiselled into the appropriate shape. It was a rather uncomfortable realisation and she didn’t know what to do about it, so she shelved it for now. No, better still:

  [Minion, send to Balthazar: New project - profile the minds behind plot generation in Soul Bound, and make projections based upon that and other available data about the most likely impacts of plot upon Kafana. Give me timely warnings at convenient moments of impacts I appear not to be anticipating. Project name “sense danger”.]

  Nobody was paying much attention to her now. The audience were restless, just watching people argue while waiting for her to die. The advisory group were already squabbling about what should happen to her hypothetical share of auction items once she was dead.

  She nonchalantly walked over to Rudolfo and asked to borrow the sword for a moment. He waved her permission, engrossed in an argument with Wellington about the chances of draining all the magic from the sword that gave it indestructibility. She picked it up and wandered over to where Vessel-Tomsk was standing near a couple of priests maintaining the circle holding Spirit-Kullervo.

  She double checked all the gems were firmly in place upon her head in the special hairstyle that Vessel-Alderney had braided. She ate three different types of buff food.

  Kafana: {Wellington, I’m about to make a speech. Please set up amplification so those outside can hear it too.}

  No putting it off any longer. She took a deep breath.

  Show time.