Tim Pratt - Sympathy for the Devil

“Nick Scratch!” he called into the wind. “I’ve got some business with you!”

The thin stranger stood in front of him, fire glowing hot behind his black eyes.

“I tried to warn you, Bill.” The Devil shook his head.

“I’m not saying you didn’t.” McGregor tightened all the fibers in his wrists to keep his hands from shaking. The air had gone warm and thick around him. His ears felt stopped up and his heart beat slow and sluggish.

“You can still go, Bill,” the Devil breathed to him. “No hard feelings. Go on.”

Bill teetered. “I’m not leaving, just yet.”

“Neither am I,” the Devil replied evenly.

“Care to bet on that?”

A hot wind blew hard and sudden. McGregor clamped his hand on his hat and clenched his teeth. The Devil remained silent, watching him.

“I’ll play you a game of faro,” McGregor said. “’Til one of us is cleaned out. If I win, you clear out and never come near anyone here or their land or their family again.”

The Devil arched his delicate eyebrows. “And what do you have to put up in such a game, Bill?”

“How about them?” McGregor nodded towards the unmoving Cheyenne.

The Devil fingered his chin. “Mmmm. Fallen Star, now he would be a prize. They all you got?”

McGregor’s hand curled around the scrap of fur in his pocket. “No.”

“Well, well. All right, then.” The Devil nodded. “I haven’t much time though, Bill. One game, ’til one of us is cleaned out. I’ll deal.”

Nick Scratch didn’t even blink. The faro table from the Nugget appeared in the waving grass between him and Bill. At his left hand stood the owner of the Denver House with his eyes wide and his skull split open where the bullet passed through him.

“My casekeeper,” Nick Scratch gestured a fine hand at the dead man and the abacus that kept track of the cards played.

“Strange,” said Wihio’s voice in his head and Bill jumped half-way out of his skin. “I was expecting Standing-in-the-West. Why has he not claimed him yet?” Wihio paused and it seemed to Bill the invisible presence was watching him shudder. “Well, Gambler, don’t tell me you are afraid of shadows and voices.”

The Devil’s eyes sparkled. “Wihio? You here? Which of these fools is your champion, Dog-of-a-Mystery?”

The laughter left Wihio’s voice. “You have secrets behind your fire and when I learn them, you will need to look to your skin.”

The Devil’s eyes glowed red. “Oh, yes. I will look to my skin. See that you do the same when I have the People for my own.”

“Let’s get to it.” Bill plunked himself down in the chair that had appeared on his side of the table and tried to settle his mind on the game. It was just a faro game. He knew this game like the back of his hand. He could play this. Didn’t matter who was dealing. He took out the beads and the pipe. In his hand they turned to a pile of five dollar coins. Bill set them down on the table like they might bite. Just a faro game. And he was feeling lucky today. That shook him, but he felt Wihio hovering around back of him and the tension eased. Yes. He was feeling lucky today.

For the look of the thing, Bill inspected the box and the cards. Both were clean, which he hadn’t expected. The cards flashed between the Devil’s fingers as he shuffled. He tamped the deck even against the table and laid it neatly into the box. The wind blew the unnatural heat through the coarse grass around McGregor’s ankles but didn’t come near the top of the table.

The Devil turned the crank on the box and drew out the four of spades. That was the soda and it took no part in the game. His ghoulish casekeeper pushed a bead across on the abacus to count it as played. Bill’s eyes started watering.

The world changed. McGregor still faced the Devil across the faro table, but around them hunched the skin mounds of a Cheyenne camp.

“What’re you doing?” Bill’s voice came out in a whisper.

In this new place it was barely dawn. A river chattered to itself somewhere in the distance. The only people up and about were Long Nose and Fallen Star. Long Nose prowled between the lodges, clutching his feathered spear. Fallen Star looked across to Bill with his deep eyes and then he began to chant. It was a slow, strong sound and it made the hairs on the back of Bill’s neck prickle.

“Playing the game,” replied the Devil. “Place your bet, Bill.”

“Charge!” bellowed somebody.

Horses hooves pounded the ground until it shuddered. Dawn light flashed on sabers and rifle barrels and gold braid. Long Nose hollered in Cheyenne and no one answered. The cavalry bore down on the camp. Shots split the dawn. Long Nose dodged, dragging Fallen Star with him. Someone screamed. A soldier lept off his horse and slit a skin house open. Blood. Blood everywhere. Bill gripped the edge of the table and stared at the game. He felt the heat of the Devil’s grin. Long Nose lifted his spear and charged into the fray. Fallen Star did not move, but the world around him did. Soldiers who had clear shots at Long Nose missed by a mile. They fell from their horses for him to cut down. They swung their sabers over his head and got in each others’ way. Fought like a bunch of kids bogged down in the snow. Long Nose killed them and they killed the women and the children and the unarmed men and Bill sat and looked on.

Stop this, Bill, stop it now! cried a part of Bill’s mind. You already got him where you want him, and if it’s going to work, it’s going to work as well now as later.

Bill steeled himself. Not yet.

“Place your bet, Gambler,” said Wihio. Bill glanced behind him. The three-legged coyote sat beside him. It dipped its muzzle and Bill felt his mind clear. He heard the shouts and hoofbeats and he smelled blood and gunpowder but it was all a long way away. Right now, he had a game to play. He set his coins down, splitting the bet carefully.

The Devil gave a loud guffaw. “Him? This is your champion, Wihio? Phew! Dog-of-a-Mystery, you must be desperate!”

The coyote bared its teeth. “I may be all you say, Foul One, but at least I understand my own people.”

Still chuckling, the Devil turned the crank on the box and the game really began.

It didn’t take long for Bill’s little pile of chips to slide away. His splits didn’t work and he couldn’t keep count. He felt Wihio keeping himself between Bill and his fears but it wasn’t enough. Maybe Wihio was too busy keeping him from going raving mad to loan him any extra luck. Maybe he didn’t understand this White Man’s game. Maybe it was just that Bill knew the Devil had always made him lucky and his luck was dealing the cards against him.

Around them the fight kept on. Bill, using the calm Wihio loaned him, flicked his eyes towards the soldiers, searching for one face in particular.

He’s got to do it, he told himself. He’s cruelty itself. If he’s got Ned’s soul, he’ll pull him out of Hell and parade him for me. If he doesn’t, then… then things in Heaven are looser than Father ever knew, and we all can still get outta this OK. If I’ve got things figured right that is. Bill glanced down at Wihio and the coyote just shrugged. Well, he’d already laid everything he had on Bill, what was he going to do?

The cards flitted from the box and the coins clinked together into higher piles in front of the Devil. One shot found its mark. Long Nose dropped into the grass. A soldier laughed. McGregor laid another bet. The Devil turned the crank on the case. There was a sound like ripe fruit falling and a soldier raised a sword dripping with Fallen Star’s blood.

The battle fell silent, even the sound of the river fell away.

“That seems to be that, Bill,” said Nick Scratch. He nodded, friendly-like to the cavalry sergeant.