Jo Clayton - Shadowkill

Kahtik threw Siettran, inspected his cards, shook his head. “Out,” he said. He collected his cards, blended them into a single pile and set them on the ledge in front of him. Then he took out a square white cloth, wiped each of the coins in the piles beside the cards, tucked them neatly away into an inside pocket or perhaps a money safe sewn into his vest.

Uj scooped up the dice, sat holding them loosely in his hand, his eyes closed.

Autumn Rose tensed. If he busted…

He tossed the dice, smiled. Three fours. Triple Telvi. He examined his set, lay them down, and squared them. “Option,” he said, took up each of the three other sets and examined them, shifted several cards about, placed the sets face down on the felt. “Done,” he said.

Rose started breathing again. She looked around, saw Pulleet watching her. His mouth hitched up in a brief smile, matching his relief with hers. He touched the left top corner of his set, moved a pile of coins onto the left bottom corner, scratched at his chin.

She tapped her chin, lifted one coin, set it back without letting it clink. Well, well. Not a freetrader after all. Like me, a ringer. Good old Hadluk, hasn’t lost it as much as I thought, finessing himself a double cut. Pulleet had been playing the Table more than the Holse and had done comfortably well so far, though she thought none of the others realized just how well since he had a habit of stowing his wins away after each Chapter. He’d done better than her despite her Holse wins, done it on tiptoe as it were. Clever little man. She bubbled inside with laughter and relief, though she was careful not to let it show. They could be better slotted. Being 1-2 like they were they lost leverage. Still, the Claiming round was coming up, and with a little bit of luck they could make Uj think he was Fingers Harry himself. If he didn’t do something terminally stupid. Which he was quite capable of, he’d already done several moronic plays. Like this wasting a play just looking at his cards.

Nikeldy threw another Siettram, looked at his cards and the single pera remaining in front of him. He squared the set, dropped it on the felt. “Out.”

Pulleet threw seven six two. Marstori. A middle level pass. He dropped two cards in the Pen, a Dancer-Lancer combine. She smiled when she saw them. Good. With the clown and a hanged man she held, that was almost Vagnag. If somewhere in his sets Uj had a seer, a witch or a magician-or a wilder of necessary degree to depute for them, he could do a Major Claim, with the possibility of making a small, large, or double Vag.

Uj pulled out a small Vag and play went on.

He was exultant-but he didn’t forget her; he looked at her with a proprietary gleam in his eyes that sent cold chills down her spine.

He flew from triumph to triumph, face flushed, getting wilder and wilder, infuriating Rose and Pulleet who had a real struggle to win only the small secondary stakes and leave the Holse gelt for him.

Tayteknas suspected what they were doing, but he kept his hunches to himself, dropping out early or playing Table when he got the chance. The others plunged or teetered according to their natures.

Final Pass round.

Before the dealing began, the door opened and a cloud of Dasuttras came in with kaff and tea and small cloths dampened with scented water. Their palms were dyed pink; more dye was burnished into their nails. Dye-flowers were stamped on their bodies, a graceful spray spread across the swell of their breasts, single blooms in the center of the brow and on each cheek. They fluttered about the players, their filmy draperies whisper whispering, caressing whatever they touched. Three Dasuttras filled delicate porcelain cups with steaming local teas and set them on the ledge beside the players. Rose leaned back and let one of them have her hand while the other massaged her neck and shoulders. She closed her eyes, sighed with pleasure, the tension going out of her, drawn away by the warm wet cloths, the skillful fingers of the masseuse.

She cracked an eye and sneaked a look at Uj, suppressed a grin. Lord of all he sees, she thought. Shayss damn, that’s a pretty child playing with his neck. She opened her eyes wider.

Hadluk was standing in the doorway looking amused. He met her eyes, tapped his temple in a two finger salute, and stepped out of sight.

He was a snake, but an honest snake, give him that. The way Uj was snorting at his attendants, he was going to have little interest in fooling about after her. Probably. Well, well…

She slid unnoticed from the room as Uj preened himself before the Dasuttras, enjoying the minor triumph of sweeping Last Chapter. Nikeldy was chewing his large bottom lip as he tapped notes into a cardfile. Barangkaly, gone morose, stared at a wall, now and then stroking his thumbnail down one or the other of his rattail mustaches. Kahtik stood withdrawn, concentrating on his coins, wiping them carefully with the white cloth before restowing them about his person. Tayteknas tossed down a cup of lukewarm kaff, wiped at his mouth, and checked his clothing to make sure he left with what he had when he came in. None of them noticed her departure.

The taproom was noisy now, filled with men and Dasuttras, three servers behind the bar, none of them Hadluk.

“This way.” Pulleet cupped his hand around her elbow, turned her back into the hall and nudged her along it to a door in the end wall. He knocked once, said, “Payday.”

The door swung open.

Hadluk was sitting behind a table that doubled duty as a desk, loading penciled notes into an interface. He looked up, the distorted side of his face emphasized by his smile and his tiredness. “Sorry about that,” he said. He was speaking to Autumn Rose. “I didn’t know Uj was coming till he showed. Thought you’d pick up on him, but if you didn’t…” He shrugged. “Just in case,” he nodded at Pulleet, “I called in a favor.”

She dropped onto a backless chair. “Lice?”

“Big lice. Collector.”

“Taking a double skim.”

“Way it goes.”

“He’s busy now.”

“Not for all that long. He’s short-time in the sack, a wham-bam and good-bye.” He turned to Pulleet. “How is she? Still got it?”

“Yup.”

He pulled his hand across his mouth, frowned down at it. “Been thinking,” he said. “You cleaned?”

“Pretty much. Not flat, but limping. I have passage off-world, if that’s what you’re on at.”

“Nope. Wanta meet. Neutral ground. Angatine chapel?”

“No.” She didn’t explain. “You get watersick?”

“No.” He looked down at his hands, ran the edge of a thumbnail down the paper he’d been reading. “Not a bad idea, that.”

“Right. We can have ourselves a picnic on one of those rocks out in the bay. When?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll do the food, you just be there. Gaunga wharf.”

“I’ll be there-out on the water, watching. You pick your island and I’ll join you.”

“Better that way, yes. You really haven’t lost it, have you?”

“So we all should hope.” She dropped the sac on his desk, waited while he counted out his cut. “Anything I should bring?”

“Got a mute cone?”

“I do indeed, battery operated.” She reclaimed the sac. “See you when.”

When she turned to pull the door closed behind her, she looked back. The two men were nose to nose, Pulleet talking rapidly, his hands fluttering, Hadluk listening so intently he wasn’t aware of anything but the voice murmuring into his face.

“Two maybes,” she said.

Kikun was withdrawn, a shadow curled in the window-seat. She wasn’t sure he heard her, but she went on. She was mostly talking to herself anyway, trying to get things straight.