Richard Byers - Blind God's bluff

“But we are. We do, like gods. You just don’t perceive it.”

“Why? I mean, what do you want from us?”

“It depends. As you’ve already seen, we vary from one to the next, and so do our needs. But most of us rely on you in one way or another.”

“You mean, you’re parasites.”

“Were you a ‘parasite’ on the swordfish I smell on your breath?”

“Is that comparison supposed to make me feel better?”

“I don’t mean that we literally eat you. At least, not all of us, and not in great quantities.”

“And what do you do? You, personally?”

“I already told you, more or less. Did it sound so very horrible?”

It sounded kind of like mental rape, but I realized I still had the same options as before. I could run away from all of this, or I could find out more. And I was still curious.

So I took a breath, and then said, “You were going to explain about the tournament.”

He nodded like he was glad to change the subject. “Yes. The tournament. My people love games and gambling. You might even call it a mania. And when lords play, we often risk a portion of our dominions. Lesser stakes don’t have a lot of meaning.”

“And when the stakes don’t mean anything, you don’t get the same rush.”

He smiled, showing teeth that looked stained and crooked even in the dark. “I had a hunch you’d understand.”

“Yeah. I pretty much do. Pablo-the steroid addict with the tire iron-was after me because I owe money to a loan shark. I borrowed it to shoot nine-ball.”

“And it didn’t go well?”

I grinned. “Actually, I crushed the guy. It was the gin game three nights later that was the problem. But anyway, you’re in a tournament, and one of your opponents sent the fairies after you so you wouldn’t be able to continue? You must be pretty good.”

“I’m very good. But understand that while my adversary’s ploy was heavy-handed and gauche, it wasn’t exactly cheating. What happens away from the table is part of the game, too.”

“Then you guys play rough, and maybe you’re better off out of it.”

Timon shook his head. “That’s the problem. I can’t afford to be ‘out of it.’ Even the finest gamblers have losing streaks, and I’ve been on one. I’m playing for the only fief I have left, which means I’m playing for my freedom.”

“Why the hell would you bet that?”

“Why did you win big at nine-ball and immediately go broke playing gin?”

I sighed. “For the action. I get you.”

“Actually, there’s even more to it than that. A noble who won’t play looks timid and contemptible.”

“Chicken.”

“Yes.”

“Well, at least nobody will call you that.”

“They’ll call me ‘my lord!’ because I am not sinking back down to live as a commoner. I’m going to win, and you’re going to help me.”

I blinked. “Come again?”

“The others have no choice but to accept you as my proxy. You have gifts-unplumbed and untrained, but still-and you live in my dominions.”

“Maybe, but-”

“In addition to which, you’re a born gambler. That, too, is our blood coming out in you. It might even be my blood.”

I glared. “I know who my father was.”

“What about your great-great-grandfather? I’ve been around a long time.”

It was still a disgusting idea, but I realized it wasn’t the main issue. “Whatever. The point is, I haven’t volunteered to stand in for you.”

“But you’d be a fool not to, because I’ll reward you. How much do you owe?”

“A hundred and fifty thousand.” It wasn’t really quite that much, but I needed a little something leftover for myself, didn’t I?

“You’ll have it.”

I took another look at his rags and filth. “Are we talking about dream money or real money?”

“I told you before, don’t be misled by my appearance. Few things are easier than acquiring human cash.”

“Well… damn it, no!” What the hell was I thinking? “If I get involved in this, then the same person who sent the fairies after you will sic them on me.”

“Actually, I doubt you’ll see the brownwings again. Even if they’re still game, sending the same agents twice would be an extremely uncreative move, and detrimental to one’s reputation.”

“Is that supposed to be a good thing? At least we got away from the brownwings. The next creatures could be worse.” I pictured the orcs, Ringwraiths, and the rest of the Dark Lord’s crew from the Frodo movies. I wondered which ones were real, and roaming around in the night.

“I’ll be there,” said Timon. “I’ll protect you.”

“So far, hasn’t it been me protecting you?”

He waved that detail away. “My knowledge will protect you, assuming you even need protecting. You may not. Players don’t assault each other constantly, and your human blood, and lack of reputation, should cause the others to underestimate you.”

“Maybe you’re overestimating me. You haven’t even told me what game it is you’re playing. Maybe I’ve never even heard of it.”

The old man smiled. “It’s No Limit Hold ’Em. Does that ring any bells?”

“Well… yeah.” The truth was, I was a good poker player. I sometimes imagined myself really committing to the game, studying it, grinding away at it sixty hours a week, building up a bankroll, until I was ready to play against Brunson, Negranu, Helmuth, and the rest of the pros you see on TV. But so far, like all my big schemes, I hadn’t done anything much about it. Since my dad died, and I lost Victoria-my ex-fiancee-it was hard to get motivated.

“Well, then,” Timon said. “You’ll be in your element.”

“Sure. Right at home with the pixies and the talking calamari.”

“But that is where you belong! You have a birthright. I explained that humans are chattel, but you don’t have to be. This is your entry to a nobler condition.”

“I’ve never minded being human. I sure haven’t seen anything from your world that I’d rather be.”

“Then you’ll be happy to close the door on your gifts and never use them again?”

I started to tell him yes, but then I realized that would be a lie.

“It will take a while to assess your strengths and limitations,” Timon continued, “but I can already tell you have the potential to become quite powerful. Maybe powerful enough to live forever. Certainly powerful enough to laugh at humans swinging clubs.”

Well. When he put it like that.

Really, I don’t know what finally decided me. Maybe curiosity, or the chance to get the Martinezes off my ass. Or maybe it was the prospect of a whole new kind of action. During our last and worst fight, when I guess I’d finally pushed her too far, Vic called me a “degenerate gambler,” and maybe she was right.

“Okay,” I said, “I’m in.”

“Excellent! In that case, you’d better tell me your name.”

For a second, I didn’t want to give it, like that was the thing that would really seal the deal. Then I told him it was Billy Fox.

It turned out that the poker game ran from midnight to just before sunup. That meant my new partner had about an hour to get me ready, and no comfortable, convenient place to do it in. Nobody would have let him into a bar or restaurant even if the top of his face hadn’t been a scabby, eyeless mess.

So we prepped sitting in the T-bird, right where I’d parked it by the water. I tried not to think about how Timon’s funk was stinking up the interior. It was too late to worry about that anyway.

When it was time, he had me drive downtown. And park in front of the Icarus Hotel.