Blind God's bluff bf-1 Page 3

  “I’m just a regular person.” Even as I said it, I realized that regular people don’t create “wards” and drive cars during out-of-body experiences. But it felt true. “Tell me about you. About all of this.”

  He shook his head. “You first.”

  “You know what? To hell with that. I’m not one of your stooges-”

  “Actually-”

  “-and I’m done letting you boss me around. Answer my question, or I’ll get back in the car and drive away.”

  That might be the smart thing to do anyway. But I didn’t want to, and not just because I felt bad for him. The things I’d seen were terrifying, but fascinating, too. How could a person suddenly discover that his own hometown was full of monsters, and that he himself had some kind of half-assed superpowers, and not want to find out more about it?

  Timon sniffed twice, like his nose could tell whether I really would follow through on my threat, and then he scowled. “Have it your way. I assume you know at least a little bit about folklore. Demons, witches, and the like.”

  “Well, I saw the Lord of the Rings movies. The first and the third one, anyway. And you’re telling me that all those things are real?”

  “You’ve already met some of us. Do we seem real?”

  I swallowed. “Yeah. But then why doesn’t everybody know about you? Why haven’t I ever seen you before this?’

  “We prefer to keep our society apart from yours, and just dip into your world when we need something. It’s easier that way.”

  “Okay.” Interested as I was in what he was saying, his funk was burning my nose again. I took a step back so I could inhale less of him and more of the saltwater smell of the bay. “And in your ‘society,’ there are lords who run everything. And you are one.”

  He smiled a crooked smile. “You sound skeptical.”

  “No offense, but you look like a homeless person.”

  “I spend some of my time living like one. But that’s perfectly acceptable, because I’m not human. Something that seems unpleasant and degrading to one of you doesn’t have the same effect on me.”

  “So you’re okay with dumpster diving and never bathing or changing your clothes.”

  “Believe me, I have joys and luxuries you can’t even imagine. It’s just that I partake of them in the mansions and gardens of the inner world.”

  “Meaning, other people’s dreams.”

  He gave me a nod. “You understand.”

  “Not really, but let it slide for now. A bunch of you lords are having a tournament? What’s that all about?”

  He hesitated. “It’s complicated. To be a lord is to own one or more fiefdoms-”

  “What, now?”

  His mouth tightened like he wasn’t used to being interrupted. “Property. Pieces of the earth and all they contain. Lesser beings who live there do so with the lord’s permission, and owe him tithes and duties.”

  “When you say ‘lesser beings,’ are you talking about your own kind?”

  Timon hesitated. “I was, but not because the system doesn’t encompass humans. It’s just that you’re at the bottom of the ladder. Possessions, not subjects.”

  The way he said it gave me a chill. I tried to snort the feeling away. “Well, I guess you can look down on us all you like, as long as you aren’t really trying to control us.”

  “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.

  CHAPTER THREE

  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.

  There are places in downtown Tampa that get dark and lonely at night, after all the office workers have gone home, and this was one of them. The hotel had stood empty for as long as I could remember, and the awnings were faded and sagging. Layers of flyers and posters covered the soaped-up ground-floor windows. An empty crack vial crunched under my foot as Timon and I climbed out of the car.

  I shook my head. My new partner claimed that he and his kind were the secret bosses of everything, but so far, I hadn’t seen much-including the venue for the lords’ big tournament-to convince me that they didn’t all live like bums or wild animals. I wondered again if he could possibly come up with a hundred and fifty grand, and then the limo pulled in behind us.

  I’m into cars, but I didn’t recognize the make. My best guess was that it was some kind of custom-built Rolls Royce. But instead of the Flying Lady, a gold sphinx crouched at the end of the long white hood. The rest of the trim was gold, too.

  The chauffeur matched the car, and I don’t just mean his uniform. His skin was the color of milk, and, even in the feeble glow of the one unbroken streetlight, his side-whiskers glinted like yellow metal. He gave Timon and me the once-over, then helped a passenger out of the back of the car.

  The passenger looked like he needed the help. He was a living-well, depending on your definition-mummy, small and shriveled, moving as carefully as you’d move if there was nothing left of you but ratty bandages and dry rot. He had plastic splints strapped to his body to help hold him together, and he was smoking a cheroot.

  The sight of him gave me a jolt. I reminded myself that I was going to see a lot of monsters, and I needed to get used to them.

  Meanwhile, the mummy said, “Thank you, Davis,” to Gold Whiskers. He sounded like an actor playing an English duke or general in an old movie. Then he looked at the T-bird, and a smile twisted the withered remains of his face.

  “Lovely,” he said.

  I took a breath. “Thanks. It was my dad’s.”

  “I don’t suppose it’s a stick.”

  “No,” I said, “those are pretty rare.”

  “They most certainly are. That’s why I still need one for my collection.”

  “So,” Timon said in a strangled voice, “it’s the car that captured your attention? Then I assume you’re not surprised by my appearance.”

  “I’m not, particularly,” the mummy answered, “but not because I’m responsible. Because these things happen in a tournament. The brownwings, was it?”

  “I think you know.”

  “Well, I may have heard something. Just as I heard that none of your subjects will stand for you. So, unless that nose of yours can sniff out the difference between a heart and a club, or an ace and a deuce, I suppose you’ll have to forfeit.”

  “I am not forfeiting,” Timon gritted.

  “Really? Good for you. How do you plan on continuing?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  “As you prefer.” The mummy’s eyes shifted back to me. Dry and flaking as they were, I was surprised the motion didn’t make them crack or crumble. “A pleasure meeting you, human.”

  Davis pulled open one of the hotel doors, looked around, then stepped aside to let the mummy totter in ahead of him.

  As the door swung shut, Timon asked, “Why did you mention your father?”

  “I don’t know. Why not?”

  “Because you never know what they might be able to use against you. Didn’t you listen to anything I told you?”

  I had. I just found it hard to keep it all straight in my head when I was talking cars with the living dead.

  “I did,” I said. “I just wish you’d warned me I was going to be sitting across the table from something like that.”

  “Each of your opponents is unique. We didn’t have time to talk about them all. We still don’t. We need to get inside.”

  “Fine.” I pulled open the door, and then I caught my breath.

  Dozens of white candles burned in the lobby, some in candelabras, others in a big, glittering wedding cake of a crystal chandelier. Some of the soft yellow light should have leaked out the windows, even through the layers of soap, flyers, and dirt. But for some reason-magic, I guessed-it didn’t.

  It did gleam on dark wood and leather furniture and what I thought were Persian rugs. All of it looked old, but in perfect condition and spotlessly clean. As it probably was, because, even standing in range of Timon’s BO, I could smell soap and polish.

  The people who’d presumably done the cleaning wore tuxes and waited behind the front and concierge desks. They could refuse to play poker in Timon’s place, but they apparently couldn’t get out of doing other jobs for him. At first glance, they all looked human. Although a couple faces just bothered me for reasons I couldn’t explain.

  I shook my head. “Jesus.”

  “What?” Timon aske
d.

  “This place is yours. You could live like this all the time, with all these stooges waiting on you. But you’d rather be on the street.”

  He made an impatient spitting noise. “I told you, I’m not like you. Now get a move on. We need to be at the table before the clock strikes midnight.”

  I glanced at my watch and thought, no problem. We still had twenty minutes. A little clumsily, I held the door for him and steered him inside at the same time.

  The concierge started toward us, his shoes clicking on a bare section of gray marble floor. Timon oriented on the sound and snapped, “I’m fine, traitor! Stay away from me!” The flunkies flinched. If they hadn’t realized he was going to find out what they’d all agreed on, they knew it now.

  “We’re playing in the Grand Ballroom,” Timon said to me. “It’s the big arched doorway straight ahead.”

  “I see it,” I said. It had a carving of a guy with wings falling out of the sky in the stonework above the opening. Now leaning on Davis’s arm, the mummy was hobbling inside. I guided Timon in the same direction.

  We made it halfway across the lobby before things got complicated.

  I was actually lucky I noticed as soon as I did. It was a big space, and even dozens of candles didn’t light it up like electricity would. And the vassals and thralls and whatever were pretty much just standing at their posts. They weren’t doing a lot of moving around.

  But they were doing some, and suddenly, the motion wasn’t smooth anymore. It was jerky and jumpy, like a movie with some of the frames missing.

  “Shit!” I said.

  “What?” Timon asked. Meanwhile, the flickering got worse, like there were more frames missing between each of the ones I was seeing.

  I tried to find the words to explain. “It’s like everything else is moving faster than us.”

  “It is,” he said. “Fortunately, a gruntling could break this particular hex. Picture your sigil, and repeat this.” He rattled off words with a lot of consonants and hardly any vowels, in a language I’d never heard before. It sounded like he was puking up a cat, and the cat didn’t like it.