The Song of Phaid the Gambler

by Mick Farren

  That seemed to terminate the conversation. Phaid had the feeling that he'd said the wrong thing.

  'I'm not saying the man was right.' He tried to lighten the mood. 'I don't want you to think you made love with a heretic.'

  Again it was the wrong remark. R'Ayla didn't answer. When the silence had continued for some minutes, Phaid knew he ought to do something to restore the previous friendly atmosphere. With only a single covert glance at Clo-e the android, he moved closer to R'Ayla and put his arm around her. She didn't respond. She still appeared to be lost in her own thoughts. Suddenly she turned her head and looked at him.

  'Do you think life was better in the old times?'

  Phaid held her closer to him.

  'How should I know? I'm a gambler. I think about now, not what has happened or what's going to happen. I have enough trouble with what is happening.'

  R'Ayla smiled at him, but her eyes were sad.

  'It is never good to speak of priestworks. It never brings luck.'

  Although they remained close for the rest of the journey, the conversation left a shadow that never quite went away. It was a measure of the priests' power.

  Chapter 3

  After two days the river was so wide that it might have passed for the open sea. R'Ayla's boat slid beneath sandbanks, disturbing flocks of the bad tempered gulls that fed and quarrelled on them. At this point, the river was so shallow that the craft might have run aground if it hadn't been for Clo-e's unerring navigation.

  Early on the third day, they were treated to their first sight of Freeport, the major city of the great river. It lay on the the outer side of a huge bend where, over millions of years, the river had cut into a line of low hills, creating high cliffs of white limestone. Much of the city sprawled back into the hills, but the port itself was situated where a fold brought land and water to the same level.

  The city was dominated by the grey stone bulk of the old, domed fortress. It squatted on the highest of the city's five hills like some sinister, brooding toad, commanding a baleful view of all traffic on the river for many miles in either direction.

  Around the base of the dome were the black, gaping ports that once housed massively powerful banks of photon cannons. The stones of the dome itself were cracked, blackened and pitted where they had bubbled and melted under attack by awesome heat weapons. These were, however, old wounds. The fortress was a relic of a former age, not the ancient days that Phaid and R'Ayla had talked so much about, but a closer time, one about four hundred years earlier when the world had made a last try at organising itself into nations and empires under the squabbling, warring rule of kings, princes, presidents and dictators.

  Harald, known as The Mad, was just one of these. The fortress that Phaid was looking at had been both his crowning achievement and the site of his downfall. Harald the Mad had made Freeport, then known as Haraldhelm, his capital. From there, he had sought to extend his empire all the way up the great river to where the rapids prevented further navigation, and all the way down to the sea.

  Harald's neighbours had objected violently to his terri­torial ambitions, and, after a series of border wars, they had united and forced him back into his citadel. The siege lasted seven years and became a matter of legend and saga. Tales of horror, cruelty and deprivation had carved themselves a permanent place in history. In the end, though, it hadn't been Harald's external enemies who had finished him. It was his own starving subjects who had risen up against him and, rather than be ripped apart by an angry mob, Harald the Mad had died by his own hand.

  Once Freeport had become an independent city, no­body particularly cherished the memory of Harald. Over the centuries there had been many attempts to tear down, blow up or otherwise destroy the fortress, but the ugly pile's rugged construction had defied all efforts. Even though Harald had failed in his ambitions, his fortress remained as an inconvenient monument.

  Harald the Mad had not only been a victim of both his enemies and his own people, he had also been a victim of history. Even while he was still dreaming his dreams of conquest, the nations and empires were inexorably falling apart and subdividing into self contained city states. By Phaid's time, there was only one definable nation-state remaining, and even that, commonly referred to as the Republic, was loose, sagging and chronically corrupt. Understandably, it was Phaid's primary choice as an ultimate destination.

  The rest of Freeport was a complete contrast to the fortress. Whitewashed houses reflected the sunlight, greenery spilled over from shaded courtyards, and narrow streets wound their way up the hillsides. On the top of the hills, small forests of windmills spun in the offshore breeze and on the roofs of many houses, sun catchers glinted in the morning light. Along the waterfront, android cranes dipped and swung, moving cargo on and off a packed mass of barges and riverboats.

  Although Harald the Mad's citadel still lowered over Freeport, the real power in the city had moved to the Governor's solid colonnaded mansion and the Temple of the Consolidated Faith, where, beneath the white marble spire, the priests maintained their subtle but unrelenting grip on the hearts and minds of the population.

  As the boat came nearer to the harbour, Phaid's attention moved past the town and down the river where a tall column of angry clouds forever swirled and spiralled. It was where one of the superheated gales roared off the land and collided with the cold air over the ocean.

  On the very edge of the clouds a tiny craft with gossamer wings soared and dived on the thermal currents produced by the violent clash of temperatures. Phaid knew the craft was piloted by a wind player, one of the reckless and often self destructive breed who rode the complex and dangerous airstreams in their fragile vessels. Sometimes they did it in competition, in the hope of valuable prizes and in front of huge crowds of spectators, but other times they rode the turbulent sky totally alone, and just for the hell of it.

  Although he would rarely admit it, Phaid had a great respect and admiration for the men and women who played the wind games. He might call himself a gambler, but he really only played the odds and hustled for a living, the wind players were the real gamblers. They threw their lives into the contest, with only the skill of their reactions between victory and swift, sudden death.

  The boat now edging its way through the jam of other crafts, was making for one of the piers of the harbour. Clo-e the android scurried about, still trailing leads to the steering motor controls, pushing out fenders, preparing mooring lines and bleeping at other androids on the dock in their secret, high pitched, electronic language.

  Once the boat was secured to the dock, Phaid went below to collect his bag. When he came back, R'Ayla was waiting for him. Her face was set as though she was trying very hard not to show any emotion. Phaid avoided looking her directly in the eye.

  'I guess this is the end of the line.'

  'It's the end of the river, for you.'

  'Yeah.'

  Phaid felt a definite pang. The journey on the boat had been a pleasant interlude. He'd been very happy on the river, watching the jungle go past by day and sleeping with R'Ayla at night. He fought it down, though. He learned a long time ago that a gambler had to keep moving . There was no percentage in trying to stretch out a good time beyond its natural limits. He grinned at R'Ayla.

  'Don't take any shit from that android, right?'

  R'Ayla didn't seem amused.

  'Right.'

  Clo-e didn't seem amused, either, if her high angry warbling was anything to go by. Phaid was about to step on to the dock when R'Ayla touched his arm.

  'Phaid.'

  'Yeah.'

  'If you ever come back this way . . .'

  'Sure. The very next time I'm in Freeport, I'll make the boat dock my very first stop.'

  'You promise.'

  'I promise.'

  R'Ayla quickly kissed him on the cheek.

  'You better get going.'

  'Sure. Take care of yourself, R'Ayla. I'll look for you when I come back this way, okay?'

 
'Okay. Goodbye, Phaid.'

  'Goodbye, R'Ayla.'

  He jumped across the small space between the boat and the pier. Straightening up, he took a deep breath. If he could possibly avoid it, he'd never come anywhere near Freeport again. He was on his way back to the bright lights and the big money. Once he got there, he'd make damn sure that he was never forced away again.

  Phaid shouldered his way through the milling crowds on the waterfront. Once he looked back at R'Ayla. She was busy arguing with an android harbour inspector. Phaid slung his bag over his shoulder and marched on. For the first time in a long while he felt as though he was going somewhere.

  Not that he didn't have problems. He was practically broke and he would need to eat and find a bed for the night. The harbour area was the oldest part of Freeport. Behind the warehouses and piers was a maze of narrow streets, alleyways, cramped, dilapidated buildings and dark, claustrophobic courtyards. It was a place where crimps robbed drunken sailors if the whores, pickpockets or muggers hadn't got to them first. It was a neighbour­hood of bars and bordellos, a paradise for thieves and cut-throats, and a sanctuary for men on the run from the law. It was also a place where a gambler could, with a little sleight of hand, raise a quick stake and move on to something better.

  Accordingly, Phaid directed himself into the bustle and furtive glances of the old town. Even though it was still early in the day, the girls were already out, shaking their backsides and showing their legs and breasts in the hope of turning the first profit of the day. Quite a few of them threw Phaid wanna-have-a-good-time glances. Each time Phaid just grinned and shook his head. Sweaty wrestling on a stained mattress was not what Phaid was looking for right then. Even if he had been, he hardly had the price. Thus, either way, the whores were out.

  In a small enclosed courtyard he saw something that was closer to what he was looking for. Two sandrunner lizards had been set on each other in a shallow pit. They snapped and hissed abuse at each other, alternately striking with vicious fangs and slashing with powerful, taloned back legs. Sandrunners, even in the wild, were vicious, evil tempered beasts, and this pair was the result of many generations of selective breeding to make them meaner, tougher, more hostile and generally bring out the worst in their characters.

  Around the edge of the pit a crowd of loafers and penny-ante hustlers yelled encouragement and offers of advice. The betting was brisk, and for a brief moment, Phaid was tempted to get involved with the play. Then he spotted two thickset men in leather jerkins, wearing a lot of ostentatious jewellery. They seemed to be taking a percentage of the money that was circulating. A pair of the Freeport watch, in the black tunics and gold braid, with old but serviceable blasters tucked under their arms, lounged against the wall in the back of the crowd. From time to time they would exchange significant glances with the duo in the leather jerkins.

  Phaid's temptation to pick up a fast modest score melted away. The presence of the two men in leather and their obvious relationship with the watch officers indi­cated that this particular game was completely sewn up.

  One of the lizards was down on its back and bleeding badly. The crowd, knowing it was only a matter of time, was roaring its head off. Phaid decided to move on. He knew that if he tried to muscle in on this deal he'd probably wind up in worse shape than the unfortunate lizard.

  Phaid moved deeper into the old town. He was repeat­edly approached by street vendors who offered everything from supposedly gold rings to hot fish pies, and girls who only offered variations on one standard thing. Beggars demanded alms, an old woman offered to tell his fortune while another tried to sell him a lucky amulet.

  Although Freeport wasn't as hot and humid as the settlements up river, it could still be uncomfortably warm. By the time the sun had reached high noon, Phaid was walking around wishing that he had a hat, a pair of dark glasses or preferably both. His mouth was dry, sweat was starting to soak his shirt and he was hungry. Part of him wanted to retreat into the cool of a quiet bar. Another part of him kept reminding that his place was out on the street, looking for the means to get out of this town and on to something better.

  A sherbet fountain seemed to be the ideal compromise. The place had an open front and tables spilled out on to the street adding to the already considerable congestion. It seemed a good place to take the weight off his feet and still be able to watch the ebb and flow of the traffic.

  At first Phaid was tempted to take one of the tables in the open, but he decided against it. A shaded one in the back would be better. There he could see, but not be so easily seen. Even in Freeport, you couldn't be certain who you might run into.

  Phaid sat down and ordered one of the pale yellow, foaming concoctions that were the speciality of the house. The base of the drink was some sort of local raw spirit. Phaid shuddered to think what went into the rest of it.

  When it finally arrived, Phaid sipped it slowly through the glass straw that the management had thoughtfully provided. All the while he kept one eye on the street, but, for a long time it yielded nothing that Phaid could in anyway make use of. Then, when he was into his fourth drink and almost out of money, he spotted a short, furtive figure coming in his direction.

  Phaid could scarcely contain his amazement. The figure he'd spotted was an individual called Henk. He also went by the less than complimentary nickname of the Rat. The last time Phaid had seen Henk the Rat had been over a year earlier and halfway across the world. He couldn't imagine what tangled sequence of events could have brought the Rat to Freeport.

  He also couldn't quite imagine the even more tangled sequence of events that had put Henk the Rat in Freeport at exactly the same time as he. It gave him a cold feeling that something more than pure chance was at work in this world. It was a feeling that Phaid had had before and, no matter how hard he told himself that coincidences did happen, he couldn't quite shake it.

  Henk fancied himself as a bigtime gambler, but, in Phaid's opinion, he simply didn't have the touch. The best he could ever be was a third-rate cardsharp, no matter how many delusions of grandeur he carried around with him.

  Henk scuttled into the fountain, carefully looking around as though he expected someone to be following him. Despite all his caution, however, he failed to spot Phaid sitting in the shadows. He went up to one of the waiters and started talking to him in a low voice. What­ever Henk was saying, it didn't make the waiter too happy. After a lot of persuasion the waiter reached inside his shirt, pulled out a small package and reluctantly handed it over. Henk was about to leave when Phaid stood up.

  'Hey, Rat. What the hell are you doing in Freeport?'

  Henk's large watery eyes almost popped out of his pudgy face.

  'Phaid!'

  'You got a great memory for names.'

  Henk made a mammoth effort to compose himself. He smoothed down the front of his stained white jacket and attempted to smile.

  'What are you doing in Freeport, my friend? You planning to stay or are you just passing through?'

  Phaid sat down again and gestured for Henk to join him. He figured that, at the very least, he could stiff the little man with the check. The Rat eased into a chair, positioning himself so he could watch most of the people in the place as well as a good section of the street outside. Phaid wondered if the Rat's apparent nervousness was because of some trouble he'd fallen into in Freeport or whether it was simply a symptom of his natural paranoia. If the Rat was in a jam it might not be such a good idea to be seen sitting with him. The trouble was that the thought was kind of late. What was done was done. The Rat was snapping his fingers for a waiter and looking Phaid up and down.

  'So how's your luck running, my old friend?'

  Phaid made a noncommital motion with his right hand.

  'So-so.'

  Phaid knew that he was hardly being convincing. His clothes and general air just screamed that he was broke and struggling.

  'But you're not planning to stay in Freeport?'

  This seemed to be very important to the l
ittle man. Phaid shook his head.

  'No, I'll be moving on pretty soon.'

  The Rat also nodded.

  'That's a pity.'

  Phaid knew that the Rat was lying.

  'It is?'

  'Sure. This can be a pretty good little town, once you know your way around.'

  Phaid raised an eyebrow and glanced around.

  'You could have fooled me.'

  'That shows how little you know about these places.'

  The Rat jabbed a pudgy forefinger at Phaid.

  'There's a lot more to the world than just the big cities and the Republic, you know. That's the trouble with guys like you, you gather round the bright lights like moths round a flame. You think that's where all the money is.'

  'Isn't it?'

  The Rat leaned back in his chair and did his best to look expansive.

  'You'd be surprised how good the pickings can be in a small place like this.'

  Phaid regarded the Rat's dirty white, double breasted jacket, worn breeches and scuffed boots. It was obvious that the Rat couldn't be doing much better than Phaid himself. Phaid smiled.

  'I guess I would be.'

  The sarcasm was wasted on the Rat. The little man leaned close to Phaid, who noticed he had chronically bad breath.

  'It's a pity you're moving on. I could maybe put a few things your way, if you weren't leaving so soon.'

  'I'm not leaving that soon.'

  The Rat was suddenly suspicious.

  'You're not?'

  'I ain't in any hurry. I could do with a bit of a vacation. That's why I drifted down this way.

  'So you ain't actually looking for work.'

  Phaid shrugged.

  'That would depend on what it was. It ain't that much of a vacation.'

  The Rat quickly shook his head.

  'No, no, a high roller like you wouldn't even think of it.'

  'I wouldn't think of what?'