The Fire Cage

by Scott Hungerford

  “Thrush,” Davin announced, before Barty could name the game.

  “Rapists and Murderers,” Perry recommended with no little glee.

  “It’s not your game to call,” Barty told his henchman.

  “But I like that game,” Perry whined in reply.

  “Thrush is good,” Rajon said from the corner, “if you’re playing for information rather than chips. Murderers seems to go too quick, and I doubt any of us would be happy with the outcome if it ended too abruptly.”

  “Good point,” Barty said, as he finished shuffling the well-worn deck. “Ante up, son. First round, first reveal. What’s your name?”

  “Davin.”

  “Your full name?”

  “Bet the round and I’ll tell you,” Davin said with a cool smile.

  “Suit yourself. My name is Barty, and my friend here is Flem.” Taking a crude bone die out of his pocket, he rolled it across the table. “Five’s the number.” He flipped each of them a set of five cards, and watched to see how Davin would pick them up, and what expression might show in his eyes. But Davin didn’t move a muscle and kept his eyes on the dealer. Without looking down at what Fate had dealt him, Davin left the cards facedown on the barrel-top without moving his hands from his lap in the slightest.

  The other two players picked up their cards and sorted through them, careful to leave the weaker or more common cards facing towards their opponent. Once they were sorted, and Davin could make a decent guess that neither of them had a strong advantage, he let out a nearly silent sigh, calming himself.

  “You in?” he asked the thieves.

  “We’re in,” said Barty. “Now, what’s your name? The full one.”

  “My name is Davin zan DeLorenzo,” Davin offered.

  “Interesting,” Barty said. “Like the inventor gent.”

  “Something like that,” Davin said. “Now who are you gentlemen?”

  “You won’t have my given name just yet,” Barty said, “But I’m known as Bastard Bart. I’m wanted in four counties for thievery. That’s a statement of who I am as best as any other.”

  “I’m a wanted murderer,” Flem offered. “There’s not enough killing in the Emperor’s Marines for my taste, not with the current political state. So I had to make due on my own.”

  “Now, who is he?” Barty asked, jobbing a thumb towards the gambler sitting in the corner.

  “He’s known by reputation as ‘Gambler’s Death’,” Davin replied.

  “Never heard of him,” Flem said.

  “I have,” Barty said, scowling a bit. “Big time player at the Fates, picking up hand-me-downs from the nobles whenever he can scrounge a win. Marble bastard, I’d wager.”

  “What were you doing here?” Flem asked Davin, forcing the wager.

  “We were trying to see if you folks had any Florin’s boxes lying about,” Davin replied. “I suspect by all of these crates, that you probably do.” He took a breath and leaned back in his chair, chancing a quick glance down at the scattering of cards beneath him. It wasn’t the spread he was hoping for, with a 9 of Wealth, 6 of Wealth, 2 of Cogs, 4 of Merchants, and a 5 of Wealth showing. But after a quick evaluation of what should be printed on the reverse of each of the cards, he felt a little heartened. With a streak of a 6, 7, and 8 of Nobles already guaranteed to be there, he just had to ascertain what might be on the reverse faces of the other two cards. For that, only the turn of the deck and higher risk would tell.

  “Where are you taking the cargo to?” Davin asked, raising the stakes. Across the way in the near darkness, Davin thought he saw Rajon nod his assent, just slightly, so the other players wouldn’t see.

  “Stonegate Prison just down the way,” Barty answered. “The Warden put in a special order.”

  “Now kid,” Flem asked, “how did you two figure out we were here?” Behind him, Davin could hear the swish of Perry’s knife cutting the air, as if the man were taking practice strokes to drive off the boredom. Davin swallowed, trying to resist the urge to lie. But in this Assassins variant, any discovered lie would lead to immediate forfeit of the match, and he knew he had to stick to the truth — for now.

  “My friend here arranged to break into Florin’s, and I helped provide the distraction. He stole the paperwork from the Ledger’s secret files with your address on it, plain and square.”

  “Hmm,” Barty said. “I’ll need to talk to management about that. Now how did you get the idea to break into Florin’s?” he asked.

  “We found a backwards screw, like the ones you have here, and the clues led us to the plant. An unusual thing, a backwards screw,” Davin said, sweetening the pot. “They’re not standard. In fact, they’re not used anywhere at all.”

  “You got that right,” Barty said.

  “When does this shipment get picked up and taken to Stonegate?” Davin asked next, his pulse pounding. This was the last round of questions before the betting moved to the next installment, when a new turn of cards were dealt.

  “Tomorrow morning at dawn,” said Barty. “We’re just paid to hold and move the stuff. This is the last shipment, and then we’re off for other parts, nobles in hand.”

  “Do you have anyone else waiting out there in the dark to ambush us?” Flem asked, with great interest.

  “No,” Davin said, telling the whole truth, exactly as the question demanded it.

  “Now, where did you get this screw, the backwards one?” Barty asked, hitting the nail on the head.

  “From a mechanical serpent,” Davin said. “An old one completely fitted out with backwards screws and backwards screw-holes. It tried to kill us, but we managed to smash it into pieces first.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Barty said, sitting back in his chair. “The two old families are back at it again, and we’re caught in the middle of it.”

  “What do you mean?” Davin asked.

  “Boss, that’s a second question,” Perry said, weirdly giggling as he dragged the flat of his razor across the young man’s ear, making Davin flinch against his bonds. Barty nodded, recognizing that enough rounds had passed. Picking up the deck, he gestured to Davin’s cards. “Enough time for questions later. How many do you want?”

  “Two.” Davin reached up and slid the 2 of Cogs and the 4 of Merchants into the center with the tip of his index finger, and received new two cards off the deck in return — a 3 of Cogs, which he knew was reversed either by the 8 of Wealth or a Joker, and a 5 of Nobles that had the singular nature of flipping with the 10 of Nobles. The possibility of a solid straight was right there on the table, provided the card on the far side was the Joker he needed. Davin could afford to go further, but it would cost him his life if it was the 8 of Wealth instead.

  On the far side of the barrel table, Barty took two, and Flem took three, luckily earning a Joker for his trouble on the deal. Cackling and hooting, Flem quickly arranged his cards in such a way that Davin could see that he had pairs at best, and even with the Joker as his prize, was currently the player most likely to get his throat cut at the end of the round.

  Barty, following Davin’s eyes, saw the same thing. With Davin still not touching his cards, and intentionally limiting the amount of information to his opponents, Barty suddenly seemed to grasp that Davin wasn’t a novice at the game. When the cards were dealt, he rolled the bone die and scored a five again for the same stakes.

  “Ante up,” Barty said smugly. “Who do you think our employer is?”

  “Charette D’Alabastria,” Davin said, enjoying the view as Barty went rigid, and Flem’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

  “Is he right?” Flem demanded as he turned on a stunned Barty.

  Barty, in response to the revealed information, just made a long, slow nod. “Aye.”

  “Devil’s hooks, man. I didn’t know we were working for that crazy bitch. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wasn’t supposed to,” Barty said coolly. “I got paid not to tell.”

  “Ante,” Davin said, now asking Fl
em. “Who did you think you were working for?”

  “Well, him,” Flem said, jobbing a finger towards Barty. “But some old guy hired me first in Agora, no questions asked, and never gave his name.” Behind them, still sitting on the boxes, Rajon gave a neat, sarcastic cough.

  “Shut it, old man. I answered the question as best I know.” Flem told him, before turning to Barty. “Now, ante up, boss. When were you going to tell me that we were working for the Flayer of Graybon?”

  “I wasn’t,” Barty said with a growl in his voice that clearly indicated it was information he hadn’t intended on parting with, and he didn’t particularly enjoy his business partner turning the business end of the questions on him. “She had specific instructions that you weren’t to know.”

  “Next raise,” Davin said, trying to take advantage of the chaos. “Who’s taking shipments of screws at Stonegate?”

  “The Warden,” Barty said. “Who else knows you’re here?”

  “The Gambler’s adopted daughter,” Davin replied after a moment of unintentional hesitation, honestly worried at putting Verona in harm’s way. “As well as the driver who brought us here, and by now, probably Charette, who can’t be far behind.”

  “By all that’s holy,” Flem said, dropping his cards and getting up out of his chair. “I’m getting the hell out of here.”

  “Sit down, you moron” Barty demanded, “or you forfeit your throat.”

  Flem stopped cold. When he looked over at Barty, he watched as the fat man unsheathed his belt knife and laid it on the table, the metal shining in the lamplight. Flem, with the fight gone out of him, meekly took his seat and tried to quiet his shaking hands.

  “Your question?” Davin asked Flem.

  “Umm,” he stammered, trying to think of something to say. “What’s the Gambler’s real name, and how long have you been working for him?”

  “Rajon zan Cagliostri. I don’t work for him; in a manner, he’s working for my interests.”

  Davin stopped up short and let that half-truth sink in, to see if it would change anything else in their eyes. But Barty was still looking steamed, and Flem was looking like he was prone to bolting at the first sign of trouble, either of which would suit Davin’s needs. But the most important thing he had noted in the last few seconds was the 8 of Wealth that had spilled from Flem’s hand as he stood up out of his chair. This guaranteed that Davin that he had a powerful hand to play, with his pocket Joker now ensured. But with more questions to ask, and the truth of the matter of the plot not yet revealed, Davin was faced with a difficult decision — to take the likely win and either Barty or Flem’s throat in turn and lose any other information a third pass might reveal, or risk the other players one more turn of the cards to gain their station in exchange for information that Davin might not live long enough to use.

  “Shall we deal?” Davin asked. “I don’t have all night.”

  “Shit,” Flem said to Davin, as Barty picked up the cards to pass out the last set. “You’re a cold one.”

  “How many?” Barty asked Davin, his face a stone mask.

  Davin looked down at his cards. “None,” he said.

  Barty blinked. “Dealer takes one, then.”

  “I’ll take two,” Flem said, his but his heart wasn’t in it. In a glimpse at the back of the new cards the man was dealt, Davin was sure that even with the Joker, Flem’s position still hadn’t improved. But it was possible Barty was concealing a major flush, and if that were the case, Davin’s life would be over well before dawn.

  “Final ante,” Barty announced. “Why was the snake trying to kill you, Davin?”

  “Because I was claiming my inheritance from the Fourteen Saints. Somebody sent it to kill me, and it nearly did.”

  “You’re saying that a mechanical snake was trying to kill you?” Flem asked. “Are you a loony?”

  “No,” Rajon said from behind them, answering for Davin. “I was there. It was real, as much as any of the parts in these boxes. Now it’s clear that it’s beginning again, with the heir of Mercuri facing against the heir of Vermeni for the ultimate prize. More fodder for my memoirs, it seems.”

  “Shut it, gambler,” Barty snarled, well aware that the other man was trying to confuse the issue. “You,” he said to Davin, even as he gestured at him with the sharp knife. “Answer Flem’s questions.”

  “A mechanical snake tried to kill me, at the same time that four men attacked Rajon out in the provisions room. The snake eventually ended up in pieces, and Rajon cut down and put the three dead men into pickle barrels for safe-keeping. And no, I’m not a loony.”

  “Three men dead,” Flem said, going even paler than before. “In Agora.”

  “Armed with swords,” Rajon said from behind them again, with a cheery lilt to his voice. “Including one gent with a missing ear. Anyone you might know, by chance?”

  Flem swallowed, clearly knowing the men in question.

  “Perhaps you should choose your ruffians a little more carefully next time,” Rajon said instructionally. “They weren’t much of a challenge, but I expect they should make for a surprising addition at next year’s spring cheese festival.”

  “You idiot,” Barty spat at Flem. “I told you to pick somebody good. I told you I wasn’t kidding.”

  “It’s not my fault,” Flem replied. “They were my chums. I owed them.”

  “And now they’re your dead chums,” Rajon said quietly, settling the room with a morbid hush.

  “Do you know what Charette is going to do to me?” Barty hissed.

  “I suspect she’s going to flay you,” Rajon offered. “Alive.”

  “Let’s do this,” Davin said, knowing the time of reckoning was near. “Barty, how long have the prisoners at Stonegate been working at filing the chaff off the screws?”

  Barty blinked, obviously puzzled by the young man’s choice of question. Glancing down, he noted the blue cog tattoo on the back of Davin’s hand and nodded. “About four months now, since the first shipment came in.”

  “What cards do you have in your hand?” Flem said, playing one of the oldest and most dangerous tricks in the Assassin’s book. It backfired as often as it worked, and almost always led to someone getting dead before the end of the game.

  “I don’t know for sure,” Davin replied with a straight face, “as I haven’t lifted my cards yet. But I suspect I either have a full straight which should put you both down, or I don’t.”

  “You’re lying,” Barty growled.

  “Call me and find out,” Davin demanded, banging his fist down on the table for effect. “Then we’ll see who’s holding the sharp end of the blade.”

  Flem nervously looked through his cards, shuffling them around and around again, but couldn’t seem to find the answers he was looking for. His spirit broken, he put the cards down in a stack on the table, ready to play. “Call.”

  “Call, then,” Barty insisted, as Perry began giggling and hopping back and forth on one foot behind Davin, obviously excited at the possibility of getting to cut a new windhole in their newfound friend.

  “Call,” Davin announced, settling the issue and summoning the reaper to tea.

  Barty slapped down his cards, revealing a pair and a run of three, both highly ranked. Not enough of a play to beat Davin’s hand, but enough to surely defeat Flem’s poor luck. “Now you show them all.”

  “Full run,” Davin said, as he finally touched his cards, flipping over the full set. Just as he predicted, he had all the cards he needed for the win, including the pesky Joker that knit his run together at the middle.

  “Two pair, eight high,” Flem said sadly, looking up just in time to see Barty jam his knife through the soft hollow of his defenseless throat, the wide-shafted blade poking all the way out of the back of Flem’s neck before he could even gasp.

  With a whistling sound, Rajon’s thrown boot dagger embedded itself in Perry’s eye before he chose to take a wild strike, felling the razor-wielding thug like a wind-downed tree. Ba
rty stood up from his chair and jerked his sword free from its sheath, even as Davin forced his chair to topple over, right to where he hoped he could get his hands on Perry’s dropped razor — all while knowingly tightening the strangle noose in his attempt to claim a desperate freedom.

  Even as Rajon and Barty dodged and slashed with drawn swords somewhere above him, Davin fought through the flickering, choking blackness to grasp the knife and numbly cut the noose on his neck. Coughing, trying to regain air, he started to cut himself free of the chair’s lashes just as Barty charged and tackled the stronger swordsman down to the floor in-between one sword sweep and the next. Rajon tried to strike at the man with his blade, but the fat man was too heavy for Rajon and quickly managed to pin the skinnier man against the floor. With Rajon incapacitated beneath him, Barty rose up and drove quick, heavy strokes into the gambler’s ribs with his fist, trying to break his breath.

  But when Davin stood up behind the fat man, finally freed of his bonds, and placed the razor right at the boss’s throat, the fight went out of the scoundrel in an instant.

  “Kill me,” Barty told Davin, even as Rajon crawled his way out from beneath his opponent, trying to catch his breath. “Make it quicker than Charette will.”

  “Hold him steady,” Rajon told Davin, even as he searched for his fallen sword. “He is still very dangerous.”

  “I won fair and square,” Davin said to the thief.

  “That you did,” Barty said. “Now you keep all, Flem gets nothing, and I take my leave, like gentlemen do at court.”

  “We’re no gentlemen,” Rajon said, even as he found his blade and spun it in his hand. “But we do understand the nature of a bet, and the nature of paying ones debts. In that manner we’re as honorable as kings.”

  “Then what is it you want?” Barty asked. “You’ve won this day.”

  “Take your men and clear out of the county and don’t come back. Let us deal with Charette.”

  “Done,” Barty said. At Rajon’s nod, Davin took the razor away from the fat man’s jowls and stepped back. Rubbing at his throat, Barty shook his head. “You two make a hell of a team.”