by Doris Egan
"He's not here," I said, intelligently. Sim grunted. I considered the arithmetic of our hitting each parlor on the street; it would be a shame if Loden ambled from one to the next, just missing us. I nudged Sun. "Let's see if we can find the manager."
"It's not really a tith-parlor," said Sim. "Just cards and wheel."
"No harm in asking," I said.
The manager was a middle-aged woman of great polite-
ness and no expression. She wore a green robe and carried a pipe. "Young men come in here all the time," she said, when I asked. "Old men, too. Everyone comes here."
"He might be wearing a security guard's outfit. Trousers and tunic. And his name is Loden Broca."
She paused, then tapped her pipe against the wall. Soft gray ash fell onto the floor, where it vanished in the dirt and shadows., "Loden Broca. Yes, I know the name. I know the name of everyone on the debit side of our ledger, gracious lady. I seriously doubt if Broca will come here today. He owes us quite a sum of money."
"I thought he'd paid off all his debts," I said, remembering the loan he'd taken from Kade for that purpose.
"He paid some. Not all." She pursed her hard little lips. "Should you locate him, I hope you'll bear in mind we pay a ten-percent finder's fee for notifying us where we can find recalcitrants."
"Well, I'll certainly consider that." I started backing away. "Come on, Sim."
No one from the Wheel of Illusion made any move to follow us, and I was glad when we reached sunlight again. "What a jolly street this is. I can see why it's so popular. Let's try the Green and Gold."
The Green and Gold was better-lit than its predecessor, but not more helpful. At least Loden didn't have a tab there. We went through six more halls in the next two hours; fortunately Sim and I were well-dressed enough to receive courteous treatment from the managers.
At the Rainbow Enchantment Palace, a particularly small and no-frills place, I sat down for a moment by one of the machines. My feet hurt. Sim stood beside us, surveying the customers. A chubby girl about five years old ran up to me at once, wearing a pink ribbon; she bowed and offered me a cup of tah on a round silver tray. I was thirsty, so I thanked her and took it.
She ran off again before I could pay her. "Now you'll have to light up the machine," said Sim. "Drinks are only for players."
"You seem to know a lot about these places," I said. I stuffed a few kembits into the slot and watched the board take form, then read the instructions idly as I drained my cup. "Say, I think I know this. It's a variation on Solitaire."
Sim greeted this remark with his usual interest, so I tested my theory by using the button to move a few tiles around on the screen. My score started to climb. It wasn't quite like Solitaire, but it was similar; the strategic element had a little more influence, otherwise I probably would have experienced my usual losing streak. Instead I won two games out of three.
I was going for four when Sim tapped my shoulder. "Isn't this fellow in danger of his life, or something?"
"Oh. Yes." I swiveled the seat around and stepped off, feeling my face get hot. "I was only resting my feet for a few minutes."
"It was a quarter of an hour."
"You're joking."
I should know better than to accuse Sim of joking. He pointed out, in all seriousness, the information on his own timepiece, the clock over the machine rack, and (when we got outside) the sun in the sky. By the time we reached the doors to the Inner Courts of Heaven I was sorry I'd said anything.
Heaven was jumping. It was a big place, noisy and scrupulously clean, with the kind of lighting that tells you more about people than you wanted to know. Specifically, it was Tithball Heaven; there were a dozen ranges built against three of the walls. The fourth wall had racks of smaller machines with brightly lit tiles, like the addictive one I'd just left behind at the Rainbow. The center of the building was filled with tables and benches where people who were waiting for a range to open up could pay for food and drink. The Courts of Heaven provided everything; a customer could spend days here and never have to set foot outdoors.
There were well over a hundred people present already, and their busy time probably wasn't till evening. Sim and I made our way past the ranges, aiming for the back, where a raised platform would provide a better view of the room. Three brawny-looking gentlemen, their sleeves tied back, were too intent on their game to see they were blocking our progress. I watched as one with a jeweled bracelet clamped around his wrist threw his arm back and let the ball fly down the range. It hit the floor near the far end, bounced, and tapped the wall marked "east."
The player laughed. A bronze phoenix head over the range opened its mouth ponderously, displaying a score of 450. The tithball bounced three more times on the floor, hitting a tilted slope in back. Jeweled Bracelet stared; his triumphant look changing to that of a child whose bottle is being unfairly taken away. The ball rolled down the slope and disappeared. The score in the phoenix's mouth rippled and changed to 10.
His companions laughed. "You're right," said one of them. "Your playing has really improved."
Jeweled Bracelet glared. He clapped his hands, muttered, and pointed to the crack where the ball had vanished.
It popped up again and rolled down the range to his open hands.
The score in the phoenix's mouth changed back to 450.
"Hey, that's not fair," said one of the other men.
"An act of the gods," said Jeweled Bracelet. "If a server had bumped into me while I threw, we would have counted that."
"This is different."
"I don't see why."
"Look, sorcery is not allowed!"
"The rules don't say anything about sorcery one way or the other."
Sim finally managed to push a route through them, and they were far too busy arguing to take issue with it. We hadn't quite reached the platform when Sim stopped short and pointed.
Loden was sitting at one of the tables in the center. He was wearing provincial trousers, but with a stained silk robe over his shirt. Two empty winebowls were in front of him, stacked one atop the other, and a small plate of something that had had reddish sauce. A light-haired girl of about eighteen was in his lap.
"The prodigal," I murmured. Sim started his dignified progress through the crowd once again, and I sailed in his wake. When we reached Loden's table, he looked up and smiled happily.
"Theodora!" he cried. "Have a seat, gwacious—gracious lady. Let me introduce you. This is Pearl," he said, slapping his lapful's fanny gently.
She giggled. "Ruby," she corrected.
"She's a jewel, anyway. And this is Rickert." He waved an arm toward the third person at the table, a young man with his sleeves still tied back from the game. Rickert nodded sourly.
I said, "Loden, we need to talk."
"Sure, that's what I'm saying. Have a seat. Move over on the bench, Ricki, and let Theodora sit down." He grabbed the robe of a passing server, and the woman stopped. "Two more bowls here, all right? Thanks, sweet one." He winked at her.
The server's gaze met mine briefly. She rolled her eyes.
I said, "Loden, we need to talk. Privately. Right now."
Rickert stood up. "We have to go anyway. Come on, Ruby."
Ruby didn't look at him. "We've got hours yet, sweetheart. I'm fine where I am."
"No, you're not," said Rickert, in a tone that got even Ruby's attention.
She turned to him slowly and blinked. "It's still early—"
"Now."
She got up from Loden's lap, taking her time, a pout forming on her face. I noticed that Loden still had a hand under her robe. I couldn't tell if Rickert could see that from his angle. She moved away slowly, her robe trailing.
Rickert took her hand and pulled her in the direction of the door.
"I don't know what you're so excited about all of a sudden," I heard her complain as the crowd swallowed them up.
I looked at Loden, who returned my gaze with happy obliviousness. Sim sat down next to me.
"It's good to get out, isn't it?" asked Loden. "I have to say, that parcel receipt can get on your nerves. Not that I'm not glad to have it to go home to."
With Loden, it was hard to tell how much was drunke-ness and how much was his normal lack of discernment. I hoped he wasn't too far gone to pay attention.
"Listen," I said, "your friend Trey came to see me today."
"Trey! A great guy. Was he looking for me?" Loden's two new winebowls appeared on the table, and he reached for one. Sim, bless him, pulled it out of reach.
"Loden. Trey says that someone's been asking for you at work. You know what that means?"
He looked blank. "Who would ask for me at work?"
"I don't know, Loden, this is the point. But considering people are trying to kill you, Trey thought you ought to stay under cover."
The idea was still making its way through the outer courts of his brain. I saw it hit center.
"Ohh," he said, in simultaneous comprehension and pain.
Thank the gods for that. Now maybe we could get him out of here quietly.
Sim stood up, clearly expecting we would leave now. I don't know what it was—the effects of the crowds, the constant sense of money and danger, the impersonal desperation all around me—but suddenly I didn't believe at all that Loden didn't know who was after him.
I said, "You're involved in something, aren't you?"
He managed to look both crafty and ashamed at the same time.
"Oh, Loden." I sighed. "How can you manage to make such a mess of your life?"
I spoke at that moment from pure sadness at the waste, and he put his hand across the table over mine. "Theodora—" he began.
"Here he is," said a voice.
It was Jeweled Bracelet and his two friends. "I thought you were going to give us a rematch," said one.
"Oh, sure," said Loden, "you wait till I'm eight winebowls down—"
"You haven't had time to drink more than three. And I thought you said you could beat us playing with your feet?"
"How much did you have in mind?" asked Loden, apparently forgetting Sim and me entirely.
The men looked at each other. "Twenty tabals," said Jeweled Bracelet.
"Thirty," said Loden.
I waved a hand to get his attention. "We were leaving, weren't we?"
He blinked at me slowly. "I'll only be a few minutes."
"That's right, gracious lady," said one of the men. "It shouldn't take us that long to pound him."
They started toward the far wall of tithball ranges. Loden paused to tie back the sleeves of his robe. I stopped next to him. "What were you about to tell me, a minute ago?"
"What?"
"A minute ago. You were going to tell me something about what you're mixed up in."
"Oh, that." He seemed to be turning his mind back to something that had happened years ago, and in another country. "No, I was just going to explain why I was here. I don't usually throw back this many winebowls in the middle of the day, but I had a fight with my girlfriend and I guess I was upset."
"You had a fight with Ruby?"
"Ruby?" He frowned.
"The girl you were with, Loden."
"Oh! Her. No, no, I had a fight with my girlfriend.'"
How many did the boy have? Jeweled Bracelet called, "Are you coming or not?"
"Don't get your shorts in a wad," said Loden cheerfully, fussing with his sleeves. He reached the edge of the range. "If I go first, you're never going to get a shot," he told Bracelet.
"Right," said his opponent, in the voice of one who humors an idiot. He put a ball in Loden's hand. "The phoenix has been fed."
"For the score," announced Loden, and he threw straight to the north wall, hitting the "thrower's choice" stripe. He grinned. "I'll go for eight hundred."
There was a murmur at this. I looked around and saw that a few people had already begun to gainer, scenting blood. A woman in an orange robe shook her head at what she clearly saw as foolhardiness. Sim's voice, beside me, whispered, "If he can't make his points in three throws, he'll lose. And at two hundred a wall, he'll need a lot of luck."
I knew nothing at all about tith stakes, but I knew that Loden and I were very different people. I would never make a bet like that, regardless of how good I thought I was.
Loden rolled the ball around in his hand, tossed it, caught it, and extended his arm experimentally. More bystanders gathered.
He threw. The ball bounced on the range floor, hit the north wall, ricocheted off the west, hitting scorable territory each time, and flew over the trap to return down the range to Loden. He smiled.
The bronze mouth of the phoenix opened, displaying a 400.
A pleased buzz came from the crowd. Someone had taken a wild chance and surprised them by pulling it off, and that was entertainment. Loden's popularity was probably hitting 400, too.
But they held back. They were an Ivoran crowd; and he still could screw it all up. Loden glanced at Jeweled Bracelet, whose face was carefully blank, and smiled again. Without preliminary, he let loose his second throw. East wall, north, bounce over the trap, and home.
The phoenix hit 800. So did the crowd. Loden was clapped on the back, congratulated, called everything good. His three betting opponents were the only unhappy looking people in the room. Jeweled Bracelet made his way through the knot of people around Loden; he put a hand in his robe to pull out his money.
The hand came out with something slim and shiny… I frowned. He slipped next to Loden and touched it to his wrist.
A hotpencil. I yelled, "Sim!" and tried to push through the crowd.
Jeweled Bracelet had taken hold of Loden's hand and held it in a vise grip. I saw panic rising in Loden's eyes. Then Sim took hold of Bracelet's shoulders and pulled him bodily away. Bracelet fought back with the weapon he had so conveniently handy, the hotpencil. He jabbed it in Sim's arm and kept it there while Sim's other arm reached for his neck. Sim sank to the floor.
I had once undergone training in how to fight, but unfortunately it was responsive training; I had no idea how to jump someone from behind. But I'd managed to get close to Bracelet, and I kicked him in the right knee joint. It buckled, and he lost his balance.
He let go of Sim, whose body was now splayed on the floor. He turned to me, looking angrier than I've ever seen anyone look.
Uh-oh. The crowd had withdrawn somewhat, but there were still too many pressed around us to run. I jumped onto the tithball range.
A forfeit bell sounded. Apparently I'd crossed the boundary and would have to lose points. I ran down the middle of the range toward the back walls.
Now sirens were going off. I looked back and saw Bracelet had climbed onto the range after me. What in the name of heaven had possessed me to run into a dead end like this? North, east, and west walls enclosed me.
I knelt down, reached into the trap, and started pulling out balls lost earlier in the day. I threw one, missed. The second hit Bracelet on the side of the head. That gained me about half a second, and considering my aim it was all I was likely to get.
By now lights were flashing and hefty-looking parlor employees were approaching from all over. This was why I'd run into a dead-end—thank you, subconscious. An expression of uncertainty came over Bracelet's face. His companions had already fled. He turned and ran, jumping off the range into the crowd, who very quickly made way for him. Ivorans do not like to become involved in danger they feel rightly belongs to other people.
The Courts of Heaven bouncers helped me off the range, none too gently. One of them had turned Sim over and was feeling for a pulse. "Is he all right?" I asked, as they dragged me past him toward the manager.
The manager was a little man in an impeccable set of robes, about forty years old. He was nearly my height, amazing in an Ivoran male. When I reached him, he started to scream in a thick provincial accent. "What do you think you're doing! Tracking dirt all over my range, interrupting paying customers! Are you drunk? Are you crazy? Never, never do I
want to see you here again! You owe us money! Money to clean the range, money to make up for lost time! We are a respectable business! Money to compensate for harm to reputation!"
I bowed deeply twice, to reassure the bouncers, then reached slowly into my belt pouch and took out a handful of ten-tabal pieces. I bowed again, held out my hands toward the manager, and started to count from one hand to another. "Ten, twenty, thirty, forty…" My voice was low, and his tirade drowned it initially, but by the time I reached fifty he'd trailed off and I was speaking in silence.
"Sixty," I said, holding it out to him.
He looked me over suspiciously. I said, "Though a barbarian, I, too, am from a respectable House. Please accept my apology, unworthy as I am, for the trouble I have caused. To harm the shining reputation of your business is the furthest thing from my mind."
I bowed again. The bouncers looked at a loss. The manager said, at last, "There should be a fine." But his voice had lost the conviction of righteous anger.
"Please send your bill to the House of Cormallon," I said. "If there is any disagreement at all in our compensation, we will be happy to submit the matter to any House of arbitration you like."
Sixty tabals was twice what he'd get in any arbitration. He bit his lip. "So be it," he agreed, taking all my money.
I looked toward the bouncers. "Is my companion all right?"
Sim. My responsibility.
"The player?" asked one of them. "He's all right, just a burn mark and a little shook up."
The hell with Loden. "No, the other one."
"The big fellow," said one man to the other.
"Oh. Lon's called for help to, carry him across the street. There's a healer lives over the Green Rush Light."
"He's alive?" I said.
"He's alive. Had a longer exposure to hotpencil than the other one, though. Don't know how he'll do."
I turned to the manager. "Cormallon will pay for any medical aid. He's one of our House. We want the best."
"Kat's all right," he told me. "She must see six pencil burns a week, in this neighborhood. Not to mention knife and pistol wounds."