The Game Masters of Garden Place

by Denis Markell

  Cammi looked at the people. They seemed like a pretty normal Brooklyn crowd: all different races, ages, and cultures jammed up together, doing their best to get along. Not particularly enchanting.

  “In what way?” he asked.

  “Each is transfixed, staring into their magic mirrors. I have watched, and except for wiggling their fingers on the little buttons in front of them, none has moved.”

  Cammi looked and saw table after table of people on their laptops. It was kind of creepy, now that he thought about it.

  “I have figured out that they are being guided by some spirit who speaks to them through those devices clamped to their ears,” Gerontius said, indicating the headphones each was wearing.

  Cammi was going to explain what really was going on and then decided it was simply too complicated. “Yes, you’re right. That’s exactly what’s going on,” he said simply.

  Gerontius smiled and nodded. “I am figuring out your world at last!”

  There was a commotion in the corner. A group of people had gathered around a table. Bram had the small ball of paper, and he was passing it between the three cups, which were turned over onto the table. “Can you guess which one it’s under? It takes the eye of an archer and the quickness of a hawk!”

  A bunch of tourists were watching the hypnotic movement as the ball passed.

  Bram looked up. “How about you, young lady?”

  Persephone looked at her friends. She giggled and pointed at the middle cup.

  Bram raised it. The paper ball was there. “Bravo! Good for you, miss! Anyone else?”

  He moved the balls around again, and one of the tourists jokingly pointed to the one on the right. It also had the ball.

  Bram shook his head, amazed. “Why bless me! I’ve come to the wrong place if I thought I could fool you good people.”

  Persephone was whispering with Jojo and Noel. She turned around. “I bet I can do it again.”

  “Can you, now? I’m not so sure of that, little one.”

  Persephone held out the two quarters. “I bet I can.”

  Bram cocked his head. “Now you make it interesting. I am so confident that I can fool you, I will put up one of these against your coins,” he said, putting down the five-dollar bill.

  Now the tourists were definitely interested.

  Bram moved the cups around again. This time, it seemed as if they were moving faster, but if you kept your eye on the cup with the ball, it was clear it was the one on the left this time. Persephone hesitated. She began to point to the center cup, but one of the tourists, a lady in hot-pink shorts and a straw hat, called out to her. “Honey, it’s the one on the left!”

  Bram looked annoyed. “It is her choice to make. Unless you are playing, please refrain from prattling on.”

  Persephone looked innocently at the woman, who nodded so hard it looked like her head might dislodge.

  “If you’re sure…,” Persephone said, and pointed to the one on the left.

  And there it was. The tourists cheered, and Bram glared at them as he handed the money over to Persephone.

  “This is awesome!” she squealed.

  “My turn!” said the woman in the pink shorts. She took out her money.

  As the tourists and other patrons gathered around to play Bram’s game, Persephone and Jojo walked away.

  “I do hope he knows what he’s doing,” Persephone said.

  Jandia looked bored. “He is very skilled. He will let them win a few times, to make it look honest. They will think it a merry sport. Bram is a liar and a cheat. Thank the gods.”

  Noel’s face was glowing as he turned around. “He’s so good! I have to figure out how he does this! Maybe he’ll teach me!”

  Persephone took her five dollars and went to the counter. The barista was a slim young man with his hair tied up in a bun on top of his head. He had a day’s growth of beard and bright blue eyes. The tag on his shirt said DASHIELL.

  “What can I get you, sweetheart?” he asked.

  “A small latte, please, um, Dashiell,” Persephone said, blushing a little.

  “You can call me Dash,” the young man said, and took out a pen. “Your name?”

  “It’s Persephone, um, Dash. Spelled P-E—” Persephone began.

  “I know.” Dash smiled. “Like the goddess.”

  Persephone watched his bicep flex as he wrote her name on the cup. She hoped he didn’t notice.

  “Speaking of goddesses,” Dash said, “didn’t you come in with that woman over there?” He pointed to Jandia, who was glaring fiercely at no one in particular.

  Persephone slumped. Of course. “Yeah. She’s…a friend of my brother’s.”

  “Cool,” Dash said. “Hey, you can sit down. I’ll bring your latte.”

  Persephone slouched over to where Jandia was sitting and plopped down next to her and Jojo. “The barista likes Jandia,” she reported to Jojo.

  “Dash? The hot one? No way!” Jojo exclaimed.

  “Yes way,” Persephone said. “You’ll see when he comes over.”

  “He’s not coming over,” Jojo said. “He always makes you get your own drink.”

  “Here you go!” said a cheerful voice, and Dash placed Persephone’s latte in front of her as she looked victoriously over at Jojo.

  “And I brought an espresso for your friend,” he said, placing a small cup of the thick strong Italian coffee in front of Jandia, who barely acknowledged it. He took a seat next to her.

  “I really like your ink,” he said, pointing to the tattoos on her arms. He held up his own, which had a generous amount of artwork on them. “Where did you get yours done?”

  Jandia turned and faced him. He gave her a dazzling smile, which was not returned.

  “They were given to me by the priests in my village,” she said simply.

  “The village?” Dash said. “I got mine done there too! On Saint Mark’s Place.”

  “Not Greenwich Village,” Jojo quickly explained. “She meant the village where she comes from.”

  “Oh, cool! I thought I heard an accent!” Dash said with practiced charm, which was not working in the slightest, sadly. “So where are you from?”

  “The mountains of Warthog. How I wish I were back there right this moment.”

  “I know about that. I’m from Nebraska, and sometimes I just want to chuck it all and go home too. But I’ve got a band, and I couldn’t just let them down like that. You should come hear us play. We play this kind of fusion of bluegrass and death metal….” His voice trailed off as Jandia opened her mouth and gave a gigantic yawn.

  Jojo listened to this with amazement. He certainly was persistent.

  Dash tried another tack. “So…do they have any significance? Your tattoos, I mean. I was told these were Celtic ceremonial bands,” he said, pointing to his own arm, “but you never know about these things.” He touched Jandia on the arm where her tattoos were.

  Jandia shifted in her seat, pulled her arm away, and looked Dash full in the face. “I won them. Each ring represents a man I killed in battle. Their blood was mixed with the ashes of their bones, and the priests used the swords of my defeated enemies to cut these marks deep in my flesh. This is why I fear no man.”

  Dash nodded, his face turning an interesting shade of white. “Right. Okaaay. So, that’s cool. Listen, I have to get back to the bar. I think I have some customers waiting.”

  He backed away.

  Persephone shook her head. “That was cold, for sure.”

  “I would not have talked to him thus,” Mirak agreed, “but Jandia is who she is.” Under Jandia’s icy glare, the two moved down the table.

  Jojo poked Jandia in the arm.

  “What is it, girl?” snapped the barbarian.

  “You didn’t have to be so rude to him,” Jojo said. “
He’s cute.”

  “He was forward and too familiar,” Jandia said. She thought for a second. “What do you mean by this, cute? In our world, cute is a word for children.”

  Jojo looked away. “I mean he was kind of hot—you know, good-looking.”

  “And this is important to me?” Jandia laughed.

  Jojo turned and faced Jandia. “Well, you know, I mean…don’t you like that? When a guy flirts with you?”

  “Again, you are using words that confuse me,” Jandia said.

  Jojo tried again. “Okay, in your world. Has there ever been a man you wanted to, you know…kiss? Or who you find yourself thinking about all the time?”

  Jandia smiled. “Ah! Now I see! You mean mating!”

  Jojo turned bright red. “No! Well, not just that.”

  “Yes, you mean mating,” Jandia insisted. “A man and a woman decide to mate, and then—”

  Jojo stopped her. “Yes, I know. I take health class. I’m talking about love. That’s different.”

  Jandia looked over where Mirak and Persephone were deep in conversation. “I think I know now what you mean. The bard sings stories of the gods who fall in love. Or princes and princesses. Always talking about the moon or stars or being together for all time.”

  “Yes, like that,”Jojo said.

  “We are warriors. Warriors are bred to fight.” Jandia grabbed the hilt of her sword. “This is my companion. All I need is this and a good horse. A man is for breeding, I suppose, when I am older and cannot kill them.”

  “That’s a very sad attitude,” Jojo said.

  Jandia peered at Jojo for a moment. “Ah. So, you? You have someone you wish to mate with?”

  “No!” Jojo almost screamed. “It’s not like that. I mean, I do have a crush. Do you know what it means to have a crush on someone?”

  “Of course,” said Jandia. “I have crushed many men. Sometimes the skull, sometimes just an arm or a leg…”

  “Not that kind of crush. It’s like what I was saying before. It’s like a feeling you get when you see them. All kind of weird inside. You can’t stop thinking about them. They’re special.”

  “And you feel this way about someone?”

  Jojo looked down. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  Jandia’s face lit up. “It is RPG, yes?”

  “Are…are you kidding?” Jojo stammered. “Him? Not in a million years. No way.”

  Jandia shrugged. “Why not? He is cute, as you say. Like a little bunny.”

  “Exactly.” Jojo nodded. “Like a little bunny. No, the boy I like is named Jared. He’s on the soccer team, and he’s really funny and smart….”

  Jandia rolled her eyes. “You sound like the women in the court of my kingdom. Simpering little wretches. You are better than that. You could be a warrior. Do not waste your thinking time on boys.”

  “But it’s nice,” insisted Jojo. “You can be a warrior and like someone. Take, I don’t know…Gerontius. He is very good-looking, don’t you think?”

  Jandia regarded Gerontius.

  “He is very pale,” she said. “But he is certainly very pretty.”

  “So?” asked Jojo, grinning.

  Jandia paused. “I do not think he likes our kind.”

  Jojo smiled. “I see. You mean he will only, um…be…with elvenborn. I get it.”

  Jandia coughed. “No, that is not what I meant. I mean…our kind. He has spoken often of a boy whom he was very close to in his growing up. They were, he said, special friends.”

  Jojo swallowed. “Okay. Now I see what you mean.”

  “It is a very sad story,” Jandia continued. “They were much like the people in Mirak’s songs, so he says. I do not know the rest.”

  “I do,” said Mirak, who had come and joined them.

  “They were deeply together. But the elves of his forest were not happy with this, and the elders took it upon themselves to split them apart.”

  “That’s not right,” Jojo said, “but we have people like that here as well.”

  “They put a spell on his beloved, and the poor boy took sick,” Mirak continued. “No matter what Gerontius did, he could only watch as the lad wasted away. He was helpless.”

  Jojo looked over at Gerontius, who was in conversation with Cammi.

  “From the day his friend passed over into the realm of darkness, he has devoted himself to his studies. He soon became more powerful than any of the wizards in his forest. That is why they banished him from his people.”

  Jojo sighed.

  Then she looked through the window of the coffeehouse and saw exactly what she did not want to see. A police car had stopped outside, and an officer was heading directly toward them.

  Jojo clutched Persephone’s arm. “Do you—”

  Persephone had her eyes glued to the door. “Yes, I see. This isn’t good.”

  “I’m pretty sure having a six-foot sword isn’t legal in New York City,” Cammi said.

  “Why are you fearful, little ones?” asked Mirak.

  “Um…they’re kind of like magistrates,” Jojo tried. “We call them the police.”

  Mirak and Jandia froze. Gerontius’s hand was on the hilt of his sword.

  The officer opened the door a crack and peered into the coffeehouse. His eyes almost found them, but at the last second they rested on the menu by the window. He let out a low whistle.

  “Jeez! Four bucks for a small coffee!” he said to no one in particular. He turned back to yell to the driver of the patrol car. “Hey, Sarge! This place is a rip-off! Let’s just go to the deli on the next block.”

  “You got it!” the driver yelled back. The officer pulled his head out of the doorway, jumped into the car, and drove off.

  “That was close,” said Cammi.

  “I think we could have handled them, young friend,” said Gerontius gently. “But we appreciate your concern.”

  “What did we miss?” said Bram, swaggering over to the table. In his hand was a wad of bills.

  “It was amazing!” Noel said to the others. “They didn’t suspect a thing!”

  Bram sat down and waved to the tourists, who waved back. “I’ll get you tomorrow!” the husband of the woman in the pink shorts called out. He was wearing an I NY T-shirt.

  “I’ll be here waiting!” Bram answered cheerfully.

  “We’re coming back tomorrow?” asked Noel, confused.

  “Of course not,” Persephone said. “He just said that to make them feel like they’d have a chance to win their money back.”

  Bram looked at her with admiration. “Persephone, my sweet, you have the makings of a fine rogue.”

  “Thanks, I guess,” she said.

  Jandia grunted and pointed at the door, where Ralph and Torgrim had appeared. “You certainly took your time,” she called.

  “We saw the police car and waited to see what was going to happen,” Ralph said.

  “You mean you were waiting to let us fight your battle, Dwarf,” Jandia said.

  “No one has ever fought my battles, Barbarian. You better than anyone know that,” Torgrim spat. “Did I not save your mangy hide at the Battle of Weston Falls?”

  “I think we better get these guys something to eat before a fight breaks out,” Ralph whispered to Jojo. He turned to the others. “There’s a little grocery store next door. Let’s go get some food.”

  “We can save what money you got for the coin,” Noel said, “since Bram won sixty bucks off those tourists.”

  “But…but…that’s…” Ralph tried to find a word other than illegal.

  Noel shrugged. “What can you do. Rogues, am I right?”

  They followed the others out the door.

  Dash watched in fascination as they left. “Why do I always pick the crazy ones?” he asked his coworker.


  The grocery store wasn’t much better than the coffee shop. Torgrim looked like he was about to cry when he found out there was no mutton. Just as the adventurers started to understand the concept of putting meat and cheese between pieces of bread, Noel suggested they just get a deli platter and bring it back to Ralph’s. This seemed to make the most sense, and all was going well until the adults tried to buy bottles of Brooklyn craft ale (thank goodness Brooklyn had become so hip that drinking ale had become quite fashionable again).

  “ID, please,” said the bored cashier to Jandia and Mirak. This was not good.

  “I beg your pardon, good lady?” asked Mirak in her most charming voice.

  “I need some identification.”

  “I can certainly identify myself,” said Mirak. “I am Mirak, daughter of Kraagina and Prince Stephan Hightower, lately high bard to the court of King Andromodus.”

  The cashier stared impassively at her.

  “Nice titles. They go well with the teeth. I still need to see ID.”

  Ralph tugged at Mirak’s sleeve. “It’s a law here. You need to be at least twenty-one years old to buy spirits.”

  “That’s not a problem,” grumbled Torgrim. “I’m a hundred and four! That’s plenty old enough, I should think.”

  “It’s not just that. You need a card that proves it,” Noel added helpfully.

  “Why? Can a twenty-one-year-old grow a beard like this?”

  The guy cutting the deli meat glanced over. “I don’t know, I went to school with a kid who could grow a beard like that in ninth grade.”

  By this time, a crowd was gathering behind them. People wanted to order their lunches.

  “Hey, what’s the holdup, Rosa?” asked a man in a Yankees cap.

  “Look, do you have ID or not? Otherwise, pay for the platter and that’s it.” Rosa was clearly getting impatient.

  “This is ridiculous!” chimed in a woman with a toddler who was clearly about to melt down. “Oberon, darling,” she cooed to him, “Mommy is getting your focaccia.”

  Persephone dragged Gerontius to the front of the group. She looked up at Rosa with wide eyes. “I’m so sorry we’re holding things up. Dad, show her your ID.”