Shadowkill

5

Jao tilted the bottle and poured a pale liquid that wasn’t even a kissing cousin to the turpentine she’d been drinking. “Home wine,” he said. “From my cousin’s vineyard on Shimmaroh. I think you will like this.” He filled his own glass and smiled as she sipped, then sighed with pleasure. “Forgive me in advance for intruding on your private affairs?”

“After such a meal, I would forgive almost anything.”

“You have a considerable sum banked with me. Could you perhaps have access to… mmm… say triple that amount?”

“Possibly.”

“Yes. Good. Have you heard, perhaps, of our sessions of Topenga Vagnag?”

“You might say it’s among the things that brought me here.”

“Ahhh. Yes. It is the custom for offworlders to deposit a certain sum with me before they play. This smoothes out possible difficulties and makes life more pleasant for everyone.”

“Let’s have things clear, Jao juhFeyn. You are inviting me to play Topenga Vagnag?”

“Yes. If you can present the necessary deposit. I have a credit link tied to Helvetia which you may use if you wish.”

“That won’t be necessary. How soon must I have the deposit?”

“Three days on. By the first hour after noon.”

“And when is the Game?”

“The Players will arrive four days on.”

“I see. You have secure rooms for them?”

“For you also, if you wish. The room is part of the service I provide in return for my fee which is ten percent of your net wins; if you are a net loser, consider it a gift.”

“Most kind. I’d really rather avoid the… um… distractions of coming and going.”

“You’ve played Topenga before?”

“Yes.”

“What name will you be using?”

“My name is my talisman, juhFeyn. I never change it. I will go by Autumn Rose.”

He smiled, settled back in his chair. “So you’re a tech, a systems specialist.”

“Freetech. I can’t talk about it. Company privilege, you understand. Silence is part of what they buy from me.”

“I see. Have you ever been to Shimmaroh?”

“No. What’s it like?”

“You know Spotchals?”

“Who doesn’t.”

“True. Something like Spotchals in a smaller system…

Kikun slid along the alley, stopped by a narrow recess. “Easiest to get in here,” he murmured.

Autumn Rose fished the keypac from her toolbag, got the door open and slipped inside, a shadow in shadows. She had a black scarf wrapped around her head, and as she moved, there was a springy power in her thin body that reminded Kikun of the sohdihlo dancers back home who trained for the Holy Days at Plibajatsi Toh, the Sacred Lake. He grimaced. It seemed like everything was reminding him of home these days. Grandmother Ghost getting her pinches in.

There was a hiss from the darkness-Autumn Rose wondering why he was dallying out in the street. That was another thing about these days, Rose was impatient all the time, scratchy as the thorns on her namesake.

The building was dark and smelled of urine and dust; it had the hollow echoing feel that told Kikun it was empty. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t think it was necessary. Gaagi was hovering somewhere in the background; he wasn’t showing his face, but Kikun could hear the whisper of his feathers now and then, just often enough to know he was there. Might or might not be a help.

Kikun slipped in past Rose, went scurrying up the gritty, sagging stairs, staying close to the wall so they wouldn’t squeal on him. Or under him, as the case might be.