“Sorry, love, I’m not in the mood,” I said, watching the dealer’s fingers deftly slip a card to an accomplice from the bottom of the deck. He was a very good cheat, but I had been taught by the minds of masters. I glanced at my cards. It was a damn good hand but his accomplice would have better. I frowned at the dealer. “Fold.” He gave me a sick smile and started sweating.
The woman at my side gave a throaty chuckle, then leant in close to whisper in my ear. “You couldn’t afford me, Uncle Reklaw.”
I almost choked on my smoke, turned my head slightly to see Layla’s raised eyebrow, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She was wearing a tight fitted dress that showed a lot of leg and a hint of cleavage, positively modest for these parts, but far from how I’d seen her last.
“So, what brings you here?” I said. “Didn’t take you for the carousing type.” The dealer flicked out another round of cards, no cheating this time. I had good odds of an excellent hand. I tossed gold into the pot.
“Do I look like an old maid to you? I’m here to meet a man.”
I tapped my nose. “Point taken. I’m to keep this as our little secret, yes? I doubt your mother would approve of this place.”
“You had better. Don’t worry, at the first sign of trouble I’m out of here.” Then her voice hardened. “So this is why you returned? Gambling and drinking?”
“Hardly.” I leant in close. “That tub of lard at the side there, dicing with his friends – he’s cheating on his wife. Mind you, she’s spreading her legs for the lanky fellow sitting next to him, so she’s no better.” Layla looked surprised, but I still felt nothing from her. She was as controlled as any magus. I nodded to an older man in velvet coat and tunic smoking an ornate pipe, his pupils dilated and his mouth slightly slack around the stem. “Him, he’s a syndicate gang boss working with the Harbourmaster. Some of his best men disappeared a while back after they tried to break into the mageblood trade and he’s never quite recovered. He blames Charra in public but actually fears that it was the Skinner. No proof though. People disappear in the Warrens all the time, especially these days.” Him I was paying particular attention to. When he left I was going to follow and force him to answer all my questions.
“How can you possibly know all of that?” she said.
The dealer flicked out more cards. One of my opponents folded, but the other two slid piles of coin in. One seemed unsure, but the other exuded a quiet confidence that he was very good at hiding behind a twitch of fake worry. Not skilled enough though. I chucked more coin in anyway, calling their bets.
“I’m very good at listening,” I said to Layla. “Most people hear but few listen.”
The unsure man opposite laid his hand out. Two middling pairs. I made a show of scowling at my cards to waste just enough time and draw enough attention to me – the trick wouldn’t work otherwise. Then I spread my hand out on the table. “A high court,” I said. People murmured in the background, every eye in the room lingering on the large heap of coin at stake. All eyes turned to the fake worrier.
The man smiled broadly and finally spread his cards out. “All High Houses,” he gloated. “I win!” He reached for the pot.
I cleared my throat. “What are you talking about, pal?” I tapped one of his cards, setting off the temporary glamour I’d placed in it earlier. “That’s a two, not a high house. Just what are you trying to pull here?” Through some quirk of fate his high card seemed to have changed into a two for the observers. Almost without exception, people saw what they expected to see, and I had just given them a little nudge: part deception, part subtle magic.
He gawped at his card, picked it up and stared at the dealer, a question on his lips. Oh-ho, the crowd caught that look and a murmur of disquiet stirred as they looked between the two. The dealer turned to the sniffer, who stared at me trying to sense if I was using the Gift. The sniffer shrugged and shook her head. Beads of sweat appeared on the dealer’s forehead and a sickly smile grew. “Another round?”
“Nah,” I said, “don’t want my luck to turn.” I scooped up the heap of gold and silver, then turned to grin at Layla, but she’d already slipped away to find her lover. I packed away my winnings, pouch bulging at the seams.
A woman screamed. A tray of drinks crashed to the floor. One of the serving girls stood staring down at the twitching corpse of – ah, shite! – the gang boss slumped over his table, pipe still smoking. Blood oozed from a small wound between the base of the skull and the spine. It had been precise and quick, with minimal blood – this wasn’t a mere stabbing, it was an assassination. And what’s more, they’d used my game as the perfect distraction.
Layla was nowhere to be seen. Paranoia reared its head. Oh gods, was she safe? Then I spied her over by the far wall, unharmed and with a half-empty goblet of wine in her hand. She shot me a worried look, set it down and then slipped out of the door while everybody else was busy gawping. I sighed with relief; it was just another ganglands killing, they were not here for her or me.
The crowd edged forward to examine the body, prodding it out of morbid curiosity. Me, I tied the cord of my money pouch around my neck and tucked it beneath my tunic and used the distraction to slip out of the door before it got ugly. I was carrying a lot of coin and people might soon notice that unfortunate two now looked awfully like a High House card. I breathed a sigh of relief as I stepped out into the shadows, fumbling in my pockets for a smoke as the door closed behind me. Whoever had offed that gang boss had been good, and I’d had my back to them the entire time. Even with magic-wrought heightened senses there had been no–
My senses screamed a split-second warning before a hand clamped around my throat and pulled me backwards into a side alley. He stank of stale sweat and tarred leaf. Thick, calloused fingers squeezed. My head went tight and hot, pulse pounding. I flailed, ramming my elbow back into a man’s hard stomach. He grunted but the grip didn’t loosen, squeezed even harder. My Gift opened on instinct, magic lashing out into his skin. I savaged his mind like a wild beast. He choked, fingers going slack.
I slumped against the wall, wheezing for breath. The dockhand I’d beaten at cards earlier stared back at me dumbly, drool running down his chin. He dropped down in the muck, gurgling, fascinated with watching his fingers move. His memory was shredded. Seemed he had realized that he couldn’t beat me and instead decided to wait outside to get his hands on coin in a different way. Too clever for his own good. Still, I’d been a blind idiot to walk outside as unaware as any innocent lamb heading to the slaughter. Even if I had been rattled by the assassination, there was no excuse. Too much was at stake to be that sloppy. I massaged my throat. It had been so very easy to break him. First the guards and now this… I seemed to have actual might at my beck and call nowadays, and it was thrilling.
I imagined the Worm of Magic’s serpent smile growing wider as it waited for me to let go of all restraint. I’m not sure I wouldn’t prefer it to be a real entity as opposed to something that only personified my own desires magnified through the lens of magic. Nothing is ever quite as terrifying as your own mind.
“Sorry, pal,” I croaked. Reducing him to that infantile state had been a step too far. Instinctive reaction or not, I was powerful enough that I could have and should have left him puking up and cradling a broken nose, or, oh I don’t know, given him a nasty memory of lusting after and sucking off a dog or something. That sort of thing could scar a man for life. I shook my head. It was a shame, but I consoled myself with the fact that he’d likely learn to walk and talk again, and he might even remember his own name someday. That was more than most people got in the Warrens. Usually it was a knife across the throat and a swim in the river. He was lucky really.