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Matabar. Chapter 114 - Bad hand
🕑 Added 2025-06-19 23:01:02 +0000 UTCAlla, despite her rather slight build, hoisted Ardi to his feet with such ease that he might have weighed nothing at all. For an instant, he felt the cool, steely grip of her fingers closing around his hand.
She was a mutant…
A mutant working in the Daggers division…
Ardi blinked, trying to force his sluggish mind to function. Gears rattled and whirled in his head with desperate urgency.
“Help me, Corporal,” Alla said. Her voice was iron, leaving no room for refusal — less a request than a command.
Still wearing her thin high heels, Ms. Tantov walked over to the cloth-wrapped head of the assassin and grabbed his shoulders. Ardan realized what she wanted and lifted the man’s legs. He was surprised by how light the killer felt. Together, they carried the body into the main office and laid it down near the glass wall.
Alla straightened and moved to the large, framed portrait of the present-day Man family. While she pressed something hidden by the gilded patterns on the frame, Ardi stood rooted in place, staring at the corpse. In the end, he couldn’t suppress his curiosity. He reached out to tug the strips of cloth covering the assassin’s face away.
“You shouldn’t do that,” Alla warned without turning around, but it was already too late.
Ardan pulled the bandages off and… Perhaps he should have felt revulsion, or at least a shudder of fear. Instead, he felt only a faint stirring of interest mingled with surprise.
The dead killer, whose throat had been slit all the way to the vertebrae — muscles, trachea and tendons severed with surgical precision — hadn’t had a face. Once upon a time, of course, he’d had one. But now… Instead of hair, he had no real scalp at all. It hadn’t simply been shaved bald. Above the spot where his eyebrows should have been — they were missing too — the flesh tapered away, blending into a thin layer that barely covered his skull. It looked as if someone had meticulously removed all “excess” skin and then treated the entire surface, possibly so that a wig might be fitted on more easily.
And the horrors didn’t end there. The corpse had no skin around the eyes, while the cheekbones were webbed over with scarring that marked where the bones had been ground down. The same was true of his chin. Where cheeks should’ve been, there were only hollows. Where lips should’ve been, only gum tissue remained, toothless. And in place of a nose, he had two wet, elongated slits.
Shuddering, Ardi replaced the fabric.
“That’s a Narikhman Shade,” Alla explained. She pressed something once more, and with a neat click, the heavy portrait frame receded into the wall to reveal what looked like a control panel. “Step away from the window, please.”
Ardan didn’t protest. He backed up a few paces, then took one more step for good measure. Alla nodded and lifted one of the many levers on the panel. The glass wall where they’d left the body slid aside, much as the portrait had. A powerful gust of wind rushed into the office, scattering a few sheets of paper, then caught hold of the corpse, sweeping it out into the open air. As soon as it vanished beyond the ship’s hull, Alla lowered the lever and the panel slid back into place.
“How did you get in here, Corporal?” She asked.
“What exactly is a Narikhman Shade?”
They spoke at the same time, then paused. Ardi realized he wouldn’t get an answer if he held his ground, so he answered calmly.
“I used magic.”
“Are mages even able to use spells in the sky?” She seemed genuinely taken aback. “They taught me that you had to be touching the ground, or something connected to the ground.”
“Senior Magister Paarlax theorized that it’s not about the planet itself, but about the Ley field’s concentration,” Ardan said, his gaze straying to the window through which the body had vanished. “He was right. The ship’s generators produce enough Ley field energy to support spells utilizing a few rays of the first two, maybe three Stars.”
Alla raised an eyebrow. “And your department kept this to yourselves?”
Ardan answered her with meaningful silence. A heavy stillness fell over the office, broken only by the distant, muffled snoring of the Black Lotus woman on the other side of the door.
“She won’t wake up,” Alla said, responding to his unspoken question. “At least not anytime soon. Far too much Dust and alcohol. And once she does, she won’t remember a thing. For those same reasons.”
Ardi turned back to Alla. She returned to the control panel hidden behind the portrait.
“Narikhman Shades are professional assassins and infiltrators raised from early childhood to be the best at their trade,” she said, flipping switches and pressing buttons. “They’re masters of disguise and face-changing. You did well, Corporal, lasting almost a full minute against him. Very few can manage that.”
Ardan didn’t bother clarifying that both he and the assassin had been in an exceedingly-awkward, cramped space and that…
“Wait,” Ardi said, resting his weight on his staff. “Back on the train… you must have known that I — if you knew, then…”
“Mr. Man planned to bring the staff into the city to make it the star of his auction,” Alla explained. She finished toggling the controls, and to Ardi’s surprise, the desk’s green felt surface and attached wooden panel sank away, folding into the tabletop as if they’d never been there at all.
He wondered if everything in this cabin was rigged to slide or hide somewhere, or if the engineer who’d designed it had simply been obsessed with such contraptions.
“My job, under his orders, was to make sure the staff arrived discreetly. He assumed his ‘friends’ would want to learn what to expect at the auction. He never even considered foreign agents or conspirators within the Empire.”
Ardan frowned. Despite Trevor Man’s arrogant manner, he’d never struck Ardi as foolish — quite the contrary.
“Men with great power often stop paying attention to certain… details, Corporal.”
“Foreign saboteurs are just details?”
“For someone like Trevor Man, yes,” she said with a nod, moving behind the now-bare desk. Carefully, she pulled a sizable carved box out from beneath it, its surface inlaid with filigree and dark wood inserts. “The Cloaks have been compromised, Corporal. There’s a mole in the Chancery — perhaps more than one. But I don’t believe Miss Rovnev was anything more than tragically careless.”
“A mole?”
Alla looked at him with mild puzzlement. “You’ve been doing this job for half a year, and… oh, never mind. A mole is someone on our side selling information to wrongdoers.”
“Understood,” Ardi said quickly, filing away the term.
“Given the artifact’s magical nature and its possible connection to the art of the Aean’Hane, there was no candidate more suitable than you. Trevor kept the exact date of the shipments secret until the last possible moment — one train carrying the Ertalain crystal, another carrying the staff. We had to make do on the fly.” She opened her handbag to pull out a small eyeglass case. Pressing something on its side, she slid out a thin strip of metal, attached it to her spectacles, then examined the wooden box with intense concentration. “I managed to arrange things so you’d be on that train, just as a fallback.”
“But I-”
“You are half-Matabar, have completed your people’s full initiation ritual, are one of the best students to come through the Grand in who-knows-how-many years, and you possess some expertise in the Aean’Hane arts,” Alla cut him off. “You really underestimate yourself, Corporal. You were more than qualified to assist me.”
“What if I-”
“Hadn’t boarded the train?” She interrupted him again. “Don’t fool yourself, Corporal. Everyone knew you would.”
“But-”
“Ard,” Alla said, straightening to look him in the eye. “Think about how Grand Magister Edward Aversky ever heard about you in the first place.”
Ardan remembered what the Colonel and Milar had said about the man training him:
“Aversky? Volunteer? Why would that lunatic do something like that?”
“Because Cassara asked him to. Back when Ard was with Yonatan’s group.”
At the time, Ardi hadn’t given it a second thought — too much had been going on. Then he’d convinced himself that Cassara had simply wanted to help him, maybe for her own reasons, maybe because of some old favor she’d owed his great-grandfather. He had never connected those comments to his current service in the Second Chancery.
“So all those things you said back then… That’s why Aversky knew that I’d copied the seals…”
“It’s the job, Corporal.”
“But I could have refused your offer,” Ardan murmured. “I could have stayed in Delpas, could have just finished my studies at the Grand, I could have-”
“You could have,” Alla acknowledged with a nod. “Life is full of possibilities — in theory. In practice, things go how they go. And very few people ever doubted that you’d return or that you’d accept service in exchange for access to the ‘Mountain Predator’ files.”
Ardan could only stand there, opening and closing his mouth in silent shock. It felt as though the entire room had begun spinning in some demented dance.
Another piece of the puzzle finally became clear. It was strange that a Dagger who had worked for so many years at “Bri-&-Man” would know so much about Ardan Egobar’s life.
“It was you…”
“Or do you think I don’t notice the Second Chancery’s automobiles?” Arkar’s voice echoed in Ardan’s mind, followed by Tess’ right after:
“In time, you’ll be able to tell which cars belong to the Second Chancery.”
And there was also the fact that, right after the explosion at the bank, someone had come to his apartment and taken all his things…
He also recalled the letter from the bank, the one announcing the deposit of the sum he and Alla Tantov had agreed upon back on the train. It had arrived only a few hours after the train had pulled into the capital. Considering all the procedures Ardi now knew were required, Alla Tantov wouldn’t have had time to… “You’ve been following me for several months.”
“Ever since you started working at the Chancery,” Alla didn’t deny it. “And I can’t say, Corporal, that the task made me terribly happy. Combining undercover work with Trevor Man while keeping an eye on you is hardly a forgiving workload. Alas, my mutation is extremely rare, so…” Alla kept her gaze fixed on Ardi, and then her face… began to shift. Her bones snapped with a nasty, clacking sound, like a raven’s croak; her skin bulged with bubbles akin to that of boiling oil; her hair literally retracted into her skull, hastily changing color, and thick smoke poured out of her mouth, nose and ears.
A moment later, Alla Tantov was no longer standing before Ardan, but…
“Sleeping Spirits,” Ardan blurted out.
It was the same girl who had asked him to dance. The one he’d mistaken for an employee of the Black Lotus. But in this scenario, even Ergar wouldn’t have scolded his student for the mix-up.
Nothing remained of Alla Tantov. Even her scent had changed, going from a fruity milk mixture to the smell of birch leaves and rain. Even her heartbeat had changed, becoming more erratic and ragged, no longer as calm and steady. Her eyes looked different, too — far more ordinary, warm, and gentler than the cold, distant gaze of Alla.
Then came another crunch of bone, her skin boiled once again, black smoke billowed out, and suddenly, Alla Tantov was back.
“But I don’t recall-”
“I can take the form of six different people, Corporal,” Alla said, clearly unwilling to let him finish that thought. “Two of them are men. But we don’t have time for me to show off every aspect of my mutation, nor do I have any desire or reason to demonstrate it to you. I need your help, Corporal. Come here.”
Ardan didn’t snap out of his momentary stupor right away. When he finally took a step forward, he noticed bloodstains all over the place. Lots of them.
“I’ll deal with that later,” Alla assured him, the corners of her lips twitching slightly. “It’s not that big of a problem.”
Ardan didn’t ask any needless follow-up questions. If the Dagger claimed that a carpet splattered with blood and stains on the walls were “not a problem,” then clearly, they weren’t a problem.
“This box…” Alla placed the wooden case on the table. “I think it’s some sort of artifact from before the Imperial era, and-”
“It’s no artifact,” Ardi cut her off, perhaps because he was feeling a bit bold and wanted to repay Alla for her earlier interruption. “Just an ordinary elven puzzle box.”
Alla stepped aside and Ardan moved closer. At first glance, the box looked like a simple rectangular block of wood decorated with inlays made from a different type of wood. In reality, it was far more complex.
Ardi remembered boxes like these from his childhood. Atta’nha had sometimes brought them to her little friend. Ardan had been able to spend hours dangling his legs over the clouds, trying to solve these kinds of puzzles.
He reached over to the writing supplies, picked up an unsharpened pencil, and carefully examined the pattern before placing the tip on one of the box’s panels. Slowly, he traced it along the interwoven lines of the designs. The trick to opening the puzzle lay in the complicated mechanism of crystal plates hidden beneath its lid. Layered atop one another like fish scales, they would press down on small pegs, which served as the box’s locking mechanism, in a specific sequence.
To open it, you had to press the right panels in the correct order without lifting whatever pointer you were using, following a route embedded in the pattern — essentially a maze. And for someone unfamiliar with the solution, it could take hours, if not an entire day, to find even one correct path. That path also had to start and end on the very same panel.
There was a faint, barely-audible click, and the box’s lid popped open. Ardan managed to glimpse an old iron key lying inside it. Alla shoved him aside slightly and took out a simple key casting mold from her handbag — two small trays filled with a viscous, clay-like substance. She pressed the key between them, held them together briefly to ensure the imprint was good, cleaned the key with a handkerchief, and put it back in the box.
“And what does that unlock?” Ardan hastened to ask.
Naturally, Alla didn’t reply.
“Then maybe you could at least tell me how the assassin got in here?” Ardan pointed toward the wardrobe, where a gaping hole now marred the wall.
“Trevor Man hired a certain company to install a shield around his cabin,” Alla said. “A separate one not listed in the documentation provided to the Chancery or the Aeronauts’ Guild.”
Ardan was familiar with that Guild. It had been established barely a month ago, and was intended to regulate both civilian and military aeronautics.
“And I, using a reliable channel, shared that documentation with the Narikhman,” Alla added with a slight shrug, acting as though none of it mattered. “They made a key-amulet.”
“But why?”
“Aren’t you an investigator, Corporal?”
Ardan turned to stare at the bloodstains again. Why would the Daggers share information with the Narikhman? Possibly to discover if anyone wanted Trevor Man dead — someone with the resources not only to pay them, but also to make contact with the most secretive organization on the entire continent.
“So that’s why you were here?”
Alla nodded and glanced at the clock.
“By now, Trevor should have already made his way downstairs. Alas, that means we’ve missed Le’mrity’s shocked reaction.”
“So it was him? Tarik Le’mrity paid for Trevor Man’s assassination?”
“He put out the contract on him,” Alla corrected him, and for the first time in a long while, Ardi found himself in Arkar’s shoes. “In this context, the right term is ‘put out a contract,’ not ‘paid for it.’ Anyone could have financed the job, but they acted in Le’mrity’s interests.”
If Ardan ever thought he was starting to understand something, it was clearly only an illusion.
“But then why did you want to save him?”
Alla stayed silent.
“And that conversation they mentioned, the one with Mr. Le’mrity — do you know anything about what happened at the ‘Bri-&-Man’ company a few years ago?”
“I only managed to rise to the position of Trevor Man’s personal assistant about a year and a half ago, Corporal,” Alla said, once again fishing a perfume bottle out of her purse. “So I don’t really know what you’re talking about. And if we had the information you’re after, then — given how many requests Captain Pnev has made — you’d have gotten it long ago.”
One by one, the Dagger began spraying her “perfume” on the bloodstains. A shimmering mist settled over the wet, copper-scented blood, which instantly began to bubble and foam, allowing Alla to calmly wipe it away with the same handkerchief from before, leaving behind no traces whatsoever.
Once she was finished with her “cleaning,” Alla straightened the rug and the bed’s canopy, slid the broken panel with its grate under the bed, and rearranged the clothes in the wardrobe to hide the hole. After a moment’s thought, she reached up, pulled out one of the pins in her bun, then shut the wardrobe doors, jammed the pin into the lock, and snapped it.
“Our meeting, Mr. Egobar, was fleeting at best, so I doubt our superiors need to know about it,” she said, extending her hand. “I hope that for the rest of this flight, we won’t need to help each other again.”
Ardan returned the handshake, once more feeling those thin, steely fingers squeeze his hand.
“Do your best not to be noticed on your way back.”
“Of course,” was all Ardan said.
“And don’t worry about Iolai Agrov,” she suddenly added. “You can rest assured that until we return to the capital, he’s got some agreeable company in his cabin — company he’s unlikely to abandon of his own free will. And if he tries, well… he won’t be able to.”
Ardan did not comment on that.
Walking over to the door, he once more scouted things out: first, he listened intently, then he sniffed the air, and only after that did he step out into the corridor.
***
Ardan drummed his fingers on the table, staring at his staff. He hadn’t noticed any documents in Trevor Man’s office, which was probably to be expected.
And as for that key that Alla had wanted to copy? Any guesses about this little trinket could be right on the money, or so off base as to be laughable. Ardan was as far from the truth right now as he was from solid ground — which, incidentally, was making him more anxious than he’d expected.
For some reason, riding on Kaishas’ back had felt much more pleasant and fun than being trapped in the steel confinement of this soulless machine.
“But we were right, after all,” Ardan reminded himself.
What he and Milar had discussed, the theory they’d laid out to the Colonel, had turned out to be correct. And Anvar Riglanov had indeed left them a gift by saying just one simple word: “Ship.” And yet, in order to figure out exactly which “ship” he’d been talking about and why it was a “gift,” they’d had to spend quite a bit of time and put in a lot of effort.
The question still remained: how had Riglanov known all of this, and who had been hiding beneath the guise of that supposedly-deceased writer?
Well, Ardan had his own theories about that, but so far, he hadn’t shared them, not even with Milar.
“Thoughts for tomorrow,” he reminded himself.
He hadn’t left his cabin since last night. Partly because there’d been no need for it as far as his and Milar’s plan was concerned, and partly because he wanted to avoid running into Iolai Agrov. Yes, Alla had assured him that he wasn’t a problem, and she most likely knew what she was talking about — that was probably why the Daggers weren’t worried about there being someone on board who might recognize Ardi. But on the other hand, they surely hadn’t counted on Ardan running into the very same assassin they themselves had…
“Thoughts for tomorrow,” Ardi insisted to himself, cutting off that train of thought.
He walked over to his travel bag, took out his wallet, and under the flicker of the Ley-lamp, pulled out a piece of white, ridged paper — a regular bank check from, of course, the Imperial Bank. It was for the sum of 540 exes.
That was the amount the Colonel had allocated to him and Milar for this part of their operation.
“Not even a full five hundred and fifty exes,” Ardan sighed, sliding the check into his jacket’s inner pocket.
He wondered if, by some chance, he did manage to win anything, would he have to return the winnings to the Second Chancery’s coffers, or… was that just a pointless question? It probably was.
Shouldering his staff, Ardan stepped out into the corridor. It was far livelier than it had been the previous day. Laughter, conversations, footsteps, and the constant thudding of opening and closing doors filled the air. There was also the smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and the unmistakable scent of people engaged in certain behind-closed-doors activities.
Ardan went down the stairs and walked through the archway into the gondola. Overnight, the space had changed quite a bit: roulette tables had appeared, along with several others intended for various card games. And of course, at the front, near the observation deck, there were rows of modest but comfortable chairs facing a small stage-like podium.
While waiting for the auction to start, the guests were entertaining themselves with a “little gambling,” as the wealthy called it, losing a few hundred exes here and there during every visit.
Feeling as though the check in his pocket was dragging him back to his cabin, Ardan forced himself forward, every step heavier than the last, until he reached the dealer’s table. A young man of about seventeen, wearing a white shirt with green buttons and a matching satin-green vest, sat behind it. On the table before him were stacks of colorful discs, each about two inches in diameter, made of wood and painted with bright colors.
They were similar to ones Ardi had seen before.
In the “Heron.”
Of course, that in itself didn’t mean much. Milar had mentioned that all casinos used those same “chips.”
“Good evening,” the croupier greeted him. “Are you adding to your previous buy-in, or is this your first time playing?”
“Good evening,” Ardan replied, placing his check on the table. “It’s my first time.”
“Then you’ll receive a bonus as a courtesy from Mr. Man and Mr. Le’mrity for taking the time out of your busy schedule to attend this event.”
He was obviously reciting a memorized line. In spite of his warm smile, his eyes were flat, devoid of any emotion except for a dull fatigue that had drained them of any usual sparkle. The sharp contrast between his smile and his dead, fish-like gaze made Ardi eager to scoop up the three stacks of chips as quickly as possible. There were four chips worth a hundred exes each, two that were worth fifty exes, and eleven ten-ex chips, totaling just over six hundred exes. Clearly, the bonus was intended to be around ten percent, but a bit higher, to foster good will.
This was twice as much money as the largest sum Ardan had ever possessed. It was ironic that even those three hundred exes he’d once had were basically secured by one of the Second Chancery’s employees… Ardi was beginning to see why some people truly believed that the Cloaks were everywhere.
Casting a critical glance at the busy tables, Ardan found the one he was looking for. Right near the rows of chairs set out for the auction, at the farthest table, six people were playing Olikzasian Sevens.
He recognized two of them instantly. Trevor Man, wearing his usual haughty smile, was sipping strong whiskey on the rocks with his pinky extended. Next to him sat a slightly slumped, clearly bored Tarik Le’mrity, who was occasionally shooting his “partner” some rather peculiar looks.
Along with the two magnates, there was also a stately older lady at the table — the same one from the previous evening who had insisted that ordinary folk shouldn’t be allowed into the central districts of the Metropolis. Next to her was a woman in her mid-twenties to mid-thirties. Because of her neat-yet-brightly-applied makeup and daring dress with its deep neckline, pinning down her exact age was impossible. She wore one of those fashionable little hats, and was balancing an equally-tiny handbag on her lap.
Seated beside her was her companion — a man of around fifty. His face and skin were already showing the usual signs of aging, though he was clearly trying to look younger. And, for some reason, Ardan felt that in that particular pairing, it wasn’t the gentleman who called the shots…
The sixth person Ardan noticed was yet another older lady: plump, wearing a strange hybrid of a bonnet and a hat, a dress that looked more like a slipcover, and chunky rings on her gloved hands.
All of this would have seemed perfectly ordinary if not for a few details.
She didn’t smell of old age. It wasn’t just about the strong perfumes older folks sometimes picked to compensate for their already weak sense of smell — humans didn’t have the keenest noses to begin with, and old age only made things worse. Nor was it about the difficulty of bathing that came with frailty.
No.
It was her heartbeat. It thumped so steadily and smoothly that any genuine elderly person would have given half their fortune for theirs to have such a perfect rhythm, if not more.
And her eyes… Despite her thick glasses, Ardi could see bright blue irises and dark, intense pupils. Her throat was odd, too. The hands and neck were the best signs of someone’s real age. And her neck looked far younger than the rest of her appearance suggested.
Sensing his gaze, the “old woman” adjusted the silk scarf that had slipped a little, the one covering her throat. It would have been easy to assume that the sixth player at the table was none other than Alla Tantov herself… if not for one small detail.
The Dagger was standing right behind Trevor Man’s chair, like a loyal hound awaiting orders, utterly unflappable and ignoring Ardan’s arrival.
Apart from the dealer, the table could seat up to nine players, so there were three empty seats. That wasn’t surprising, given the fact that, at the other tables, bets ranged up to a few dozen exes, whereas at this one, the smallest stack of chips Ardi noticed — belonging to the so-called older lady — was a solid fifteen hundred exes.
Ardan fought the fleeting urge to adjust the suddenly-tight collar of his shirt or loosen his necktie. He’d rather not think about the total value of the chips on that table, nor what someone could buy with all that money.
Even without mentioning Star Magic, that money could have paid for a new winter wardrobe for both him and Tess.
His mother and the cowboys had always taught him to prepare for winter at the start of summer. At the time, he hadn’t fully understood why — at least not for himself. Now…
“Well, would you look at that. Maybe the Governor-General of Shamtur has an illegitimate son,” the younger woman said with a sweet, slightly-cloying smile. “Then again, you don’t look like a soldier.”
“And you certainly don’t look like a ragged beggar who made it by licking the Crown’s boots,” the older lady added venomously.
Tarik, roused from his gloom, gave Ardan a thoughtful once-over, then glanced at his chips.
“We’re playing with a small blind of ten exes and a big blind of twenty-five, young man,” Tarik noted, gesturing to two figure markers shaped like a sailor and a sea monster. These indicated who was required to place a bet regardless of their cards. The rule existed so a game couldn’t be dragged out indefinitely, and after a certain number of hands, the blinds would go up. “You haven’t got that many chips. Maybe you’d be better off at another table?”
“Why are you trying to steer the young man away?” Trevor Man interjected in his usual lofty manner. “Sit down, son. By the way, what’s your name?”
“Barov,” Ardan introduced himself, taking a seat next to the dealer and picking up his cards. “Kerid Barov.”
“Barov… Barov…” Man repeated a couple of times, deftly spinning two chips between his fingers. “I think I’ve heard that name somewhere, but I can’t recall where… Care to enlighten us about your family, young man?”
“We raise livestock in the Foothills Province,” Ardi replied in an even, neutral tone, doing his best to remain calm.
“A good line of work, a respectable one, even,” Mr. Man said. Judging by his intonation, he couldn’t have cared less. “Lex, I figured you’d stay in bed all night.”
It took nearly all of Ardan’s composure not to flinch. The man who sat down beside him was none other than Lex Man. He was just as slight, short, and rat-faced as Ardi remembered him, like some odd cross between a rodent and a hunting dog. He reeked of alcohol, tobacco, a couple of different women, and that same syrupy-floury smell of Angel’s Dust.
“Everyone needs a rest sometimes,” Lex replied in that high-pitched voice Ardi recalled all too well. He wore an absurd emerald suit embroidered with sparkling threads and tiny gemstones. “Though something about this fellow’s face rings a bell. Lex Man,” he said, extending his hand with a slight squint. “Haven’t we met before?”
Ardan briefly returned his handshake. “I’ve never had the honor.”
“Is that so?” Lex cast a strange glance at Ardan’s staff, then shrugged. “Guess I was mistaken.”
“You really ought to cut back on your amusements, Mr. Man,” purred the older lady — the one who’d been spewing venom just moments earlier.
Ardi was astonished at how drastically her tone changed the moment she addressed someone named Man. Confirming that she was indeed two-faced, the older woman nearly poisoned Ardan again with a single remark:
“So, how are you enjoying the sky, young man?” She practically hissed. “It’s a bit cleaner here than in your cow pens, wouldn’t you say?”
Trevor laughed, and as though on cue, the others laughed too. For the sake of “appearances,” Ardi forced out a short chuckle of his own.
“You’d be surprised, ma’am, at how clean our cows actually are,” Ardan replied, lifting the corners of his cards. “In the end, as the cowboys say, you are what you eat. And our meat is supplied to the capital, among other places.”
The laughter died down a bit as they turned to look at Ardan differently. Even the second “old lady” eyed him.
“It would seem like the Grand now teaches more than just Star Sciences,” Trevor Man commented with a predatory, pleased lilt to his voice. Probably because he was hoping to spur on more conflict for his own enjoyment.
But the older lady remained silent.
Ardi knew people like that all too well. They never stayed long on Polskih’s farm, but he’d come across them here and there. They’d work a season or two and then move on, usually not by choice. He’d once heard a bit of wisdom about such folks: before anyone weaker, they’d bare their fangs like a hungry wolf; before anyone stronger, they’d bleat no worse than a gentle lamb, ready to shear off their own wool just to please them.
“I’m sure you’d know, Mr. Man,” rasped the voice of the faux old lady. She adjusted her glasses and laid down three chips — seventy exes in total. “Aren’t you the one who’s been supplying nearly a third of all the equipment to the Imperial Magical University?”
“That’s absolutely correct, Mrs. Pilari,” Mr. Man replied in that same indifferent tone. Glancing at his cards, he casually tossed in a bet of one hundred and ten exes.
“I’ve always admired your business savvy, Mr. Man,” the fake old lady wheezed. “There hasn’t been a single open contract on equipment supply for the past fifteen years, yet somehow you still manage to deliver everything at the prices you see fit, and…”
She trailed off, eyeing her glass of whiskey with suspicion. Alla Tantov exhaled almost imperceptibly from behind Man, and Ardan nearly swore under his breath.
Of course!
The Ley generators ensured sufficient field density for simple Star Magic to work — and along with it, the most basic skills of an Aean’Hane. Skills like the Witch’s Gaze, for instance.
As he’d done many times before, Ardi took a slow breath in, then out, and pictured aiming his gaze not at the people around him, but somehow past them. He tried to act almost like he would on a hunt — which had given him the idea in the first place — except he tried not to gaze through them, but alongside them. He did his best to skirt them without touching them with his eyes. It demanded some mental effort, but it was still better than the alternative.
Come to think of it, maybe that was why Tarik and Man had been so sharp with each other even when Ardan had been hidden behind a closed door.
“Today must be the day for confessions,” Man sighed, clearly unhappy about what was either a direct accusation of corruption or a very pointed hint about it. “I’m not sure that’s any of your concern, Mrs. Pilari.”
“Forgive me, I may have overstepped with-”
“Is everyone else placing their bets, or did we come here to gossip?” Man demanded, making a show of not even turning his head toward the fake old lady.
Immediately, the woman and her companion folded, refusing to place any bets. After a moment’s thought, the actual old lady and Lex followed suit, dropping out of the hand as well. Tarik matched the bet. Then it was Ardan’s turn.
“Excuse me, I need to step away to the ladies’ room, so I’ll go ahead and call now,” the fake old lady said, tossing another forty exes in chips onto the table. Then, leaning convincingly on her cane, she bustled off in the direction of the restrooms.
Ardan didn’t watch her go, but he did sniff the air. He was certain that he would be able to recognize any of those Spiders from the abandoned factory workshop who’d stood before him back then, aside from the hidden mage he’d spoken to. And this fake old lady was not one of them. But she was most certainly not a mage, either.
Then who in the name of the Sleeping Spirits was she, and why did she hold such a low opinion of Trevor Man?
“Young man?”
“Sorry,” Ardan mumbled, taking another glance at his cards. It was not the best starting hand. The suits and values didn’t match up, and he had just one decent card, the Ten of Crowns — one of the five highest cards in the deck. But in Sevens, it wasn’t the face value, but rather the combinations that mattered.
Still, there was a reason Ardan knew the rules to Sevens but had never really gotten the chance to play the game properly. In Evergale, he’d only sat down at a card table with the cowboys once, and it had nearly ended in a shootout. After that, they’d asked him not to join the game again, to avoid fraying anyone’s nerves.
Unfortunately, Ardi hadn’t been able to rely on that “feature” when playing against Riglanov because, in that scenario, the cards themselves hadn’t mattered.
Ardan listened to everyone’s heartbeats. Tarik’s was steady and calm, as was Man’s. However, his pupils had also dilated slightly, and there was an added salty tang of adrenaline to his scent. No matter how well a person controlled themselves, their body gave them away.
Tarik was holding a decent but straightforward hand, while Man seemed confident that he had the winning cards.
Ardan counted out the necessary amount and placed it on the table.
“Bold,” Man said with a hint of genuine respect.
This was the same man whose bedroom, less than twenty-four hours ago, had been the scene of a murder. And considering the fact that there weren’t armed sailors running around the gondola and cabins, it looked like Alla had been correct and the Black Lotus worker hadn’t remembered anything.
The dealer, pretending not to hear or see anything, laid out the first three cards. For Ardan, not much changed. Two of them were the suit he needed and decently high, but mathematically, his chances of winning hinged on a single combination, giving him odds that were only slightly above three percent — if that — even without considering the opponents’ cards.
Meanwhile, Tarik’s heart skipped a beat, and Ardan caught a faint whiff of stomach acid on his breath. Clearly, Tarik hadn’t gotten the cards he wanted. Man, on the other hand, still appeared calm and exuded nothing but confidence.
“Let’s raise the stakes a bit, gentlemen,” Man said, placing another hundred and fifty exes on the table.
Tarik silently matched the bet. The fake old lady still hadn’t returned, so Ardan, after drumming his fingers on the tabletop a few times, reached for his chips.
“You sure about this, young man?” Man interrupted him. “For tonight, consider yourself my guest. Believe me, over the years, I’ve learned how to tell the difference between those who value money because they have little of it and those who” — Trevor shot a quick, unpleasant glance at Tarik — “waste an inheritance they didn’t earn. I can see that these chips mean a great deal to you, and I don’t want to take them from you. But if you insist, the responsibility is yours alone.”
Ardan wanted to think that Mr. Man was only luring him in, exploiting a young man’s vanity and pride, but his heartbeat, scent, and pupil dilation signaled genuine sincerity.
Skusty had taught Ardi that there were no good or bad predators in the world, only hungry ones and satisfied ones. And right now, Trevor Man was well fed.
What did that mean?
Nothing in particular.
Ardan pushed his chips forward.
“Oh, so you’re confident in your hand?” Trevor said with a broad grin. “What have you got, then? A pair? Maybe you flopped three of a kind? Or are you hoping for a half-suit? Perhaps you have four out of five?”
Never looking away, Ardan answered his question with a question of his own:
“And what about you, Mr. Man? You can bank on a seven-in-ten chance of winning this hand, can you not? Is that what you’re calculating right now?”
Silence fell around the table. Lex, the real old lady, and the others looked a bit rattled. Only Man, after a short pause, erupted with laughter.
“It’s not often that I meet someone who loves numbers as much as I do,” he said, giving Ardi a light round of applause. “That answers my question about why I’ve never seen you with young Agrov. I take it you attend a different faculty? The Engineering Faculty?”
Ardi spread his hands out in a gesture of playful defeat.
“So, I’m right,” Mr. Man said with a smug smirk, and Ardi saw no harm in letting him have his mistaken assumption.
“These stakes might not be for me,” announced the returning fake old lady, folding her cards.
Ardan detected a faint, even to his nose, odor of vomit. The strange woman must have suspected that she’d been poisoned and rushed to the restroom to empty her stomach. And yet she was not a Spider, nor from the Second Chancery, and definitely no common bandit.
So who was she, and what was she really doing here?
“I think you’re distracted, Mr. Barov,” Man said with a narrow-eyed look, gesturing to the dealer. He immediately placed a fourth card on the table.
Now Ardi had only one card left that could complete his winning combination — and if Trevor had that card, the odds dropped to below one percent.
“Let’s make this game a bit more exciting, Mr. Barov,” Trevor Man said, eyeing Ardi’s chips as he pushed forward three hundred and fifty exes — the exact amount Ardan had left. “From what I gather, you joined us here to show off your best qualities and maybe offer yourself up as a candidate for our Star Engineering division.”
“The thought did cross my mind,” Ardan admitted.
It had, in fact, once occurred to him. In those wretched months when he’d searched fruitlessly for a job in the Metropolis, he had even submitted a résumé to Bri-&-Man, only to receive the same rejection as everywhere else.
“Well then, if you make the right decision now, I’ll personally review your résumé,” Man said at last, his gaze matching his smile — he looked like a confident predator ready to pounce. “I’m not going to say what that decision is, so think carefully.”
He didn’t even glance at Tarik, who still hadn’t decided on the bet, as if he already knew the man would fold. And indeed, that was exactly what happened. Tarik tossed his cards away, grabbed his glass of whiskey, clambered awkwardly out of the too-tight chair, and headed toward the snack table in silence.
Ardi, without blinking an eye — though on the inside, it felt as if every cat in the Metropolis was clawing at his rib cage, protesting the loss of those exes, even if they had technically been provided by the Second Chancery — pushed his own chips forward.
Trevor Man’s eyes shone with disappointment.
“Foolish, young man,” he said with a sigh. “You must know your odds of winning are about as good as us encountering a dragon on the trip back to the Metropolis. Less than one percent. Not worth the risk.”
He flipped over his cards. Naturally, he had four of a kind: four different suits represented by five soldiers, a five-headed dragon, a mage with five spell seals, and a crown with five points.
And that meant Ardi was missing his crucial Five of Crowns — he wouldn’t be able to complete the half-suit. Obeying the rules, he too revealed his hand.
“Just as I thought,” Man said with a smirk. “You were aiming for the half-suit of Crowns… not a bad idea, young man. Unfortunately, you didn’t succeed, and-”
“Excuse me for interrupting, Mr. Man,” Ardan said, pushing his cards forward. “But there are two cards in the deck — the Fae Queens — that can take any form, correct?”
Man leaned in closer.
“Simply because I admire your audacity,” he hissed, reptile-like, but without malice, the thrill of the gamble practically intoxicating him, “I’ll allow you to waste the final hand of my night. I need to open the auction soon, but… let’s see. Maybe Lady Luck truly has graced you. Such people are always welcome at my company.”
But if Ardan’s last year was anything to go by, luck — aside from him meeting Tess — had never shown him much favor. In fact, if Lady Luck knew he existed, she clearly hated him.
With one tiny exception…
The dealer reached for the deck and cut the cards.
…The cowboys had never let Ardi gamble at their table again not because he could figure out who held which cards, or who was bluffing, but simply because…
Onto the table fell the fifth and final card: a woman whose face was split into three parts. On the right, she was a young, beautiful girl; in the center, she looked like a mature woman wise with age; and on the left, she was a hideous, vengeful crone.
The Queen of Winter. Mistress of Air and Darkness.
…Ardi had unbelievably, almost disgustingly good luck at high-stakes card games — the kind of luck that made other players reach for their knives and revolvers. But it only worked with big bets.
“Mr. Barov wins the hand,” the dealer announced in a shaky tone, clearly stunned, but he didn’t move the chips in Ardan’s direction until Trevor Man burst out laughing. That drew the attention of everyone at the nearby tables.
“By the Eternal Angels, Mr. Barov,” he said, “thank you for at least making these last few minutes of play worth spending the evening in the company of these small-minded, dull bores.” Ignoring his table neighbors’ outraged stares, he produced a business card from inside his jacket and carelessly tossed it onto the table. “Come to the central office. Even though I had something else in mind for ‘the right decision,’ I’ll concede that I misjudged you. I’ll personally review your résumé, as promised. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an auction to begin. And you, young man, would be wise to cash those chips in for exes. I’m sure, as a future Imperial Mage, that you’ll find a few of the lots quite interesting.”
Without bowing to anyone, Trevor Man left.
Ardan moved the chips onto a tray, rose on unsteady legs, and, leaning on his staff, headed back to the croupier. The croupier’s once-dead eyes now showed something like surprise — even admiration.
Ardi set the tray down in front of the young man. He swiftly and skillfully counted everything out, returning the chips to their racks.
“One thousand, four hundred and ninety exes,” he announced. “Would you like that as a check or in cash?”
“A check,” Ardan said.
“In your name?”
Ardi struggled for a few moments with the urge to leave the name field blank, but these weren’t truly his funds — they belonged to the Chancery’s treasury. And he was no thief. Whatever he was, it wasn’t that.
“Yes,” Ardi finally replied. “Please make it out to Kerid Barov.”
The croupier nodded, took out a checkbook pre-stamped and signed by Trevor Man, entered the information, then tore out the ridged sheet with a crisp sound and handed it to Ardan.
He was about to thank the man when a scream erupted in the room, one that was markedly different from the laughter or exclamations of an excited winner. No, it was a cry of fear, the desperate wail of someone whose inner animal was panicking and searching for an escape. And it wasn’t just one person screaming.
Into the hall strode a vampire Ardi knew all too well — the last of the trio that served the Spiders — holding the severed head of the ship’s captain by the hair. The same captain whose portrait hung in a frame in the upper deck’s foyer, alongside portraits of the other officers. Accompanying him were several masked figures.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the vampire declared, flinging the captain’s head forward. It rolled across the floor like a ball, leaving a trail of blood behind it and coming to rest at the feet of the horrified elite. “We hereby expropriate this vessel. We’d like to ask you to remain calm, and no one will be harmed… no one, that is, except Trevor Man.”
Ardan recalled Arkar’s words:
“In any case, based on my experience, all those brilliant schemes, Ard, always go to shi… end up failing in the worst way possible, I mean.”
Comments
John
Thanks!
Lorcogoth
Since the card that won him the game was "the Queen of Fey" . You might be on to something.
Andrew Simpson
So Ardan have reliably good luck but only at cards and only when it counts sound alike a weird fey deal he brokered as a kid and doesn't remember or something. It's not just a quirk, it's reliable enough for him to stake the mission on. That sounds like something that matters
