‘Ugh.’ The General almost laughs.
‘Live contraband,’ Falco murmurs, ‘must be thousands of credits’ worth here.’
‘Drop the weapons and get moving,’ the guard with the gun orders, nudging us towards a set of stairs.
A man stands behind the bar, watching us pass with dull eyes, until he notices the General.
‘Here, Ona,’ he says. ‘Can’t the kid stay with me? I’ll watch her, she don’t need to see that shit up there.’ He smiles at the General; a sickly expression. ‘Got a bottle of nice, fresh cactus syrup here, little lady.’
The General’s eyes flick to the pistol that hangs at the man’s hip. ‘Gee, mister, that’s mighty kind—’
‘Save it. She ain’t no kid. Anyway, Boss wants to see them all.’ The guard meets my eyes. ‘We’ve been waiting for you.’
* * *
At the guard’s knock, the door swings open, dazzling us with light. I squint as, slowly, the room beyond takes shape. There are windows on every side. Beneath each of them a mirror bounces the desert light like a slap. At the centre of that glare sits a figure, someone with deep brown, searching eyes that look into mine.
Valdosta.
A gun in my back pushes me forwards. The more I stare, the more I feel as if my mind is slipping loose. It is Valdosta, I’m sure of it, and yet there are impossible differences. This person is missing the tip of one ear; they have tattoos, old and faded across their knuckles that I’m certain the charlatan Valdosta lacked. The hair is the same, black and curling, but the shimmering paint and the twirling ribbons are gone, replaced by a tight-fitting outfit of silver-shot black that must have come from a city planet. Their thickly lined eyes are almost all pupil, despite the harsh glare. I shudder, doubting my own mind, my own memories.
Not for the first time.
‘They got past the gate, Boss,’ the guard with the gun says. ‘Melc brought them here.’
Valdosta breaks my gaze at last and looks over the others.
‘Yes, Melc had that one use left.’
I squeeze my eyes closed, against the confusion, against the throbbing ache gathering in my head.
‘Please,’ the Augur says. ‘I must finish some business before I am at leisure to talk.’
We are herded to a set of battered chairs set between two long mirrors. Pegeen immediately lowers Boots onto one, propping her up. The General throws herself into another, sprawling out a leg as she stares moodily at her own reflection. Falco raises an eyebrow at me. I catch a glimpse of my face: bewildered and pale beneath the windburn, repeated by the mirrors again and again. I swallow down nausea.
Two more guards come through the door, dragging a figure wearing a bloodied, faded blue uniform of the Free Limits.
‘Hello, Four,’ the Augur says lazily. ‘I told you there was no use in running.’
The man in the uniform looks at us, as if we will help. One of his eyes is swollen shut. When none of us moves, he spits bloody foam at Valdosta.
‘Fuck you, dogboss.’
The Augur smiles. ‘In another life maybe. In this one, we seem to be pitted against each other. But I’ll be fair, Four. I will give you the same chance I give everybody.’ They gesture, and one of the guards places a low table before them. It holds a collection of objects; all games of chance, all banned in the townships. There are bits of straw, playing cards, even metal coins from old Earth. The shivers that run beneath my skin grow stronger when I see a set of dice, the same that clattered across Sorry Damovitch’s bar.
‘So,’ the Augur asks, ‘will you play?’
The man sniffs, wiping his bleeding nose on his sleeve. ‘If I win?’
‘You can be on your way.’
The man peers at the table. ‘They’re rigged.’
‘I am a servant of fate. Why would I tamper with their instruments?’
I look up sharply. Their. My heart beats faster.
‘The bones,’ the man says.
Immediately, the Augur scoops up the old, yellowed dice and sends them spinning across the table.
‘Fever five. Not bad.’
The man snatches the dice and holds them to his chest, before casting them.
Two twos.
He swears violently.
The Augur rolls. A four and a six.
‘Ten.’ Their eyes flick to mine. ‘How fitting.’
Fear-sweat prickles my skin. The man’s hands tremble as he snatches the dice. Deep in my chest, something lurches as he casts them a final time.
‘Snake eyes.’ The Augur smiles.
Guards step forwards without a word, grabbing the man by the arms.
‘No!’ He tries to scramble away but there’s nowhere to run. One of the guards tugs a bolt from a metal door in the wall and throws it open. The wind howls in, sending playing cards flying, filling the air with dust. Below, the crater yawns.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m on my feet, reaching for the knife hidden in my jacket. A life is a life. The tally demands it. But then, to my disbelief, the Augur holds up a hand, staring at me.
The guards stop. Three inches of floor between the man and death.
‘Release him.’
Briskly, the guards back up and drop the sobbing man to the floor.
‘You are lucky, Four,’ the Augur says. ‘Providence has spoken for you.’
The man in the uniform does not wait around to give thanks, just scrambles for the stairs. The Augur watches him go.
‘He will be dead within the hour.’ They sigh, before meeting my eyes once again. ‘Wouldn’t you say, Ten?’
* * *
‘I would shake your hand,’ the Augur says, smiling around at us. ‘But you are all covered in Rook blood.’
It’s true, our clothes and faces are filthy from the road, stained with dirt and streaks of fuel from the downed craft.
‘They’ve been here? The Rooks?’ Falco is rattled.
The Augur points to the mirrors. ‘No. I saw it all in the glass. I saw that you would arrive here, the five of you, though I do not see you leaving together.’
‘I don’t like threats,’ Falco says. ‘And
