'Nothing much,' Kaleen said, suddenly evasive. 'Nothing I can't replace.'
'So what are the stakes right now?'
Kaleen's voice dropped to a mumble. 'Tomorrow's wages.' She brightened. 'But I'm in no danger of losing again. I'm about to win everything back. Isn't that right, Mott? You said so yourself.'
Mott started to stand. 'I, uh, have to be going. I just remembered some business elsewhere.'
'Sit down,' Gerard said softly.
Mott sat.
'Now, if I recall the game properly, there should be a crown somewhere that allows one player or the other to assume control of the board.'
Kaleen glanced to the side of the board, where five walnut shells rested. 'Yes, it's under one of those,' she said. 'The player who uses a turn to look under a walnut shell gets a chance at claiming the crown.'
'Under a walnut shell?' Gerard responded pleasantly. 'Now, what do you think of that, Mott? Any chance that crown is really somewhere else?' Gerard's hand shot out, grabbing Mott's left wrist and forcing his palm up. There, slyly held in place by the base of his thumb, was a game piece shaped like a small diadem.
'Well, what do you know,' Gerard said. 'Looks like I guessed where the crown was hidden. That makes me the claimant for the throne.'
In one swift, liquid move, Mott reached with his other hand for a knife. Gerard twisted the man's wrist until there was a snap. Mott screamed and dropped the knife, grabbing for his wrist with his good hand. Gerard let go, and the man bent over his broken wrist, moaning.
'I think you'd best see to that injury, then be moving along out of town,' Gerard said.
'Now, how am I to make a living?' the man gasped.
'Try honest work.' Gerard turned away. 'But do it in some other town. I don't want to find you still here tomorrow.'
'Who are you to order me around?'
'I'm the new sheriff of Solace. And this young woman'-he pointed to Kaleen-'is under my protection. As are all the good citizens of Solace.'
Mott swore and stumbled from the inn, hunched over his broken wrist.
Kaleen was staring at Gerard. 'My goodness! How did you know that piece was there?'
'Just a lucky guess.' Gerard looked around the inn once more, satisfying himself that all else was well, then sat down at Mott's empty place. 'He seems to have left his game behind,' Gerard said, indicating the Regal board. 'Care to play? I can teach you some of the fundamentals.' When she hesitated, he added quickly, 'Not for coin, though. Just for fun.'
She smiled. 'Certainly. It sounds as though I could do with some further practice at it before I encounter the likes of Mott again.'
For the rest of the evening, they played Regal, with Gerard showing her the finer points of the game. She was a quick learner, and by the last game of the night, she actually managed to beat Gerard, without him making too much of an effort to throw the game her way.
That night, Gerard busied himself in his attic room above the inn, stooping to avoid banging his head yet again on the low-hanging rafters. A candle burned with companionable light on the table beside the bed, casting warm, flickering shadows on the walls and ceiling of the cramped space. Gerard could scarcely pace three strides in any direction before bumping into something. Yet for all that, the room was beginning to feel homey and welcoming. From the open window, a soft breeze caressed the bare skin of Gerard's arms and face. The air smelled of green leaves and full-bodied tree sap. Outside, crickets chirped, turning even the greater expanse of night into a friendly presence. Through the tree branches overhead, stars spangled the heavens. Two of the moons hung low against the horizon.
Gerard lifted a spare shirt from his travel bag and laid it neatly in the little wooden wardrobe in one corner of the room. A tattered, leather-bound book emerged from the bag next and was placed lovingly on the table beside the candle, next to the sheriff's medallion he had set there earlier. He sat wearily on the bed, little more than a cot really, and drew a dagger from the inside of his right boot. Then he pulled off his boots and lay down on the bed. Though he was of medium stature, Gerard's feet hung over the end of the bed, forcing him to draw his knees toward his chin. It was little inconvenience, however, as he was used to the harder accommodations of camp life.
He blew out the candle, but his eyes remained open, searching out the night sky through the window. Somewhere in the distance, a rich tenor voice sang a low, mournful song about lost love, possibly some youth serenading his sweetheart beneath her window. Gerard smiled. Farther away, sounds of revelry swelled up briefly as a door opened, then receded when it shut again.
He couldn't sleep. He singled out one star and studied it, thinking of Kaleen and how she had called him Lord Porridge, and how she had smiled each time she managed a particularly bold move at Regal. In the darkness, he flushed again at the memory of her joking name for him.
He was unaware of when his eyes closed and he drifted off at last. Gradually, however, another scene took shape around him. It was night still, but now he stood outside, before the great doors of the Temple of Mishakal. He felt bidden to enter, and approached the six marble steps with reverent awe. As he came closer, the doors swung, drawn wide by some powerful, unseen hand. He stepped into the antechamber, where he was able to walk confidently despite the dark. In fact, with some part of his mind registering this oddity, torchlight sprang up in his dream as if to guarantee the sureness of his steps. Incense hung heavy in the air, and from somewhere deep inside the temple came the slow, dolorous beat of a gong, summoning the faithful to prayer. Yet the temple appeared empty, and Gerard's steps echoed hollowly.
He proceeded through the entryway and into the central chamber. At first glance, everything seemed as before. But after a moment's reflection, he realized there was a difference.
The statue of Mishakal cradled a bloody body in its arms, covered with a tattered cloak. The statue seemed alert, watching Gerard's approach with stony eyes. When he came close enough, the lips of the statue began to move. Gerard struggled to make words out of the shapes formed by the marble lips, but without sounds to accompany the movement, he was at a loss to understand.
'What?' he breathed into the relative silence of the chamber. 'What are you trying to tell me?'
From the agitation on the goddess's face, Gerard gathered the matter involved some urgency, but he was helpless to make sense of what she was saying. He tried to come closer and examine the body she was holding. He wondered if it was Sheriff Joyner. But every time he took one step forward now, the statue receded before him.
So Gerard passed deep into the night, forever taking steps that led nowhere and struggling fruitlessly to comprehend the message the statue was trying to impart to him. His frustration grew as the night lengthened, and his body twitched and jerked unmercifully on his bed.
Across town, Palin lay similarly afflicted in his own bed. Usha, stirred from sleep by her husband's restlessness, debated whether to wake him or let him continue on whatever nighttime journey occupied his soul. In the end, she let him sleep and dream, although she propped herself up and kept watch over him, as if to ward off any dangers he encountered. Palin too spent the night walking toward a statue that stayed out of reach, a statue that held a cloaked and bloody corpse and tried in vain to speak to him. Like Gerard, Palin woke in the morning little refreshed for his sleep, and wondering what the dimly remembered outlines of his dream might portend.
CHAPTER 7
'Hereby call this meeting-'
Gerard caught the speaker in mid-sentence as he rushed in late to the town council meeting. He hurriedly found an empty seat and slumped in it, trying to avoid the curious stares of the council members and others present. Vercleese was already there, Gerard noticed, seated well back in the room.
The speaker, having paused in his words, glared at Gerard. '-call this meeting of the Solace town council to order,' he concluded, scowling around the room as if challenging anyone else to interrupt him.
No one did.
