of dismay that followed. A woman’s voice exclaimed, “That’s wonderful. Now I can sue for damages!” Hands clapped. Whoever it was sounded gleefully malicious, but no one else said a thing in reply. Instead there came a clicking sound and the words, “A nine!” and Leodora quite suddenly knew what was going on.
The remaining distance she walked with less concern, then around the stacked boxes that served as a wall enclosing the game. Indeed, it was definitely a game.
Five players—two women and three men—sat in a circle upon wicker chests and boxes. One sat on a leather drum. In the center they’d set up an equally makeshift playing surface—a large flat cloth that was covered in symbols, lines, squares, and two piles of cards. The light came from lanterns hung from the arms of two more statues placed on opposite sides of the game. The players all held cards, and when she appeared they turned as one to see her. At first they gaped, but then they smiled to her. “Fresh meat,” said one of the women. She stood. “Find her a seat.”
“You composing poetry now, Meg?” asked the skinny man across from her.
“Could if I wanted,” she answered, then to Leodora, “Come in, come in. We need another player, you’ve no idea—someone whose tricks we don’t know yet.”
“Hang on, now, my dear,” said another of the men. “She could be here for supplies. You here for supplies, girl?”
“No,” replied Leodora.
“Lost, then?”
“Not exactly. That is, I know how I got here.”
The second woman laughed, revealing a mouthful of crooked teeth. “If you know that, then you’re ahead of most of us. Come and sit.” She tugged at the wide wicker case she perched on, dragging it to the side to give Leodora a place to perch beside her. “Tight quarters but still room enough, heh?” Leodora circled them and sat on the end of the case. “I’m Garna,” said the woman. “That’s Meg, then Pelorie, Hamen, and Chork.”
“Leodora.”
“Now, there’s a name. Brave name,” said Chork.
“How would you know that?” asked Hamen. He had a flushed, dissolute face, but friendly. “You don’t even go up to the surface anymore.”
Chork was wall-eyed and she shifted her gaze from one eye to the other, trying to determine which to look at. He said meanwhile, “Never mind how—I just know it from the sound. So tell us, do you know how to play?”
She looked at the cloth, the four dice, the game pieces, which looked to be whatever had been lying about—a cork, two pebbles, a striated shell, and a heavy ring set with a green stone. “This is what I think it is?”
“It is if what you’re thinking is Lawyers’ Poker. We don’t have a judge. You need a minimum of six to play with a judge. So we been taking turns as needed. It’s not the same, though, is it?”
Leodora didn’t want to disappoint them. “I can try,” she said. She had never played the game and knew of it only as referenced in one of the stories of Meersh.
“Well, then, toss in your cards,” instructed Pelorie. “We’ll deal a new game.” He raked the cards into a heap and began to shuffle them.
Off in the distance someone called, “Coo-ee! Lignor Alley!”
“Damn,” said Hamen. He got up, groaning, stretching his stocky frame. “I’ll be right back then.” He lifted the lantern behind him from the statue’s arm and walked off. His voice echoed back: “What’s it want?”
“Lingonberry wine!” came the reply.
Chork scratched his ear. “I’m sure there’s some left that we haven’t drunk.” The others chuckled.
“Maybe one or two bottles were overlooked,” added Meg.
As if in response, Pelorie set down the cards, lifted a bottle, uncorked it, and drank. He passed it on to Garna, but placed the cork on the board. “This’ll serve as your piece, Leodora.”
She nodded.
He said, “So, what is it you’re doing down here, then? Nobody ever comes down here.”
“I saw it when we arrived. We came on a ship and they had mostly cargo, so when we climbed up I saw the goods hauled in.”
“That was us all right,” agreed Garna. She handed her the bottle. “But how’d you figure to come visiting? Lots of people go up them steps—or used to. They don’t usually come swinging in here on a rope.”
“I’m a storyteller. I thought—”
“Oh, what kinds of stories?” Meg asked.
“Shadowplays.”
“A puppeteer?”
She nodded.
“You’ll want to take that drink today,” urged Chork.
Leodora took a pull from the bottle. The liquor was sharp and sweet at the same