Blind God's Bluff A Billy Fox Novel - By Richard Lee Byers Page 0,103

to delegate… ”

“Sure,” I said. The memory of being Shadow was like a shame hangover, and the thought of dishing out any more violence, even to a man-eating monster who was already dead, made me sick to my stomach.

“Then Davis will attend to it.” The Pharaoh smiled down at the corpse. “Let’s see how well you cope with decapitation.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When I felt up to it, I finally went home. I couldn’t see a point to staying in Timon’s hotel when he wasn’t likely to give me any more magic lessons, and when the only guy I might need protection from was him.

I still had Old People looking me up, but they—A’marie, Epunamlin, and others—were all on my side. They told me that while Timon waited for his eyes to heal, he was making a tour of his new fiefs, popping in on the unfortunate new vassals by private jet.

Since I could use all the prep time I could get, I hoped he’d stay away for a while. But it was just a week later that he called me back to the Icarus.

With Queen, Gimble, Leticia, Wotan, and their entourages gone, fewer candles burning, and fewer of the Tuxedo Team on duty, the place seemed darker and more like an actual abandoned building. My footsteps echoed as I crossed the lobby.

But not everything was gloomy and creepy. I could see excitement in the servants’ eyes. After watching me win the tournament and kill Wotan, they believed I might really be able to help them.

I hoped they were right.

Timon and the Pharaoh were waiting for me in the Grand Ballroom. They both looked better than when I’d seen them last. Timon’s eyes were okay, and the mummy had gotten rid of the head brace and the wheelchair. Instead, he had an ivory cane with a gold crook on the end. When he saw me, he started to use it to heave himself up from his seat at the oval conference table.

“Don’t get up,” I said, stepping into the air polluted by his smoke and Timon’s funk. “Let’s just shake.”

He gave me his hand, and then, scowling, Timon did, too. It made me wish for some Purell, but I minded my manners and didn’t even wipe my fingers on the leg of my jeans. Not until I took my seat, and it was less obvious.

“So,” said the Pharaoh, “a competition in dream. Given that the possibilities are limited only by your imaginations, I’m curious to hear what you’ll come up with.”

“During the poker game,” I said, trying to sound casual, “you lords talked about racing. I’d be up for that.”

The Pharaoh smiled. “The sport of kings.”

Timon sneered. “And perhaps he assumes that I, who look like a beggar in his eyes, know nothing about it.”

Assumed, no. Hoped, yes. “The point,” I said, “is that I know something about it. I street-raced when I was a kid. And I’m not going to bet my life on a game I know nothing about.”

The Pharaoh turned his dry, sunken eyes on Timon. “Since you have the advantage of playing in your seat of power, it does seem equitable to allow your opponent to choose the contest.”

Timon snorted. “My opponent isn’t a lord. He should have to play whatever I want. But I agreed to let you officiate. So if you want a race, I have no objection.”

“But I’ve got some conditions,” I said. “Rules I need to give me a fighting chance.”

The Pharaoh stubbed out one cheroot and reached for his gold cigarette case. “And what might those be?”

“First off, no flying, and no blinking from one spot to another. We have to move on the ground, and we have to cover all of it.”

Timon shrugged. “Agreed.”

“Second, we can use magic, but not the kind that gets in the other guy’s head. We can’t turn each other into little kids, or make each other see things that aren’t there.”

“Agreed,” Timon repeated.

“Third, we’ll race through your private Tampa. And it has to stay Tampa. You can’t change the geography or the street plan. No fair dropping the Grand Canyon in front of me to keep me from getting where I need to go.”

“Agreed.”

We were all quiet for a second. Then the Pharaoh asked, “Is that everything?”

“I guess so,” I said.

Timon laughed. “And do you really think those limitations have pulled my fangs? I almost feel sorry for you.”

I grinned. “Big talk. But if you were sure you could beat me, you wouldn’t have given Wotan permission to