Blind God's Bluff A Billy Fox Novel - By Richard Lee Byers Page 0,97
rainbow flop, and an eight came on the turn. I’d lucked my way into two pair, and I was almost positive the Pharaoh hadn’t improved.
By then, I don’t suppose I was able to keep what I felt from showing in my face. Anyway, the Pharaoh somehow realized I was ahead. I could tell it from the way his dry, sunken eyes narrowed, and the way his mouth tightened. A speck of dry rot dropped from his lower lip.
As he dealt the last card, I was suddenly sure he was going to use magic to turn things around. Maybe to change the river into something that matched a pocket pair and made trips. I flashed the Thunderbird and poured energy into it. Timon had said that defense was my strength, and I just willed my power to protect me.
It took so much out of me that I passed out. When I came to, it was to the sound of chips rattling and clinking.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I realized I was slumped across the table. I shoved at it and groggily lifted my head. It looked like I’d only been out a few seconds. The Pharaoh was raking chips from the pot.
The pot that didn’t belong to him. Because he’d turned over pocket jacks, and the river was a blank. Which meant he’d never improved.
“No,” I wheezed, and spit dripped out of my mouth. Heart pounding like it was going to tear itself apart, hand shaking, I fumbled over my cards. “Two pair. I win. You’re out.”
“If I simply take the chips anyway,” he answered, “do you think that you can stop me?”
“‘There’s gamesmanship,’” I quoted, “‘and then there’s mere brutality.’”
He looked for me for a second, and then laughed. “Touché, mortal, touché. The pot and the tournament are yours.”
And just like that, the pain and the sickness disappeared. In fact, I felt great. It was like all the life the hex had sucked out of me flooded back in an instant.
I stood up and shook the mummy’s hand. His fingers felt light and brittle like papier-mâché, and even though I’d figured out he wasn’t as fragile as he looked, I still made sure I didn’t really squeeze.
The spectators applauded, some politely, some like they meant it. A’marie was one of the ones with a big grin on her face. I winked at her.
Then I noticed the one guy who wasn’t clapping. No points for guessing it was Wotan. His bloodshot eyes glared at me, and his hairy, tattooed hands repeatedly clenched on the scabbard of the ruined sword lying across his thighs.
I didn’t like all that hatred coming my way, but I told myself that with the tournament over, it didn’t really matter. Timon was my problem now. I looked at his face, but his polite little tight-lipped smile wasn’t easy to read.
Whatever he was feeling, satisfaction, relief, resentment, or, most likely, a mix of all of them, I guessed I ought to say something to him. I nodded and said, “There you go. We did it.”
Wotan stood up. “‘We?’”
“Yeah,” I said, “we. Timon coached me. He taught me magic. I couldn’t have made it without him.”
Wotan shrugged those ginormous shoulders. “I’m sure that’s true, human. I just wonder whether you really believe it. Because, if you respected Timon as is his due, how could you ever have dared to treat him as you did?”
Leticia glided up to him and touched him on the forearm. I felt a little tingle in my arm just from imagining how it felt. “The game’s over, darling man,” she purred. “It’s time to relax and share a toast.”
“And for Timon to take possession of his winnings,” said the Pharaoh.
The Tuxedo Team brought in a little wooden chest. One guy carried it, while four others surrounded it like guards. They set it on the poker table and then brought out six musty-smelling rolls of parchment tied with faded ribbon. I figured they were the deeds to the fiefs.
The lords gathered around in the pool of light under the chandelier, and then everybody but Timon swore an oath renouncing all claim to whatever he or she had bet. The Pharaoh gave up Pedernales, in the Dominican Republic; Wotan, Dubois, Wyoming, and a bunch of land surrounding it; Queen, a piece of Mexico City; and Leticia, Cincinnati. She also read a statement Gimble had left behind forfeiting Toms River, New Jersey. It was quite a haul, and Timon’s tight little smile gradually changed to a smirk.