Free The Black Company: The First Novel of 'The Chronicles of The Black Company' by Glen Cook Page B

of Oar. They say both Raker and the Limper flew into insane rages. I figure Soulcatcher ate that up.
    *   *   *
    One-Eye flipped a card into the discard pile. He muttered, “Somebody’s sandbagging.”
    Goblin snapped the card up, spread four knaves and discarded a queen. He grinned. You knew he was going down next time, holding nothing heavier than a deuce. One-Eye smacked the tabletop, hissed. He hadn’t won a hand since sitting down.
    “Go low, guys,” Elmo warned, ignoring Goblin’s discard. He drew, scrunched his cards around just inches from his face, spread three fours and discarded a deuce. He tapped his remaining pair, grinned at Goblin, said, “That better be an ace, Chubby.”
    Pickles snagged Elmo’s deuce, spread four of a kind, discarded a trey. He plied Goblin with an owl-like stare that dared him to go down. It said an ace would not keep him from getting burned.
    I wished Raven were there. His presence made One-Eye too nervous to cheat. But Raven was on turnip patrol, which is what we called the weekly mission to Oar to purchase supplies. Pickles had his chair.
    Pickles is Company quartermaster. He usually went on turnip patrol. He begged off this one because of stomach troubles.
    “Looks like everybody was sandbagging,” I said, and glared at a hopeless hand. Pair of sevens, pair of eights, and a nine to go with one of the eights, but no run. Almost everything I could use was in the discard pile. I drew. Sumbitch. Another nine, and it gave me a run. I spread it, dumped the off seven, and prayed. Prayer was all that could help.
    One-Eye ignored my seven. He drew. “Damn!” He dumped a six on the bottom of my straight and discarded a six. “The moment of truth, Porkchop,” he told Goblin. “You going to try Pickles?” And, “These Forsbergers are crazy. I’ve never seen anything like them.”
    We had been in the fortress a month. It was a little big for us, but I liked it. “I could get to like them,” I said. “If they could just learn to like me.” We had beaten off four counterattacks already. “Shit or get off the pot, Goblin. You know you got me and Elmo licked.”
    Pickles ticked the corner of his card with his thumbnail, stared at Goblin. He said, “They’ve got a whole Rebel mythos up here. Prophets and false prophets. Prophetic dreams. Sendings from the gods. Even a prophecy that a child somewhere around here is a reincarnation of the White Rose.”
    “If the kid’s already here, how come he’s not pounding on us?” Elmo asked.
    “They haven’t found him yet. Or her. They have a whole tribe of people out looking.”
    Goblin chickened. He drew, sputtered, discarded a king. Elmo drew and discarded another king. Pickles looked at Goblin. He smiled a small smile, took a card, did not bother looking at it. He tossed a five onto the six One-Eye had dumped on my run and flipped his draw into the discard pile.
    “A five?” Goblin squeaked. “You were holding a five? I don’t believe it. He had a five.” He slapped his ace onto the tabletop. “He had a damned five.”
    “Temper, temper,” Elmo admonished. “You’re the guy who’s always telling One-Eye to simmer down, remember?”
    “He bluffed me with a damned five?”
    Pickles wore that little smile as he stacked his winnings. He was pleased with himself. He had pulled a good bluff. I would have bet he was holding an ace myself.
    One-Eye shoved the cards to Goblin. “Deal.”
    “Oh, come on. He was holding a five, and I got to deal too?”
    “It’s your turn. Shut up and shuffle.”
    I asked Pickles, “Where’d you hear that reincarnation stuff?”
    “Flick.” Flick was the old man Raven had saved. Pickles had overcome the old man’s defenses. They were getting thick.
    The girl went by the name Darling. She had taken a big shine to Raven. She followed him around, and drove the rest of us crazy sometimes. I was glad Raven had gone to town. We would not see much of Darling till he got back.
    Goblin dealt.