Free The Game of X: A Novel of Upmanship Espionage by Robert Sheckley Page B

friend, you are late. I began to fear that you would not come.”
    “I was unavoidably detained,” I heard myself say in a light, amused voice. “But you should have known that I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
    I had spoken in the voice of vanity: that quality which serves so well in place of courage, and which is almost indistinguishable from it.
     
     

 
    15
     
     
    Behind the stone wall was a barren little garden, and just past that was a house. Karinovsky led me inside, waved me to a chair, and offered me a drink.
    “I cannot honestly recommend the slivovitz,” he said. “Guesci must have sent it as a joke. But the Lachryma Christi, despite its unconvivial name, is an honest drink.
    I took wine and studied the man I had come to rescue. Karinovsky’s left arm was carried high on his chest in a black silk sling. Aside from that, he seemed as tough and competent as ever. I had forgotten the faintly Mongol tilt to his eyes, and how his black hair was touched with a distinguished feather of gray. He had that look of amused and ironic detachment which comes to men who live through rapid changes of fortune; South American presidents, for example. I was glad I had come, and hoped I could be of service.
    “How is your arm?” I asked.
    “Serviceable,” he said. “Luckily for me, my attacker was using a mere half inch of point.”
    “That’s enough to cut your throat with.”
    “Such was his intention, which I foiled by a clever movement of my shield-arm. Unfortunately I was lacking a shield.”
    “What did you do?”
    “I decided that the fellow was entirely too fast for an old fellow like me,” Karinovsky said, spreading his hands in a pathetic gesture. “So I slowed him down by the simple expedient of breaking his back.”
    I nodded, wanting to applaud but restraining myself. I have always been a sucker for the grand manner.
    “But you also seem to have had your troubles,” Karinovsky said, glancing at my torn left leg.
    “A scratch,” I assured him. “It was my misfortune to meet a man with extremely sharp shoes.”
    “One meets all kinds in Venice,” Karinovsky said, and settled back comfortably in his chair. All part of the grand manner. But a little irritating, since the success of his pose depended upon my playing the alarmed straight man.
    I was damned if I was going to do it. I took out my, cigarettes, offered one to Karinovsky, lit one for myself. We blew out gray plumes of contented smoke. I thought I heard footsteps in the garden. Karinovsky offered me another drink. The iron gate rattled suddenly. I decided to play the straight man.
    “All right,” I said. “What do you suggest we do now?”
    “1 suggest that you rescue me.”
    “And how do you suggest that I go about it?”
    Karinovsky flicked ash from the end of his cigarette. “Knowing your boundless resources, my friend, and your collection of varied skills, I have no doubt that you can find a way. Unless, of course, you prefer to follow Guesci’s somewhat dubious scheme.”
    “Dubious?”
    “Perhaps I don’t do it justice,” Karinovsky said. “Guesci’s plan is certainly very ingenious. Perhaps a little too ingenious, if you know what I mean.”
    “I don’t. I don’t even know what his plan is.”
    “It will amuse you,” Karinovsky said. “It is based, of course, upon your renowned and diverse talents.”
    I felt a sudden cold chill. What had Guesci planned for us? And what did it have to do with the talents of Agent X? I tried to remember what accomplishments were imputed to me, and I couldn’t. I felt that it was time to clear up the situation.
    “Karinovsky,” I said, “about those skills—”
    “Yes?” he said pleasantly.
    “I’m afraid they may have become exaggerated in the retelling.”
    “Nonsense,” he said.
    “No, really. As a matter of fact, I’m quite an untalented person.”
    Karinovsky laughed. “It is apparent that you are given to sudden attacks of modesty,” he said. “It is a