Fiddler's Games

 

Let’s hear the next rule.’

Fiddler sat forward. ‘Knight of House Dark is the wild card,’ he said. ‘That’s the opening suit, too. Unless you’re holding the Virgin of Death. If you get her you can open with half ante and double up if you win the round.’

Mallet slapped down the Virgin of Death. He tossed a single copper coin into the centre of the table. ‘Let’s run it through, then.’

Fiddler dealt the man another card. ‘We ante up now, Hedge, two coppers apiece and High Hell come the Herald of Death.’ Lorn watched the bizarre game proceed. These men were using a Deck of Dragons. Astonishing. The man Fiddler was inventing the rules as they went along, and yet she watched the cards merge into a pattern on the tabletop. Her brows knitted thoughtfully.

‘You got the Hound on the run,’ Fiddler said, pointing at the latest card placed on the table by Mallet. ‘Knight of Dark’s close, I can feel it.’

‘But what about this damned Virgin of Death?’ groused the healer.

‘She’s had her teeth pulled. Take a look, the Rope’s right outa the picture, ain’t he?’ Fiddler laid another card. ‘And there’s the Dragon bastard himself, sword all smoking and black as a moonless night. That’s what’s got the Hound scampering.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Hedge cried, ramming down a card atop the Knight of Dark. ‘You said the Captain of Light’s rising, right?’

Fiddler concentrated on the pattern. ‘He’s right, Mallet. We pay over two coppers each automatically. That Captain’s already dancing on the Knight’s shadow—’...

‘Now, ain’t that odd?’ Fiddler remarked. ‘Throne, inverted. You owe us all ten gold each – a year’s pay for all of us, hell of a coincidence.’

Hedge snorted loudly. ‘Also happens to be the Empire Guilt Coin paid to our kin once we’re confirmed dead. Thanks a lot, Fid.’

‘Take the coin and shut up,’ Fiddler snapped. ‘We ain’t dead yet.’

‘I’m still holding a card,’ Mallet said.

Fiddler rolled his eyes. ‘So let’s see the damn thing, then.’

The healer set the card down.

‘Orb.’ Fiddler laughed. ‘True sight and judgement closes this game, wouldn’t you know it?’ (GotM, UK Trade, p.428-9)

 

Fiddler's Game from The Bonehunters

 

'First rule. Wine. Everybody gets a cup. Except the dealer, he gets rum. Go to it Bottle.'

As the young soldier rose Fiddler collected the cards. 'Player on dealer's right has to serve drinks during the first hand.' He flung out a card, face-down, and it slid crookedly to halt in front of Quick Ben. 'High Mage has last card. Last card's dealt out first, but not shown until the end'.

Bottle came back with cups. He set the first one down in front of the Adjunct, then T'amber, Keneb, Quick, Kalam, Apsalar, Fiddler and finally one into the place before his empty chair. As he returned with two jugs, one of wine and the other Falari rum, Fiddler held up a hand and halted him.

In quick succession the sergeant flung out cards, matching the order Bottle had used in setting down the cards.

Suddenly, eight face-up cards marked the field, and Fiddler, gesturing Bottle over with the rum, began talking. 'Dealer gets Soldier of High House Life but it's bittersweet, meaning it's for him and him alone, given this late hour. Empty Chair gets Weaver of Life and she needs a bath but nobody's surprised by that. So we get two Life's to start.' Fiddler watched as Bottle poured rum unto his cup. 'And that's why Kalam's looking at an Unaligned. Obelisk, the Sleeping Godess - you're getting a reversed field, Kal, sorry but there's nothing to be done for it'. He downed his rum and held out his cup again, interrupting Bottle's efforts to fill the others with wine. 'Apsalar's got Assassin of High House Shadow, oh, isn't that a surprise. It's the only card she gets-'.

'You mean I win?' she asked, one brow lifting sardonically.

'And lose, too. Nice move, interrupting me like that,you're catching on. Now, nobody else say a damned thing unless you want to up the ante. He drank down his second cupful. 'Poor Quick Ben, he's got Lifeslayer to deal with, and that puts him in a hole, but not the hole he thinks he's in - a different hole. Now T'amber, she's opened the game with that card. Throne, and it's shifting every which way. The pivot card, then -'

'What's a pivot card/' Bottle asked, finally sitting down.

'Bastard - knew I couldn't trust you. It's the hinge, of course. Finish that wine - you got to drink rum now. You're a sharp one, ain't you? Now Fist Keneb, well, that's a curious one. Lord of Wolves, the throne card of High House War, and aren't they looking baleful - Fist, where's Grub hiding these days?'

'On Nok;s ship,' Keneb replied, bewildered and strangely frightened.

'Well, that knocks you outa the game, though you still get four more cards, since we've made a course correction and the northeast headlands rising up two pegs to starboard. In seventy heartbeats we'll be sliding closest to that rocky coast, and Nok's ship will be even closer, and Grub will dive overboard. He's got three friends living in the caves in the cliff and here are their cards -' Three more skidded out to just beyond the centre of the table. 'Crown, Sceptre, Orb. Hmm, let's ignore those for now.'

Keneb half-rose. 'Diving overboard?'

'Relax, he'll be back. So, we get to the Adjunct's card. House of War, Guardians of the Road, or the Dead - title's uncertain so take your pick.' He threw another card and it slid up beside it. 'Oponn. As I thought. Decisions yet to be made. Will it be the Push or the Pull? And what's that got to do with this one?' A skitter, ending up in the middle, opposite both Kalam and Quick Ben - 'Herald of High House Death. A distinctly inactive and out-of-date card in this field, but I see a Rusty Gauntlet -'

'A what?' demanded Kalam Mekahr.

'Right here before me. A new drink that Bottle in his inebriated state just invented. Rum and wine - half and half, soldier, fill us up - you too, that's what you get for making that face.'

Keneb rubbed at his own face. He'd taken but a single mouthful of the wine, but he felt drunk. Hot in here. He stared as four cards appeared in a row in front of the one already before him.

'Spinner of Death, Queen of Dark, Queen of Life and, ho, the King in Chains. Like hopping stones across a stream, isn't it? Expecting to see your wife any time soon, Fist? Forget it. She's set you aside for an Untan noble, and my, if it isn't Extant Hadar -I bet he kept his gaze averted back then, probably ignored you outright, that's both guilt and smugness, you know. Must have been the weak chin that stole her heart - but look at you, sir, you look damned relieved, and that's a hand that tops us all and even though you were out when it comes to winning you're back in when it comes to losing, but in this case you win when you lose, so relax.'

'Well,' muttered Bottle, 'hope I nev'win one a theez'ands.'

'No,' Fiddler said to him, 'you got it easy. She plays and she takes, and so -' A card clattered before the owl-eyed soldier. 'Deathslayer. You can sleep now, Bottle, you're done, as done for the night.'

The man's eyes promptly closed, and he slid down from his chair, the piece of furniture scraping back. Keneb heard the man's head thump on the boards, once.

Yes, that'd be nice. Extent Hadar. Gods, woman, really!

'So how does Kalam get from Herald Death to Obelisk? Let's see. Ah, King of High House Shadows! That shifty slime bung, oh, doesn't he look smug! Despite the sweat on his upper lip - who's gone all chilled in here? Hands up, please.'

Reluctantly.. Kalam, T'amber, then Apsalar all lifted hands.

'Well, that's as ugly as ugly gets - you've got the bottles now, Apsalar, now that Bottle's corked. This one's for you T'amber. Virgin of Death, as far as you go. You're out, so relax. Kalam's cold, but he don't get another card 'cause he don't need one and now I know who gets pushed and who gets pulled and I'll add the name to the dirge to come. Now for the hot bloods. Quick Ben gets the Consort in Chains but he's from Seven Cities and he just saved his sister's life so it's not as bad as it could've been. Anyway, that's it for you. And so, who does that leave?'

 

Fiddlers reading from Dust of Dreams

 

"Spinner of Death, Knight of Shadow, Master of the Deck."  Fiddler's voice was a cold, almost inhuman growl.  "Table holds them, but not the rest."  And he started flinging cards, and each one he threw shot like a plate of iron to a lodestone, striking one person after another – hard against their chests, staggering them back a step, and with each impact – as Brys stared in horror – the victim was lifted off the floor, chair tumbling away, and slammed against the wall behind them no matter the distance.

The collisions cracked bones.  Backs of heads crunched bloodily on the walls.  

It was all happening too fast, with Fiddler standing as if in the heart of a maelstrom, solid as a deep-rooted tree.

The first struck was the girl, Sinn.  "Virgin of Death."  As the card smacked into her chest it heaved her, limbs flailing, up to a section of wall just beneath the ceiling.  The sound she made when she hit was sickening, and she went limp, hanging like a spiked rag doll.

"Sceptre." 

Grub shrieked, seeking to fling himself to one side, and the card deftly slid beneath him, fixing onto his chest and shoving him bodily across the floor, up against the wall just left of the door.

Quick Ben's expression was one of stunned disbelief as Fiddler's third card slapped against his sternum.  "Magus of Dark."  He was thrown into the wall behind him with enough force to send cracks through the plaster and he hung there, motionless as a corpse on a spike.

"Mason of Death."  Hedge bleated and made the mistake of turning round.  The card struck his back and hammered him face first into the wall, whereupon the card began pushing him upward, leaving a red streak below the unconscious man.

The others followed, quick as a handful of flung stones.  In each, the effect was the same.  Violent impact, walls that shook.  Sanadalath Drukorlat, Queen of Dark.  Lostara Yil, Champion of Life. 

"Obelisk."   Bottle. 

Gesler, Orb.

Stormy, Throne.

 And then Fiddler faced Brys.  "King of Life."

The card flashed out from his hand, glittering like a dagger, and Brys snatched a breath the instant before it struck, eyes closing – he felt the blow, but nowhere near as viciously as had the others, and nothing touched his breast.  He opened his eyes to see the card hovering, shivering, in the air before him.

Above it, he met Fiddler's flat eyes.

The sapper nodded.  "You're needed."

What?

Two remained untouched, and Fiddler turned to the first and nearest of these.  "Banaschar,"  he said.  "You keep poor company.  Fool in Chains."  He drew a card and snapped out his hand.  The ex-priest grunted and was flung back over his chair, whereupon he shot upward to the domed ceiling.  Dust engulfed the man at the impact.

Fiddler now faced the Adjunct.  "You knew, didn't you?"

Staring, pale as snow, she said nothing.

"For you, Tavore Paran … nothing."

 She flinched.

The door suddenly opened, hinges squealing in the frozen silence.

Turudal Brizad stepped into the chamber and then halted.  Turudal … no, of course not.  The Errant.  Who stands unseen behind the Empty Throne.  I wondered when you would show yourself.  Brys realized he had drawn his sword; realized, too, that the Errant was here to kill him – a deed without reason, a desire without motive – at least none fathomable to anyone but the Errant himself.

He will kill me.

And then Fiddler – for his audacity.

And then everyone else here, so that there be no witnesses.

Fiddler slowly turned to study the Errant.  The Malazan's smile was chilling.  "If that card was for you,"  he said,  "it would have left the table the moment you opened the door.  I know, you think it belongs to you.  You think it's yours.  You are wrong."

The Errant's lone eye seemed to flare.  "I am the Master of the Tiles –"

"And I don't care.  Go on then.  Play with your tiles, Elder.  You cannot stand against the Master of the Deck – your time, Errant, is past."

"I have returned!"

As the Errant, raw power building round him, took another stride into the chamber, Fiddler's low words cut into his path.  "I wouldn't do that."

The Elder God sneered.  "Do you think Brys Beddict can stop me?  Can stop what I intend here?"

Fiddler's brows lifted.  "I have no idea.  But if you take one more step, Errant, the Master of the Deck will come through.  Here, now.  Will you face him?  Are you ready for that?"

And Brys glanced to that card lying on the table.  Inanimate, motionless.  It seemed to yawn like the mouth of the Abyss itself, and he suddenly shivered.

Fiddler's quiet challenge had halted the Errant, and Brys saw uncertainty stirred to life on the once-handsome features of Turudal Brizad.

"For what it is worth,"  Brys Beddict said then,  "you would not have made it past me anyway, Errant."

The single eye flicked to him.  "Ridiculous."

"I have lived in stone, Elder One.  I am written with names beyond counting.  The man who died in the throne room is not the man who has returned, no matter what you see."

"You tempt me to crush you,"  the Errant said in a half-snarl.

Fiddler swung round, stared down at the card on the table.  "He is awakened."  He faced the Elder God.  "It may be too late … for you."

And Brys saw the Errant suddenly step back, once, twice, the third time taking him through the doorway.  A moment later and he vanished from sight.

Bodies were sliding slowly towards the floor.  As far as Brys could see, not one was conscious.  Something eased in the chamber like the release of a breath held far too long.

"Adjunct."

Tavore's attention snapped from the empty doorway back to the sapper.

Spring the ambush.  Find your enemy.

"This wasn't a reading,"  Fiddler said.  "No one here was found.  No one was claimed.  Adjunct, they were marked.  Do you understand?"

"I do,"  she whispered.

"I think,"  Fiddler said, as grief clenched his face,  "I think, I can see the end."

She nodded.

"Tavore,"  said Fiddler, his voice now ragged.  "I am so sorry."

To that, the Adjunct simply shook her head.

 And Brys knew, that while he did not understand everything here, he understood enough.  And if it could have meant anything, anything at all, he would have repeated Fiddler's words to her.  To this Adjunct, this TavoreParan, this wretchedly lonely woman.

At that moment, the limp form of Banaschar settled onto the tabletop, like a corpse being lowered on a noose.  As he came to rest, he groaned.

 Fiddler walked over and collected the card called the Master of the Deck.  He studied it for a moment, and then returned it to the deck in his hands.  Glancing over at Brys, he winked.

"Nicely played, Sergeant."

"Felt so lifeless … still does.  I'm kind of worried."

Brys nodded.  "Even so, the role did not feel … vacant."

"That's true.  Thanks."

"You know this Master?"

"Aye."

"Sergeant, had the Errant called your bluff –"

Fiddler grinned.  "You would've been on your own, sir.  Still, you sounded confident enough."

"Malazans aren't the only ones capable of bluffing."

And, as they shared a true smile, the Adjunct simply stared on, from one man to the other, and said nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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