Eros Descending: Book 3 of Tales of the Velvet Comet Read Online Free PDF Page B

melodically and making a number of graceful but incomprehensible gestures with her hands.
    The Steel Butterfly asked her to repeat what she had done, then nodded, and Titania headed back to her seat.
    “What was that all about?” asked Gold.
    “I think she just bet me two hundred credits that the black horse beats my red one,” said the Steel Butterfly. “I suppose I'll find out for sure once she picks up her translating device.”
    Gold watched the little alien's retreating form.
    “Prostitution and gambling? The Comet seems to specialize in corrupting innocence, be it mechanical or alien.”
    “It's only fair,” replied the Steel Butterfly amiably.
    “She's certainly corrupted enough of our patrons.”
    “Disgusting,” muttered Gold.
    “But pretty,” added the Steel Butterfly as Gold continued to watch the petite faerie.
    Flustered, he self-consciously turned his attention back to the horses, which were cantering up and down the track as the announcer explained that this was not the race itself, but merely a brief warming-up process.
    “Which one do you like, Doctor Gold?” asked Fiona Bradley, leaning forward from her position directly behind him.
    “I have no opinion.”
    “All for the best, I suppose,” she replied. “I've never been to a horserace, but I imagine the trophy presenter should be impartial.”
    “Which one do you like?” asked Plaga.
    “Oh, the red one,” said the gray-haired executive. “He's absolutely gorgeous.”
    “They both look pretty much alike to me,” said Gold.
    “Surely you can't mean that,” interjected Plaga. “The black one looks like he's going to start foaming at the mouth any second.”
    “Perhaps he's just anxious to run,” said Gold.
    “With that lather all over him?” said Plaga smugly.
    “He's already burned up more energy than he'll use in the race.”
    “If you say so.”
    “You think otherwise?” persisted Plaga.
    “I don't know anything about horseracing.”
    “Then perhaps you'd like to make a small wager, so you'll have a rooting interest.”
    “No, thank you,” said Gold. “And I already have a rooting interest.”
    “Oh? Which one?”
    “The one you're all rooting against, of course.”
    “Would you care to put one hundred credits on that?”
    “I don't believe in gambling.”
    “Not even a small friendly bet?” urged Plaga.
    “You are not my friend.”
    Plaga glanced questioningly at Fiona Bradley, but her attention seemed focused on the two horses.
    “Well,” he said condescendingly, “if you haven't the courage of your convictions...”
    “I have always had the courage of my convictions,” said Gold. “That's why you invited me up here, in case it's slipped your mind.”
    “Then why not just admit the red horse looks better to you?”
    “He doesn't.”
    “Of course not,” said Plaga with heavy sarcasm.
    “Are you calling me a liar?”
    “Certainly not,” said Plaga with false assurance. “If you don't want to bet with me, there's no law that says you have to.”
    “Mr. Plaga, my religion doesn't allow me to wager,” said Gold coldly. “On the other hand, it also instructs me to puncture pomposity and hypocrisy wherever I may find it. You know no more about horseracing than I do, and you have been trying to goad me into entering a contract that is contrary to my convictions. Therefore, since I must either enter a transaction or back down before my enemy, I agree to invest one credit on the black horse.”
    “Only one?” laughed Plaga.
    “Is it the transaction that is important to you, or the amount?”
    Plaga grinned. “Doctor Gold, you've got yourself a bet.”
    “No,” said Gold. “Betting implies the element of chance. I have an investment.”
    “You seem awfully confident,” interjected the Steel Butterfly.
    “The Lord is my shepherd. He won't let me lose.”
    “Not even one credit?” she asked with an amused smile.
    “Not even one credit,” he replied with conviction.
    “How comforting to