The Hell of It Read Online Free PDF

this deck, the feathers were at the heart of the odds. A vulture feather was worth two grebe feathers, a grebe feather worth two crane feathers, a crane feather two quail feathers, and a quail feather worth two magpie feathers. Magpie cards were different. A magpie card allowed the player to multiply the feather count of any single card in his hand by the number of feathers the magpie displayed.
    In truth, the birds represented five So’Dell families that had spent time in the ruling seat over the last several hundred years. Some decks had human faces in place of bird heads. And if you happened to play a member of one of those houses, the feather weighting was likely to change. As were the puns about fowl and foul —the ruling class weren’t a popular sort. But mostly, the placks made for good gamble-sport.
    Double Draw went like this: Two plackards were dealt down, two up. Chancers made a bet, then got to exchange any three cards. They’d bet again. And, if they desired to, exchanged one more card after their second wager. Of course, betting can escalate back and forth between players after that, but no more cards are drawn.
    Gynedo dealt out the first game. Malen had a strong plackard down, an eleven-feather magpie. With some hesitation, he pushed in Marta’s pinch-comb. And almost immediately, he felt at ease, back where he’d been as a young deckhand.
    He went on a winner’s streak, which is to say he lost only four of eighteen hands, but only after he’d won some coin, so that he wasn’t risking Marta’s nice things anymore. At this rate, after a full night of gambling, he’d have several months’ worth of food money, and rent besides.
    But Gynedo grew bored playing hands with no real consequence to either of them. Malen could see it in the man’s wandering eyes. On the nineteenth deal, the straw-boss carefully assessed the coin neatly stacked in front of Malen, and after the plackards were laid, matched the lot of it, plus a marker for a shamble-shack deed.
    â€œWhat’s this?” Malen thought he knew, but wanted to hear it.
    â€œMy raise. A leaky-roof, blood-cough nursery that I can’t find a buyer for.” He grinned wickedly.
    The lower east end of the harbor had become a shantytown, where people taken with the blood-cough were quarantined away from the rest of city. Or at least, the poor blood-coughers were. Clean-boot folk had money for physick healers and fresh water. The rest wound up in the shantytown. In the beginning, the little shacks had been temporary quarters built for itinerant deckhands who followed seasonal work from harbor to harbor and needed a quick roof. Built in haste, these places were riddled with holes and uncomfortable besides.
    When deck laborers set down roots in Wanship, the shanties became a slum within a slum. Until the blood-cough. And yet, the current wave of disease would pass, and property was no bad bid. A deed meant land ownership. Malen could hold on to it until this season of illness passed. Then, move in, or sell. Either way, it was a significant raise.
    With only the briefest hesitation, he pushed Marta’s pinch-comb into the center of the table.
    Gynedo made a disapproving noise in his throat. “My friend, I don’t wish to be indelicate, since I know what these items mean to you. But take stock for a moment. Do you think this pinch-comb calls my shanty deed?”
    Without hesitation, Malen said, “No, it’s a raise.”
    The other’s eyebrows rose in surprise and curiosity. “That so? Let’s hear why.”
    â€œI’m betting the memory of love. The … the subtle suggestion of a woman that I should touch her.”
    The man’s eyes glittered with interest and scheme. “So you’re wagering your fondness for sex. I can see—”
    â€œThat’s not it at all.” Malen held up a hand, asking for a moment to collect his thoughts. “I can get a