“I’ll take that one.” A burly carter placed a heap of copper opposite his card.
“And me.”
“Me too.”
A little heap of coins grew against one of the cards. Ron tensed as he felt a finger press against his right shoulder blade.
“I’ll take that one.” He spilled a few silver coins on the stained table.
“Any more players?” The gambler stared around the circle. “No?” He flipped over the cards. “The gent wins.”
Ron scooped up the doubled heap of silver and waited for the next play. Again the signaling pressure, this time between his shoulders. He bet on the center card — and won. He bet on the left hand card — and won. The center card again, and again he picked up silver. Then he lost, twice in a row, then won again, fighting the desire to double his money each play.
To do that would be worse than stupid. It would be suicide, which was why he had deliberately lost twice in a row. Even as it was the gambler stared at him through narrowed eyes and an invisible tension seemed to build up around the table. Ron swallowed as he felt it, knowing that men who won too often had a habit of being found dead and penniless the next dawn. Deliberately he lost again, ignoring the guiding pressure against his back, sighing with relief as he felt the tension lessen. He won the next and rose from the table.
“Going?” The gambler stared at him as he poised the cards.
“For a drink.” Ron jerked his head towards the bar. “I’ll be back.”
The bar was a splintered length of salvaged wood, mottled and ringed with the stains of countless glasses. Ron ordered drinks, lifting the thick, hand-made glass and wrinkling his nose at the odor of the rotgut it contained. It smelled of potato and cabbage, of peelings and garbage, but it was alcohol and strong and it served to ease the inward pain. He gulped the drink, then that of the girl resting untouched on the counter.
“I understand,” she whispered. “Outside?”
“Yes.”
“Will you win some more?”
“Not here. We’ve won too much as it is. Some other place.”
“Of course.” She shivered. “I’m afraid. There’s danger here. I wish.…”
“You wish what?”
“Nothing.”
“Yes, there is. What’s worrying you?” He stared at her. “Tell me.”
She didn’t answer and he felt the stirrings of impatient anger. “I can’t read your mind,” he whispered harshly. “I can’t guess what you’re thinking. What’s wrong?”
“It’s these people.” She bit her lip as she looked at the sweat-stained, hard-eyed, hard-faced crowd. “Their thoughts, they sicken me, like beasts or things worse than beasts.” She gripped his arm. “Let’s go now. We don’t belong here. Let them keep their money. There must be some other way.”
For a moment he hesitated, feeling the coins in his pocket, knowing that she spoke sense but knowing too that without money he wouldn’t be able to obtain the rotgut that could ease the pains so much. With her help he would be able to win and win and win again. It was so easy, even taking the necessary care he could win enough to buy what he needed.
“Ron!” He thinned his lips as he remembered that she could read his mind. “I’m afraid! Let’s go now. Please.”
“I’ll look after you,” he muttered. “You’re safe with me.”
“Please, Ron.”
He nodded, turning reluctantly from the bar, thrusting his way through the crowd as he followed her towards the door. Outside it was dark and wet and cold with the thin wind blowing from the north. Here it was warm and gay and comfortable. He thought of his cave, the lair in the rubble, soaking with filtering rain and bleak with loneliness. He thought of the woman, of her warmth and understanding, and for a moment felt quick shame at his selfishness.
A man grabbed at his arm.
“You! I’ve been looking for you. Where’s Sam?”
“Sam?” He blinked at glittering eyes and a stubbled chin. Memory returned as he stared at the man and with memory came a quick and searing terror. “Luke!”
“Yeah. So you know me. Where’s Sam?”
“I lost him.” Ron shivered to the cold sweat of fear. “We parted in the ruins, I tried to find him but it was too dark.”’
“So you left him.” Luke bared broken teeth in a snarl. “I found him. I know where he is, lying out there with his throat slashed and his head caved in. You did that, Mutie.”
“I’m no Mutie.”
“No? Then that’s just too damn’ bad — for you.”
“Wait!” Sweat oozed in great beads from his pallid skin and his stomach seemed to shrivel as he stared at the ring of accusing faces. “You examined me. You know I’m human.”
“Sam’s dead. That’s enough for me.”
“He won at the tables,” offered a man. “Kept on winning. Seemed funny to me.”
“Get the tar,” yelled a man at the rear of the crowd. “Tar and a rope. We’ll burn him as a warning to the rest.”
“Skin him!” screamed a woman. “Cut his eyes out!”
“Kick the swine to death!”
“Soak him in oil and set him alight!”
“Rip his guts out!”
One after the other they yelled their suggestions, their eyes lazed and their mouths slack with anticipation.
“No!” Ron cowered from what he saw. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it I tell you!”
“It’s lying,” snapped a man. “What you waiting for, Luke?” He thrust forward, hooked fingers outstretched.
“Wait! I know who did it,” he gasped desperately. “I followed her. She’s the Mutie, not me.” He didn’t stop to think of what he was saying. All he could see was the ring of animal-faces, the naked hate, the gloating anticipation of what was to come Fear clawed at him, panic, sick desperation and utter terror. “She’s to blame I tell you. You can’t hurt me for what she did.”
“She?”
“The one that got away. Remember?”
“Yeah.” Luke sucked at his teeth. “A bitch. I remember.” He narrowed his eyes. “You lying?”
“No. I swear it!”
“He came in with a woman,” said the gambler. “They drank together.”
“I was playing up to her, trying to make sure and hoping that I’d meet up with you.” Ron gulped air into his burning lungs. “She’s got away by now, but I can find her. I spotted her lair.”
“No need for that.” Luke turned and jerked his head at someone at the rear of the crowd. “Fetch her here.”
She stood before them, very young in her damp dress, with her long hair streaming to her shoulders and her eyes twin pools of enigmatic darkness. Silently she stared at him, standing very straight and proud, and he writhed to the knowledge of what he must appear to be.
“She looks all right to me,” said a man dubiously. “I still think he’s lying.”
“Sure he’s lying,” growled a man. “I’ve seen this girl before.” He spat. “A damn’ Mutie will do anything to save its hide. Get it over with, Luke.”
For a moment he was tempted. It would be so easy to save her, to admit what he was and let her go free. But if he did that they would kill him. They would gloat over his agony. They.…
“Search her,” he screamed. “Search her.”
They found the gun first, the weapon he had taken from Sam and given her for her protection. It was all they needed and Luke grinned as he probed at her skull.
“By God, he was right! We’ve caught a bitch, boys!”
“Yes,” she said calmly, and her eyes were steady as she stared at Ron. “We cannot help what we are.”
“But you can pay for it,” snarled a man.
Outside it was still raining, a soft, cleansing rain from above, filling the night with gentle murmurs and kind, innocent sounds. Ron walked among the ruins, almost running in his haste, but still he couldn’t move fast enough to miss the screams, the yells, the baying bloodlust and the final, merciful shot from the tavern.