Steele-Faced (Daggers & Steele Book 6) (6 page)

“That’s not a fair comparison,” I said. “You look amazing.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Shay’s smile said otherwise. “But for the record, you look quite handsome. Like a rich playboy with little regard for expense. So start acting like it. We’re almost there.”

Ahead of us, one of the ship’s crew admitted individuals into the lounge where the mixer was being held. For a moment, I wondered if I’d need a ticket for admission, but apparently our dress was proof enough of our status for the doorman. He immediately let us in with a flourish of his hands and a deep bow.

Inside, the lounge much resembled our own sitting room except for being larger, better lit, and more densely populated. Roughly a hundred people milled around the interior, sipping on drinks, chatting, and smoking pipes or cigarettes. A trio of bartenders at the far side of the room furiously rattled cocktail shakers and poured drinks, while waiters and waitresses in black jackets and slacks roamed the room bearing trays of deviled eggs, smoked salmon and dill crostini, and shrimp half-submerged in shot glasses of cocktail sauce.

Steele and I drifted toward the center of the room. I eyed the line at the bar, but before I could make a decision on whether or not to dive into the fray, a waiter approached with a tray of tall flutes.

“Champagne?”

“Why yes, thank you,” said Steele as she took one.

I’d made my distaste of wine known to Shay on multiple occasions, but the dry nature of champagne made it a slightly different beast. I lifted a flute off the tray by the stem and nodded my thanks to the waiter.

I took a sip, wrinkling my nose as the bubbles hit my tongue, and glanced around the room. “Well…this is a little more crowded than I expected.”

“It’s for all of first class,” said Steele. “You didn’t think this would only be for the poker players, did you?”

I shook my head. “Of course not.”

Steele kept her eyes on me.

“Yes. Yes, I did. But that’s neither here nor there. The question is, what to do now?”

“Mingle, chat, and enjoy ourselves,” said Steele. “Though the latter should probably take a backseat to the former. Scouting the opposition and all that. And on that note, I think I have a good idea of where we could start.”

She nodded toward the room’s left-hand corner. I followed her gaze to a group of five partiers, among them a man in an exquisite three-piece black pinstripe suit holding a black cane topped with a silver dragon’s head. Numerous wrinkles creased his forehead, a forehead that reached the crown of his skull before encountering any of his salt-and-pepper hair. He could’ve been any well-off man of advanced middle age, but the trio of toughs who stood behind him eyeing the crowd gave me some idea as to his identity.

“Johann, you think?” I asked.

Shay nodded.

“Well, we could introduce ourselves. Or…”

I nodded to the other corner of the room where an overweight orc woman sat in one of the room’s many sofa chairs. Black hair cascaded down the sides of her face, past her thick tusks, before falling upon the pleated folds of her long-sleeved copper-colored evening gown. Several large warts protruded from various parts of her, a prominent one from her nose and another from her jaw, making her face even harder to love than it already was, but her less than sterling appearance didn’t seem to bother her manservant in the least. A tall handsome elf dressed in black and white tails dabbed at the corner of her lip with a white kerchief.

“And I would assume that’s Ghorza,” said Steele.

“As would I,” I said.

“So who would you rather talk to first?”

I scratched my chin. “Well, I—”

“Excuse me,” said a friendly, high-pitched voice. “Mr. and Mrs. Waters, I presume?”

I turned to find a gnome standing behind me, perhaps three and a half feet tall and wearing a simple brown vest over a light blue dress shirt, the sleeves of which had been rolled up to his elbows. He held a tumbler of ice and booze in his left hand.

“Yes,” I said. “You are?”

“Theo Hornshoe. Sometimes malcontent, professional roustabout, and gambler extraordinaire.” He stuck out a hand. “I’m one of the players who’ll be joining you at the tables tomorrow.”

“Professional roustabout?”
said Shay as she shook his hand. “You’re a circus laborer?”

“Not really,” he said. “I just like that word.
Roustabout
. It sounds like someone who lays about, gets in tussles, and seduces fine women, don’t you think?”

“Ah,” I said as I shook his hand in turn. “Someone who likes to sail the spoken word into new and uncharted waters. A gnome after my own heart then. So tell me, Theo, how do you know who we are?”

“Well I am, after all, a gambler
extraordinaire,”
he said. “And I wouldn’t be so extraordinary if I wasn’t so perceptive. I’d heard the rumors about our mystery competitors. A half-elf of unparalleled beauty, and her cavalier, a, ah… Well, that is to say, a…”

I waited. “A what?”

Theo smiled. “Why, a devilishly handsome chap such as yourself.”

“Hah!” I said. “I like this guy. I’ll be sure to treat you with kindness and respect as I slowly and methodically rob you of all your money over the next few days.”

Theo snapped his fingers and took a sip of his drink. “Right back at you, big guy.”

“So, Theo,” said Steele. “Since you seem to have your finger on the pulse of the competition, why not give us a primer on our foes?”

“You want me to spill the beans on the rest of the players?” he said. “And what exactly am
I
to get out of this arrangement?”

“I don’t think Sam was asking for any secrets you might’ve unearthed,” I said, “although, knowing her, she wouldn’t dissuade you if you wanted to volunteer them. Rather, we’d like to introduce ourselves, if possible, to the other players. Seeing as we only recently made it aboard the ship, we aren’t sure who they all are.”

“Other than Johann and Ghorza, I take it,” said Theo.

I glanced at Steele.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “I notice things. Store that in the part of your brain where you keep your cockiness. But seeing as I’m liquored up and feeling swell, sure, I’ll give you the low down. Besides the old man and the orc matron and the three of us, there are four others. One of them is over there. Jimmy Frazier, though he goes by ‘The Hammer.’”

Theo pointed him out, a hulking brute about the same size and shape as Quinto and with a similar complexion. He wore a felt ascot cap over his round melon, and his shoulders threatened to pop out of his suit.

“I don’t know too much about him,” said Theo, “other than I wouldn’t want to be around him when he gets hungry. He likes to intimidate people with his size and a mean grin he pulls out every now and then. To be honest, it totally works. Then there’s Orrin, a hard-nosed dwarf who doesn’t say a whole lot. He hasn’t arrived yet, but you’ll notice him when he does. He’s got a huge scar that runs down his face from eye to chin. There’s also some woman named Wanda who as far as I can tell likes the color purple, unicorns, and moonlit walks on the beach in solitude.”

I furrowed my eyebrows.

“That’s a joke, by the way,” said Theo. “Except for the last part. I haven’t met her yet, but I don’t think she cares for company. Then last but certainly not least there’s Verona. She’s around here somewhere. Let’s see…”

Theo turned and cast his gaze into the room. After a moment he pointed. “There she is. Verona. Verona!”

An elf woman with heavily curled golden hair, wearing a grey-flecked white fur shawl and enough jewelry to sink a ship half the
Prodigious’s
in size, paused in her walk toward the bar. She waved to Theo with a hand that held a long, thin jade cigarette holder, one currently occupied with a smoldering butt.

“Theo. Darling. How are you?” she asked as she approached.

“Verona. Let me introduce two of our newest gaming companions. The affable and overconfident Thomas Waters and his lovely, calculating bride, Samantha.”

Verona took a drag from her cigarette holder, exhaled, and idly waved the smoke away with her hand. “Verona Quivven. Charmed.”

From afar, Verona had come across as stunning, but up close, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were more evident, as was the hint of gray at the roots of her hair. In her heyday, she probably would’ve given Shay a run for her money—but only to those who didn’t mind the smell of smoke. She reeked of a thousand cigarette butts. Being a full blooded elf, it was beyond me how the odor didn’t bother her. I supposed she must not even notice it anymore.

“So, Verona,” I asked, “how long have you been playing games of chance?”

“Is that a roundabout way of asking me my age?” she said.

“Ah…Theo put me up to,” I said, pointing at the gnome. “Blame him.”

“What?” said Theo. “I did no such thing. Though I like your deception, big guy. Pro tip: you’re showing your hand early. Giving me ammunition to use against you tomorrow.”

“Don’t mind Theo,” said Verona. “He seems to think every aspect of one’s personality is a clue, and beyond that, a cudgel to be used against you. He’s also rather loose with his lips.”

“Loquacious is the word you’re looking for,” said Theo. “And what of it? Some gamblers hide behind a mask of silence and indifference while they play. I prefer bombarding my opponents with bullshit. I find it wears them down over the long run.”

“I’m sure it does,” said Verona. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my lips are becoming parched.” She gave Steele and me a nod. “Until next time.”

She wandered off toward the bar. Theo shook his head as she left. “I can’t quite get a bead on her, but I tell you what. I think she’s a lot smarter than she lets on. I’m definitely keeping my eye on her.”

Verona swayed as she walked, her dress tight. “You would.”

“Pardon?” said Theo.

“Ah…nothing,” I said. “So tell me, Theo, has this excrement barrage of yours already begun?”

“Excrement barrage?”
Theo laughed. “You
do
like to play fast and loose with language. And perhaps other things as well.” He gave me an exaggerated look out of the corner of his eyes.

“I’m not sure I follow,” I said.

“I wouldn’t expect you to, but it’s all part of the game. Don’t you love poker?” He lifted his glass only to find he’d reached the bottom. “Oh. My cup runneth dry, so I’m off to slither my way through the crowds at the bar. It was nice meeting you, and I wish you all the worst of luck in the days to come.”

He smiled and toasted his empty glass in our direction as he left.

“He’s a firebrand, isn’t he?” said Steele.

“Yeah, but in a nice way, if that’s possible.”

Steele took a sip of her beverage. “So…should we meet the others?”

“Might as well,” I said. “But only after a tour of the room’s snack trays. I’m starving.”

9

Following the whims of my stomach did not go without consequence. While I crammed eggs and delicate, slivered salmon down my gullet, Johann made his exit. Based purely on visual evidence—I was much too far away to hear the words he spoke—he excused himself to his entourage, spoke something to his thick-necked escorts, and headed for the door, but not before casting a long glance in the direction of Verona, who lounged by herself, smoking in the far corner.

With my belly momentarily sated, I headed to the bar to refresh Shay’s and my drinks while my partner approached Ghorza, who she deemed to be the slightly less intimidating of our two remaining marks. I didn’t envy her the task—between her obesity and facial warts, Ghorza was particularly unsightly, even for an orc—but after nearly twenty minutes waiting in line at the bar, I questioned if I’d made the right choice.

When I finally secured an apricot whiskey sour and a glass of merlot from the bartender, who apologized profusely for the delay, it was only to find Shay walking back toward me from Ghorza’s direction.

“I take it I missed everything?” I handed Shay her glass and grabbed a miniature quiche from a passing tray.

“That you did.” She nodded toward the crowd. “What took so long? There’s only four or five people in each line.”

“Yeah, well the bartender decided to grow the vegetables for one guy’s Bloody Mary from scratch, and he made another drink from egg whites that involved seven or eight minutes of solid shaking. I’m surprised his arm didn’t fall off.”

“And you didn’t switch lines?”

“Trust me, I thought about it. They kept filling in around me.” I popped the quiche into my mouth. “So tell me about Ghorza.”

“She’s pleasant enough,” said Steele as she sipped her wine. “Or I suspect she would be if she weren’t drunk. She must’ve gotten an early start, because she’s pretty far gone, to the point where she already seems hung over. She kept wincing and asking me to keep my voice down, and she seemed to have a hard time processing some of my questions.”

“Did you get anything useful?”

“As far as the tournament is concerned?” Shay shrugged. “I wasn’t able to progress the conversation past the trivial. Ghorza’s manservant, Vlad, wasn’t particularly interested in chatting, despite his sobriety. I think he suspected me of trying to take advantage of Ghorza’s condition for my own benefit.”

“Which, you know…you were.”

I glanced at the mismatched pair, Ghorza sinking deeper into her overstuffed chair and Vlad cooling her with a paper fan. Shay was right. Ghorza looked on the verge of sickness. Vlad stuck out a hand, tested her forehead, and tucked a strand of hair behind Ghorza’s ear.

“Is it just me,” I said, “or is something going on between those two?”

“Something nefarious?” said Shay.

“Something romantic. Not that I’d understand it if it were. I mean, what kind of elf gets off on overweight orc chicks?”

“Don’t be such a bigot,” said Steele. “Interspecies love sprouts as easily as between like partners. I should know.”

For once, I didn’t take that as a thinly veiled expression of her love for me. She was talking about her parents, but our budding relationship was as good an example, as was the odd pairing between Quinto and the fae-blooded Cairny.

“As always, you’re right,” I said. “It’s not my place to judge. Although it’ll be difficult to abstain. I’m so good at it.”