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Jeux de Hasard - Part 3
The presence of Lady Bella was proving to be a distraction. As often as Jules reminded himself that Arago should be here somewhere and must be found, there was always the Lady Bella's dazzling smile to disrupt his search and tangle his thought processes. That Fogg had stepped between them and captured both the Lady's attention and her seeming favor annoyed him, a purely masculine point of pride. Fogg was the gentleman in his element, while he was just a poor law student, after all. It was something he should have expected
The card game they watched was somewhat familiar - it was French and he'd seen sailors play it down on the docks in Nantes. The rules seemed simple enough. The player lost, rose . . . but nearly fell as he'd left. Jules had caught his arm, received the muffled words of thanks and stared after the man for a long moment, wondering if he'd seen tears in the old man's eyes. He felt cowed, as if he'd witnessed a tragedy, a personal story that had not ended happily, and yet he'd been unable to intervene.
Fogg, of course, assumed the player's seat. The Lady Bella hovered so closely over him, Jules wondered if Passepartout would receive special instructions about the laundering of Fogg's garments. Rebecca's reaction to Fogg's frequent inamoratas hadn't escaped his notice - she'd hardly miss the perfume. There wouldn't be a scene but she had ways of wreaking revenge that Jules was only beginning to recognize and, if truth be told, found some amusement in watching.
Of course, when Rebecca and he were out together, she would always point out the qualities of this girl or that as they passed. Her words were always soft and teasing - he'd be forced to find some sort of a jest or something to distract her to avoid blushing. If he ever showed up at the Aurora with his jacket smelling of strange perfume, she'd most likely congratulate him. That would hurt worst of all. He'd have to take care that never happened. Perhaps he, too, should have a word with Passepartout about perfume and clothing?
Fogg's sudden intake of breath startled him. Jules placed a hand on his shoulder, asked what was wrong--
The tilt of the chip in Fogg's hand showed a name - Phileas Fogg. Jules glanced up in bewilderment, then across the table as Fogg asked to see the stake for which he was playing.
That Rebecca's name was on the chip baffled him. How could this sleight of hand have been managed? He tightened his grip on Fogg's right shoulder, leaning close to whisper, "You're right - it's a trap."
Fogg didn't move at first - in fact, he'd gone quite pale. He dropped the hand with the chip to the table; his eyes were still fixed on the marker the dealer held for his inspection. "Not so much a trap," he said softly, "as a chance."
"A chance to what?" Jules looked around the room, but the only exit was the door by which they'd entered. With luck they could make it that far.
"A chance to save Rebecca's life."
"What?" Jules glanced down - the dealer had lowered the chip to the baize cloth, using her fingertips to set it directly between herself and Fogg. "We can still leave," he whispered. "I don't see Arago, he's not here. We're armed - I doubt they'll try to stop us--"
Chuckling under his breath, Fogg shook his head. "I can't leave. They knew that much when they let us walk in here. I can't leave without trying to save her."
"You're not making sense," declared Jules. He frowned at Lady Bella, who was standing behind Fogg's chair, her hand on his left shoulder. She was elegant and as silent as a sphinx, her eyes watching Fogg's hands.
The dealer opposite proved to be as much of an enigma. She seemed not even to know that he was present. And then, as he thought that, her eyes met his through the veil.
A shiver ran through him, from his neck to the base of his spine and back again. He gulped air, might have stepped back if he'd not been holding so tightly to Fogg's shoulder. He saw her lips move, heard the whisper of his name pass across them like the skittering of dried leaves down an empty street. Only when she looked away was he able to breathe again, able to swallow.
But her glance had moved back to Fogg. She nodded toward Jules, saying, "He shouldn't be here."
Fogg glanced up at him and Jules removed his hand from his friend's shoulder. He forced what he hoped was a brave smile, but feared it might be rather sickly. Why had a simple glance and a whisper from the veiled woman so unnerved him?
"If he leaves," said Fogg, watching Jules with careful eyes, "may I stay to continue the game?"
"Of course."
Fogg's gaze had never wavered. "Go."
"No. Not without you." Jules glanced around the room again - all attention seemed to be centered on them, except that of the Lady Bella, who was still watching . . . not Fogg's hands, but the cards just beyond them. "It's a trap."
"Of course it's a trap. If you stay, they'll catch you in it, too." Fogg rose to his feet, the marker forgotten on the table as he faced Jules. "I can't leave - this is my only chance to save her." He glanced over his shoulder at the dealer. "How long do we have?"
"Midnight," answered the veiled woman, in a voice that sang of wood smoke on an autumn breeze. It was an automatic gesture, actually comforting in being so commonplace - Fogg checked his watch. Snapping the case shut and returning it to his pocket, he fixed Jules with an even stare. "Time enough to try, at least."
"Try what?"
"To save Rebecca's life," barked Fogg. "That's it, on the table . . . her life. Sometime tonight, she'll die. It might be a gunshot, a knife, a blow to the head, a fall--" His voice faltered for a moment and he licked his lips, looking away. "It seems odd, doesn't it - so many different ways to end her life, all with the same result. The how of it hardly matters, really. They might even hang her."
"Fogg!" Jules grabbed the man's shoulder. "This is madness. You can't tell me that you believe--"
Fogg turned and lifted his marker from the table. Before Jules could move, he found it pressed into his palm.
Jules opened his lips, the words forming . . . but the warmth of the stone in his hand stopped him. He lifted it and read the name upon it.
In that moment he knew such things as he could never have known. He knew what it was like to sit in an tree on the grounds of Shillingworth Magna and chuck rotten apples at a goat chasing his brother. He knew the feel of thrusting a knife through ribs in a dark place, the weight of the body falling atop him as blood covered his hands. He knew the scent of candles on a table, accented by the drift of a lady's perfume as she leaned closer, her hand brushing his knee. He knew the loss, the agonizing pain of not being to grasp fingers that were releasing his own--
Jules stepped back as the stone was snatched from his hand. He breathed deeply, stared down at the ground feeling that he might faint, then looking up again, meeting Fogg's gaze as he placed the marker precisely on the baize cloth.
"Now, tell me again how mad I am."
"That was . . . ?"
"Me," answered Fogg, with a grim smile. "The sum of my past, my present, and my future, if I'm to have any." He seated himself on the chair again, not even noticing the Lady Bella's hand resting once more on his left shoulder. "And that is the sum of Rebecca."
His gaze fell on the stone that sat at the center of the table. It seemed so small. And yet, if it was all that Fogg's had been - what would he give to hold it in his palm for five minutes, instead of a few seconds? What could he learn about Rebecca that he would never know otherwise that might make a difference, that might tell him whether he would have any chance of winning her heart?
"I can't leave," said Fogg. "I can't leave her here. Not while there's a chance."
He felt the heat flush his face, his shame at thinking only what her stone might tell him about her - could her life truly depend on this? "And you expect me to walk away, now that I know what's at stake?"
"That was a mistake. I shouldn't have explained." Fogg clasped his hands together and tapped them against his forehead. "If I lose, you'll risk your own life to save her, won't you?"
"Would you have it any other way?"
"No. You're right, of course." Fogg turned his head to met Jules' gaze, and smiled faintly. "She'll be furious."
"Only if we lose."
Fogg nodded. He picked up his marker, placed it at the center of the table, and asked the dealer, "If you would be so kind--?"
The veiled woman lifted the cards in her hands and began to deal. Two cards were dealt face to the baize table, followed by an ace of hearts to Fogg and a ten of diamonds to the dealer.
Jules held his breath as Fogg used the face card to flip over the second - a king of spades. He wasn't certain at first what the outcome had been, seeing the dealer flip over a seven of clubs to join her ten of diamonds.
A hand on his shoulder startled him; Lady Bella slipped behind him, her hands on his shoulders, fingers softly caressing the back of his neck. "Court cards count as ten pips," she said, her breath tickling his ear. "The ace is an eleven or a single pip."
"Then Fogg has won?"
Her hand touched his cheek, turning his head to meet her eyes over his shoulder. "Only if her next card has greater than five pips, or is a court card."
He turned quickly, watching the card as it fell from the dealer's hand to the table in front of her.
A six of clubs.
"You've won!" Laughing, Jules clapped Fogg on the shoulder. "You've won!"
Fogg collapsed against the back of the chair for a moment, his eyes closed as he ran his fingertips over them. Then he leaned forward, took Rebecca's marker from the center of the table with two fingers and placed it on the baize before him. The second marker followed the first, in much the same fashion. Rising to his feet, he reached down as if to scoop the two markers into his hand, when the dealer asked, "What's your hurry, Mr. Fogg? Have you no time for a final trick, a last challenge?"
Fogg froze, hand hovering above the two markers on the table before him. He glanced at Jules, who shook his head - he had no idea what the veiled woman might intend. They watched as she opened the clasp on the black box on the table beside her and placed yet another black marker at the center of play. This time they'd seen the letters on the marker as she'd placed it, the light glinting from black stone.
Passepartout.
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End of part three
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