The Game of X by Robert Sheckley

Author:Robert Sheckley [Sheckley, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2014-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

15

Behind the stone wall was a barren little garden, and just past that was a house. Karinovsky led me inside, waved me to a chair, and offered me a drink.

“I cannot honestly recommend the slivovitz,” he said. “Guesci must have sent it as a joke. But the Lachryma Christi, despite its unconvivial name, is an honest drink.

I took wine and studied the man I had come to rescue. Karinovsky’s left arm was carried high on his chest in a black silk sling. Aside from that, he seemed as tough and competent as ever. I had forgotten the faintly Mongol tilt to his eyes, and how his black hair was touched with a distinguished feather of gray. He had that look of amused and ironic detachment which comes to men who live through rapid changes of fortune; South American presidents, for example. I was glad I had come, and hoped I could be of service.

“How is your arm?” I asked.

“Serviceable,” he said. “Luckily for me, my attacker was using a mere half inch of point.”

“That’s enough to cut your throat with.”

“Such was his intention, which I foiled by a clever movement of my shield-arm. Unfortunately I was lacking a shield.”

“What did you do?”

“I decided that the fellow was entirely too fast for an old fellow like me,” Karinovsky said, spreading his hands in a pathetic gesture. “So I slowed him down by the simple expedient of breaking his back.”

I nodded, wanting to applaud but restraining myself. I have always been a sucker for the grand manner.

“But you also seem to have had your troubles,” Karinovsky said, glancing at my torn left leg.

“A scratch,” I assured him. “It was my misfortune to meet a man with extremely sharp shoes.”

“One meets all kinds in Venice,” Karinovsky said, and settled back comfortably in his chair. All part of the grand manner. But a little irritating, since the success of his pose depended upon my playing the alarmed straight man.

I was damned if I was going to do it. I took out my, cigarettes, offered one to Karinovsky, lit one for myself. We blew out gray plumes of contented smoke. I thought I heard footsteps in the garden. Karinovsky offered me another drink. The iron gate rattled suddenly. I decided to play the straight man.

“All right,” I said. “What do you suggest we do now?”

“1 suggest that you rescue me.”

“And how do you suggest that I go about it?”

Karinovsky flicked ash from the end of his cigarette. “Knowing your boundless resources, my friend, and your collection of varied skills, I have no doubt that you can find a way. Unless, of course, you prefer to follow Guesci’s somewhat dubious scheme.”

“Dubious?”

“Perhaps I don’t do it justice,” Karinovsky said. “Guesci’s plan is certainly very ingenious. Perhaps a little too ingenious, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t. I don’t even know what his plan is.”

“It will amuse you,” Karinovsky said. “It is based, of course, upon your renowned and diverse talents.”

I felt a sudden cold chill. What

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