Play A Deadly Game

Rain tapped the tavern’s back door in a frantic little rhythm, and every drop that struck the brass latch ran black with coal dust from the harbor.

Mara Vell pressed herself against the brick, one hand clamped over the cut beneath her ribs. Behind her, the alley ended at a wall twice her height. Ahead, three men blocked the mouth where it opened onto Lantern Quay. Between them and her lay six yards of slick cobbles, broken crates, and nowhere safe to run.

“Give us the purse,” said the broadest man.

Mara’s fingers tightened around the empty leather pouch at her belt. “If I had one, I’d give you the pleasure of finding it yourself.”

The man on the left laughed. The sound bounced off the wet walls and came back thinner. He wore a dockworker’s coat, but his boots were polished, and a silver ring gleamed on his thumb. The other two carried knives low against their thighs.

Mara glanced toward the tavern. Music thudded through the wall, muffled by rain and timber. No one would hear her over the fiddle, the shouting, and the storm rolling in from the black water.

She needed the street. She needed one clear step beyond the alley mouth, then another, then the crowd. The harbor patrol changed posts at midnight, and the bell in the customs tower had already struck eleven. If she could reach the quay before the watch turned the corner, she might disappear among the fishmongers and lantern carriers.

The broad man took one step forward.

Mara slid her boot backward. It struck something hard.

A coin spun out from beneath a collapsed crate and flashed once in the lantern light.

The stranger stood beside the tavern’s drainpipe.

Mara had not seen him arrive. He wore a long gray coat beaded with rain, though the collar and shoulders were dry. His face was narrow, his hair silver at the temples, and his eyes held the dull gleam of old glass. He looked neither at the men nor at Mara. He watched the coin circle on the stones.

“Pick it up,” he said.

The broad man turned. “This isn’t your concern.”

“No,” the stranger replied. “It is hers.”

Mara stared at the coin. One side bore a crowned skull, its teeth fine as a comb. The other showed a door with no handle.

“Don’t touch it,” said the man with the polished boots.

The stranger smiled faintly. “He knows the price, then.”

The broad man swore and lunged.

Mara moved before thought could catch her. She snatched the coin from the cobbles.

Cold struck her palm - not the cold of rain or metal, but the deep, private chill of a grave opened in winter. The alley vanished.

For one breath, she stood beneath a city she knew and did not know. The bricks stretched upward into darkness. Doors opened in the walls, each one spilling a different sound: a child singing, a woman sobbing, dice rattling across wood. Far below, bells rang beneath the harbor.

Then something spoke from the coin.

“What is your wager?”

Mara tried to release it. Her fingers locked.

The men shouted. The stranger’s voice came from everywhere.

“What is your wager?”

“Nothing,” Mara gasped.

The coin burned.

The broad man seized her wrist. His grip was hot and rough. Mara drove her knee into his thigh. He buckled with a curse, and she twisted free, but the other two rushed her from either side.

She threw the coin toward the alley mouth.

It did not fall.

It hung in the rain, turning slowly, each face catching the lantern glow. The crowned skull became a pale, grinning mask. The door opened.

A line of darkness appeared between the men and the street.

The air folded inward with a sound like a page tearing.

The polished-booted man stopped so suddenly that the third crashed into him. Beyond the thin black line, Lantern Quay stretched empty and bright. The rain there fell upward. A carriage rolled past without horses, its windows filled with candle flames.

Mara’s breath caught.

The stranger looked at her at last. “Passage is offered.”

“What passage?”

“Out.”

“And the price?”

His gaze dropped to the blood beneath her hand. “You have something worth losing.”

The broad man recovered and drew a knife. “Give me the coin, girl.”

Mara looked from the blade to the impossible street. The cut in her side throbbed. Her knees had begun to weaken. The alley wall pressed cold against her back, and the men were closing in again.

“What happens if I refuse?” she asked.

The stranger’s smile disappeared. “Then the alley keeps you.”

A knife flashed.

Mara lunged for the dark line.

The broad man caught the back of her coat. Fabric tore. She slammed her elbow into his jaw, felt bone strike bone, and stumbled forward with the coin clenched in her fist.

The black passage opened wider.

The stranger seized her shoulder. His fingers were dry and cold.

“Name your wager.”

“I don’t have one!”

“Everyone has one.”

The knife came down behind her. Mara twisted. The blade cut through her sleeve and scraped her upper arm. Heat spread beneath the cloth.

She saw the three men reflected in the coin’s polished edge....