Read Online Away Games: Science Fiction Sports Stories by Mike Resnick - Free Book Online
Authors: Mike Resnick
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irrational dislike of Evil Incarnate.”
“You both misjudge me,” said the Grundy. “I told you once: I am a fulcrum, a natural balance point between this world’s best and worst tendencies. Where I find order, I create chaos, and where I find chaos …”
“I believe I’ve heard this song before,” said Mallory. “It didn’t impress me then, either. Why don’t you just tell me why you’re here and let it go at that?”
“You have no fear of me whatsoever, do you?” asked the Grundy.
“Let us say that I have a healthy respect for you,” replied Mallory. “I’ve seen you in action, remember?”
“And yet you meet my gaze, and your voice does not quake.”
“Why should my voice quake? I know that you didn’t come here to kill me. If you had wanted to do that, you could have done it from your castle … so let’s get down to business.”
The Grundy glanced at Mallory’s desk. “I see that you are a student of the Racing Form . That’s very good.”
“It is?”
The demon nodded. “I have come to you with a serious problem.”
“It involves the Racing Form ?”
“It involves Ahmed of Marsabit.”
“Doesn’t he run a belly-dance joint over on Ninth Avenue?”
“He is an elephant, John Justin Mallory,” said the Grundy sternly. “More to the point, he was my elephant until I sold him last week.”
“Okay, he was your elephant until you sold him,” said Mallory. “So what?”
“I sold him for two thousand dollars.”
“That isn’t much of a price,” noted Mallory.
“He wasn’t much of an elephant. He had lost all sixteen of his races while carrying my colors.” The Grundy paused. “Three days ago he broke a track record and won by the entire length of the homestretch.”
“Even horses improve from time to time.”
“Not that much,” answered the Grundy harshly, the vapor from his nostrils turning a bright blue. “I own the favorite for the upcoming Quatermaine Cup. I have just found out that Ahmed’s new owner has entered him in the race.” He paused, and his eyes glowed like hot coals. “Mallory, I tell you that Ahmed is incapable of the kind of performance I saw three days ago. His owner must be running a ringer—a look-alike.”
“Don’t they have some kind of identification system, like the lip tattoos on race horses?” asked Mallory.
“Each racing elephant is tattooed behind the left ear.”
“What’s Ahmed’s ID number?”
“831,” said the Grundy. He paused. “I want you to expose this fraud before the race is run.”
“You’re the guy with all the magical powers,” said Mallory. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”
“My magic only works against other magic,” explained the Grundy. “For a crime that was committed according to natural law, I need a detective who is forced to conform to natural law.”
“Come on,” said Mallory. “I’ve seen you wipe out hundreds of natural-law-abiding citizens who never did you any harm. Were they all practicing magic?”
“No,” admitted the Grundy. “But they were under the protection of my Opponent, and he operates outside the boundaries of natural law.”
“But the guy who bought Ahmed isn’t protected by anyone?”
“No.”
“Why don’t you just kill him and the elephant and be done with it?”
“I may yet do so,” said the Grundy. “But first I must know exactly what has happened, or sometime in the future it may happen again.”
“All right,” said Mallory. “What’s the name of the guy who bought Ahmed from you?”
“Khan,” said the Grundy.
“Gengis?” guessed Mallory.
“Gengis F. X. Khan, to be exact.”
“He must be quite a bastard, if your Opponent doesn’t feel compelled to protect him from you.”
“Enough talk,” said the Grundy impatiently. “John Justin Mallory, will you accept my commission?”
“Probably,” said Mallory. He paused. “For anyone else, the firm of Mallory and Carruthers charges two hundred dollars a day. For you, it’s a
“You both misjudge me,” said the Grundy. “I told you once: I am a fulcrum, a natural balance point between this world’s best and worst tendencies. Where I find order, I create chaos, and where I find chaos …”
“I believe I’ve heard this song before,” said Mallory. “It didn’t impress me then, either. Why don’t you just tell me why you’re here and let it go at that?”
“You have no fear of me whatsoever, do you?” asked the Grundy.
“Let us say that I have a healthy respect for you,” replied Mallory. “I’ve seen you in action, remember?”
“And yet you meet my gaze, and your voice does not quake.”
“Why should my voice quake? I know that you didn’t come here to kill me. If you had wanted to do that, you could have done it from your castle … so let’s get down to business.”
The Grundy glanced at Mallory’s desk. “I see that you are a student of the Racing Form . That’s very good.”
“It is?”
The demon nodded. “I have come to you with a serious problem.”
“It involves the Racing Form ?”
“It involves Ahmed of Marsabit.”
“Doesn’t he run a belly-dance joint over on Ninth Avenue?”
“He is an elephant, John Justin Mallory,” said the Grundy sternly. “More to the point, he was my elephant until I sold him last week.”
“Okay, he was your elephant until you sold him,” said Mallory. “So what?”
“I sold him for two thousand dollars.”
“That isn’t much of a price,” noted Mallory.
“He wasn’t much of an elephant. He had lost all sixteen of his races while carrying my colors.” The Grundy paused. “Three days ago he broke a track record and won by the entire length of the homestretch.”
“Even horses improve from time to time.”
“Not that much,” answered the Grundy harshly, the vapor from his nostrils turning a bright blue. “I own the favorite for the upcoming Quatermaine Cup. I have just found out that Ahmed’s new owner has entered him in the race.” He paused, and his eyes glowed like hot coals. “Mallory, I tell you that Ahmed is incapable of the kind of performance I saw three days ago. His owner must be running a ringer—a look-alike.”
“Don’t they have some kind of identification system, like the lip tattoos on race horses?” asked Mallory.
“Each racing elephant is tattooed behind the left ear.”
“What’s Ahmed’s ID number?”
“831,” said the Grundy. He paused. “I want you to expose this fraud before the race is run.”
“You’re the guy with all the magical powers,” said Mallory. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”
“My magic only works against other magic,” explained the Grundy. “For a crime that was committed according to natural law, I need a detective who is forced to conform to natural law.”
“Come on,” said Mallory. “I’ve seen you wipe out hundreds of natural-law-abiding citizens who never did you any harm. Were they all practicing magic?”
“No,” admitted the Grundy. “But they were under the protection of my Opponent, and he operates outside the boundaries of natural law.”
“But the guy who bought Ahmed isn’t protected by anyone?”
“No.”
“Why don’t you just kill him and the elephant and be done with it?”
“I may yet do so,” said the Grundy. “But first I must know exactly what has happened, or sometime in the future it may happen again.”
“All right,” said Mallory. “What’s the name of the guy who bought Ahmed from you?”
“Khan,” said the Grundy.
“Gengis?” guessed Mallory.
“Gengis F. X. Khan, to be exact.”
“He must be quite a bastard, if your Opponent doesn’t feel compelled to protect him from you.”
“Enough talk,” said the Grundy impatiently. “John Justin Mallory, will you accept my commission?”
“Probably,” said Mallory. He paused. “For anyone else, the firm of Mallory and Carruthers charges two hundred dollars a day. For you, it’s a
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