Read Online Crows & Cards by Joseph Helgerson - Free Book Online
Authors: Joseph Helgerson
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yore, when he claimed to have single-handedly captured Black Hawk and made the entire Mississippi River safe for settlers. He had a go at the piano regular too, though he was banned from playing music, as he called it, whenever a card game was in progress.
On the day after we pulled in, Chilly sat me down in the main parlor. It was early yet, which around there meant any time before noon, so there weren't any customers about. Goose was already slouched at the table Chilly steered me to. The Professor had tied on his apron and was wiping out glasses over behind the bar. His chickens—Aphrodite and Venus—were up on top of the bar, inspecting each glass when he was done cleaning it.
"How you liking your new digs?" Chilly asked me.
"It's awful grand," I answered.
There wasn't any early-to-bed, early-to-rise philosophies, and the burnt edges on the vittles hadn't started to churn my innards yet. What's more, being around a pair of birds named after the Greek and Roman gods of love seemed powerful civilized. And 'course I was looking forward to doing more for the orphans of St. Louis, and showing Pa and Ma by sending winnings home to 'em, and maybe even buying myself a first-class pocketknife.
"Are you sure he's small enough?" Goose piped up while casting his eyes in my general direction. At the moment he was studying the empty chair beside me.
"Measurements have been taken," Chilly boomed, speaking twice as loud as normal 'cause he'd been contradicted.
"How's his eyesight?" Goose asked, resorting to his nose to find me. He had himself eyeglasses but rarely trotted them out, claiming they were about as helpful as a pair of stove lids.
"Keen enough," Chilly reported. "Did you want to check his teeth?"
"He got any extras?" Goose asked, sounding ready to claim 'em. Those of his teeth that hadn't gone missing had a mossy shine to 'em.
"The main thing you need to know about Zeb," Chilly said, "is that we can trust him. He's been sworn into the Brotherhood."
"Which brotherhood's that?" Goose wanted to know, turning suspicious.
"Why, the Brotherhood of the Gambler," Chilly answered, considerably put out over having to explain something so secret. "What'd you have for breakfast, anyway?"
It might have seemed a queer question if but a half hour before I hadn't seen Goose tell the Professor to pour him a good stiff breakfast of his best medicine. The Professor's restorative smelled the same as a small bottle of rye whiskey my ma kept on hand for toothaches and other ailments too terrible to think on.
"Zeb," Chilly said, appearing tired of shouting at Goose, "come out to the kitchen. There's something I want you to try on for size."
So we trooped out to the kitchen with Goose bringing up the rear 'cause he needed a couple of sit-down breathers on the way. Ho-John sat over by the stove, whittling a toy out of a block of wood and paying us no mind as we all squeezed into a pantry.
"Climb onto that middle shelf there." Chilly pointed. "Take a look through that hole in back."
I did it without no trouble, though I wasn't thrilled by its height, and if I'd bulged an inch or two bigger in any direction, it would have been a pinching tight fit. There was a crowd of crockery on the shelf above me, all full of pickles and relishes and such, while a troop of bottles and jars were spread across the shelf below me. The middle shelf had been cleared of everything but some grains of spilt salt, which was about as worrisome a sign as could be. Knowing how stern the Brotherhood felt about charms and portents and what have you, I waited till Chilly wasn't watching before sneaking a pinch of salt to throw over my left shoulder. I didn't skimp on crossing myself either. There wasn't any telling how long those grains had been laying there churning up bad luck, and I didn't plan on taking any chances.
"What do you see?" Chilly asked.
Rolling on my side, I squinted through a hole in the back wall.
"The main parlor," I said.
"All of
On the day after we pulled in, Chilly sat me down in the main parlor. It was early yet, which around there meant any time before noon, so there weren't any customers about. Goose was already slouched at the table Chilly steered me to. The Professor had tied on his apron and was wiping out glasses over behind the bar. His chickens—Aphrodite and Venus—were up on top of the bar, inspecting each glass when he was done cleaning it.
"How you liking your new digs?" Chilly asked me.
"It's awful grand," I answered.
There wasn't any early-to-bed, early-to-rise philosophies, and the burnt edges on the vittles hadn't started to churn my innards yet. What's more, being around a pair of birds named after the Greek and Roman gods of love seemed powerful civilized. And 'course I was looking forward to doing more for the orphans of St. Louis, and showing Pa and Ma by sending winnings home to 'em, and maybe even buying myself a first-class pocketknife.
"Are you sure he's small enough?" Goose piped up while casting his eyes in my general direction. At the moment he was studying the empty chair beside me.
"Measurements have been taken," Chilly boomed, speaking twice as loud as normal 'cause he'd been contradicted.
"How's his eyesight?" Goose asked, resorting to his nose to find me. He had himself eyeglasses but rarely trotted them out, claiming they were about as helpful as a pair of stove lids.
"Keen enough," Chilly reported. "Did you want to check his teeth?"
"He got any extras?" Goose asked, sounding ready to claim 'em. Those of his teeth that hadn't gone missing had a mossy shine to 'em.
"The main thing you need to know about Zeb," Chilly said, "is that we can trust him. He's been sworn into the Brotherhood."
"Which brotherhood's that?" Goose wanted to know, turning suspicious.
"Why, the Brotherhood of the Gambler," Chilly answered, considerably put out over having to explain something so secret. "What'd you have for breakfast, anyway?"
It might have seemed a queer question if but a half hour before I hadn't seen Goose tell the Professor to pour him a good stiff breakfast of his best medicine. The Professor's restorative smelled the same as a small bottle of rye whiskey my ma kept on hand for toothaches and other ailments too terrible to think on.
"Zeb," Chilly said, appearing tired of shouting at Goose, "come out to the kitchen. There's something I want you to try on for size."
So we trooped out to the kitchen with Goose bringing up the rear 'cause he needed a couple of sit-down breathers on the way. Ho-John sat over by the stove, whittling a toy out of a block of wood and paying us no mind as we all squeezed into a pantry.
"Climb onto that middle shelf there." Chilly pointed. "Take a look through that hole in back."
I did it without no trouble, though I wasn't thrilled by its height, and if I'd bulged an inch or two bigger in any direction, it would have been a pinching tight fit. There was a crowd of crockery on the shelf above me, all full of pickles and relishes and such, while a troop of bottles and jars were spread across the shelf below me. The middle shelf had been cleared of everything but some grains of spilt salt, which was about as worrisome a sign as could be. Knowing how stern the Brotherhood felt about charms and portents and what have you, I waited till Chilly wasn't watching before sneaking a pinch of salt to throw over my left shoulder. I didn't skimp on crossing myself either. There wasn't any telling how long those grains had been laying there churning up bad luck, and I didn't plan on taking any chances.
"What do you see?" Chilly asked.
Rolling on my side, I squinted through a hole in the back wall.
"The main parlor," I said.
"All of
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