Read Online Wagers of Sin: Time Scout II by Robert Asprin, Linda Evans - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Asprin, Linda Evans
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wavered.
Skeeter had remembered.
Marcus knew that in this world of uptimers and 'eighty-sixers, grown men did not weep, as Roman men did with such free abandon. So he blinked desperately, but his throat was so thick he couldn't have spoken to save his own life. Skeeter had remembered. And actually followed through on the promise. I won't forget, Marcus made a silent vow. I won't forget this, my true friend.
He stuffed the money into a front jeans pocket, deep enough to keep it safe from pick pockets, then blinked fiercely again. He wished desperately he could leave the Down Time and share his news with Ianira now, but he had several hours left on his shift and she would be in the middle of a session with an uptime graduate student, one of many who consulted-and paid-her as a singular, primary source. She had told him once that some uptime schools did not allow students to use such recordings or notes, considering them faulty, if not downright fraudulent, sources. Anger had sparked like flint against pyrite in her eyes, that anyone would dare to question her honesty, her integrity.
But a lot of other schools did accept such research as valid. Marcus discovered a deep, abiding joy that Ianira would no longer have to reduce herself to selling off little pieces of her life just to save money for Marcus' debt. He could tell her later of his good fortune, of their good friend and ally. Already he anticipated the joy in her dark eyes.
Perhaps I can even support another child. A son, if the gods smile on us. Thus preoccupied with dreams, Marcus started taking the drink orders Skeeter's generosity had prompted. Skeeter plopped down enough cash to buy the drinks he'd promised and then some.
Goldie Morran and Brian Hendrickson emerged from the back just then, evidently because Goldie had run out of either money or patience. Their admiring entourage followed like schooling fish.
"What's this about drinks being on Skeeter?" Goldie demanded.
Skeeter rose lazily from the seat he'd taken and gave her a mock bow. "You heard me right. And you know I've got the money." He winked at her this time.
Ahh ... Goldie had done the money changing for Skeeter's winnings. Goldie's expression deepened into lines of bitterness. "You call a couple of thousand money? Good God, Skeeter, I just dropped that much in one poker game. When are you ever going to graduate from the penny-ante stuff?"
Skeeter froze, eyes going first wide then savagely narrow. He was the focal point of the entire room, tourists and 'eighty-sixers alike. A flush crept up his face, either of embarrassment or anger-with Skeeter, it was never easy to tell.
"Penny-ante?" he repeated, with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Yes, I suppose from your point of view, that's what I am, Goldie. just Skeeter's penny-ante bullshit, same as always. Now, if I had your juicy situation, maybe I'd hit it big a little more often, too. You're no better than I am, Goldie, under all that fancy crap you hand your customers.-
A sewing needle dropped to the wooden floor would have sounded like an alarm klaxon in the silence that followed.
"And just what do you mean by that?" Goldie was breathing Just a touch too hard, nostrils pinched one moment, flaring the next, lips ash white.
"Oh, come off it, Goldie. You can't con me, we're too much alike, you and I. Everyone in La-La Land knows you scam any customer you can." Several tourists in the room started visibly and stared at Goldie with dawning suspicion. Skeeter shrugged. "If I had a fancy shop and the chance to snatch rare coins at a fraction of their worth, or had the kind of bankroll you've conned over the years, hell, I could drop a few thousand in a poker game, too, and not miss it.
"Like I said, you're no better than I am. You scam, I scam, and everybody here calls us backstabbing cheats. If you didn't use all that fancy crap in your head about coins and gems, you couldn't scam half of what I do in a week. Frankly, coins and gems is all you
Skeeter had remembered.
Marcus knew that in this world of uptimers and 'eighty-sixers, grown men did not weep, as Roman men did with such free abandon. So he blinked desperately, but his throat was so thick he couldn't have spoken to save his own life. Skeeter had remembered. And actually followed through on the promise. I won't forget, Marcus made a silent vow. I won't forget this, my true friend.
He stuffed the money into a front jeans pocket, deep enough to keep it safe from pick pockets, then blinked fiercely again. He wished desperately he could leave the Down Time and share his news with Ianira now, but he had several hours left on his shift and she would be in the middle of a session with an uptime graduate student, one of many who consulted-and paid-her as a singular, primary source. She had told him once that some uptime schools did not allow students to use such recordings or notes, considering them faulty, if not downright fraudulent, sources. Anger had sparked like flint against pyrite in her eyes, that anyone would dare to question her honesty, her integrity.
But a lot of other schools did accept such research as valid. Marcus discovered a deep, abiding joy that Ianira would no longer have to reduce herself to selling off little pieces of her life just to save money for Marcus' debt. He could tell her later of his good fortune, of their good friend and ally. Already he anticipated the joy in her dark eyes.
Perhaps I can even support another child. A son, if the gods smile on us. Thus preoccupied with dreams, Marcus started taking the drink orders Skeeter's generosity had prompted. Skeeter plopped down enough cash to buy the drinks he'd promised and then some.
Goldie Morran and Brian Hendrickson emerged from the back just then, evidently because Goldie had run out of either money or patience. Their admiring entourage followed like schooling fish.
"What's this about drinks being on Skeeter?" Goldie demanded.
Skeeter rose lazily from the seat he'd taken and gave her a mock bow. "You heard me right. And you know I've got the money." He winked at her this time.
Ahh ... Goldie had done the money changing for Skeeter's winnings. Goldie's expression deepened into lines of bitterness. "You call a couple of thousand money? Good God, Skeeter, I just dropped that much in one poker game. When are you ever going to graduate from the penny-ante stuff?"
Skeeter froze, eyes going first wide then savagely narrow. He was the focal point of the entire room, tourists and 'eighty-sixers alike. A flush crept up his face, either of embarrassment or anger-with Skeeter, it was never easy to tell.
"Penny-ante?" he repeated, with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Yes, I suppose from your point of view, that's what I am, Goldie. just Skeeter's penny-ante bullshit, same as always. Now, if I had your juicy situation, maybe I'd hit it big a little more often, too. You're no better than I am, Goldie, under all that fancy crap you hand your customers.-
A sewing needle dropped to the wooden floor would have sounded like an alarm klaxon in the silence that followed.
"And just what do you mean by that?" Goldie was breathing Just a touch too hard, nostrils pinched one moment, flaring the next, lips ash white.
"Oh, come off it, Goldie. You can't con me, we're too much alike, you and I. Everyone in La-La Land knows you scam any customer you can." Several tourists in the room started visibly and stared at Goldie with dawning suspicion. Skeeter shrugged. "If I had a fancy shop and the chance to snatch rare coins at a fraction of their worth, or had the kind of bankroll you've conned over the years, hell, I could drop a few thousand in a poker game, too, and not miss it.
"Like I said, you're no better than I am. You scam, I scam, and everybody here calls us backstabbing cheats. If you didn't use all that fancy crap in your head about coins and gems, you couldn't scam half of what I do in a week. Frankly, coins and gems is all you
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