“Radion said, spreading three rows of three cards from a huge pictorial deck. I only caught a glimpse of the faces as he shuffled them – dogs with cat heads, Phobos impossibly close in a dark sky, the blazing sun circled by flapping birds – but I found them fascinating. “A real fortune teller’s deck?” I asked. He gave a baleful eye. “That is a fool’s term. We gypsies have used the deck for a thousand years plus a thousand more. It was given to us by great powers before our time.” “Who?” I asked,... letting just the right amount of bemusement enter my voice. I had found in the last few days of travel with Radion and his people that while he barked like a dog, he often bit like a toothless grandmother. But this time I was wrong, for his look threaten to boil over into one of real ire. “You do not jest with the cards,” he said, his bass voice a warning rumble. I nodded, and composed myself at his makeshift table – a flat, knee high rock on an underground plain where we had camped for the night – with a look of rapt attention on my features.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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