Maskerade - Cards with Death

'Fair enough,' she said, as she relit the candle. 'We don't want to be sitting here all night, do we? How many have you come for?'

ONE.

'The cow?'

Death shook his head.

'It could be the cow.'

NO. THAT WOULD BE CHANGING HISTORY.

'History is about things changing.'

NO.

Granny sat back.

'Then I challenge you to a game. That's traditional. That's allowed.'

Death was silent for a moment.

THIS IS TRUE.

'Good.'

CHALLENGING ME BY MEANS OF A GAME IS ALLOWABLE.

'Yes.'

HOWEVER. . . YOU UNDERSTAND THAT TO WIN ALL YOU MUST GAMBLE ALL?

'Double or quits? Yes, I know.'

BUT NOT CHESS.

'Can't abide chess.'

OR CRIPPLE MR ONION. I'VE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO UNDERSTAND THE RULES.

'Very well. How about one hand of poker? Five cards each, no draws? Sudden death, as they say.'

Death thought about this, too.

YOU KNOW THIS FAMILY?

No.

THEN WHY?

'Are we talking or are we playing?'

OH, VERY WELL.

Granny picked up the pack of cards and shuffled it, not looking at her hands, and smiling at Death all the time. She dealt five cards each, and reached down. . .

A bony hand grasped hers.

BUT FIRST MISTRESS WEATHERWAX - WE WILL EXCHANGE CARDS.

He picked up the two piles and transposed them, and then nodded at Granny. MADAM?

Granny looked at her cards, and threw them down.

FOUR QUEENS. HMM. THAT IS VERY HIGH.

Death looked down at his cards, and then up into Granny's steady, blue- eyed gaze.

Neither moved for some time.

Then Death laid the hand on the table.

I LOSE, he said. ALL I HAVE IS FOUR ONES.

He looked back into Granny's eyes for a moment. There was a blue glow in the depth of his eye sockets. Maybe, for the merest fraction of a second, barely noticeable even to the closest observation, one winked off.

Granny nodded, and extended a hand.

She prided herself on the ability to judge people by their gaze and their handshake, which in this case was a rather chilly one.

'Take the cow,' she said.

IT IS A VALUABLE CREATURE.

'Who knows what the child will become?' Death stood up, and reached for his scythe.

***

Maskerade - p91-92