“Anyone else want to have a go?” Jean-Claude asked. He peered over the tops of the aeronauts’ heads to a squad of red-coated marines, Major Bitterlich amongst them. “How about you layabouts? Think you can do better than the ratings? One denier to any marine who can produce a card for me when we get to Joubert’s Folly. How about you, Major?”

Jean-Claude remained unsure what to make of the Seelenjäger. He had the reserve of a diplomat and the manners of a dandy. Jean-Claude could have sworn he was courting Isabelle, but she claimed not. She hadn’t invited him to the capitaine’s table since their first night out, and he’d opted for a largely nocturnal existence.

Jean-Claude always made a point to weigh people by their actions, but he had to admit a handicap against Seelenjägers. He woke up in sweats dreaming about the night a Seelenjäger provisioning party had come to his village, and what they had done to his mother.

Of course, Bitterlich had nothing to do with that. He hadn’t even been born. There was no doubt Bitterlich was a good man, but there remained lodged in Jean-Claude’s heart the caveat, “As good as one of his kind can be.”

As long as Bitterlich remained uninterested in Isabelle, that codicil remained quiet.

Major Bitterlich approached the barrel. His habitual good cheer had faded to wary politeness over the last few days. “I don’t think that would quite be fair, monsieur.” He selected a card from the pile on the deck and turned it over. It was the turncoat, bearing the image of a saint staring at the Ravenous Gate and a horned Torment staring into Paradise Everlasting.

He held the card up for Rebecca’s inspection and said, “I cheat.” His hand rippled, briefly losing all shape and twisting in directions that the human mind refused to see, and then the hand was back and the card was gone.

Rebecca’s eyes grew as round as full moons. “How’d you do that? Where’d it go?”

“Same place his clothes go when he makes like a raven,” Jean-Claude said.

Rebecca moved her head around like a snake, and her voice rose with excitement, “That’s like stealing good teeth!”

Bitterlich tipped his hat to Jean-Claude. “I look forward to collecting my denier.”

This time it was the marines’ turn to laugh. Jean-Claude grunted and tapped the brim of his hat in acknowledgment.

“Anyone else?” he asked.

There was no shortage of volunteers. Rebecca hardly paid attention to any of them, her gaze following Bitterlich.

Jean-Claude tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention. “I suppose you’re going to try to snatch that card from the Builder’s own fingers, aren’t you.”

Rebecca shrugged. “Mebbe.”

Jean-Claude snorted. “That would be something to see. Just make sure you get your duties done first.”

CHAPTER

Eight