I walked down the corridors of the labyrinth for what must’ve been an hour in a numbed silence. I didn’t even bother to check my locator device anymore. This place seemed to have a mind of its own. It grew and evolved to my choices, pivots, turns, and reactions. It knew my very being, down to my haunted past. Attempts to deviate seemed futile at this point.
“The bird’s eye sees all, huh.” I thought to myself, applying some ripped cloth from my discarded office shirt to the fresh wound on my forearm.
A swinging log trap had activated after I depressed a panel on the floor. The thing was teeming with spikes and it swung with the force of a motorcycle. I rolled out of the way in time to avoid the brunt of its strike, but it had clipped the flesh of my arm pretty good.
The pain didn’t bother me. Truthfully, I didn’t feel much of anything after the frost of the blizzard hallway. I had spent every moment of my wandering trapped in the echoes of my memory.
I didn’t go to the police the night my mother was killed. I knew they wouldn’t care much about a dead hooker and her bastard. For a few days I grieved, but grief soon turned to thoughts of vengeance. Even at the young age of ten, I couldn’t resist the siren call of retribution. The anger welled up inside me once more.
My desire for revenge hadn’t gotten me anywhere. That man looked no different than any other homeless vagrant wandering the streets of Cornell City. Passerby that I could grab the attention of would shrug their shoulders at my description of a bearded, drunken man. Could’ve been anybody’s husband in the Walkman’s District.
Walkman’s District, so named after its inhabitants - too poor to afford an automobile for transport to and from work. It also poked fun at the large population of homeless who wandered from place to place on leather-wrapped feet. It was a shithole, but it was my shithole. I was born and raised on the second floor of a run-down tenement. We could barely afford rent, even in that place. The only industries in Walkman’s were of the vices - booze, sex, and gambling. Go figure where I got it from.
But back to the point. Vengeance. I couldn’t take revenge on the scum who killed my mother, so I did the next best thing. I took it out on the people of Walkman’s. Everybody I could con out of a few credits deserved it in my mind. Anyone asking for a hand got a snicker in return. I turned into a real juvenile delinquent. Mom would’ve been so proud.
The contours of an engraved stone door came into focus just a few meters ahead of me. I abandoned my reverie for a moment to inspect it. A bronze lion roared on the face of the door. Its mane erupted into flames sprawling in every direction. Its eyes gleamed a red color - rubies?
I searched for a handle to no avail. Just as I was about to start pushing on the ornate slab, however, it jerked open. Sliding along a set of grooves in the floor, it kicked up dust and sand as it revealed the room within.
My heart skipped a beat. Gold coins stacked higher than a man lined the edges of the chamber. Eight torches, four on each side, glowed brightly from golden sconces that sat braced on either side of two chiseled alcoves. One alcove bore the relief of a glorious warrior riding a chariot, two massive horses pulling it along. The other bore the carved image of a lion, much like the one on the front door. It sat back on its paws as if patiently waiting for its master to return.
Its eyes were emeralds. Golden plating traced sinuously along the ridges of its back, shoulders, chest, and hind legs, ending at the tip of its tail. Its mane was a solid hunk of platinum, or maybe silver, encrusted with interlocked rubies and sapphires. Selling off that pretty kitty alone would be enough to buy half of Cornell City - the good half too.
Lightly rolling fog billowed from the corners of the room. It had a peculiar bluish haze to it, an azure that rolled out in pulsing waves. The sweet smell of incense filled the air. A bit too sweet, actually; the longer I stood in the doorframe inhaling it the more nauseous I became.
In the middle of the room lay a bulky slab, similarly plated in gold and lined with a variety of precious gemstones. As I approached it I could make out the carving of a man protruding from the top of the gilded box. A coffin? I traced my fingers along the precious metals. Not a fleck of dust marred its opulent surface.
“A sarcophagus, actually.” A voice purred.
I looked up at the lion in disbelief. Did that statue just talk?
It did more than talk. As I watched, the ornate monument extended its front paws into a long stretch, cracking its back and shivering its head in satisfaction.
“It has been several millennia since I last rose. The grand king Thutmose III, blessings eternal upon him, calls upon my service once again.”
The lion plodded off its podium. I had never seen a lion in person, but I’m fairly certain this was twice the size of the typical king of the jungle. Standing to full height it towered over me, its head nearly hitting the ceiling of the tomb. Blue wisps passed through its gaping nostrils as it took a few hearty sniffs.
I pulled out my Thurma and Tenderizer.
“Now child, there is no need for such barbarity.” The lion raised a paw to accentuate its point.
“I have read your soul, you are no common graverobber. Nay, I see the burning vigor of a warrior in you.” The feline strode around the length of the sarcophagus. It stopped just short of me, its great mane casting a shadow over my shoulder. I resisted the urge to flee to the other side of the bejeweled slab. I didn’t want to piss this kitty off.
“And the hint of finesse…” The lion purred. “Tricks and wit, a love for uncertain stakes. Yes, I think I can enjoy you.”
I didn’t like how he said that.
“But where are my manners? I am Dedún. God of wealth, fortune, and all things exquisite. In life, the great Thutmose III - grandson of the architect of this tomb - pledged his allegiance to me, and I offered him the wealth of nations. His empire stretched larger than any of his predecessors.” Dedún scraped a claw longingly across the stele of Thutmose III’s countenance.
“And in death, I foster his soul.”
“I’m not here to offer mine if that’s what you’re looking for.” I stepped out from under the creature’s shade.
“No, no. You misunderstand. I have no further need to...collect. Those days are long behind me.” Dedún did not move to follow me. Perhaps he sensed my apprehension. Or maybe he knew I would not be out of his range anywhere in this room.
The incense clouded my mind, making my vision hazy. The more I inhaled it the more intoxicating it became. My legs shook from the strain of holding my body.
“I think I should be on my way, then.” I glared into the eyes of the lion.
“At least offer me your name first. The king should know his guest.”
“Puck.” I coughed. Even speaking in this haze was a difficult task.
“Puck. I like that. It’s got a charm about it, banal as it is.” The lion raised a paw to its chin in thought.
“Before you go…” Dedún interjected as I walked to the door across from the entrance.
“Perhaps you would be interested in a wager?”
A gamble with an ancient god of wealth and fortune. What could go wrong?
“What’s at stake?”
“On my end, I offer an artifact of great power that will aid you in your endeavors, Puck.” The lion produced a lacquered wooden box from the folds of its ribcage. A blazing red sun adorned the lid, eight tendrils of light spread evenly from its octagonal center toward the edges of the box. Dedún unhinged the brass clasp keeping it shut and popped open the lid to reveal its contents.
A pair of white silk gloves sat on a bed of velvet. Two red suns adorned the dorsal side of the gloves, sparkling diamonds were woven into the fabric of each knuckle. They were brighter than the light of the room should allow, as if a source of luminescence by their own power.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
> [Mythical Gloves]
>
> Gloves of Heka
>
> Magical Item
>
> In one hand and out the other. The gloves can displace any palm-sized object within a 5m radius into the hands of the wearer, and can likewise be placed anywhere in range. Nobody except the wielder may be looking at the object, and the palms must be closed.
“And what am I offering?” I replied, my eyes transfixed on the gloves.
“You haven’t much to your name, have you?” The lion furrowed his brow in thought.
He was right, after my last bout of spending I only had 10,000 credits and a whole lot of debt.
“But you have much to earn. Everything in your account, to include the proceeds of this round both towards your treasury and your debt will instead be generously donated to the grave of Thutmose III, grandson of the great architect Thutmose and renowned warrior-king. Should you lose, of course.”
“What is the game?” That would be a big hindrance to settling my debt. In the first round, I had earned 70,000 in pocket and 50,000 towards my debt. In the last round I earned 125,000 in pocket and who knows how much in debt. As it scaled up, I stood to lose hundreds of thousands of credits in this wager. For an item like these gloves, however, it just might be worth it.
“Senet. A fine mix of chance and skill.” Dedún pulled out a second box and placed it carefully onto the sarcophagus between us. Three rows of ten squares lined the top of the brick-sized object. Four squares on the right side of the bottom of the box were inscribed with a variety of hieroglyphs, and one square in the center had an inscription as well. The rest were blank.
“You get five pieces on the board.” Pinched between two claws, the lion held several pawn-like pieces of black and white that he placed interchangeably on the top row of the board. “The rules are simple. You must get all of your pieces to the thirtieth square and remove them from play. The first to remove them all wins.” He pointed to the square with three lines carved into it on the bottom row.
“You move…” Dedún pulled out four sticks colored on one end with white and the other with black “by tossing the paddles. The rules are as follows:”
Text appeared on my HUD on the lower right screen. It read:
> 1 white side up = move 1 square and throw again
>
> 2 white sides up = move 2 squares
>
> 3 white sides up = move 3 squares
>
> 4 white sides up = move 4 squares and throw again
>
> 4 black sides up = move 6 squares and throw again
“There is more nuance to this ancient contest, though. Pay close attention.”
> Landing on an opponent's piece is an "attack", and you exchange places; you may not land on your own pieces
>
> FIRST MOVE: First throw of the game must move the piece on square 10.
>
> SAFETY: Squares 15, 26, 28, 29 cannot be attacked.
>
> DEFENSE: Two or more consecutive opponent pieces cannot be attacked. •
>
> BLOCKADE: Three or more consecutive opponent pieces cannot be passed; however, blockades may not turn corners (10 to 11 or 20 to 21).
>
> TRAP: Land on 27 and go back to 15 (or the first empty square before it)..
>
> EXIT: You may not move past 30. A piece on 30 can be removed at the start of your turn if all of your other pieces are out of the first row.
>
> NO MOVE: If you can't move forward, you must move backward (according to the same rules). If no move is possible your turn ends.
“Sound fair?”
The instructions remained on my HUD after he finished speaking. I supposed I would have them available for the duration of the game. It seemed straightforward enough, nothing I couldn’t learn on the fly.
> 33% chance of victory
Were the gloves worth the investment of hundreds of thousands of credits? Maybe not, but the thrill of the gamble certainly was.
“You’re on.”
“Delightful!” Dedún clasped his paws together. A row of jagged basalt teeth appeared as his lips curled into a smile. “Let us begin.”
The lion offered me the first move. I graciously accepted and tossed the paddles into the air.
“3 whites. You may move one piece three spaces.” The feline nodded sagely. “Strong throw.”
I moved my front piece three squares ahead. Square 13.
Dedún followed up with a one-white throw. He moved his front piece to Square 11 and threw again. This time he threw a three and moved his second piece to form a defense on Square 10 and 11.
It didn’t mean much until the next turn I threw two whites and went to move my next piece from Square 8 to Square 10. He had formed a defense already in the opening hand and I could not capture either piece. I sullenly placed my pawn in Square 9, the closest available square.
“You’re quite the player, aren’t you?” I muttered.
“I’d consider myself an amateur. I’ve only had a few thousand years of practice. Never tried for the big leagues.” The lion shrugged. His golden pauldrons scraped the side of his mane. The dust that fell from his shoulder alone could pay a month’s rent.
I stared at him. His earnest tone suggested he did not understand the incredulity of what he just said.
My neural-optical scanner did not affect an animal face, much less one made of stone. I grimaced. That didn’t mean I had to play fairly, though.
Time dragged on with the scraping of pieces along the board. The miasma of incense in the room made it hard to concentrate on the game, and I frequently found myself spaced out at the beginning of my turns.
“Hello? Puck? Are you present?” Dedún would chide me.
“Yeah. Just...thinking.”
“You haven’t thrown yet. What is there to ponder?”
“If those gloves are one size fits all or if I’ll have to get them tailored,” I replied, throwing a resounding two. I quietly moved my piece. Not the move I wanted to back up my talk.
The lion laughed. It sounded like metal grinding on stone. “It’s anyone's game currently. I appreciate your continued optimism.”
He then proceeded to throw a four-black, move six spaces, and swap my front-leading piece back to the center of the board.
“Though it seems the edge is in my favor.”
> 25% chance of victory
I figured there were two major types of Senet players - cautious and aggressive. Dedún was a cautious player. He favored forming defenses and blockades whenever possible over the opposite tactic of moving his front leaders off the board quickly or going for attacks on my pieces. It kept my advances relatively safe, but it made him nearly impossible to set back. Once he had the lead I saw little opportunity to reverse it.
“Senet!” He exclaimed, moving his first piece off the board. Three of his other pieces formed a blockade on Squares 24, 25, and 26. His trailing piece wasn’t far behind on square 19.
My leader sat precariously on 29 - just within reach of attack from his new leader. My next closest piece was at 22. I had a two-piece defense of my own between his trailer and his blockade, locking his furthest piece in place. My own trailer was behind his. He had slipped ahead earlier in the game.
To throw off his lead I would have to throw four-blacks and move my piece from 22 to 28. This would force his next move onto square 27 - a trap square that moved whatever piece landed on it back to square 15.
Dedún smiled, content with his position.
“I’m calling it. Four blacks.” I locked eyes with him. His emerald matched the green of my own.
“That would be precisely what you need, but you have a 6.25% chance of throwing it.” The lion crossed his massive paws. I hadn’t noticed it before, but diamonds the size of eyeballs were set in the center of their pads.
I rubbed the coin in my pocket, wishing for luck. That was my go-to in a tough spot, but I needed insurance. Through the duration of the match, I took notice of a few key facts about Dedún.
He was an honorable competitor, he assumed that everyone always followed the rules to the best of their ability and any mishap was an act of beginner’s ignorance rather than deceit. I tested this earlier when I threw a paddle off the edge of the coffin intentionally and he let me rethrow it. I blamed it on my clumsiness and he merely gave an understanding nod to try again.
Dedún also was very secure in his genius. A genius he was - he was the BIOS system’s representation of a deity for crying out loud. But even he was prone to mistakes. While caught up in conversation and telling me the history of Senet's strategy, he failed to notice me shift a pawn five spaces instead of four. I expected him to cut off the conversation and force me to fix my mistake, but instead, he droned on about third dynasty additions to the Senet playbook. He was treating this like a casual parlor game between friends - not fierce competition.
At one point he made a move to pass my lead pawn that deviated from his typically defensive strategy and I questioned him about it. This seemed to irritate him considerably. Who was I to question the wisdom of an experienced Senet strategist? He had gone on for at least ten minutes about how he spent centuries studying that specific maneuver (he called it the Anekhaten Sweep or something). He was an intellectual megalomaniac.
I considered all of this as I made my next move. My move began with our small exchange before throwing my hand. Every delayed play at the start of my turn that had frustrated Dedún had built rapport for this moment. Sometimes you couldn’t cheat the mechanics of the game, you had to cheat the player.
“You must throw your hand, Puck.” He graciously reminded me.
“How do you figure those odds?” I ignored his request.
“Well there are four sticks, and two sides per stick. The odds of a single stick being black or white is ½. You multiply it out four times. It is simple math.” The feline explained, annoyance evident in his voice.
“Yeah, but that’s not accounting for wind resistance, gravity, the force of the throw, misbalance of weight, etc.” I countered, shaking my hand in preparation for the throw.
“Puck, these are minute details. I merely meant as a mode of mathematical expression the chances of scoring your desired hand.” That had struck a nerve. He began a tirade as I threw my hand.
“We are in an enclosed tomb with negligible amounts of wind, and assuming you throw with a consistent force throughout the round…”
I aimed all four of my paddles toward the edge of the lid. I sucked in my breath as the lion carried on, oblivious to my intent.
Three landed black. One landed white. I blew with all the force I could on the white paddle, which had fallen to balance precariously on a knife’s edge. The gust of air was all it needed to fall over.
“Ah damn, I’ve done it again.” I interrupted the lion, who just now looked down to investigate my throw.
“You must learn by now Puck. I have already given you a chance here.” He shook his great mane like a disappointed father. “You must throw it again, no matter its color!”
“Right. Right.” I feigned frustration. Inside, my heart leaped into my throat. The ruse had worked. Dedún’s perfect math of a 6.25% chance had now become 50%. The flip of a coin.
I flicked my paddle up. There was nothing more I could do to shore the odds. Now Lady Luck controlled the outcome. That’s what it was all about, anyway. If I could predict every outcome, life would just be too damn boring to live out.
This hand wasn’t the end of the game by any means - but setting him back here would greatly increase my chances of winning. Especially considering how methodical and gradual his crawl across the board had been; the exception being his lead piece which was now off the board. I had the hunch that throwing off his strategy this late in the game would shatter his composure and lead me to a win. I just needed one last black.
The paddle struck the board, lightly shaking all the pieces. It was hard to tell through the thick fog, but I could still make out the sable color of the paddle.
Jackpot.