Like all the best games, chop was easy to learn and hard to master. I’d played it with our gardener when Father wasn’t watching for years. The whole deck of cards was dealt evenly amongst all players, and each person laid a single card for each trick, trying not to end up with any point cards. Each Ocean card was worth one point, while the second highest Mountain card, the dreaded Volcano, carried as many points as all the Ocean cards combined. Players could lay Sky or Flame cards with relative safety since they weren’t worth anything, and the same for the lower Mountain cards, but if another player didn’t have a card of a matching suit, they were allowed to sneak an Ocean or the Volcano into the hand.

The primary aim of avoiding points was given an extra complication by the bargaining round that preceded the first trick, where each player tried to convince their neighbor to take the cards they didn’t want and give them the ones they did. No one was so stupid as to think they could offload an Ocean or the Volcano, of course, but depending on one’s hand, it could be advantageous to have lots of Sky or Flame – or very few – to either force others to play their point cards or unload your own. It was the perfect game for a bunch of fledgling Summoners to practice their charm offensives, persuasiveness, and people-reading.

I sat at the table with eight other Summoner students, the full complement of the Hall. Smarmy Chorazin sat to one side of me and Galen, the one who’d called me ugly, sat directly across from me. The triangular table was meant to hold twenty-five, but there hadn’t been that many in the Order in thirty years or more, according to Zoaelia. She sat right at the apex, and the rest of us fanned out down the two sides that flanked her, staying close to the corner so that no one had to reach too far across the table – it was very wide near the middle. Everyone looked to her with something very near devotion, even the one other woman at the table, Densin.

“Buy in, everybody,” she said, tossing something small, hard, and white on the table. It bounced toward me, and I squinted. Am I more tired than I think, or is that a tooth? Being an outsider in the Hall made me feel too awkward to ask, so I glanced at the others as subtly as I could, trying to see if anyone else was confused. Chorazin, the other new boy, was peering at the thing with interest but did not seem surprised, so apparently the others had told him about whatever this was. All the others were reaching into pouches and tossing down their own. They were definitely teeth. Some looked human, while others appeared to be animal in origin, with no two matching. One had to have come from a bear or other large beast – it was half as long as my finger – while another could have been from a tiny cat or dog. One had the square look of a child’s molars.

Looking to Zoaelia, I could see her grinning wolfishly at me. She knew I was at a loss and was waiting to see how I’d respond. I’ll respond well, that’s how.

“I have five pennies,” I offered. “But if teeth is the order of the day, I’m going to need to borrow some pliers.”

That got a solid laugh from the group, and a couple of them thumped the table approvingly.

Zoaelia relented. “Your money won’t get you very far here, New Boy. The Tower has its own economy. You’ll buy what you need with teeth or not at all.”

I chewed on that, trying to find the logic of it. “Do we have to kill creatures up in the higher levels of the Tower above the school and harvest them that way?”

Galen snorted. “You wouldn’t last two minutes on the floor above the school, impostor.”

I decided I did not like Galen.

“You wouldn’t do much better, dumpling,” Zoaelia told the snooty boy. He looked properly chastened. I’d heard him bragging to the other girl that he’d reached Acolyte just the month before, so he stood several long steps down from the Head of Hall. “And no, we don’t harvest the teeth; the Tower simply produces them. You get a handful when you choose your Order – Chorazin here will get his in the next day or so, and so would you if you weren’t terminally stupid – and then occasionally it will reward you for exceptional feats or performance.”

“It?” I asked. “The Tower itself?”

She nodded. “It’s alive, in its own kind of way. It gives little bits of its power and strength to us so we can grow stronger and help in the War Above. For some reason I don’t think anyone understands, they come out as teeth. Some of the more religious Elders will make an allegory of it during Firstday Worship, saying they signify strength of character or the purity of animal innocence, but who knows for sure? New Neophytes usually find their little stash under their pillow or in their shoes the first morning here.” She snorted. “Brond over there found his in the chamber pot and didn’t notice them until he’d pissed all over them.”

Chamber pot or no, here’s another perk I’m missing out on by not choosing yet. Those were piling up uncomfortably.

Zoaelia didn’t notice my grimace and kept talking. “Mostly they get ground down for use in new weapons and armor by the Tinkers –”

“Tinkers?” Chorazin asked. He had a face that was asking for a fist, but I was glad he’d asked so I didn’t have to.

“She means the Artisans,” Galen said. “All the Orders end up with nicknames.”

“The teeth are inherently valuable, is the point,” Zoaelia continued, ignoring the interruption, “but day to day we trade them back and forth for favors, little niceties, and to place bets.” She gestured to the table in front of herself. “And around here, getting called toothless doesn’t mean you’re weak or old, it means you’re poor and too stupid to do anything about it.”

She really liked calling me stupid, and she was powerful and impressive enough that I couldn’t even disagree with her.

“I’ll spot both of you newlings for our first round,” she said magnanimously, throwing down two more teeth. “If you want to keep playing beyond that, you’d better either win or find someone that needs a favor done. You’ll spend a good portion of the next few weeks fetching books and giving your desserts to the Acolytes around you; best get used to it.”

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The boy sitting to her left dealt out the cards. I ended up with the two highest Ocean cards, Leviathan and Typhoon, three more high-number Oceans, several middling Flames, one low Sky, and the Yeti of Mountains, the only Mountain card higher than the point-laden Volcano. It was a spectacularly bad hand, and I had to wonder if our card dealer had stacked the deck against the outsider. If so, he was hiding it well, neither avoiding my gaze nor paying any particular attention to me. Maybe it’s just bad luck. Aspects Above, I’ve had more than my fair share today. Maybe I could take all the points and cleave the board? Ugh, it’s a bad idea. That never works.

“Trade up!” the dealer announced. His name was Jest, and he had the easy, handsome smirk to match. The others all broke into animated discussion, trying to trade undesirable cards that weren’t too undesirable. I was at the end of the line on my side of the table, and the only person next to me was Chorazin, who was pointedly ignoring me. I couldn’t blame him; I was the only reason he wasn’t the lowest in the pecking order, and he wasn’t going to give me a centimeter. I still imagined the little imp I’d seen in the hall shitting in his pillow case – I’m not a saint – but that was as far as it went. No one with half a brain would want my cards, anyway. I settled for watching the others.

It’s not about trading your cards, I realized after a moment. I only saw one card change hands, and that was accompanied by a tooth handed from one Summoner to the other. No, they were sounding each other out – seeing if they could suss out each others’ hands without giving away too much themselves. Some went with subtle frowns that hinted at a bad hand, while others showed big grins and broad confidence. In all likelihood, the ones with the best hands are the ones frowning. But if the others know that…My mind shuffled the possibilities like a deck of cards. How did you bluff someone that knew you were bluffing and was almost certainly lying to you about what they held?

“First trick,” Jest announced. “Left of the dealer leads the chop.” Brond, a big beefy fellow with dark skin and curly lavender hair, laid his card – the Bird of Paradise, the highest Sky – and Galen followed after. Clockwise order put me next, and I played my four of Sky. It was the only play I had, since in chop you had to match suit if you could. More Skies went down one after the other, though I noticed Zoaelia played a Flame, meaning she had no Skies in her hand, and Brond took the hand. No one was really focused yet – nobody could lay point cards on the first trick, so he knew from the drop that he could safely offload his high card. He’d play something low next.

And indeed he did: the bastard dropped the nine of Mountains, and my heart sank. I’d hoped he’d throw another Sky; I didn’t have any left, which meant if he had, I could have safely offloaded the Yeti that sat in my hand without taking the trick. Now, though, that cursed Yeti was my only possible play, and there was a better than fifty percent chance that the person with the Volcano would play after me, meaning they could force me to take the highest point card in the game. Not bothering to hide my chagrin, I threw down the Yeti when my turn came and was met with a chorus of chuckles ranging from sympathetic to mocking. Sure enough, Zoaelia threw down the Volcano with a satisfied smirk.

“Nothing I could do,” I said, shrugging, my face hot with unearned embarrassment.

“Bad luck, New Boy,” Zoaelia said pitilessly. “Looks like it’ll be a short night for you.”

Since I took the trick, I had to lead out the next one, and my options were scant. I played my lowest Flame, an eight, and got slapped with three low Oceans and four Flames lower than my own. I took three more points. Whoever had all the Flames was sitting pretty, and I was losing badly.

“First time playing?” Galen simpered. “Nobody wanted to play with you in the Crim? Maybe if you weren’t so ugly.”

“Ahh, stuff it,” Brond said mildly. “Everybody gets a bad hand sometimes.”

Time to see if I could turn my luck around and watch Galen suck on his words. I hung my head in shame and played my lowest Ocean, a nine. This time there was outright laughter as everyone unloaded their low Oceans, leaving me with a handful of point cards. “It’s a bad hand!” I said loudly.

Zoaelia had a tiny crease growing between her flawless eyebrows, and I knew she was onto me.

“Who’s Deceit, and why do the new ones have to talk to him?” I asked her as I played my next card, the ten of Oceans.

She blinked and focused on what I’d said. “Caught that, did you? He’s the Spirit of the Hall. Well, not spirit, exactly. He’s the aggregate personality and knowledge of all the Summoners who have ever lived in the Tower. He helps us choose our masteries, train, and gives damn good advice, even if he is a bit of a prick.” She gestured to a cushioned wingback chair in one shadowed nook that had several stools sitting in front of it. “You won’t be able to see him unless you pledge our Order.”

In the meantime, I took the next trick, and I thought I might just pull it off.

“Has anyone else taken a point?” Galen asked suddenly.

“You know,” I said casually, “I don’t think they have.” I played the Typhoon, and someone groaned.

“Someone’s got to have the Leviathan,” Densin said, looking stricken. “Phaedran?”

The quiet boy two seats to my left with chin-length hair of deep purple shook his head disgustedly and threw down a six of Oceans.

Zoaelia was watching me like a hawk, and suddenly a grin split her face. “He’s got it.” She shook her head. “We’ve been suckered by the New Boy.” She threw down her two of Oceans, and three more followed after her, all going to me.

“We’ll see,” I said. “Plenty of time for it to fall apart on me.” I played the Leviathan, and everyone groaned. Only three more Oceans in this round with a smattering of other suits; only two more point cards left for the final hand. I sent up a quick prayer to the Gambler, the Aspect of the Alchemists, asking for this last one to go my way. I’d never be an Alchemist, but the Gambler loved long odds, and this hand was definitely that. I played my final card, the Campfire. I hadn’t paid good enough attention to what Flames were left in play. If anyone still had the Phoenix or the Inferno, I was sunk.

One after the other the players to my left shook their heads and laid their cards. Chorazin had one of the last Oceans, and Zoaelia had the other. She was chuckling to herself as she played it.

Galen stared offendedly at his final card as if it had somehow betrayed him. “He’s going to cleave the board. That never works!”

“Almost never,” Jest said, nodding to me.

Galen threw his card. It was a two of Flames. The others all yelled and laughed, pounding the table as they vented their disbelief.

The tightness in my chest eased. I’d cleaved the board: in chop, if one person took every last point card, that player got no points and everyone else took the maximum. It was nearly impossible to do, and it had only worked because the others had dismissed me as a threat.

Sometimes it paid to be the outsider. I stood up, reached into the middle of the table, and took my eight teeth. A nice little starting stash, if I played carefully the rest of the night. Galen was staring at me sullenly, and I threw him a wink.

“First time playing?” I asked him. “It’s a tough game if you’re not bright.”

That brought outright laughter and a warm glow to my heart. It was going to be a good night, and I was just getting started.