Displaced

Chapter 46

"Green, Black, three. House wins."

A chorus of angry groans erupted from the assembled gamblers around the caretta table. Nobody's voice was louder than Tehlmar's. An aggrieved, drunken protest emerged from his lips as he slammed his fist onto the polished wooden tabletop.

"Bullshit!" he slurred, his long, pointed ears red from the potent combination of alcohol and rage. "This game's rigged! This whole place's rigged!"

The other gamblers quickly backed away as Tehlmar staggered towards the house's roller, who stood at the other end of the table. The smoky air teamed up with the booze to make the room swim and shift in his vision. He kept his right hand on the table for balance while he fumbled beneath his shirt with his left, looking for the dagger he always kept hidden there.

Nothing. What? It had to be there! Where had it gone?

Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice tried to tell him that things were different now, but it could not pierce the inebriated din that thundered through his head. He continued to fumble as he neared the roller, the man's desperate waving towards somebody else making no impression on him. Tehlmar reached out and grabbed the man by arm. "I know loaded dice when I see them. Give me back my money," he demanded.

"Sir, it's time for you to leave," said a voice behind him. A hand fell on his shoulder, grasping it firmly.

Tehlmar's body whirled into action, decades of training overriding conscious thought. Ducking down, he spun about with unexpected quickness, his leg extending out to sweep the person off their feet. Then he stumbled, his head spinning from the sudden explosive movements. This was far from Tehlmar's first drunken fight, but experience couldn't remove the penalty of alcohol. It could, however, minimize it. Instead of fighting the stumble, he went with it, turning it into a somewhat awkward tumble that placed him just beside the falling man as the man landed, flailing, chest-down on the ground.

Ignoring the panicked shouts coming from all around, Tehlmar rolled on top of his opponent and pinned him to the floor, using his weight to keep the man from getting up while he tried to grab one of the man's two left arms. After a moment he succeeded, whereupon he twisted the man's arm around behind him and began to pull, forcing the limb up at an angle that no shoulder was meant to handle. With a sickening pop, the shoulder dislocated and the man screamed in agony.

A body slammed into Tehlmar, knocking him prone. He struggled against his new assailant, but before he could maneuver properly a second body joined in. Then a third, and a fourth.

"You're all bloody cheaters!" he shouted. "Dirty, rotten shitstains! I'm gonna-"

Something hard hit the back of his head, and the lights went out.

*     *     *

Slowly, carefully, Tehlmar sliced, the sharp knife easily turning the large vegetables from whole entities into a pile of small thin pieces. He smoothly scooped them up and dropped them into a nearby bowl, the pieces eliciting soft tinks as they bounced off the fine white porcelain. Suddenly Tehlmar's ears picked up a low, mournful wail off in the distance, its volume slowly building and its pitch rising until it became an unearthly cry that sent waves of dread washing over him. Another wail joined the first, then another, and another, each closer than before, until the entire world seemed to be crying out in warning. Dropping the knife onto the counter, he rushed out of the kitchen and donned his straw sandals, then raced out of his small house to find a street already clogged with people. The wailing continued all around the city as thousands of others poured from their houses, all desperate to get out as quickly as possible.

Then his ears picked up a sound over the wailing, the sound of a million giant insects beating their wings in a massive swarm. Utter terror consumed him and he ran, following the tide of panicked people. He knew that sound. That was the sound of death.