New Celebrations: The Adventures of Anthony Villiers Read Free

him?”
    “A little, Levi, but don’t exhaust him.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Don’t tire him.”
    “Oh,” said Levi, and made his noise again. As he lumbered away, Godwin played a card. Villiers, however, watched the moron over Godwin’s shoulder.
    “In many ways he is a perfect instrument,” Godwin said without turning to watch. “What do you think of him?”
    “I must admit that I admire neither his style nor his wit.”
    Godwin smiled. “Games of chance don’t tempt him. They’re too complicated. He enjoys a simpler line of pleasure. And, Mr. Villiers, he is personally devoted to me.”
    “He does seem to be displaying a childish sort of delight in his work,” said Villiers, playing a card, but keeping an eye on the commotion at the tables.
    “Oh, that, too. His lack of general understanding is at times an asset, and at other times not. But he does fathom the principles of pain and reward.”
    There was a loud crash, all the more noticeable because the other sounds in the casino had ceased.
    “I believe he does. He seems to be earning an extra portion of raw meat.”
    Godwin played a card and then turned to look. “I’m afraid not. Poor Josiah is more bruised than I intended. However, it may do Josiah good. He seems to need to learn a sense of restraint.”
    Villiers laid down a crevasse.
    Godwin said, “You make your own points rather strongly.”
    Adams appeared then and said, “Good heavens, Mr. Godwin, what is going on?”
    “Internal readjustments,” said Villiers. “Were you winning, Mr. Adams?”
    “Not hardly. I should have taken your advice. My luck continued off by a hair. It was damned frustrating.”
    Villiers laid down his last two cards. “Well, our game is over here. Permit me now to stand your host.”
    “Why, thank you.”
    Godwin slapped his hand down. “It seems that I owe you money, sir.”
    “You may deduct it from my bill,” Villiers said. “Mr. Godwin, will you join us?”
    “Too kind,” Godwin said, “but I’m afraid that business will keep me here.” He salaamed to Villiers. “You are a dangerous man to play against.”
    Villiers laughed. “As Adams said earlier, he used to play the game with his sisters.”
    “Mr. Villiers, if you are not a dangerous man, you had best learn to be one. Call that well meant advice.”

2
    O F ALL THE KNOWN OBJECTS IN THE FLAMMARION RIFT, Star Well is the largest. Its position has been adjusted. Where once it followed its own whims, now its location is relatively central and it can be reached with reasonable ease from all the populated stars on the borders of the rift.
    From time to time, Star Well’s position must necessarily be readjusted, since a cosmic anchor has yet to be invented and the peripatetic stars relieve unknown urges by moving in nine directions at the same time. (It may be ten: the theories of V. H. Rainbird [1293–1447] concerning the movement of the metagalaxy through the universal amnion, unfortunately left incomplete at the time of his death at the hands of Nominalist critics who objected to his experiments on the grounds that the universe might not survive them, are presently being reconstructed by a study group. Word is awaited.)
    On any objective scale, Star Well is a speck of dust and if it didn’t constantly scream, the rest of the universe might one day wake to find itself isolated and alone. Nonetheless, it is large enough to fill its function.
    From the outside, Star Well is unprepossessing. It is an irregularly shaped piece of rock some thirty miles long and, at its widest point, some ten miles across. The only exterior signs of man are the skeletal beacons and the metal lace landing webs. When a ship is docked, a few men emerge on the surface and there is a brief froth of activity, and then the beacons and webs are left to their own company again. Once in a while, when the lag between ships is great and the guests are bored, a party is taken hiking on the surface, but the last time this