But last night … Fen shivered at the memory. Someone – no that wasn’t quite right – some thing, had spoken to him, or rather made him speak, and done so in a voice and a language that was both unintelligible and indescribably horrible. He had broken off the reading even before it had completed its first communication, his mouth fouled by the noise that had come from it, and now he was afraid that if he read again, it would come back.
But that had been in the night. He had been too tormented by his dreams to sleep well, no doubt fuelled by the schoolboy superstitions of ridiculous peasant stevedores. Now it was day, and he was sitting in the brightly-lit mess room that was familiar as his own skin, the faces of his long-time shipmates looking at him expectantly, waiting for some fun. If ever there was a time to exorcise the demons of the night with a playful and harmless reading, telling these men of their loved ones at home, then perhaps it was now. Cowardice was not compatible with being a Saanti-master. Fen licked his lips and wiped the sides of his sweaty shirt with his palms.
‘What kind of things?’ he asked Parren.
The men smiled, sensing entertainment.
‘Well, for one, I want to know if my boy working in Dubai will marry a good girl and give me grandsons.’
The man at the end of the table laughed and blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘I can tell you that Parren. I have it on good authority he’s choking on Arab cock right now.’
Parren made a mock-threatening swipe with the back of his hand, but he was smiling. He looked back at Fen. ‘So?’
Fen toyed with his cup, his gaze fixed on the brown circle of liquid, then slowly put his hand in his trouser pocket and brought out the pack and dice. The four men shifted in their seats with delight and sat forward in anticipation.
Fen held the pack and looked from face to face, then slowly began to shuffle the cards. They watched closely as he laid out a semi-circle of ancient and bizarrely-marked cards, each with letters of the alphabet inscribed over a lurid illustration. The three bone dice had occult symbols burnt into them, two of them inlaid intricately around the symbols with tiny slivers of gold, one with silver.
Fen realized his hand was trembling. He stopped and took another swallow of coffee. This was ridiculous. All the more determined now to shake this night terror off, he sped up, concentrating hard as he laid and arranged the cards.
This task complete, he gathered two of the three dice together in his hand and looked up. ‘Who’s first?’
Parren wiped his mouth with a hand then looked to the cadet. ‘Well I suppose it’s Hal whose losing most sleep.’
‘Yeah. Or his girlfriend,’ sniggered the carpenter.
Fen looked to the boy. ‘You answer only when I ask you a question. You touch none of the cards, but only this die when I tell you to. Understand?’
The boy smiled and nodded, looking round for approval. All eyes were on Fen, and the serving hatch filled as the two assistant cooks leaned forward happily on their elbows, well used to the show that the rating could put on.
Fen placed the single die in the centre of the semi-circle then shook the other two in his palm and cast them. They clattered onto the table top, rolled and came to rest in front of Parren.
‘What’s your name?’
Fen was looking at the cards, not the boy, but Hal knew to answer when he was poked in the ribs by a sharp finger.
‘Hal Sanin.’
‘What’s your question?’
Hal licked his lips. It felt more tense now, less of a game. Fen’s face was stern with concentration.
‘Em, will my … no, sorry.’ He took a breath and composed himself. ‘Is my girlfriend, Phaara, being faithful to me?’
Fen looked at the two cast dice. ‘And who do you ask? The wind, the sun, the water or the fire?’
Hal looked to the other men and gave a worried shrug. Parren shrugged back cheerfully and mouthed silently the word ‘water,’ for no other reason than to keep things going.
‘Eh, water.’
Fen stretched forward and put his little finger on the die in the semicircle of cards. He breathed in hard, then waited. The men waited, Parren throwing Hal a fatherly wink. Slowly, Fen’s finger began to move the die across the table top.
It bobbed and hesitated in front of the cards, then moved on, stopping and starting randomly before setting off again. And then his finger speeded up, sliding faster and faster until it was darting across the table top like some impossibly fleet insect captured between the laid-out cards. Most of the men had seen this many times, but they were still impressed. Even if it wasn’t supernatural, just Fen doing some long-practised party trick, it was still damned dextrous. All the time, Fen’s eyes darted with the die, reading the letters as it spelled them out, interpreting what the illustrated cards denoted, and waiting for the voice he had asked to come through.
Fen stopped. His eyes were closed but his head came up sharply.
‘Hal?’
It was a woman’s voice. No question. The stewards at the hatch nudged each other in glee. This was good.
Hal gulped. He looked around for support, but all eyes were fixed on Fen’s face. ‘Yes?’ he replied weakly.
‘You son of a sow.’
Hal gaped at Fen. There was no question it was his girlfriend’s voice, and if he were honest, her language too.
‘What?’
‘You dare accuse me of infidelity, you bastard?’
The boy was silent, his mouth working without words.
‘I’ll tell you about infidelity. What about my cousin? Yeah? That bring back anything? Tasik and Carlo’s wedding in Manila?’
Hal gawped stupidly at the cards then back up at Fen. He looked as though he might be sick.
‘You tried to have her in my brother’s car, didn’t you? Go on deny it. Right there while the dancing was starting. Fumbling at her bra like a kid.’
‘Stop. Stop it.’ The boy was nearly crying.
‘And you’re asking if I’m being unfaithful? I bought that dress specially for you, not for the wedding. Blue, because I know you like blue. And what do you do? You take Deni out to my brother’s car the moment I …’
Fen stopped suddenly and opened his eyes. There was silence except for Hal’s sharp hard breathing as he wrestled to compose himself like the man he wanted to be. Wrestled, in fact, to stop himself weeping with fear and shame.
Every face watched Fen intently, but his eyes, though open, were cloudy and unfocused. Then, slowly, Fen’s mouth contorted, and from it came noises that chilled the blood of everyone present. Guttural, throaty noises that sounded almost like words …
‘Caaahrdreeed. Cahrdreeed montwaandet.’
On the table, Fen’s finger started to move. It started slowly, then as before gathered speed, until it was flying from card to card. Sweat had started to bead on his temple.
The men watching stayed perfectly still, hardly breathing as though stalked by some invisible predator.
Spit started to foam at the corner of Fen’s mouth, his eyes rolled in their sockets, and the finger on the die stopped abruptly. The next sounds from his mouth came from the same ugly contorted lips, but this time they were delivered in a low, almost inaudible whisper, as though