1st 5 Pages September Workshop - Silva Rev 1

Name: Jessica Silva

Genre: Young Adult sci-fi

Title: Untitled



As usual of retirement parties at Tousieux University, Cleo Clemens found the hidden basement lounge was full of secrets hiding in cigar smoke, wine glasses, and rolling laughter. She stepped inside with a welcoming smile, familiarity tickling her skin. Gavriel gave a snort near her ear, but he had a dimple in his cheek all the same. One that said she hadn’t made a mistake in bringing him.



A young boy played the porter, and he welcomed them with a polite bow. When he asked for an invitation, Cleo passed him one addressed to her dearest mother who surely wouldn’t notice another wax-sealed envelope absent from her pile of discarded mail on the coffee table anytime soon. The boy bowed again, as formalities required, and handled their greatcoats with considerable care.



“This place hasn’t changed,” Gavriel said, offering his arm to her. His gaze drifted around the dark room, tipsy professors slurring humor and hubris alike under the amber glow of low-hanging chandeliers. “Not at all.”



As her eyes followed his, she imagined her father and his rasp of a voice joking his way through the crowd, slicked-back blond hair perfectly in place. The professors here had all been her father’s advisors, colleagues, and friends.



She set her hand in the crook of Gavriel’s elbow, her heart in her throat and her chest tight. “Aren’t you glad it didn’t?” She didn’t miss his answering smirk. “Let’s just hope Marity hasn’t changed, either.”



“Nervous?” His tone held a playful lilt.



“Maybe, but that’s why you’re here.” She patted his forearm, then headed into the standing crowd to exchange greetings, toasts, introductions, niceties, and small talk with practiced elegance.



They slipped from one professor to the next until they reached the bar in the back where a dull murmur of lies and taunts replaced the laughter and cheer. Professors sat around lion-footed tables, betting on their good fortune and their hand of cards in a game of Rojagat. Her father’s favorite table was near the fireplace, and his former mentor sat with her back to the false flames, her gold ringed-fingers waving Cleo over.



“Come join me, young Clemens.” Professor Anka Marity left no opportunity to refuse. Just as expected. Perhaps she hadn’t changed.



Cleo had watched her father play many times with Marity from her perch on his knee. I let them think I’m not any good, he’d whispered once to her, and then I steal the game with a single hand. They think it’s luck. When you’re old enough, I’d like to see the look on her face when you do the same. She had every intention of saying goodbye to her father’s mentor in just the way he would’ve wanted.



“You’ve been beckoned,” Gavriel whispered into her curls. “As popular as ever.”



“Don’t sound so disappointed.” She sent Professor Marity a glowing smile in response to her invitation, one she hoped looked as though she was excited and not as though she was about to con the woman out of a sizable sum of money.



As they neared the professor’s group, Gavriel gave a soft chuckle. “How could I be? Look at the fortune in the middle of the table.” He stood taller. “You spoil me.”



“Consider it your escort fee,” she answered under her breath.



“You know I’d never charge you for my services.”



“Then I suppose it’s a friendship bonus.” Together, they dipped into a quick bow in front of the group. “Good evening,” she greeted.



The professors acknowledged her with gracious nods. These were women and men of enormous power—the most well respected professors of science and philosophy and history in the world. They were involved in the whispers of the parliament, in the details of the army’s giant piloted bipedal robots, and in the protection of the Teir, the world’s greatest treasure and deadliest weapon. They lounged with gin, rum, or whiskey glistening in heavy lowball glasses next to their black-and-gold polymer cards.



“And of course,” Cleo said, “congratulations on your retirement, Professor Marity.” The woman was one of the scientists protecting the Teir, as Cleo’s father had been and as Cleo wanted to be as well.



“Sit, sit,” Professor Marity said. She had an impressive stack of reals in front of her. The pot easily had more than double that. “Play with us. Both of you. Yes, you—you’re that scrawny thing who used to follow the older Clemens around like a second son, right?” She flicked her hand, and space cleared for them.



“That would be me.” Gavriel flashed the professor a charming grin, the kind he used on the kitchen ladies when he wanted an extra slice of apple strudel, and bowed again. Cleo took that moment to sit, and he followed in form. She expected no less of her best friend. He always had been good at lying. Too good, perhaps.



“I apologize for not introducing myself earlier,” he said. “My name is Gavriel Eng. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”



“I’m sure you don’t need us to play,” Cleo said, maybe a little quickly. They just needed to seem innocent and nervous and hesitant enough to be overlooked. The nerves, though, weren’t far from the truth. “We don’t want to interrupt. We can just—”



“None of your stupid formalities.” Marity scowled from across the table. She had the same warm bronze skin as Cleo’s grandmother, but none of her refinement. Cleo liked Marity’s messy dreadlocks, and she liked Marity even more. “Why watch when you could win? Get the kids some cards. I’ll put in their ante. No arguing. I’m retired now. I can do what I want. Do you two know how to play?”



“Dad taught us,” Cleo said.



A smirk danced across Marity’s face. “Too bad your father was a terrible Rojagat player. Didn’t know a good hand from a bad hand. Let’s play, then. Good luck.” From an ashtray on her left, she fitted a smoking cigar between two fingers and added more reals to the pot. Too many to count.



The dealer slid a card toward Cleo’s awaiting hands, then one to Gavriel. The dealer had a queen of diamonds in front of her already, regal in red and gold robes. A queen of spades peered back at Cleo in the dim light—a winner if only she didn’t intend to fold. She didn’t bother hiding the tremor in her hands when she tossed the card into the muck.



In Rojagat, the winner took all and the losers of the round had to each replace the pot. Anyone stood to win or lose a lot of money. All Cleo and Gavriel had to do was fold a half dozen times, then wait for one of them to have a winning hand.



Gavriel nursed his card, pretending to check and recheck the dealer’s queen, then chewed on his lip and folded. Snickers circled the table as the real game started, the smoke-thick air buzzing with the thrill of gambling.



One professor raised the bet, and Marity called without hesitating. Perhaps she was feeling lucky on her retirement night. Another professor raised again. A few more professors folded.



At the end, only Marity and two other professors remained. The dealer flipped their cards—a ten of hearts, an ace of clubs, and Marity with a ten of spades—then placed the final card next to the queen of diamonds. A jack of spades gave Marity the win with a two-suited straight.



“Ha!” Marity slapped a hand on the wood table.