1st 5 pages September Workshop - Silva rev 2

Name: Jessica Silva
Genre: Young Adult sci-fi
Title: Untitled

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 to the retirement
party with a polite bow. When he asked for an invitation, Cleo passed
him one addressed to her dearest mother. Surely, that woman 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. Under the amber glow of
low-hanging chandeliers, tipsy professors slurred humor and hubris
alike.

“Aren’t you glad it didn’t?” 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. “Let’s just hope Marity hasn’t changed,
either.”

“Nervous?” His tone held a playful lilt.

“Of course not.”

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

She sent Professor Marity a glowing smile in response to her
invitation. Hopefully it 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.
“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.”

“Always so kind. Maybe one day I’ll take you up on that.” 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 playing the part of the perfect gentleman. 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. Her hands twisted the hem of her shirt.

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. “I should’ve retired sooner!”

A hard, hollow round of applause started behind Cleo, then a familiar
hand fell on her shoulder.