'Yeah yeah, squirt — no problem, I got the touch-'
'You'd better,' the sapper warned. He caressed the tabletop again. 'Two layers, you see, with the fixed Deck in between 'em. Lay a card down and there's a tension formed, and it tells ya which one the face-down one is. Never fails. Dealer knows every hand he plays out. Fiddler-'
'Ain't here,' Trotts growled, his arms crossed. He bared his teeth at Spindle.
The mage sputtered. 'I can do it, you horse-brained savage! Watch me!'
'Shut up,' Picker snapped. 'They're coming.'
It was near dawn when the other squads began filing back out of the tent, laughing and back-slapping as they jingled bulging purses. When the last of them had left, voices trailing away, Picker slumped wearily down on the table. Spindle, sweat dripping from his gleaming hairshirt, groaned and dropped his head, thumping against the thick wood.
Stepping up behind him, Hedge raised a hand.
'At ease, soldier,' Picker warned. 'Obviously, the whole damn thing's been corrupted — probably never worked to start with-'
'It did! Me and Fid made damned sure-'
'But it was stolen before you could try it out for real, wasn't it?'
'That doesn't matter — I tell you-'
'Everybody shut up,' Spindle said, slowly raising his head, his narrow forehead wrinkled in a frown as he scanned the tabletop. 'Corrupted. You may have something there, Picker.' He sniffed the air as if seeking a scent, then crouched down. 'Yeah. Give me a hand, someone, with these here cots.'
No-one moved.
'Help him, Hedge,' Picker ordered.
'Help him crawl under the table? It's too late to hide-'
'That's an order, soldier.'
Grumbling, the sapper lowered himself down. Together, the two men dragged the cots clear. Then Spindle edged beneath the table. A faint glow of sorcerous light slowly blossomed, then the mage hissed. 'It's the underside all right!'
'Brilliant observation, Spindle. Bet there's legs, too.'
'No, you fool. There's an image painted onto the underside … one big card, it looks like — only I don't recognize it.'
Scowling, Hedge joined the mage. 'What are you talking about? We didn't paint no image underneath — Hood's mouldering moccasins, what is that?'
'Red ochre, is my guess. Like something a Barghast would paint-'