“Perhaps you would care for a little… venture?”
The crowd went silent. The minstrel looked into Fate’s bottomless eyes, and knew that if you played dice with Fate the roll was always fixed.
You could have heard a sparrow fall.
“Yeah,” said Cohen, at last. “Why not?”
Fate tossed the die on to the board. “Six,” he said, without breaking eye contact.
“Right,” said Cohen. “So I’ve got to get a six too, yeah?”
Fate smiled. “Oh, no. You are, after all, a god. And gods play to win. You, O mighty one, must throw a seven.”
“Seven?” said the minstrel.
“I fail to see why this should present a difficulty,” said Fate, “to one entitled to be here.”
Cohen turned the die over and over. It had the regulation six sides.
“I could see that could present a difficulty,” he said, “but only for mortals, o’course.” He tossed the die up in the air once or twice. “Seven?” he said.
“Seven,” said Fate.
“Could be a knotty one,” said Cohen.
The minstrel stared at him, and felt a shiver run down his spine.
“You’ll remember I said that, lad?” Cohen added.
– a knotty one |
Terry Pratchett, The Last Hero