“Well, in brief, the Roman thing collapsed under barbarian invasions and lead poisoning. The barbarians are all about now. They call themselves Franks and Saxons and Visigoths. They have formed an empire which they call the Holy Roman Empire.”
“Holy?” Azzie asked.
“That’s what they call it. I don’t know why.”
“But how did the real Roman empire fall?”
“You can look it up in any history,” Hermes said. “Just take my word; it fell, and that was the end of the Classical Age. The period we are now in is called – or will be, shortly after it’s over-the Middle Ages. You just missed the Dark Ages. We had some fun then, I promise you! But this time is good, too.”
“What year is it?” Azzie asked.
“The year one thousand,” Hermes said.
“The Millennium!”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s almost time for the contest.”
“That is correct, Azzie. It is the time when the forces of Light and the forces of Darkness hold their great contest to see who shall dictate the essence of human destiny for the next thousand years, and whether it shall be for good or for evil. What are you going to do about it?”
“Me?” Azzie said. “What can I do?”
“You can enter the contest.”
Azzie shook his head. “The representative of Evil is chosen at the Grand Council by the High Evil Powers. They always play favorites, giving the making of the contest to one of their friends. I wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“That is how it was in the old days,” Hermes said. “But I’ve heard that Hell is reforming itself. They are being sorely pressed by the Powers of Light. Nepotism, excellent though it is, is no longer sufficient to carry their point of view. Now, as I understand it, the selecting of the contestant must be awarded on merit.’
“Merit! What a novel concept! But there’s still nothing I can do.”
“Don’t be a defeatist like so many other young demons,” Hermes said sternly. “So many of them are lazy, content just to lie around, take drugs, swap tales, and take the easy way through eternity. You are not like that, Azzie. You’re clever, and you have principles, initiative. Do something. You may actually have a chance.”
“But I don’t know what to do,” Azzie said. “And even if I did, I have no money to carry it out with.”
“You paid the old woman,” Hermes pointed out.
“That was fairy gold. It vanishes after a day or two. If I want to make an entry in the contest, it calls for real money.”
“I know where some is,” Hermes said.
“Where? How many dragons do I have to slay to get it?”
“No dragons at all. You merely have to best the other players in the Founder’s Day Poker Game.”
“Poker!” Azzie breathed. “My passion! Where’s the game?”
“It is taking place three days hence in a graveyard in Rome. But you must play better this time than last, else you’ll be returned to the Pit for a few hundred more years.
“In fact,” Hermes said, “you need what gamblers of a later day will call an edge.”
“An edge? What is that?”
“Any device that helps you win.”
“There are watchers at these games to prevent cheating.”
“True enough. But there’s no law, heavenly or infernal, against a good-luck charm.”
“But they’re rare indeed! If only I had one!”
“I can tell you where to get one. But you will have to inconvenience yourself to get it.”
“Tell me, then, Hermes!”
“In my nocturnal wanderings around the city of Troyes and its environs,” Hermes said, “I have noticed a place at the edge of the woods to the west where a small orange flower grows. The people hereabouts know it not, but it is Speculum, which grows only in the presence of felixite.”
“There’s felixite around here?” Azzie said, marveling greatly.
“You must find that out for yourself,” Hermes said. “But the indications are good.”
Chapter 5
Azzie thanked Hermes and took his leave. He walked through a low field, toward the woods that surrounded the city. He found the rare flower, which was low and inconspicuous. Azzie sniffed it (the odor of the Speculum is delicious) and then bent low and put his ear to the ground. His preternaturally alert sense of hearing brought to his senses the presence of something belowground, something ‘that moved and thumped, moved and thumped. It was, of course, the characteristic sound a dwarf makes as he cuts a tunnel with his pick and shovel. The dwarves are well aware that the sound of their digging gives them away, but what can they do; a dwarf needs to dig to feel alive.