The Blasphemy Card

Come on, man. You're a High Sequence powerhouse, aren't you? How did you end up this broke?

Maybe Richard was just putting on an act. After all, he was a Spectator. He could easily fool anyone.

The impoverished High Sequence powerhouse might just be an illusion, a persona, like my Hunter Rayleigh.

Sifa gathered his thoughts and asked a crucial question. "How long will you be staying in Bayam?"

Richard was a sharp man, too. He immediately understood what Sifa was thinking. "What, you want my help again?"

Sifa spread his hands. "It's possible."

Richard stroked his little mustache. "I'll be staying in Bayam for a while. Not too long, but I certainly won't be leaving within the next week or two."

"If you need my help, go to the Church of Waves and ask for the diocesan bishop there. He knows how to find me. Whether I help, though, will depend on what I'm working on at the time and how difficult your commission is."

"Also, this time—if we work together again—I'll prepare a contract with detailed terms, especially the scope of the work!"

Sifa gave an awkward chuckle and nodded in agreement.

Richard stood up, put away the envelope, and waved as he left.

It was Monday. After lunch, Sifa rested on the deck, then returned to his room at two thirty to be alone and prepare for the Tarot Club gathering.

The time approached three in the afternoon.

As Sifa lay on his bed pretending to sleep, crimson flooded his vision and engulfed him.

A moment later, Sifa came to his senses and found himself Above the Gray Fog.

Ancient stone pillars towered before him, supporting a dome shrouded in gray fog. The mottled long table stood unchanged, as though it had been there for countless years.