You could. Gil could start teaching. But then you'd have to be around Fake Ellery, who hasn't done anything wrong, but who makes you slightly uncomfortable: you don't know if he knows or not. He talked to Real Ellery— does he remember that? Or has he died and come back blank again? When you're God, you'll probably fix him— you're not saying you will, but probably— but until then, the problem is intractable. "Nope!" you say, and tug Gil up with you. "Have fun!"

Madrigal finds you and Gil sitting in the sand, having failed to bring your chairs with you. She crouches down and hands you punch (it's neon green, made from the juice of some native underwater plant, but acceptably fruity-ish). "Started yet?"

"A little." Gil had been trying.

"Mmm." She swigs from a beer can. "Well, keep going, Gilman. Don't mind me. I just wanna see into the mind of a famous heroine."

You're not sure Gil likes being observed any more than you do, but he gives the explanation an honest shot. Hits and splits and double-downs and blah blah blah— "Is there any fighting?" you clarify.

Madrigal sniggers into her can. "What?" Gil says politely.

"You know. Do the cards ever... do they ever fight? Like, the strongest card wins?"

"Um, no. You're trying to match a total, not—"

"I don't think this is really my kind of game." You pause. "But, um, it's good that you like it. Because a good retainer needs to cover my weaknesses! If my dastardly foes ever engage me in a game of blackjack, I know for sure you'll—"

"You guys are sweet." The can crinkles. "Charlotte, did you actually want to play for table stakes? There is other shit going on, you know. Dice. Kaluki. Uh. One of the Court guys brought his own homemade game in, I think, but fuck knows what you do in it. Made a little board and everything. Hold that thought. Hail! Lord of Camp!"

You look up as Madrigal mock-bows. Monty, in a crooked paper crown, has approached. "Hello to you too, Mads. Oh! Charlotte! You made it! Welcome to Game Night, though I really shouldn't— this is all Madrigal's. Ignore this." He straightens the crown. "Eloise and friends were having a little fun. Anyway, I was tasked with finding you, Mads. We're rounding up a table for poker."

"Poker! This son-of-a-bitch! Looking for meat for the grinder, huh? Oh, sorry." Madrigal turns to you and Gil. "This asshole Gewecke plays the best poker in camp."

Monty waves it off. "That's hardly—"

"Hands down. He's going to whup my ass, and if you play he'll whup yours. Of course, it doesn't help, everyone being drunk as shit except him... just saying."

"She exaggerates, Charlotte. Besides, I, eh—" He raises his glasses. "I've been mitigating that advantage somewhat, if that encourages you."

"Ha!" Madrigal, elated, cuffs his arm. "This bastard! Feeling ready to fly into a rage yet, Lord Gewecke?"

(3/5)