The Colonel's idea of a game was Poker: Five Card Draw, with two rounds of exchanges and no betting. The deck went between the two of them, though an inch closer to him, and each man took turns pulling five cards from the deck.

When the ugly man was done pulling cards, the he held them at a practiced angle, and looked over them with a careful eye: "Do I have to explain the rules to you, Robert?"

"I think I can muddle through," the Oracle said, looking at his own with disappointment. He hadn't expected such a lousy hand to start out with, but maybe it was a good thing that he'd lose the first time.

"It's funny you put it that way," the Colonel replied, removing two cards from his hand and taking another two to replace them: "We often see your lot as simply muddling through."

"You mean the half of the Guild that didn't join up with you?"

"Yes."

Robert snorted, trading in four of his own: "It's not our fault if you can't see how it all really works. But you're free to have your viewpoints."

The Colonel raised a gooey eyebrow: "Are you mocking me?"

"No way," Robert replied, smirking as he did: "No disrespect from yours truly. Never in a million years. My mother taught me better than that."

"But you never knew her," the ugly man replied, leaning back with his cards: "Did you, Robert?"

"What?" Robert spat, the smirk wiped away.

"You were abandoned as a child, I'm told."

"That's none of your damn business. You gonna draw again?"

"I think I shall pass."

"Oh, aren't we confident?"

"A proper upbringing instills one with such," the Colonel said: "Whereas your own diffidence and insecurity is testament to the state's rather ineffective foster child program-"

"I said that's none of your damn business!" Robert shot back, trading in one last card.

"Everything is my business," the Colonel pushed, still holding: "It pays to know all you can about one's quarry."

"So you can shove it in his face and piss him off?"

"No, so you can make educated guesses concerning how they think. For example, I believe your unfortunate youth is a major part of why you wound up on the losing side."

"Well, I say your dimestore psychology sucks."

"And I would wager it's more fact than fiction?"

"Fuck your facts," Robert said with a sneer, putting down a Straight: "And fuck you, too."

"I must regretfully decline," the ugly man said, placing his own hand down. A Straight Flush: he'd beaten Robert quite handily.

And as soon as Robert saw that he'd lost the hand, he had an odd feeling. It was a lot like being extremely feverish, only with three times the sense of disconnection and none of the heat or discomfort. Or maybe it was like being quite drunk without the bloat, or need to piss? Robert wasn't quite sure...

"My question is this," the Colonel said, steepling his hands before his face: "How did you first make the acquaintance of Sam Greely, when did he start coming by to talk of prophecies, and which prophecies in particular sparked his interest?"

Robert's mind went for a loop, as soon as the question ended. When the words came, they were his own, but they came out of his mouth without any doing of his:

"Sam hooked up with me about six months back, when he was doing a piece on missing Oracles," Robert heard himself say: "Charles One-Knife and Madame Xoser had disappeared, and he thought maybe it was the Legion of Fate getting rid of the competition. Turns out the Doomed had nothing to do with it. We suspected it was an in-house job within the Guild, we couldn't find any proof, or any reason.

"Then, about three weeks ago, Sam came by and wanted to know about what's going on across the Shroud. It looks like the corpse-storms are getting stronger, and more frequent. It was bad enough before, but now there's lots of zombies stomping around, rather than a few handfuls. I guess it's a real mess over there, in some places, but I don't really concern myself with the Skinlands unless a client needs to hear about it.

"The prophecy he was most interested in was a really old one..." Robert went on, fascinated that the deck could make him rattle off things that it normally took him some time to piece together, much less remember: "I think it goes back... yeah, it does go back to the time of the First Great Maelstrom. The Lady of Fate was watching the Stormfront approach, and She reassured Her followers that this was not the end. She said we would know the end because...

"...the dead would rise in the land of the living, and that rising would be in great numbers, so that the walking dead might outnumber the living. And there would be no place on the earth that the dead would not be found, walking above their graves and preying upon those who yet drew breath..."

With that, the strange feeling went away, and Robert had control of his mouth once more.

"Fuck," he said, rubbing his jaw.

"You see?" the Colonel said, gathering up the cards so he might deal again: "I told you that there would be no want involved. The winner asks, the loser answers, and does so truly."

"Fuck," Robert repeated, really not knowing what else to say. He'd had his body commandeered by his Shadow before, just like any other wraith, but he'd never felt anything like that before.

"You look perplexed" the Colonel asked, halting in the shuffle for a moment: "Do you have a question at this stage?"

"Can I get a free answer?"

"That depends on the question."

"Those two Oracles... Charles One-Knife, Madame Xoser... did you-"

"Yes," the answer heralded his placing the deck between them, once more: "I did. And a few others, besides-"

"Why?" Robert shouted, banging his fist on his table: "What on earth could either of them have done?"

Robert caught a glimpse of the knives coming closer to his neck, but the Colonel waved them away: "That I will only answer if you beat me-"

"I'll be glad to. Hold still."

"... at cards," the other man sighed, drumming his fingers on the table: "So pick them up and do your best, Robert. You won't win if you don't play."

"Then I'll play," Robert said, picking a card so his opponent could do the same: "And you better hope I don't win, fucker, 'cause you're not gonna like my question."

But Robert lost that hand. And the one after that. And the next as well.

The Colonel's second question was about what other prophecies he and Sam had spoken of. That was pretty easy, because there was only one other thing they'd gone over - the one that Robert, himself, had brought to the table:

"It's more of a statement of fact than a prophecy," Robert said, starting to hate the way losing made him feel: "There are things that happen that no one can see coming. Folks come around after the smoke's cleared and say 'why didn't you warn us?' And all we can do is shrug and look through our old records, and see if maybe someone did see it coming, but never broadcast it. The Art can be pretty hit or miss, sometimes."

{The Colonel bit back a no-doubt acidic comment at that one, and indicated that Robert should continue...}

"So what I found was a piece of an old statement, written down by an Oracle who'd been dead long enough to see a number of unpredicted things happen. He said...

"There will be times when there will be none so blind as those who are asked to see. For they will see the rush of darkness and say it is but a single cloud. They will see the approach of the army of that darkness and say it is but a single man. And they will see the dark days come to pass but declare it only a season of longer nights.

"They will say these signs are not as bad as they truly are out of fear of being called stormcrows. And they will cry not of doom for fear the doom may come true about them for their having cried of it. But far too many will say nothing of the darkness for fear of having to lead the battle against it.

"It is not poor sight that vexes us, friends. It is weakness and cowardice that stills our tongues. And it is fear, above all else, that truly blinds us."

But then - for the question after that - the Colonel had to ask Robert his opinions concerning the Red Star, and pressed him for any prophecies he'd uncovered, or made.

"I... don't like it," Robert said, gritting his teeth and looking at his lost hand: "Something about it fills me with dread and loathing. I know the astrologers won't use it in their star charts, at least none of the ones I know, anyway.

"So I haven't looked for any previous prophecies about it, either. No."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, neither have I," the Colonel said: "But some of your fellow Oracles have. And since you have been cooperative in playing, I think I can be somewhat generous and give you an answer to your earlier question."

Robert looked up at the Gambler, and his fear subsided: "They looked into it?"

"They did. And they said that it was a sign of Doomsday's approach."

Robert blinked: "Bullshit."

"I will not lie to you, Robert. I played this same game with the both of them... one at a time, of course... and they both spoke to me of the Eye of Ending..."

"The Eye will come at the end of things, when the hunger of the Void can no longer be staved off by meager scraps.

"The Eye will watch as the sleepers awaken, and as they look above with their own, great eyes, and taste the air with their tongues.

"The Eye will watch as storms blanket the world, and blot out the Sun and the Moon and the stars above.

"The Eye will watch as the armies of the darkness go forth to play in the newly-forged shadows.

"The Eye will watch as the prisons of darkness are torn asunder, their occupants free once more.

"But only when what lies above begins to call to what lies below, shall the Eye watch as the source of the darkness rushes up to touch the world, lighting its way as it issues forth from the Well of the Void.

"And then the Eye shall watch no more, for there shall be no more to be seen..."

"On please," Robert said, rolling his eyes.

"You don't believe in Doomsday?" the Colonel asked, gathering up the cards for the next shuffle.

"Of course I believe in Doomsday," Robert spat: "You can't not. Don't be stupid."

"So why your angry response?" he asked, smiling.

"Because if Doomsday was really approaching, we'd have heard about it by now. What do you think we do with what we see - sit on it? The Guild would be looking into it. We'd be telling the other Guilds about it. They'd be rounding us up to do mass divinations..."

The Colonel looked at him, then, and there was no longer a smile on his face: "Unless, of course, the statement your old, hoary forbear uttered was more than just a comment on the times."

"Is it..?" Robert asked, suddenly feeling as though the ground had given way beneath his feet.

"Not as far as I'm concerned," the Colonel replied, putting the deck down once more: "Now we play again."

Robert might have at least put up a fight on that hand, but he was having a hard time concentrating. Was the Guild shirking its duties? Was that it? And if so, what part was this Colonel playing? What was he really after here...?

All those questions made for a bad try. And when Robert lost {Four of a Kind - Two Pair} his interrogator sat in silence for some time, hands steepled before his face as though in prayer.

"I want to know... your opinion on the Doomsayers," the Colonel said after some time: "As well as any contacts amongst them you may have, any divinations you've either had concerning them or done on their behalf, and... well, I think that's enough to ask for one question."

"I knew a few before the Maelstrom," Robert answered: "And based on what they told me, I thought they were all a bunch of moping pricks. Doom-doom-doom, all day long. I can't say I'm sorry they beat it when everyone split up.

"I know Roger Soledad and Valerie... I don't know her last name. They call her Sad Val because she always looks like she just found out her cat died. I think Roger might have been lost to the Outbreak, and Sad Val took off with the others.

"And I actually did have a divination about them, not too long ago..."

{At that point, the Colonel sat up straight, and the two men who stood closeby with the knives took a lot of interest}

A Three Card Spread

* Where they've been? - Seven of Cups: Idle dreams, imagined success, self-deception.

* Where they are now? - Three of Swords: Grief, pain, strife and betrayal. A disturbing outside influence.

* Where they're going? - Ten of Swords: Mental agony and despair. Ruin.

The color seemed to drain from the Colonel's face as the last card was spoken of, and it took him a moment to compose himself: "The last card... is that what is coming for them, or what may be yet to come for others?"

"You gotta play another hand to get that, pal," Robert said, the control coming back to him.

"This is vital-"

"Fuck off," he sneered, shoving the used cards across the table: "Let's play another hand."

The other men moved a step closer, but no closer than that. The Colonel grimaced, and started to shuffle the cards again - a little faster than the last time, and a little sloppier, too. It looked as though he'd been rattled a bit.

"You need to understand, Robert," he said, laying the deck down between them: "None of us have been able to determine anything about the Doomsayers. Every time we try to figure the odds on their actions, or reasons, we come up with nothing. It's almost as if they aren't there."

"And you say I'm the one who's got the wrong viewpoint?" Robert grinned, taking his cards in turn: "Maybe you've been asking the wrong kind of card."

"Or maybe you're different, somehow," the Colonel surmised, looking at his own hand and frowning. Was that a frown at his cards, or a frown while trying to think?

"Story of my life."

"Your personal deviations don't matter a whit."

"Hey, at least I covered up," Robert smirked.

"Did you enter a Harrowing between the Outbreak and now...?" the man asked, looking at Robert over the top edge of his cards. Maybe he was ignoring the insult.

"Nope," Robert said, returning two cards and taking their replacements: "I've been a good boy, daddy."

"But you have heard of the Returned?" the Colonel asked, hesitatingly taking one, two and then three cards.

"Free answer is... yes," Robert said, holding: "If you win, maybe you can ask more of me."

"Would you tell me if you've heard a prophecy, at-"

"No," the Oracle interrupted, still holding.

"No you won't, or no you haven't?"

"You gonna take anything else?"

"No."

Robert smiled, and laid down a Four of a Kind: "Then take that."

The Colonel looked at Robert's hand, looked at his own, sighed and put down his cards. It was a Flush, but only a Flush.

He had lost the hand, and Robert had won a question.

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