Players at the Game of People by John Brunner

pink roses on a sky-blue ground,

but otherwise it was precisely as Godwin remembered: the narrow bed, the

second-hand armchair, the rickety table and upright chair, the curtained

alcove in the corner for hanging clothes, the chest of drawers with a

mismatched handle on the left of the bottom drawer, the washbasin with

the exposed plumbing, the electric shower in a tin cabinet with a torn

plastic curtain across the front, even the battered tin wastebasket with

a design of daffodils.

Of course, it wasn't yet activated. It would take a while for Gorse to

learn how to do that, but she would. And then it might well be quite

some time before she decided to move elsewhere.

They laid her on the bed and within seconds she had rolled on one side and

begun to utter that trace of a snore which Godwin had rebuked her for:

a tiny bubbling sound on every intake of breath, and a pop-and-wheeze

on every exhalation. Nervously Bill said, "I think we better get out of

'ere and shut the door, don't you?"

"Yes. She's very close. I wouldn't put it more than half an hour away."

They retreated to the hallway, where Bill retrieved a tankard half full

of bitter which he had left on an occasional table. Raising it

significantly, he said, "Want to pop in the parlor for a minute, sink

a jar? I missed the end of the race but I can rerun it. After that

I got a terrific cup-tie -- everybody said Rovers 'ad it made, but I

said United and I was right! Even though that was before I got my new

amulet. You know what an amulet is? Truly? Ah, might've known you'd 'ave

'eard of 'em before. Smart aleck! Puts all my other gear in the shade,

though. Swear it does!"

He made an all-encompassing gesture. On the occasional table stood a vase;

it contained white heather. Over the front door a horseshoe was nailed,

open end down; Godwin recalled what agonies Bill had been through,

wondering which view was correct -- whether if it were upside down all

the luck would run out, or whether it should be mounted so that luck

would fall on those who passed beneath. The latter had prevailed, but

he had one the other way up at the back door, just in case. It was his

conviction that charms and cantrips had brought him his good fortune,

and he had made his home into a kind of museum of superstitions.

Wearily and not without malice Godwin said, "Did you have anything

on Shahanshah?"

"Me? Not bleedin' likely! Won't let me in the bettin' shop any more,

the buggers won't! Won't let me do the pools neither! Just 'cause all

the time I'm right an' they're wrong! But you're 'avin' me on, aren't

you? I could swear I told you what they done to me down the bettin' shop!"

"Maybe you ought to turn in your amulets and try your luck all by yourself

for a change," Godwin suggested dryly.

"Thought of that," Bill answered with a lugubrious scowl. "But the way

I look at it, you're better off bein' lucky than unlucky, right?"

"Right."

"Sure you won't stop off for a jar?" Bill went on, having drained his

tankard. "I got the place done over real nice now. You couldn't tell

it from Frinton-on-Sea, I'd take my oath on that. And I got barrels and

barrels of beer -- lager, bitter, stout, whatever you fancy!"

Godwin was spared the need to refuse by a sudden racket emanating from

Gorse's room: great clumsy stamping sounds, then the noise of something

being knocked over -- probably the chair -- and curses in a deep,

unfeminine voice.

"Either come on in, or scarper toot sweet!" Bill whispered. "I never

fancy meetin' any of me lodgers when they're -- well, you know!"

Nodding, Godwin repressed a shudder. Indeed, it must be eerie to meet

a stranger in a familiar body.

Something tinny: the wastebasket being kicked or hurled at the wall.

"Gawblimey, I'll 'ave to paper the room again . . . Well?"

"I'm going to scarper. Sorry. Next time with luck. You fix the luck, okay?"

"Okay."

But it was a sickly grin he gave Godwin as he shook hands and he couldn't

refrain