Armand Ptolemy and the Golden Aleph

Four: Pindoh

Pindoh

The individual is handicapped by coming face to face with a conspiracy so monstrous he cannot believe it exists.

    – J. Edgar Hoover

OCTAVIO VEERSPIKE did not rise when Armand Ptolemy was brought to him by Mr. Fum on the sumptuous roof deck of the Le Meridien Pyramids.  His corpulant form remained seated.  His white suit bulged through openings in the wicker chair like a marshmallow squeezed by a crosshatch of reeds. 

“There must be a misunderstanding,” Ptolemy began.  “My name is Richard —“

Veerspike dissolved his words in mid-air with a wave of his hand.  “Your name is Armand Ptolemy.  I know who you are, there’s no point in trying to hide it.”

Prolemy did not speak.  Veerspike was in the middle of a poker game with several other Candlelighters.  There was the young social network founder, Josh Sattler, two other men and an older woman.

R. Gary Woldenwold — one of the men seated at the table whom Ptolemy recognized from the tech news blogs — was going on about how he’d just ‘pivoted’ one of his portfolio companies into the social gaming space.  Sattler spat out a laugh.  “Your company’s what, three years old now?  You’ve pivoted it so many times it’s doing pirouettes!”

“Sit,” Veerspike said, ignoring them and puffing a cigar.  “We were just about to start another round.”

Ptolemy quickly judged his potential exits: there were none.  And Mr. Fum stood nearby. 

“Hmm,” Ptolemy said, sniffing the air as he sat.  “What’s that I smell? Ah, yes: New World Odor.”

Veerspike gave a tight smile but ignored the joke.

“I know you are a dealer in antiques, Mr. Ptolemy.  Your auction website is well known, of course.  So I will not be surprised if you know what this is.”  Veerspike produced a purple silk pouch from a very old wooden box about the size of a small novel. 

“Is that … a Pindoh deck?” Ptolemy answered. 

Veerspike nodded. 

“What’s a pinhole deck?” the young social network CEO piped up.  “I don’t know how to play this game.”

“No?” Veerspike said.  “Oh well.  It’s easy.  We’ll —“

“Run,” Ptolemy snapped to Sattler, visibly alarmed.  “All of you.  Get out of here.  Now.”

“Oh, please.  It’s just a card game,” Veerspike replied innocently.  “Besides, Mr. Sattler here is new to our Candlelight family.  We need to show him how we do things.”

Sattler gave a pissy little condescending look in response to Ptolemy’s warning.  His rise to riches from was the stuff of Silicon Valley legend; now, here he was, in a poker game with some of the most powerful businesspeople in the world.  No, Ptolemy realized: Nothing was going to drag him away from a table with the likes of multinational banking dynasty head Octavio Veerspike, Ruth Gandry, Sandeep Singh and R. Gary Woldenwold!

“So what is this game?” Ruth Gandry asked. 

“A game of Pharoahs,” Ptolemy answered darkly.  “A fitting game for us to play a mere stone’s throw from the pyramids.  It was played long ago, as far back as ancient Egypt.  It’s a very old game.”

Veerspike brought it forth.  A strange, occult deck was pulled from the purple silk.  The cards were round — and larger, thicker, lusher and more colorful than a normal deck.  The backs were fiery golden wheels engraved with colored hieroglyphs and zodiac symbols.