Djinn Rummy by Tom Holt Read Free Book Online Page A

was that in Saheed’s there are no rules whatsoever.
    Jane, however, had wanted to come. More than that; she had Wished to come, and accordingly here they were.
    The agony had started, as far as Kiss was concerned, when Jane walked up to the bar, grabbed the menu and without looking at it ordered a bacon sandwich.
    The barman had stared at her. ‘A what?’ he demanded incredulously.
    â€˜A bacon sandwich,’ Jane had replied. ‘Don’t you know about bacon sandwiches? Well, it’s very easy, you take two rashers of bacon -’
    â€˜Bacon,’ replied the barman icily, ‘is mortals’ food. We don’t serve . . .’
    Without saying a word, Jane had turned to Kiss and smiled; a smile which could only have one meaning. I see and obey, oh mistress, your whim is my command. Oh fuck.
    He loomed over the bar. He was good at looming. At Genie School you could do violin lessons or you could do looming. If you did the violin, you had to practise three hours a day in your spare time. Kiss had done looming.

    â€˜The lady,’ he snarled, ‘wants a bacon sandwich. You got a problem with that?’
    â€˜Yes,’ the barman said, looming back, so that the two of them together reminded Jane of Tower Bridge a few seconds after a tall ship has passed through. ‘We don’t do mortals’ food here. Capisce ?’
    â€˜You do now.’
    And the barman, who was only a Force Three genie with a maximum internal service pressure of a mere nineteen tons to the square inch, suddenly found himself cutting off rind and shovelling sliced bread into the toaster. As he brought the finished sandwich over to the table, Kiss could sense a certain degree of hostility in his manner.
    After that, things had not improved. Jane’s request, expressed in a loud, clear voice, that he introduce her to some of his friends, instantaneously made him the most unpopular person in the house, and genies whom he had known since Belshazzar was in nappies suddenly found it difficult to remember who he was, or even see him. So unnerved was he by this that he allowed Jane to beat him in two consecutive games of pool; the third he only just managed to win, on the black, by conjuring up invisible spirits to stand in the pockets whenever it was Jane’s go.
    â€˜It is usually as busy as this?’ she was asking.
    Kiss nodded. ‘Why are you doing this to me, by the way?’ he continued. ‘Was it something I said, or what?’
    Jane raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said. ‘I just thought it would be nice to see where you went on your night off. Part of getting to know each other better, that sort of thing.’
    â€˜I see. Well, thanks to you I’ve been banned for life, so from that point of view you’ve been wasting your time.
This is what I used to do on my night off, and therefore of historical interest only.’
    â€˜Ah, well,’ Jane replied, ‘it all helps to build up a general picture.’
    Muttering something under his breath, Kiss returned to his goat’s milk, while Jane looked around her. Something about her general deportment suggested to Kiss that any minute now she’d be asking when the interesting people were going to arrive.
    â€˜Hi, doll,’ said a voice seven feet or so above her head. ‘Want to dance?’
    There is, of course, one in every bar: a nerd vain enough to believe that, contrary to all the teachings of experience, there is a woman somewhere who will one day say ‘Yes’; realistic enough to focus his search for such a paragon upon the crippled, half-witted and partially-sighted. Or, in this context, even mortals. Kiss knew him well; a harmless enough genie in other respects, a trifling Force Two, cursed for ever to dance attendance on a small jar used for taking samples from suspected drunk drivers. Wearily he rose to his feet and clenched his fists . . .
    â€˜How nice of