by Jackson Lear
Chapter One
I had a good hand in front of me. Three of a kind. Plus a tankard of ale that was among the worst I had ever been served, presumably the tavern owner’s way of encouraging me to leave before I was drunk enough to stab someone in the kidneys. Four other players at the table. To my left, a woman of wealth, playing for pocket change while her husband’s thunderous snores rocked her upmarket inn down the road. To my right, a duo who had traveled together. They knew each other well enough to take turns ordering another round of drinks without needing to double-check with the other. Ahead of me sat number four. Quiet. Calculating. His eyes flicking every now and then towards the door, keeping track of who walked in, his attention always darting to their waist. A man who wanted as much of a head start as possible in case someone came at him with a sword. Our eyes had locked when I first pushed the heavy door open, only for him to completely die inside the moment I sat down at his table. Since then he had refused to make eye contact. The other three he had no problem looking at. Only me.
In hindsight, I should’ve paid the rest of them just as much attention as I paid him.
One of the fellas to my right checked his coins. Nodded for a moment as he ran through the numbers. He pushed a stack forward, the tower toppling over as it reached the pile of pennies that would’ve easily covered my room for the night. “Fourteen.”
Asshole. I had fifteen in front of me and he knew it. It was a tease, pointing out that I was all but broke at that table. Leaving me with one coin was a quiet ‘fuck you.’ I would have to stare at it for the rest of the game, not quite leaving me out for the night but certainly able to do little more than fight over the crumbs of whatever everyone else was playing at. Or, I could look less like a fool and dig into my pouch and cash in the last of my money to stay at the table. Unfortunately, it really was the last of my money.
But it was the best hand I’d had all night. If I could squeeze a raise from a couple of others then it would go some way to exonerating the last few days of trudging from one city to the next, breaking into barns when it rained or sleeping on the roof tops when it was dry enough to tempt the gods.
I gave myself a moment of anguish, hoping that I wasn’t about to scare away Miss Money Pants to my left, or force Number Four into fleeing right when I needed him to stay the most.
I pushed my stack of coins into the middle, holding one in reserve, and sent the guy to my right a glare. He looked away, the contents of his beer now a lot more interesting than trying to count the loose change in the middle of the table.
Money Pants sent a quick look to Number Four, the one who was stringing us all along with his nervous lip bites and deliberations. He had a large pile of cash in front of him and was about to take command of bidding, trying to win an easy haul if he could figure us out. Money Pants matched the nineteen marks.
Number Four stared back at his bones as though the marks on them had magically changed. A slight bite along his lips. Deliberating. A quick glance to his coins, then to the woman’s beside him, then to the two travelers. Not a single glance to mine. “Fifty.” Confident voice. No hesitation.
“I’m out.”
“Me too.”
Number Four and Money Pants looked my way, sizing me up. I had three marks in my pouch – sixty penny’s worth – and nothing else. Literally. My entire takings since being kicked out of the company had carried me for a few months, but it hadn’t been easy. Even just a couple of weeks of tavern food gets expensive real fast. Worse still was not having a permanent bed to sleep in.
My stomach growled loud enough for the table to hear. Bad ale on an empty stomach. Not a great combination.
I peered into the soul of Number Four. Was he simply trying to scare me away with his bet of fifty or was it to secure his release as soon as the game was done? And was Money Pants just in the game to pass the time? I had no idea, but she hadn’t been shy with her coin. I let her slip from my mind and instead focused on Number Four. A decent player the whole night. But the bones were on my side and I wouldn’t get a hand like this again.
Plus, I needed a room for the night.
Fuck it.
I reached to my belt.
No money pouch.
I double checked.
Still no money pouch.
Shot to my feet. My stool clattered behind me, skittering across the floor. Woozy with a head rush. The tavern owner grimaced the moment he saw me reach for what could’ve been a weapon.
I checked the ground. Checked the patrons nearby. I had been at the table for an hour. Twelve people had left the tavern in that time. Nine since I paid for my drink. Still woozy. Checked my belt again. The cord holding my pouch was frayed, broken like it had been yanked free. That might explain why I didn’t notice anyone getting close enough to slice the cord with a knife, but I should’ve at least felt a tug, and even then someone would’ve picked it up by hand. My head still spinning, I scooped up my stool and dropped back onto it, my pulse now thumping against my eardrums as a wave of anger crept over me.
Someone was going to die.
Money Pants took one hand from the table, nudged her hip, returned her hand. The two travelers peered into their coats, needing visual confirmation that they hadn’t been robbed. Number Four didn’t move.
I sniffed my murky ale. Either it was foul or drugged. On an empty stomach that would only make things worse. I arched my back. My blade was still there. I was pretty sure no one would be able to take that from me, but I had thought the same of my money.
How the fuck did someone rob me?
Number Four’s bet stared back at me. Like it or not, I now needed that money. I looked to Money Pants. “I need a loan. Thirty five pennies. If I win the pot I’ll give you fifty in return.”
She eyed me carefully, amused. Thirty five was nothing to her. Nor was fifty. Her clothes alone were worth ten times that. “What if I win the pot?”
“I’ll owe you a favor.”
A flick of an eye roll. “I’m going to need something a little more tangible than a favor, my dear.”
I looked to the rest of the table. “Anyone? Thirty five for fifty in return?”
The two travelers chuckled, dismissing it at first until they started to consider their options. Both had at least that much in front of them. “Double in return,” the asshole said.
I checked with the woman. She shook her head at me.
The two traveler’s paid up, topping me up to fifty pennies. I was still in the game.
Money Pants reached into her purse. Dropped some heavy coins onto the table. “All in.”
Fucking hell.
I mean, I would’ve done the same, simply to piss off someone who was broke, now in debt, as well as pissing off the two debtors who I owed a favor to.
Number Four folded, chewing on his lips once again at a hand that wasn’t the worst at the table.
Miss Money Pants shrugged at me. “Glare at me all you want. It still won’t help you.”
Yeah, yeah.
She carried herself well. Refined, but able to handle the gods-awful ale better than me. Her nearly expressionless down-turned eyes gave off a perpetually bored attitude. Good in a game like this but the lack of smiling probably gave her a stand-offish aura. She had started the day with light touches of make up and hadn’t freshened up since. Her hair had been neat and orderly in a thick plait, now frayed with every tired scratch of her head from her long fingernails. They themselves were a sight. Manicured and perfectly done as far as I could tell. A woman in her late twenties who had never worked a laborious day in her life.
The travelers wouldn’t pony up any more cash. I asked Money Pants, “Care to spot me?”
“You need a lot more than what you came to the table with. I’ll loan it to you, but I want triple in return.”
Now I really was fucked. If I won I’d be completely wiped out. Not break even. Out, with no marks by my side and no pennies in front of me.
But if I folded I’d still be wiped out
and I’d owe three and a half marks to the two assholes beside me.
“Done.”
We flipped. She had shit. She knew it as well, but she was now a lot richer than before, despite losing.
I paid each of the travelers their money. Money Pants smirked beside me. I continued counting. Paused. Counted again, breaking it all into stacks of ten. One two three four five six seven eight nine …
Shit.
Not only had she cleaned me out, I still owed her ten pennies more.
Someone was not only going to die, but they were going to get my fist in their face a few times for good measure.
I pushed everything I had towards her. While she didn’t smile, her tone certainly sounded like she was uniquely amused. “I guess I’ll be taking a favor as well. You’re not going to run out on me, are you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I’m not sure, yet.”
She hesitated. “You don’t have a room?”
“I’m playing it by ear.”
“Looks like you can’t afford one right now.”
“I figured if I got lucky I could find a stable or something. And if I got really lucky I’d share someone else’s.”
“I’m not sure if luck favors you today, Mister ...”
“Raike. I can have the rest of the money to you tomorrow morning.”
She held off a snort, dismissing my claims immediately. She continued gathering up her take of my winnings, dropping the coins into her pouch and clipping it under her skirt. “Your accent. You’re not from here, are you?”
“I’m passing through.”
“And yet you’re confident that you’ll have half a mark to me in just a few hours.” She leaned in, striking me with a hint of perfume. Another power play, considering that I hadn’t had the chance to bathe in a while. “Am I going to find out tomorrow that I’m one of your alibis?”
“Despite how I may look, I am not a thief.”
“No? Then what brings you to Verseii?”
“I’m here for work.”
“Dare I ask?”
“I wouldn’t. Tomorrow. Mid-morning. I’ll either have your money or you can claim a favor that will keep me busy for the day.”
She shrugged. “What, like you’ll load my luggage onto my carriage or something?”
“Your choice, really.”
Number Four rose from the table, a lot poorer than when we started and now thoroughly disgruntled. He swished the remains of his beer around. Downed it. I wasn’t sure if that was to show me that he hadn’t drugged my drink or that he was desperate to show me that he had no idea I had been drugged in the first place. Even so, there was a buzz going on between my temples that shouldn’t have been possible from the little I’d drunk, despite the lack of food within me.
“Where will I find you?” I asked the woman.
She flicked her wrist towards the door. “The tea house down the road, having breakfast. Not that I expect to see you.”
“I’ll be there.”
Number Four left the table. Made a move for the door.
Two things were about to happen. The first: Number Four was going to run for his life. The second: one of the world’s most gifted assassins was about to strike.
Chapter Two
Before Money Pants could say another word I left, following Number Four outside. The moment he stepped onto the street he darted away, careening from a careful stroll to lightning fast at the click of a finger, around one corner, then a right, refusing to slow down as he bounced off a wall, down one alley, colliding into someone as he sped across the road - “Watch it!” barked the victim – a haphazard stagger to regain some control, along a Y-intersection, and into the darkness.
For a moment I lost him. Then came labored breathing from a doorway and a quick look into the street to see if I was still there.
He saw me. Gasped and spluttered. Backed right into the rear of the doorway, bounced off the wall, stumbled onto the road, sprinted.
“Karma,” I said, targeting his left ankle moments before his foot landed.
His leg swung across his body, tripping him up and leaving him to stumble in a fall that last ten yards. He shot his hands out and tumbled across the ground in a wild display of legs, arms, and clothing.
He went for his knife, its handle next to his gut. He had it in his hand before he was able to get to his feet.
Three people in the street, all nearby. They saw his weapon. Two inhaled quickly in surprise. One backed away.
My target scrambled backward, his hand shaking, convinced that he could still take me with his virgin knife, despite my blade being twice as long and a frequent drinker of blood.
“Get away from me!”
I closed in. “Beriss of Dyer’s Road?”
His eyes widened with dread. “N-no ...” He turned, finding a startled bystander nearby, a man who quickly backed away to distance himself from the imminent fight to the death. “Help! He’s going to–”
Beriss had kept me in the corner of his eye, his knife still loosely pointed at my chest. That would’ve been all fine and well if the idiot was an experienced fighter, but a brawl among brothers while growing up does not prepare you for a knife fight at night in the middle of the street against someone whose former profession was almost entirely knife-fighting at night in the middle of the street.
I kicked his wrist away and followed it up by slamming my elbow into the side of his jaw.
He went out faster than a candle in a storm.
The pedestrian in the street took a hesitant step forward. “Hey … you ...”
I took Beriss’ knife, sheath, and wallet.
“I’ll ...”
“Easy buddy. This guy is wanted in Erast for seduction.” I pulled the laces to Beriss’ boots free and started wrapping them around his wrists. He was coming to his senses quicker than I expected. I decided that was a relief since the last thing I needed was a dead body on my hands. And, with any luck, there wouldn’t be any brain damage. I kinda needed him to tell the magistrate his name and what he had done, otherwise I wasn’t getting paid.
Mr. Interfering squinted, shaking his head at the lie he assumed I was feeding him since it looked a lot like a mugging. Which I guess it was. But it was also an arrest. Not entirely lawful, but an arrest nonetheless.
“Seduction?”
“Yeah. This guy seduced a young lady into sleeping with him under the promise of marriage. Turns out, he wasn’t honest in the slightest. Nice young lady, from what I hear, with nice wealthy parents who like to throw their weight around. Now, who are you?”
Mr Interfering paused in the street, convinced that he had misheard me. “What?”
Beriss started to open his eyes, trying to figure out what he was looking at and why he was on the ground. I tied my final knot around his wrists and a returned a stare at the guy in the street. “You. Who are you?”
He took a step back. “Uh … no.”
I stood. “Do you want to know what happens to someone who interferes with a lawful arrest? They get hit with a black eye, charged for obstructing justice, and I get paid more. Do you want to spend the next two seasons laying bricks on the road between here and Torne?”
“... No ...”
I lifted Beriss to his feet. He murmured a, “Wha … what’s going on?”
“Where are you staying?”
He did little but mumble.
“You have a room somewhere, right?”
“Huh?”
I pulled him back in the direction he had run. I didn’t think he was dumb enough to run straight to his inn, but he might’ve passed it along the way and carried on since he probably knew these roads well enough to try and escape down them. So, with Lover Boy in my grip and him hobbling barefoot over the uneven ground, we went inn-to-inn to try our luck.
“This will go a lot easier if you tell me where you’re staying.”
He slurred at me. “I didn’t do anything.”
<
br /> “You seduced a young rich woman, right? Yeah, those are the ones you should stay away from. The richer they are, the more trouble they are. What was your line? ‘Want to piss off your father?’”
Beriss squirmed, chewing on his lips.
“Really? You actually went with that?”
He blinked at me, baffled at my uncanny prescience. Perhaps it didn’t occur to him that I’d looked into his misadventures before deciding to track him down.
“What gave me away?” he asked, the slur finally leaving him.
“You damn-near shat yourself when you heard my accent.”
He soured, his chin dropping to his chest. “How’d you find me?”
“Magic.” Not true in the slightest, but even these days people are still afraid of it. There’s always someone out there better at it than you are, and the wonders they can perform might include tracking someone down through the ether and leading them straight to a game of bones just one city over from where they started.
I certainly didn’t find him by going to his friends and learning what his favorite drink was, how he liked to unwind after a long day, what level of gambler he was, how he bluffed, and what he looked like. No. Magic. Much easier.
We came to a plaza. Four streets led away. He glanced to his right, away from me. I tightened my grip around his arm. He turned. I yanked. He broke free. Got four steps away from me.
“Karma.”
Landed on his side. I slammed my fist into his solar plexus. His eyeballs shot out of their sockets. I picked him up. Carried on.
We reached another plaza. I turned him to face me. Punched him again. He buckled over, staggering back with his ass hitting the wall of a rat catcher’s. He dropped to his knees. Coughed. Swore at me from under his breath. I picked him up. We carried on.
We reached another plaza.
“No … wait ...”
“Wait, what?”
“I won’t try to run again.”
He was a lot better behaved from then on.
“I can pay you to let me go.”
“Really? Do you happen to have twenty marks on you?”