by Allan Cole
I smiled back and he came close. Smooth and deadly: one hand out to touch palms in greeting, the other close to his side, where I had no doubt he kept a sharp weapon. As we touched hands I sensed him looking me up and down, taking note of my infirmities but paying even closer attention to the quality of my weapons. He was eager for the contents of my purse, but wary of the well-worn look of my sword and sidearms.
"The name's Legg," he said, friendly but businesslike. "I'm a sportin' man myself, Sarn't Rali," he said. "Dinks ain't my game, though. Takes more guts'n I got to hunt that pea. And my congratulations to yer, Sarn't, for your nerve. It was a pleasure to see."
I drained the jug and tossed it back to the dinksman. I grinned, drunk and happy. "Never tried to beat the dinks before," I said. "Nothin' to do with skill. Just dumb soldier's luck. Which I been short of in the past" I thumped the wooden bowl guarding my stump by way of illustration.
"I happen to know a small but honest 'stablishment just down the way," Legg said, knocking a bit of lint off his gaudy cloak. "Dice and cards is what they got. Clean bones and straight cards, too."
I hesitated as if tempted. Then I shook my head. "I'm shy of strange grogshops, Legg," I said, solemn-faced but weaving slightly. "They got a way of skinnin' a poor soldier when she's alone. And without a friend to watch her back."
"Then you got a friend in me, Sarn't Rali," he said, clapping me on the back. 'Tell you what Your luck's ridin' high. Maybe me 'n' me pal, here, could ride with yer a ways."
I peered at him, suspicious. "Whatcha got in mind?"
"Whyn't I explain it over a splash of grog?" he said. He nodded at a small open-air grogshop just across from us. "If yer don't like the cut of my offer, why, no harm done. And yer'11 get some nice free cheer in yer belly to go along with the good luck yer've had."
I accepted and we all repaired to the grogshop. Four or five drinks later we were the best comrades; Legg, the dinksman, and me. I told them my tale. How I'd come up all the way from the delta region to collect the pension I'd been cheated out of. How that bastard of a paymaster had finally relented and paid me my due after demanding and receiving a fat slice of it as his own reward. They commiserated with me. Worried with me that the sum I'd collected wouldn't last long and I'd soon be poor again. Then we conspired together to assure me of a gentler retirement
We'd each put up equal shares. The stake they could afford, by odd coincidence, matched exactly what was in my purse— which they'd expertly estimated in a series of quick, greedy glances at the pouch dangling from my belt. I'd hold all the stakes—that's how much they trusted me, they said. And we'd all go to the gaming house in Cheapside. It seemed it was such an honest place that a lucky person like myself was sure to walk away with fortune enough for all of us.
I agreed. And off I went with my new friends, their purses hanging from my belt and their arms draped over my shoulders in an elaborate show of friendship. Whenever I tarried, I noticed, their arms tightened, making certain I didn't try to bolt with their money.
The "small but honest 'stablishment" proved to be a gambling hell of the lowest sort. It was set in a warren of dark narrow alleyways once known as "Murder's Row" because it was such an ideal place to cut a throat and dump a stripped corpse.
A battered sign marked the entrance, a rickety set of stairs leading to a cellar beneath an ancient tenement. The sign had peeling letters that read: THE BOAR'S BREATH. The name was apt, for that's exactly what the dimly lit place smelled like when the door opened to receive us. It had a low ceiling, with greasy smoke from the cooking fire curling up and around the timbers. Lizards swarmed through the smoke, hunting bugs, which there seemed to be enough of to keep their hides swollen. Despite the smell and appearance, it seemed to be a favorite spot for thieves. There were all sorts of rat-eyed villains gathered at the tables, drinking and bragging about their latest exploits. I found it mildly amusing that with my eye-patch and stubbed arm I hardly looked out of place. One end of the broad cellar was taken up by card and dice pits, and men and women were jammed elbows to arses above those pits, shouting the participants on.
"That's where the action be," I said to Legg and the dinksman.
Legg nodded. "Yer a sharp one for certain, Sam't," he said. "Now whyn't yer two go see what's up while I get us a little sumpin' to drink and say hello to my friends."
The dinksman nudged me toward the gambling pits while Legg tarried behind to whisper in the ear of a squat muscular villain who was dripping with mismatched jewelry of every variety. He had four or five earrings on each ear, two through his nose, one dangling from a cheek, a dozen or more heavy gold and silver chains hung from his neck, and his short fingers were crusted with rings. He nodded and smiled at me as Legg whispered into his ear and I saw two gold teeth with diamonds embedded in them winking from his mouth.
The dinksman tugged me forward, and we pushed our way through the crowd of thieves. It was like stumbling on a crow's treasure hole. Half of Orissa's wealth seemed to be on display on the backs of the men and women gathered in the cellar. And the other half was in danger from all the conspirators gathered at tables, plotting new adventures. Beauties of both sexes held court in scanty finery that had their scar-faced and crop-eared swains swooning. Hard-faced thugs huddled at the tables in deep conversation. Drunken barrow boys danced to the tune of raucous music coming from a trio of sweating musicians. And everyone was shouting and pounding on the tables, demanding more drink from the scurrying servers.
We paused to study the action at one of the card pits where they were playing Evocators and Demons. There was a big pot on the table, and a dozen rogues and ladies were going at it hot and heavy, slapping their cards down in turn and roaring out their challenge.
"Demon King blasts the Dragon!"
"Dream Catcher nets the Demon King!"
"War Evocator seizes all!"
Around the table they went, slapping down elaborately painted cards of ever-increasing power. The dealer passed the first two times they came to him but stayed in the play by upping the house's stakes, which had to be matched or beaten by each succeeding player. I knew that on the third turn, however, the dealer'd have to make his move, which meant the house would have to double the size of any pot in play. Then the action would become ferocious indeed.
I whispered the liar's spell and snooped the dealer's hole card. It was a mere Market Witch, vulnerable to all but the most common peasant and farmer cards. Then I saw him move slightly, feet shirting under the table, hand coming back to scratch a knuckle. A flickering finger, and the Market Witch was exchanged for the all powerful Harlequin, a hole card guaranteed to capture any pot. It was an expert rendition of the card faker's twist: card kept trapped between knee and table; slip the knee back when you require the card and switch one for the other. With no one the wiser.
I shook my head at Legg. "Don't feel lucky at cards, friend," I said. "Whyn't we give the dice a go?"
Just then the dealer called out: "Harlequin fools them all! House takes the pot!" His announcement was accompanied by loud groans from the losers. When the dinksman heard that, he looked most disappointed at my refusal. But he quickly recovered, saying I ought to go with my feelings, and he led me to the dice pits.
Legg joined us at the center pit where the largest crowd was gathered to watch the shooters shake the bones and bounce them off the point wall. He was accompanied by the squat man I'd seen him talking to.
"Sarn't Rali," he said. "Like yer to meet an old dear mate of mine and owner of this here fine 'stablishmenL"
The squat man grinned, exposing his golden teem. "Fiorox's my handle, Sarn't Rali," he said. "Owned this place near on to ten years now. Military's al'ays been welcome, I'm proud to say. Can't do enough for those who wear the uniform of our proud city."
I breathed boozy fumes on him as we touched palms in greeting and slurred my words as I expressed pleasure in meeting him. He smiled wider, exposing a broad tongue with a naked woman tattooed on it.
Fioro
x would be my second target.
He said, "Legg's braggin' that you and the Dink are gonna challenge the house," he said.
Legg snickered. "All in good sport, of course," he said. "I pride meself on me sportsmanship."
"Of course, of course " Fiorox said, laughing back. The dinksman joined the laughter. And pretty soon all four of us were chuckling, although it was plain that the only joke being made was entirely on me.
"What's the limit?" I asked Fiorox.
"What's your pleasure?"
"My pleasure," I said, "is to take all you got!"
And, oh, how they all laughed at that.
FOUR HOURS LATER I was the only one of us still laughing. Most of the room was gathered at my pit, cheering me on and marveling at the great pile of gold heaped in my stakes box. Fiorox, the owner, was grim; he cast evil looks at an equally glum Legg, while the dinksman whispered reassurances in his ear.
I'd just made a measuring toss, and the dicewoman, a long-nailed trollop in a dress that exposed her rouged breasts, handed me back the bones.
"Six!" she declared. "Five sticks and a spot" She rattled off my choices loud enough for all to hear. "Any combination's even money. Hard way's double. High mark bones is triple. What's yer pleasure?"
I ignored the advice shouted from the crowd, and paused to consider. I made a drunken show of it, taking a long pull on my constantly replenished tumbler of strong but indeterminate spirits. "Lesh go the hard way," I said. "Five sticks 'n' a spot. On a high point wall toss. Nothin' lesser'll do."
That drew some gasps and gapes from the crowd I was betting I'd make six the hardest way possible—five slashes on the sticks die and one dot on the spot die. Not only that, but I'd bounce the boneset off the highest mark on the point wall. To add to the drama of the moment I made a broad sweeping gesture at my stakes box, nearly falling over in the process.
"All of it!" I declared. "Alia friggin' it!"
The crowd screamed in pleasure at my daring. They called out news of my bet to those too far away to see or hear. The dicewoman frowned, then looked up at Fiorox. He hesitated. Legg whispered to him and he finally nodded agreement. But then he said, "House calls change a bones."
My rogue friends crowed disapproval. All knew the fix was in and that the house would pass me a pair of treated dice. Some even cried out warnings to me.
I waved at them, pretending I didn't hear. "Lesh go!" I cried, sweeping up the new bones the dicewoman handed me. At a glance I saw the telltale overly long face on the spot die and noted the waxy sheen on the stick die. I grinned. "Looksh good 'nough t' do the job," I said, rolling them up in my fist.
I bounced the fixed dice off the highest mark on the point wall, shouting, "Gimme a six, sweethearts—the hard way!"
In my mind I guided the dice in their fall, coaxing a five from one and a single spot from the other. They hit, I felt the long die tumble off the mark I set, and I gritted my teeth and forced it back. The dice came to a rest. AH was silent as the crowd considered the impossible. Five slash marks on one die. A single spot on the other. The dicewoman gaped at me.
Then someone called out from the crowd with a voice full of awe: "A six, by the gods, a six! Five sticks V a spot to boot!"
And the whole gambling hall went wild. I saw Fiorox whispering furiously at Legg and the dinksman. They shook their heads violently, declaring their innocence. I knew they'd be assuring him that / was the one that was to be skinned. Not the proud owner of the Boar's Breath.
I stuffed my winnings into my pack and hoisted it over my shoulder. I made like a clown and pretended to stagger under the weight of it to the delight of all the well-wishers—and to the mortification of the bejeweled Fiorox, whose gold it'd been.
'Tired a dice," I announced. "Goin' home, now! Go to sleep."
There were groans of disappointment. Fiorox's face was purple with anger. Legg and the dinksman leaped into the pit beside me. "You can't quit now, Sarn't," Legg pleaded.
"Why the frig not?" I said. "We're rich 'nough, ain't we? Split it whitcha scon's we get outta here."
Legg clasped me about the shoulder and gave me a squeeze as if he were my wise old uncle. "But think of the streak yer on, sister," he admonished me. "Yer can't quit now or it'll be a—a—a insult t' the gods, it'll be. That's what!"
Fiorox was in a murderous mood and I saw several of his thugs joining him as he fixed his bloodshot eyes on Legg and the dinksman.
Then, to my companion's immense relief I said, quite loudly, "Wouldn't wanna pissorf the gods." I raised my stubbed arm, displaying the stump bowl. "Done it afore, by damned. Paid me back good, they did."
Fiorox and his thugs paused. I knew what was going on. Legg and the dinksman had steered me to the Boar's Breath for a good shearing. The arrangement would be that they'd get a nice percentage from the house for bringing me in. But to Fiorox it now looked like my companions might have conspired with me to rob him. Fiorox would've probably done us all then. Had his thugs cut our throats, lift our purses, and be done with us. But the crowd of my new rogue friends was too enthralled with me for him to chance it. They'd rip the place apart.
I made as if I were turning back to take up the dice again, then, to my companions' alarm, I turned back and started out of the pit.
"Pissorf, or not," I announced, "old Rali's through with tossin' dice. Got them bones rattlin' in my head somethin' fierce."
I clambered out of the pit to the cheers of the crowd and advanced on Fiorox, my worried friends close at my heels.
He forced abroad smile. Crowd or not, he was desperate to get his money back. "Friggin' fantastic," he said. "Never seen such a run." He gave my arm a comradely squeeze. "Butcha gotta give me a chance to win some of my money back."
"It'd be rude not to, Sam't," the dinksman advised.
"Wouldn't be right not t' give such a fine gentleman as Fiorox one more go," Legg agreed.
I belched, saying, "Tol' you, I'm tired a dice."
'Then how 'bout some cards, my friend?" Fiorox suggested. "Bet the deck's good V hot for you."
I shook my head. "Don't like cards," I said. "Not me game. Nev'r has been."
Fiorox's thugs crowded so close I could feel the outlines of their daggers beneath their clothes.
"Oh, be a sport, Sarn't," Fiorox said. "I'll deal the cards meself. Make certain you get a fair shake." He was smiling, but there was death in his eyes. He took my arm and guided me toward one of the card pits.
"Oookayy," I said. Then I laughed and clapped him on the back. "Yer a good'un, yer are," I said. "Ya deserve 'nother go at me."
The whole house followed us to the center pit, which was emptied by Fiorox's thugs. Someone helped me sit at the table across from Fiorox. Someone else fetched me a fresh drink. I smelled the sharp odor of knockout drops rising from the tumbler.
I raised the tumbler to Fiorox in a drunken toast. "Here's to ya," I said. At the same time, I cast the spell I'd used all night to change the spirits to plain water, making the spell just a little stronger to eliminate the knockout drops. I downed the drink to loud huzzahs from the crowd, who'd been amazed as much by my capacity as my luck.
Then I dumped my winnings onto the table. "Yer such a good'un," I said to Fiorox, "I'll bet it all. Give ya the best chance I can."
Fiorox was stunned by my move. He eyed the big pile, almost all of which had originally been his money. I strongly doubted he had enough left in the house bank to match it. I saw him lift his head, eyes sweeping the crowd. A tall fellow with a look of weary royalty stood at the edge of the crowd. His rich clothes, imperious bearing, and the wide space granted by the surrounding crowd made his importance in Cheapside plain.
I buried a smile as I mentally scratched him down as my next mark. I was getting very close to my final goal.
The thug chieftain nodded at Fiorox. He was backing his play. A bearded thug, obviously in the regal fellow's employ, fetched a hefty purse. He upended it and the crowd gasped as a stream of rare gems poured out, glowing in
the dim light.
Fiorox chortled and shoved a handful of gems into the center. "You're on, Sarn't," he said.
And he began to deal two hands of Evocators and Demons, the toughest, smartest, and most grueling gambling game in Orissa. In the highest circles of the decadent, not only had fortunes been lost, but in ancient times lords had gambled the freedom of their entire families on the turn of a card, condemning third and fourth cousins to slavery.
I grinned drunkenly, picking up my cards one by one. I adjusted my patch and got a good peek at Fiorox's hand with the ethereye. My host was a skillful cheat, and although my cards were worthy, his were better thanks to his shifty shuffling and bottom dealing. I concentrated, reached into nothingness, and changed my cards for a set that would beat his if skillfully played. I called on all my old talents as a barracks cardsharp and tipped the action toward my trap with every card I slapped down. I finessed him into a classic coven switch. I played the Market Witch and he gleefully banged that with his Acolyte card. But I closed the jaws of my trap by slapping down a Spell Trove, increasing the Witch's power and blocking Fiorox's action.
Then I allowed the game to seesaw for several hours. Sometimes Fiorox was ahead. But mostly I kept the lead, drinking all that was given me, letting my eyes fall to half-mast as if I could barely keep them open. Fiorox grew angrier and angrier. Shouting for new cards with every deal. Screaming at his people for no apparent reason. Although he and I both knew that the cards I was playing weren't the same as the hands he'd dealt me, he couldn't figure out how I was doing it. And he kept waiting for me to collapse from the loaded drinks I was being fed. Which was another puzzler for poor Fiorox, who'd spent a lifetime dosing drunks and rolling them. But I had him pinned by greed and fear of his backer as he was forced to shove gem after dazzling gem forward, only to lose again. And each time I gambled all my winnings, giving him constant hope that he could recover his money and his pride.
The important rogue had joined us. He stood behind Fiorox, flanked by the bearded man and another thug. Each time Fiorox lost another hand and his jewels became my property, he'd grimace and tap Fiorox lightly on the shoulder. And with each tap Fiorox became paler. More frightened. More determined to win it all back because now the stakes included his own well-being.