by Dave Gross
"Those shiny enough for you?"
The glitter in the eyes of all the men at the table told me they were.
"What about the long-ears in the fancy clothes?"
At my side, I felt the boss move in, ready to say something.
"Never mind my servant. He's mute." I felt the count's eyes boring into my neck, but he deserved it after all that samurai crap. The gamblers stared doubtfully, so I sweetened the lie with shearing gestures at my mouth and crotch. "A mute eunuch. Snip, snip!"
At that they laughed. Between the joke and my gold, we were going to be friends for a few throws. I grinned, looking at the boss to see what he thought of my humor.
Count Varian Jeggare raised his fist to his chin and shot me the tines.
It took all my will to keep a straight face while the gamblers pulled me to the table. I watched as one of them traded my gold for a double-handful of the local silver. I couldn't look back to see what the boss was doing, or else I'd lose control. I'd never even heard him curse properly, much less make the most vulgar gesture known in Egorian.
"What is that sign?" asked the man beside me, trying to imitate the boss. He was a wiry fellow with a couple of missing teeth.
"It's for good luck."
"Like this?" He threw up his first and last fingers on either side of his chin.
"Perfect."
The houseman held up the dice and shouted out some numbers, some kind of countdown.
The player whose turn it was made his bet, a stack of five coins. All others would come after the throw of the dice.
The houseman dropped the dice into the bowl before slapping it down on the table.
The players cocked their heads, trying to hear which way the dice fell. That was impossible, but trying was another way of praying to Lady Luck. I liked that. The old gal had been pretty good to me.
I tilted my head, too, but just for show. I wasn't listening to the dice but watching the houseman's face. His eyes scanned the bets. I laid down five coins of my own before he called time. When everyone took their hands off the table, he uncovered the dice.
"Even!"
I don't mind grifters. But if you're going to try to cheat me, at least do it well.
The gamblers cheered. Those of us who'd bet took in a modest win. That was no surprise on my first bet, me a rich foreign devil and all. I expected I'd win a few more before the dice turned.
A serving boy came around with drinks. I bought one and laid it on the back of my hand, slapping my palm on the table to flip the tiny cup into my mouth, where I caught it in my lips and let the liquor shoot down my gullet. It was a stupid trick, but it broke the ice some more. The locals laughed. Behind me, the boss sighed and kept watch on the door as gamblers trickled in and out. He hadn't spotted our man yet.
By the time my turn came around, my coins had grown into a healthy pile. I felt the mood of the table change. Would the houseman put me out now? Or would he draw me in to see how many more of those gold coins I had?
I bet half my stash. Everyone joined in after the roll, but in modest amounts. They were bracing to see me busted.
The houseman revealed the dice. "Even!"
Clever lads. They were taking the long view.
After a couple more turns, the boss brushed my sleeve. I stretched my arms, turning to scan the room. A block-headed fellow had entered the den. He was built like a shipping crate, barely over five feet tall but with shoulders so wide that he had to turn to slip through the narrow doorway. When he grimaced at the doorman, I saw his teeth all had black gaps between them.
I scratched my neck, the secret sign for "What now?"
The boss scraped one foot across the floor. That meant "Wait and watch."
Knowing he'd keep an eye on Square-Head, I put my eyes back on the game. Before my turn came around, the boss plucked at my sleeve. I glanced back to see Square-Head leaving through a side door. Time to go.
"Thanks for the game, boys." I scooped up my cash.
"Where do you think you're going?" One of the other gamblers rose from his seat.
The houseman said, "You can't leave until you've bet everything you have on the table."
The cheerful atmosphere of the table changed. I'd broken their etiquette. Any other time, I wouldn't have cared. But I was still hoping to wrap this case in time to find Kazuko while the translation spell still worked.
"All right," I said, pushing all my winnings forward. "Make it snappy."
The houseman raised his hand to display the dice. I'd seen his fingers dip below the table an instant earlier, so I knew this was a different pair.
I should have let it go, lost the cash, and pushed away. I could've spared us a lot of grief if I'd done that. I would've done it, if the switch hadn't been so damned obvious.
Should've, would've, could've.
But I was tired of being treated like a jerk. It was bad enough the boss was talking down to me again. I wasn't going to let these mooks rip me and laugh about it.
Nobody supported my bet. They knew better. When the houseman lifted the bowl, his lips formed the word "Odd" before he could even see the dice.
I whipped out the big knife and brought it down like a cleaver on the dice. Chips of bone flew away. The remains of the dice lay on the table, the fat blob of their lead loads exposed for all to see.
"Radovan, don't!" The boss knew it was no use, even as the words came out of his mouth. At the same time, he blew that nice cover I'd given him.
"He's no mute!" shouted the houseman. "You came to cheat us!"
The dog at the door wasn't the only one with brass balls. This guy had some pair to accuse us of cheating with his loaded dice cut open on the table. But there was no point arguing. They showed me their knives. I showed them mine.
The boss drew his sword in one hand, a riffle scroll in the other.
A gambler crept up on my left. I nicked him on the thigh without turning to look at him. That was enough to make him think twice. Two more moved in, but I chased them off with a growl and a couple of feints. Behind me, the boss parted the crowd with a flourish of his blade.
"Rolling out," I warned the boss.
I snaked my arm around his waist and fell backward, pulling him along. The boss folded his long body, rolling with me. I set him back on his feet within a step of the threshold.
Our quick retreat startled the gamblers long enough for us to back out through the door. There the boss thumbed his scroll. Thick white threads shot out from the riffled edge of the paper. They fattened as they flew into the gambling den, filling the place with a gooey network of webbing.
"Nice," I muttered. Until recently, he'd always been an armchair wizard. It was great to see him cast the spells he once only talked about.
The gamblers screamed curses at us, but they hung like trapped flies among their game tables. I shot them the tines.
The boss brushed the dust off his sleeve and scowled at me for the unwelcome hug. He hates close contact, but he couldn't complain. I'd gotten us out.
I spied our guy strolling off the way we'd come, pretending not to notice the commotion as he passed Osamu, who jogged toward us. The boss made a stirring motion with his thumb and pointed at Square-Head.
Osamu glanced back at Square-Head before nodding at the boss. He turned at the nearest street, waited a moment, and began tailing him. The boss nodded at me, and we followed, knowing we could afford to lose Square-Head as long as we caught up with Osamu.
Shouts erupted from a nearby alley. Those who'd escaped the boss's web streamed out of a side entrance. Seconds later, more armed tattooed men burst out of nearby houses. One look at us told them we were the cause of the trouble.
The boss ran and I followed, tensing at the thought of catching a blade in the back. Two axes whirled past us, one sticking into the corner of a house as we turned down the street Osamu had just left. We had to lead the gangsters away from Osamu and Square-Head. That part was easy. The trick was surviving to catch up with them.
&
nbsp; All along the street, shutters opened at our approach and slammed shut as the mob followed. We dodged another flurry of thrown weapons. I caught an axe meant for the back of the boss's head. I meant to throw it back as we turned the next corner, but there we saw Takeda.
The rickshaw that had returned him to the Seahorse was already running away, but the samurai strode forward. He frowned at the sound of the mob behind us, but when they came around the corner he didn't even flinch.
"Too many to fight, Inspector," called the boss. "Come with us."
Takeda walked past us, his frown deepening. He drew the wakizashi from his sash, still in its scabbard. He held it above his head like a scepter of office.
The boss slowed, touching the scrolls in his bandolier to choose the right one. He loved the fireball, but he couldn't use that one around these wooden houses. Still, I couldn't think of another spell I'd seen him cast that would save our skins. I prayed to Desna that he had another of those webs.
The mob slowed at the sight of Takeda, those in the back crashing into the ones up front until they too recognized him. I counted maybe thirty men and didn't like our chances.
"Stand aside!" shouted an old gangster. His sagging breasts made the demon tattooed on his chest look drunk or sleepy. "Those foreign devils cheated us."
Takeda stood as still as a statue, his short sword held aloft.
The gangsters shouted threats, their breath white in the chill air. Little by little, their anger gave in to uncertainty. The blades they held above their own heads began to droop.
One young buck got tired of waiting. He pushed to the front and thrust a shiny butterfly knife toward the inspector.
Takeda put his hand on the grip of his wakizashi.
The rest of the mob dissolved like sea foam, leaving the belligerent young man alone. He looked at his fleeing pals. He looked back at Takeda.
The inspector exposed an inch of his blade.
The young gangster tripped over his own feet and fled.
Chapter Five: Crimson Strings
We crouched beside the entrance to a one-story stone building. The boss cupped his hands around his magic ring to illuminate the doorframe. I checked for nasties and gave him the nod to kill the light.
He listened to the conversation inside. Without his pointy ears, all I could make out was the murmur of the men's voices. Now sure it was safe, I pressed my ear to the keyhole.
"...killing everyone with one of his special tattoos. They'll come here soon, Hiroshi."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
At the sound of ripping cloth, I peeked through the keyhole. Neither man was in view, but I saw their shadows against the wall. There was no problem telling which one belonged to Square-Head. The outlines of his hands held open the moneylender's robes at the chest.
"I know an Ichisada when I see one," he growled. "I recognized your dragon at the bath. What an idiot, to show it off in public!"
"Let go of me. I'll call for the watch."
"The Kappa will hear you first."
"The Kappa? Why—?" Hiroshi the moneylender lowered his voice. "I always pay on time!"
"They killed Ichisada, and now they're going after those who bought tattoos from his secret book. It started when the old Kappa died and his children began fighting over leadership of the gang."
"I don't know about these things," said Hiroshi. His shadow slapped hands over its ears. "I don't want to know!"
"Too late. They're coming to flay the tattoos from our skin. We need to leave Oda tonight. Let's take all the money we can carry."
"This is a trick to rob me! You mean to steal my—"
"I mean to save my skin. Yours too, if you have the coin to make it worthwhile."
The boss moved his ear closer to the door, putting his face a few inches from mine. He made the signs for open and quiet.
While I tickled the lock, the boss closed his eyes to concentrate on the conversation. I wondered how different it sounded to him. It wasn't just that his hearing was better. He knew the language, even though he'd never visited Minkai before. If he hadn't cast a whammy on me, I wouldn't understand a word of Tien.
Takeda and his men had already slipped behind the building. They'd agreed to wait until the boss signaled or one of the men inside tried to scarper, so I took my time on the door. The hushed voices of the tattooed men covered the scrape of my picks in the lock, and the boss kept listening while I worked. As he'd taught me long ago, we might learn more that way than by interrogating the men.
We already knew a little. After the stir we'd caused in the Seahorse District, Shiro tailed Square-Head—whose name we now knew was Goro—to a neighborhood of single-story houses and shops. That's where we caught up with him, following the chalk marks he left on the corners of houses each time he'd turned. One look at the place, and Takeda told us it was the shop of the moneylender whose name we'd seen on Ichisada's list of secret tattoos.
Goro had pounded on the shop door. Above him hung a string of wooden coins, the moonlight turning the gold- and copper-painted discs as dark as blood. The gangster cringed each time he struck the door.
Eventually Hiroshi opened the door, letting a sliver of yellow lamplight fall across the gravel street. He craned his neck to look left and right, but Goro pushed him inside and shut the door behind them.
We kept low and ran to the front door, the boss with a hand on his sword to keep it from rattling in the scabbard. The samurai peeled away to cover the back. Arnisant stayed with us, silent and alert. I was starting to think the wolfhound would make a great lookout for a second-story job.
We'd missed whatever the men inside the house said at first, but they were scared even before Goro mentioned the Kappa. I didn't know whether they were cowards or the Kappa were just that scary. We hadn't seen anything but a few footprints from these ninja characters since the first brief attack outside Yamana's house. My shoulder still itched where they'd hit me with one of their throwing stars.
I felt the tumblers snap into place, louder than I'd expected. I winced, thinking the men inside must have heard the click. They hadn't. They'd taken their conversation deeper into the house. I put my ear back to the keyhole, but I couldn't make out their words anymore. The expression on the boss's face suggested he still could.
Beside me, Arnisant growled. I followed his gaze to a tail disappearing around the corner of a house across the street. Oda was lousy with cats. They must grow their vermin smaller here than we do back in Egorian, where the giant rats give as much hell as they get from the mousers.
"Hush, Arni." I put a hand on his back.
I signed a question at the boss. What do you hear?
He shook his head and raised a finger. Wait.
While I did that, I wondered again what it meant that one look at Takeda and his wakizashi had made a whole mob of gangsters retreat. Was the inspector some kind of master swordsman? The way that last kid fell over himself when the samurai drew his short sword just an inch made me think Takeda had some deadly reputation. But that wasn't the only possibility. Maybe the gangsters refused to fight him for some other reason. Maybe they'd bought him off. Or maybe he had something over their boss and owned a piece of the action.
There was no way to tell without knowing more about Takeda. The boss had a theory, but he wasn't sharing it—not that it bothered me. Telling a street-raised hellspawn what was up with the samurai might break the code of silence between blue-bloods, even though the boss had more in common with me than with this inspector from the other side of the world.
All right. It bothered me some. I tried to put it out of my mind.
Arnisant's gaze moved from where the alley cat had disappeared. He lifted his head to stare at the edge of the roof above us. There was no way the cat could have leaped all the way from the other side of the street. All I saw was a wisp of a cloud over the face of the moon. Still, it made me think maybe Goro and Hiroshi had climbed up into the attic for their little chat. Maybe that's where the money
lender kept his emergency stash.
The boss signaled, Go.
I went in, keeping one hand on the door as I pushed it all the way open to make sure no one stood behind it. Beyond the spare front room were two doorways. The one on the left was closed, as were both shuttered windows I could see. Lamplight revealed the shadows of the men through the open doorway on the right. I slid over to look inside.
Goro still had a handful of Hiroshi's robe twisted up in one big mitt. Hiroshi grasped the gambler's wrist in both hands, but his fingers were made for counting coins, not grappling. The moneylender couldn't have weighed much more than my left arm. I could count his ribs even under the bright colors of the image on his chest.
The dragon wasn't the kind you see on shields and banners back home. For one thing, it didn't have wings. For another, its claws were tiny compared to its snaky body. It had long fishy whiskers and a lion's mane. Its scales weren't all one color, either. They were blue and red and yellow and green and black. In one claw it clutched a scroll, in the other a wand.
"—as much money as we can carry and leave the city." Goro emphasized each phrase by thrusting a stiff finger against Hiroshi's skinny chest. He'd backed the moneylender up against a steel vault bolted to the floor.
Already scared, Hiroshi gaped as he looked past the gambler and saw me in the doorway. He cried, "A demon! They sent a demon!"
I get sick of hearing that sort of thing, so I shot him the tines. He whimpered, probably afraid that I'd hexed him.
The boss moved up beside me. I looked over to see that he'd closed the front door and left Arnisant to guard it. "Calm yourself," he told the man. "We are here to help—"
Goro let go of Hiroshi, whose legs collapsed like boiled noodles. The big gambler ran to the back door and threw open the bolt. The moment he opened it, Takeda and Osamu came in, forcing him back to stand beside the kneeling moneylender. Shiro came in behind them, closing and bolting the door.
"I've done nothing!" Hiroshi tried to cover his chest, but Takeda slapped away his hands.