Ethan looked to Zoey and Katryna for input on what to make of it all, and when both seemed agreeable, he stood with a nod. “I do,” he said. “I suppose we’ll take you up on the offer. Lead the way.”
“Ah, yes. About the whole ‘we’ business,” Sedra said with a heavy air of smugness about him. “But this is a captains-only game. No crew allowed.”
“Then forget it,” Ethan said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Where I go. She goes. No exceptions.”
Sedra grunted and went to speak, but Katryna beat him to the response. She took Zoey by the arm and pulled her to the side. “No, Ethan. Go,” she said. “We’ll see you back at the ship.”
“But—”
“No,” she said, cutting him off with force. “You two need practice being apart. It’ll do you good.”
Ethan still balked, but Zoey sighed heavily with resignation. “Go,” she said. “I might not like it, but I think it would be a good idea to meet our opponents.”
Ethan’s heart sank, but the lonely ache in his chest flew from his mind when Sedra whacked him on the shoulder hard enough that he nearly toppled off the stool.
“Marvelous,” he boomed. “Let’s go while they’re still sharing drinks and laughs instead of daggers and threats. Oh, and before I forget, I hope your purse is full. Our blood is richer than mere pennies.”
Chapter Seventeen
Traditions
When a pair of well-dressed attendants with white cotton wigs opened the heavy double doors, Ethan got his first glimpse of the parlor. He didn’t have any words, but he did have a whistle—long and slow.
Oil paintings the size of his first apartment covered fifteen-foot walls made from teak, while several full-length windows offered a majestic view of the bay. Exquisite silk rugs with red and golden fibers accented a hard cherry wood floor, and he had no doubt that the cleaning bill for a single one would likely eat up a month’s worth of wages. Three chandeliers made from gold hung from the ceiling, their candles offering warm light to all those below. In one corner sat a grand piano, and at its bench, a young blonde in a sky-blue satin gown let her fingers dance across the ivory keys, providing a soft but upbeat melody.
Wood burned steadily in a fireplace to Ethan’s right, while directly ahead, eight men sat around an elongated table filled with bottles, steins, bread, cheeses, a spattering of cards, and a small pile of silver coin loosely gathered in the center. Out of the eight men of varying ages and demeanors, Ethan recognized only one: Azrael.
Death still wore his ensemble of blood-red jacket, black trousers, and ivory-white shirt, but whereas last time they’d been together, he’d been empty-handed, this time, Death held a long, fat, lit cigar in one hand and a fan of five cards in his other. When he saw Ethan standing in the doorway, he set his cards facedown and beckoned him over.
“Ah, there’s our newest contender,” he said, face beaming. “Come, Master Ethan, and introduce yourself to everyone.”
Ethan balked in the middle of the doorway until a nudge from Sedra sent him forward. “Hello?” he said. “I’m Ethan, from North Carolina.”
All those at the table gave him an apathetic grunt, mixed with a couple of half-hearted salutes with steins, save one. One man, a thirty-something fellow by Ethan’s best guess, dressed in a sleeveless tunic that was all white and trimmed with gold, arched an eyebrow. “North Carolina?” he repeated, his voice sounding like he’d gargled a few pints of acid in his youth for fun. “What place is that?”
“In the US?” Ethan offered. When the entire table, the man included, stared at him blankly, Ethan sighed, realizing not one of them happened to be from back home as Zoey was. “It’s out west,” he finally said. “Far, far west.”
“Past the Dry Tantorgas?”
“Yep.”
“And the Western Andies?”
“Yep.”
The man snorted and pressed his lips together, seemingly impressed. “That’s a long way to sail for one race,” he said.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Ethan said.
“Tell me, Captain Ethan,” the man went on, his face hardening and his tone adopting a more confrontational tone. “Are all of these North Carolinians as depraved as you?”
Ethan stiffened. “What?”
“Sailing around with an unholy abomination of a crew?” he went on, his beady eyes narrowing. “A slave to the twelve depths of the Abyss?”
“Sir Gideon, if you’d be so kind as to rein in your crusade,” Azrael said, pointing his cigar at the man and chuckling as he did. “I assure you, Master Ethan is a captain of the highest caliber, a man worthy of not only our respect, but also a seat at this table.”
“And I assure you, Captain Azrael, the Golden Templars will not rest until we’ve purged every blight upon this land with holy fire.”
“Tell me, does your little crusade include participating in piracy?” Ethan asked. “I hear you’ve become quite the robber as of late.”
The man leaned back in his chair, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Sounds as if you’ve heard a tale or two from the sea. Be careful, lad, believing them. Many are lies spun from desperation.”
“Maybe,” Ethan said. “From what I hear, you sank the Blind Mako off Piram three years ago and killed the captain and crew, all because he wouldn’t hand over a copper ring. That sounds like piracy to me.”
The man leaned forward and playfully pointed a finger at Ethan. “Ah, that story,” he said. “Did it come with the sad tale of how that captain was merely trying to deliver grain to a hundred starving children at an orphanage a hundred leagues away? Or is this the one where he was sailing home to reach his beloved wife of twenty years, who was now on her deathbed, and he was desperately trying to see her one last time before the banshee came calling?”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying it never happened?”
“Oh, it happened, alright, but not as you say,” Sir Gideon said, settling back in his chair. “I chased that ship for weeks, but they were the pirates, not me, every last one of them. Nothing more than lawless vagabonds, the very dregs of society. Each one of them would’ve had their necks stretched soon enough had we not found them.”
“That’s quite a different version,” Ethan said.
“Aye, it is because I was there. You’ll not find a closer source than me.”
Ethan smirked. “Funny. My source was there, too.”
“Your source.”
“Yes, my source,” Ethan repeated. “He was one of the crew you tried to kill—the captain’s brother, to be exact.”
Sir Gideon clenched his jaw and let loose a growl. “And what sort of person are you, I wonder, to side with such a despicable soul?”
“Shall we discuss this matter outside, then, Sir Gideon?” Azrael asked, cocking his head to the side. “Or would you rather continue with the game and maybe learn a thing or two about the good Master Ethan?”
Ethan didn’t know what to make of Azrael’s unexpected defense and praise. Was Death setting him up for something? Probably? Almost certainly? But at the same time, Ethan couldn’t shake the feeling that what he’d said had been genuine praise and honest defense of Ethan’s character. Maybe Death happened to be a good sport after all? Going by Sedra’s previous remarks, that certainly could be the case. Ethan’s general wary nature, however, kept him on edge.
That said, however, he wasn’t about to come across as rude or ungrateful. Something about the room told him that if he committed such a faux pas, he’d pay for it dearly later on. “My thanks, Azrael, for clearing the air about me,” he said, putting on the best smile he could while tipping his head and offering a two-fingered, informal salute.
“Think nothing of it, Master Ethan,” Azrael replied before motioning to the empty seat at his side. “Have a seat here, if you’d be so kind. I’d like the pleasure of your company.”
With Sedra making for the only other empty seat at the table, Ethan obliged the request
. The moment he dropped onto the chair’s satin cushion, one of six attendants, dressed in a tan coat and breeches, left his station at the wall and came to Ethan’s side.
“And what would the gentleman care for?” he asked in the most butler-like voice Ethan could’ve ever imagined.
“Port?” he said, not sure what was being offered but figuring that was a safe bet.
“Very good, sir.”
Right as the servant turned, Ethan caught him by the elbow. “And I’ll have one of those, too, if you have one,” he said, pointing to Azrael’s cigar.
“Very good, sir.”
Azrael grinned. “Master Ethan, I was unaware you took pleasure in such things.”
“First time for everything,” he replied with a shrug. Though Ethan had always been of the mindset that inhaling smoke wasn’t the brightest thing in the world, he wanted to fit the part there at the table, or at least, seem a little more seasoned.
“Well, Azrael, are you going to take another card or not?” asked a man with a frazzled grey beard and a scar that ran through his left eye. “I’m sick of listening to yer jibber jabbers.”
“I’ll lay anchor and see what the fair winds have dealt you, Captain Horal,” Azrael said, folding his hands and resting them atop his cards.
For the next couple beats, Ethan did his best to study each man as best he could, looking for anything he might later use as a tell. Azrael looked calmer than a lake of glass, while Captain Horal had a nervous twitch going on with the side of his mouth.
“Twenty-nine,” the man said, flipping his hand of four over for all to see.
Azrael’s eyes didn’t even as much glance at the cards thrown. He calmly took a puff from his cigar and slid his cards across the table, face down. “Then I believe the pot is yours,” he said. “Well played.”
Captain Horal laughed heartily and scooped up his winnings. “Knew you were bluffing.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow when Azrael didn’t react in the least to the charge. On the surface, it certainly would’ve seemed as if Azrael had had a bad hand, but his proficient skill in gambling led him to believe that perhaps Azrael had conceded a hand he’d actually won, perhaps setting Captain Horal up for a later sweep.
“I believe that makes it my deal,” Sedra said, grabbing the cards in his meaty hands. He shuffled them faster and with more skill than Ethan would’ve ever thought possible given his fat, sausage-like fingers. Once done, he paused, thumb resting on the top of the deck. “Ante up, gentlemen,” he growled. “I’ll not deal a single card till I see the pot full.”
Coins flew into the center of the table from all the players, hitting the table with a distinct clank. Ethan watched one bounce off the wood and roll, wobble, and then spin a few times before finally settling down. When it did, that’s when Ethan realized Sedra wasn’t kidding. They didn’t play for pennies. Every last one of them had tossed in a full shilling at the start. And if Ethan had done his math right (or rather, Zoey had done hers right when he asked and she’d explained it all), a shilling was worth about sixty bucks, and given the stacks of coin he saw everyone hoarding, he had no doubt they’d be betting crowns—each one worth the equivalent of nearly a thousand dollars—in no time.
A hard pit formed in the center of Ethan’s gut. Despite still having some bounty left from the ettin, as well as spoils from Lord Belmont, he wondered how fast the betting would get out of hand for him.
“Is something the matter, Master Ethan?” Azrael said.
“I—” Ethan cut himself short when he realized how much he was sliding back into his old ways. He hadn’t gotten this far in the world by being meek. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t have decent skill and perks when it came to playing cards, not to mention, he did also have one hell of a luck stat.
He could win and win big here. All he needed was a little boost to his initial purse, and the rest would sort itself out. And to get that boost, all he’d need to do was aggressively spend some Luck on the first few hands to win the pots.
Ethan faked a cough, put a fist into the center of his chest a couple of times, and shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, coughing once more. “A tickle in my throat is all.”
“Then I believe that’s a crown you owe for ante,” Sedra said evenly.
“That it is,” Ethan replied. He coolly reached into his purse and pulled one out, trying not to let on to the fact that he only had a few more. A desperate gambler, he knew, was one easy to take advantage of.
Ethan sent the coin flipping through the air. Once it came to a halt in the middle of the pile, Sedra dealt. As players took cards as they saw fit, Ethan kept his eyes on each one as much as possible. He already knew what he had: a nine, a two, and a five, meaning he’d take two cards at the very least.
On the first round, Sedra sent him a seven, bringing his total to twenty-three. He’d have to take another card the following if he had a prayer to win. That was without question. He didn’t want to seem eager, however, or balk too much, for that matter.
Ethan counted to two before tapping the table, indicating he wanted another. As he did, he made a mental note to use a few points of luck to try and land on thirty-one.
Three points of Luck used.
Luck countered!
You feel a little off!
Surprised at Narrator’s sudden intrusion, not to mention off-putting news, Ethan straightened and soured his face, purely by accident. Immediately, he tried to cover it by staring at his stein of port.
“Are you ready for your next card, Master Ethan? Or are you ready to hold?”
Ethan turned his attention back to the table to find Sedra staring at him with impatience.
“Yeah, sorry. I’ll take another,” he said. As Sedra started to deal, Ethan tried his luck again, even more this time.
Three points of Luck used.
Luck countered!
You feel a little off!
The hairs on the back of Ethan’s neck rose, and his chest and face felt warm. What in the nine hells was going on? he wondered. He made a mental note to ask Zoey later, as well as comb over the manual once more to see if it might provide some answers. But both of those would have to wait, obviously, and he knew he couldn’t spend any more time on it.
Another seven. Ethan sat marvelously at thirty.
“I’ll stay,” he said, putting a little fidget into his hands to hopefully throw off his opponents.
Sedra nodded and continued around the table. When he was done, only two of the men went over, cursing up a storm as they did. Then came the final bets. Three rounds went in total, each one raising the pot by three shillings. Of the eight players that remained initially, only four were left, including Ethan, by the time the betting was over.
At that point, cards were revealed.
Captain Ord, a withered old man with fiery red hair and a handful of teeth, led the way with twenty-nine. Sir Gideon flipped his over, showing the same, at which point, Ethan showed his hand of thirty. Azrael, the only other player still in, merely nodded and slid his cards, face down to Sedra.
“A masterful run for your first time,” Azrael said, puffing on his cigar.
“Thanks,” Ethan said, trying not to let his relief show.
The second round, Ethan lost, as he did the third and fourth. Not due to misplaying or misreading, but simply because his cards were awful. By the time the fifth rolled around, he’d at least bet smartly and folded promptly, and thus was still up overall. He won the fifth pot, which ended up being a hefty purse of seven crowns.
Rounds six through eleven, however, all ended in disaster, at which point he realized his purse was far lighter than it had been when he’d first come in. Worse, he’d used several more points of luck, trying to offset his losses, only to be told yet again that his luck had been countered. Now, Ethan sat quietly in his chair, his stomach in knots, mouth dry, and mind reeling at the unshakable feeling that he wasn’t able to read anyone in the room.
That changed, however, when a solid deal set him at exactly thirty. Better yet, the pot held a fair amount of coin in it. Not enough to make him think anyone would steal the game, but enough to make him think at least two at the table probably sat at twenty-nine. The only bad thing about all of it was, to match Sir Gideon’s raise, Ethan would have to throw in everything he had, aside from three pennies and two farthings.
Ethan toyed with one of his four last crowns. He knew he was going to toss it in. He had to, but he wanted to play the room as best he could. “Okay, I’m in,” he finally said, flicking it into the pot.
The clink of metal on metal still rang in Ethan’s ears when Captain Horal threw in his coin, too. “Aye. I’ll be seeing what everyone has, too.”
Sir Gideon drummed his fingers on the table as his eyes studied each one of his opponents. After several uncomfortable moments of silence, he pitched his one crown in and then slid in another five. The moment he did, Ethan’s heart sank. Per the rules, if he couldn’t call, he’d fold automatically. There were no all-in options.
Sir Gideon flashed Ethan a knowing grin but spoke to the next player in line. “That’s an extra five to you, Azrael.”
Death took a long puff from his cigar before letting out a billowing cloud of smoke into the air. He watched it for a few seconds as he rolled his cigar between his thumb and forefinger with a look of disappointment in his eyes. “Master Ethan here does not have five crowns extra,” he said, nodding at Ethan’s small stack of coin without judgment. “He won’t be able to call.”
“I’m aware of that,” Sir Gideon said. “Perhaps he should’ve brought more to the table or played better if he wanted to stay in.”
“Perhaps,” Azrael said. “But a poor show, nevertheless.”
Nothing more was said between the two, and Death put an extra five crowns in the pot, which then made it Ethan’s turn once more. His muscles tensed under stress and anger, and he wanted to launch into a tirade of expletives, maybe even toss his drink, for being cheated out of the pot. Sir Gideon was the only one he was worried might have thirty-one, but now Ethan was convinced he had at most twenty-eight and was trying to buy his way to victory.
The Crew (Captains & Cannons Book 2) Page 16