Sacrifice

by A. C. Cobble

“What do you say, Factor Ostrander, too rich for you as well?”

  “Two silver sterling, is it?” he questioned, setting down his own tankard of wine and scratching his head while he peered at the cards in his hand.

  “Four,” reminded Baron Josiah Child, “my brother raised the bet.”

  “Ah, four,” mumbled Branden before sliding a short pile of gleaming silver into the center. “Make it six, shall we?”

  “You can’t buy a baron out of the pot with six sterling!” snorted the captain.

  “Maybe he’s trying to keep us in, draw more coin into the middle?” wondered Nathaniel. “Is that the case, Factor Ostrander?”

  Branden smiled at the overconfident peer. Nathaniel Child had the look and the demeanor of a sharp-dealing merchant. Branden had no doubt the man was a ruthless card player. He imagined more often than not, the peer walked away from the tables with his purse full of silver and jingling merrily. Out of everyone at the table, Nathaniel would survive in the Sinks the longest. Maybe he’d even end up winning over the course of a few nights here and there.

  Down in the Sinks, though, having the right cards and placing the right bets was just a part of the game. Spotting the cheats, counting the cards, knowing when to make your play, that was what kept one alive over the long term. Those were the skills that made the difference between people who could play night after night and those who lost all their coin after stumbling through the dens with their saltwater gaits and claims they were the best player on the ship. The confident players were the worthy marks, those fools who put enough coin in the center that it was worth fleecing them. They all had the same easy smile as Nathaniel Child.

  It didn’t hurt that Branden Ostrander knew what remained in the deck sitting in front of the dealer. He knew which cards had been played, he knew the odds of someone pulling a better hand. He knew that with the high druid lurking in his sleeve, and the king discarded from his hand two plays ago, only a full set of the spirits could beat him. A full set of spirits, and Josiah Child had sloppily tilted his cards a minute ago showing the macabre image of the Recent Dead.

  With that card in Josiah’s hand, it was impossible for Nathaniel to beat him. Branden had to watch Baron Josiah closely, but the odds were against the man accumulating a full set, and it was his brother who was playing aggressively.

  Branden had decided, now was the time to make his play.

  Baron Josiah Child called the bet, shifting four silver sterling into the sparkling pile in the center. Nathaniel raised it again and Branden fought to hide a smile.

  His heart beating quickly, sweat beading on his palms, Branden glanced at his hand again and the coin in front of him. He’d brought every bit of silver he’d accumulated over the last six moons, but even that wasn’t enough to play in this game. He’d had to borrow the rest of the stakes from Tyler Tollefson, the owner of the Merry Mermaid. A tavern owner, a pimp, a notorious card cheat, and Branden knew personally, the man was also a murderer.

  A score of silver coins pressed into his hands earlier that night and a hard, direct look which was all Branden needed to know of the consequences of failure. The loss of so much sterling wouldn’t put the Merry Mermaid out of business, but the damage to Tollefson’s reputation would be unthinkable for the man who people called the Governor of the Sinks. And there was only one way the garrulous thug could maintain his reputation after such a big loss, and that was by making sure Branden was floating face down in the harbor at dawn. Mistakes and losses happened in the business of card sharping, but when the player was staked by Tyler Tollefson, they never happened twice by the same person. The ruthless tavern owner made sure of that, and everyone knew it.

  Branden sorted the cards in his hands, the smooth lacquer whispering as the cards slid over each other. He wiped at his brow with the back of his hand, all of the player’s eyes on him. He felt nervous, like his heart was going to beat its way out of his ribcage, and he let those nerves show. Josiah looked bored, his brother predatory, and the captain looked worried.

  “Well,” murmured Branden, “I don’t suppose there’s much sense matching the bet if I don’t go ahead and put it all in, ey?”

  The captain’s breath burst from his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, Branden saw the bearded seaman shaking his head slightly in warning.

  Josiah snorted and sat back, tossing his cards face down next to the dealer. “If I lose it all in this hand, I’m not going to be able to pay the barman’s tab tonight, and it’s too early to go without wine.”

  “I’m sure the barman knows your good for it,” laughed Nathaniel. The younger Child glanced at his cards again, pursed his lips, and then looked around the table. “Most interesting hand of the evening, don’t you think? How about a round of whiskeys on me? We’ll raise a glass to bold play, however the cards fall.”

  Branden nodded and his eyes followed as Nathaniel raised a hand and called to the barman. “A round of quality whiskey, good man!”

  The barman was evidently used to the younger Child’s generosity at the tables. It was only a moment before he appeared with a silver tray covered with small glasses filled with amber whiskey. He began depositing the drinks beside the players and Nathaniel shuffled through his cards again.

  “Bold play is only entertaining when there are two in the game, don’t you think?” asked the peer, winking at Branden. “I’ll match you.”

  Nathaniel pushed a teetering pile of silver into the middle and Branden’s eyes bulged. His mind swirled. He’d planned to buy the pot out from under the peers. He hadn’t thought the man would be so foolish to match his bet. After everyone’s antes and raises, it was ninety silver sterling sitting in the center of the green velvet tabletop. Even if he quit after this hand, it was a fortune. Half would be his, half would go to Tollefson. Frantically, he did the math. Forty-five coins of the king’s silver. It was four times what he’d started the day with. More coin than he’d ever held. More than he’d ever seen in one spot. With that sum, he could stake his own players, open his own gambling den.

  As the possibilities raged through his mind, his breath came quickly. He’d counted the cards. He had the high druid. He couldn’t lose.

  “Shall we show the cards?” asked Nathaniel.

  Wordlessly, Branden spread the five lacquered pieces of paper in front of him. The high druid taking the lead position on his left.

  The captain whistled softly.

  “An impressive hand,” declared Nathaniel. “Worthy of such a bet, my friend, and well played. Unfortunately, I have the monarchy.”

  The peer laid out his own cards, the king in the lead position.

  Branden’s breath was tight, his vision swam. The king. He’d held the king. He’d discarded it two plays prior! It’d been in the discard pile. He knew it. He was certain of it.

  “A painful beat,” consoled Nathaniel. “Let’s raise our glasses to bold play, and Factor Ostrander, drink the rest of the evening on my tab. You’ve earned it.”

  The peer raised his glass and was mirrored by those around the table.

  “A difficult loss,” murmured the captain, not looking at Branden.

  The cardsharp looked up and met the steady gaze of Nathaniel Child. The peer’s lips were curled into a sneering smile, and his eyes blazed with hungry intensity.

  “You-you cheated,” stammered Branden. “I discarded the king two plays ago. You cheated!”

  Nathaniel’s expression didn’t change, but everyone else’s did.

  “You’re accusing my brother of cheating?” asked Baron Josiah Child slowly. “You must have proof of this, then?”

  Branden glanced at him and swallowed. “I-I discarded the king. It was in the discard pile. There is no way Nath— No way your brother could have held it unless— unless he was cheating.”

  The dealer was already briskly sorting through the discarded pile of cards, his lips moving silently as he counted. When he finished, he looked around the table. “It’s the right number, gentlemen, and there
’s no king card in the pile.”

  “You— you pulled it out somehow and replaced it with another!” accused Branden, pointing at Nathaniel Child. “It was when the man brought the drinks, we were distracted. You switched your cards!”

  “It seems it is only your word that you had the king card against… well, against all evidence,” remarked Nathaniel smoothly. “Surely you cannot suggest I sorted through the deck while you were all at the table with me. We’ve all had some to drink tonight, so I’m willing to allow that maybe you’re mistaken, and you really thought you saw the king in your hand.”

  “No, I—”

  “A tough beat,” interjected the captain, leaning forward and commanding Branden’s attention. “Painful, I am sure, but the cards fell as the spirits willed. Not anything to be done about it but enjoy the baron’s generosity and have a few drinks, ey? How about I join you over at the bar.”

  Suddenly, Branden stood up.

  The players at the table eyed him calmly, the well-dressed crowd around them shifted, turning from their drinks and their pipes to watch. The entire room of the Seawatch Club was watching him, but no one seemed alarmed. Branden realized they’d seen this scene play out before. Whether they knew the man cheated or whether they thought Nathaniel Child was merely the best card player in town was irrelevant. They weren’t surprised, they’d expected it to end this way all night. Everyone had, but him.

  Branden hadn’t just been cleaned out, though. He’d lost Tollefson’s coin as well. He was in debt to a murderer. If he couldn’t repay it, he knew he wouldn’t see the sun rise. He knew that he couldn’t repay it.

  “You’re a cheat!” he shouted at Nathaniel.

  In the blink of an eye, he lunged forward and scooped up a fistful of the sterling silver coins that sat in the center of the table, then he flipped the heavy piece of furniture into the air. Spinning coins, brightly painted cards, and cups filled with whiskey and wine were flung across the room. Branden spun, prepared to dash out the open doors of the club with the fistful of silver coins clutched tightly in his hand.

  Behind him, a grim-faced man stood, dressed in the uniform of Eiremouth’s Watch. He was clutching a raised truncheon.

  “Sorry, lad,” he offered, then smashed the lead-filled club into the side of Branden’s head.

  My lassie awaits me upon far the shore

  Ho ho raise the main sail

  My heart’ll ache til I pine for ‘er no more

  Ho ho raise the main sail

  Tip me the grog and I’ll drink my cup down

  Ho ho raise the main sail

  At the bottom of me tankard, that’s how I will drown

  Ho ho raise the main sail

  High breasts and full lips, ‘er skin like cream

  Ho ho raise the main sail

  ‘Er naked body, it’s of all I can dream

  Ho ho raise the main sail

  Raise high your rum, let it crash like the sea

  Ho ho raise the main—

  “Shut your damn mouth!” cried a hoarse voice. “I’m tired of yar singin’.”

  “You shut yours!” snarled the singer. “It’s just a lil’ tune to pass the time. Listen up and maybe you’ll learn ta—”

  “Ya shut yar spirit-forsaken mouth or I’m gonna come over there and stuff that filthy woolen cap in it til ya choke, ya noisy bastard,” threatened the other man.

  Branden heard shifting and a rattle of someone shaking a steel door.

  “You’re the bastard, you tone-deaf lout,” claimed the singer. “‘Least, that’s what your mother told me. Last time I was between ‘er legs she said—”

  The second man howled in anger and smashed against the steel door of his cell. The singer burst out in cackling laughter.

  “I’ll find ya, ya damn—”

  “Silence,” bellowed a new voice and the rattling steel turned to the hideous clang of a truncheon crashing against the barred doors of the cells.

  A pained shriek replaced the singing and the shouting, followed by heaving sobs and curses. Branden guessed the guard had caught a man’s fingers when he swept his truncheon along the bars.

  It wasn’t such a brilliant insight.

  Branden had heard the same scene play out half a dozen times during his three days in the gaol. Sailors from different vessels were thrown into different cells to keep the fights and stabbings to a minimum. It worked, more or less, but every few hours they’d try to reach between the bars to get at each other. It was regular sport for the guards, trying to catch those grasping hands with a swing from their lead-filled clubs. The men who’d been in the gaol stayed near the backs of the cell, watching those who were newcomers get their digits smashed.

  Already, Branden had seen broken bones and snapped fingers. He supposed it explained why so many of the sailors that waddled through the Merry Mermaid and sat across the card table from him had such mangled joints. He’d always thought it came from their work at sea, but now he saw it was from the few days after each voyage that they usually spent in the gaol cells until their captains bothered to bond them out and put them back to work.

  Learn something new every day, he supposed.

  He slumped back against the damp stone of his cell wall and waited. He wasn’t sure for what, but every now and then a tremor would run through his body and he’d realize he did know. He was waiting for Tollefson. Would the man find him in the cell and end it there, or would he wait for Branden to be released and track him down in the twisting warrens of Eiremouth’s harbor district, the Sinks?

  It was coming, one way or the other. Tyler Tollefson had known exactly where he was going, and it wouldn’t take much inquiry to discover the results of the evening. Knocked out after trying to steal coins off the baron’s own gambling table? No, that wouldn’t be any effort to hear about.

  Branden sighed and let his chin slump against his chest. Waiting, that’s all there was to do. He’d do it the rest of his life, he supposed, though that wasn’t like to be long.

  “Those motherless louts in the far cell,” growled a voice.

  “Three silver sterling,” replied another, a voice Branden recognized as one of the guards.

  “Three sterling?” cried the first. “Last time we berthed it was only one silver for twice as many of them!”

  “It’s three this time, Captain,” declared the guard. “They almost burned the whorehouse down around them. Couple’o the girls were nearly cooked in there. When the brigade showed up, they tried to fight ‘em. After the watch beat your crew into submission, an inspector sat down to ask some questions. They punched him right in the face! He tossed ‘em in the back of the carriage and the bastards were so drunk they got sick all over the place. So that’s one coin for the inspector, one for our usual fee, and one extra for cleaning out that carriage. Keep arguing, Captain, and it’ll be four. And if you think that’s rich, wait until the mistress gets a hold of you. Bit a damage to the building, of course, but word was some of the girls were too scared to work now. Who you think she’s going to blame for that?”

  The newcomer huffed, and Branden heard the tell-tale clink of coins being laid on an open palm. There was the jostling of a key, the scrape of a steel gate on the stone floor, and the raucous celebrations of sailors as they were sprung from the gaol cell one more time.

  “We sail at midnight,” cried the captain. “Straight to the ship, boys. If you’re not on board when I toss the rope, then next time no one’s coming to bail ya out.”

  The captain’s heavy footfalls trailed the excited trotting of his crew. Then, they stopped.

  Branden looked up.

  “That eye’s healing up rather… ah, I won’t lie, boy, you look terrible,” said the captain. Branden recognized the man. It was the same captain he’d played cards with three nights prior. “They break any bones in your face?”

  “I wasn’t sure at first,” admitted Branden, still sitting slumped in his cell. He stared at the bearded seaman. “It hurts something fierce, but I d
on’t think anything was broken.”

  “That’s good.” The captain turned and called to one of the guards. “How much for that bottle?”

  After a quick negotiation, the captain hoisted a green glass bottle and winked at Branden. He tilted it back then lowered it, coughing.

  “This is terrible,” he shouted at the guards. Rough laughter followed, and he turned back to Branden. He stuck the bottle through the bars of the cell. “Fancy a nip?”

  With nothing else to do but wait for his death, Branden struggled to stand and moved to accept the bottle from the captain. He drank a sip and shivered. The bearded man was right, it was terrible.

  “Have some more,” suggested the captain. Branden shook his head, and the captain added in a whisper so the guards could not hear, “I heard a man by the name of Tollefson is looking for you. He’s put a small reward on your head. Apparently, you don’t have to bring the entire body to collect.”

  Grimacing, Branden drank deeply, letting the harsh liquor burn down his throat.

  “These guards are good men, occasionally, and I don’t think they’ll let that murderer come at you in the cell,” advised the captain, “but they may not be opposed to ‘em bailin’ you out. Don’t think you’ll last long on the streets if he does.”

  “I know,” muttered Branden.

  “Keep drinkin’, boy,” said the captain.

  Branden, with little else to do, complied.

  “What’s your plan, then?” asked the captain.

  “Die, I suppose,” snapped the cardsharp.

  “A good plan, that,” chided the captain.

  “Eiremouth is all I know,” complained Branden. “I wrecked the baron’s card room, I owe a murderer more coin than I have any chance of getting my hands on, but even if I did have some plan to do it, I’m stuck in this gaol cell. I’m not arguing that dying is such a good plan, I just don’t got any other.”

  “A grim future,” agreed the captain. “What if there was a way out?”

  Branden winced.

  “I didn’t buy that bottle for you to hold it,” remonstrated the captain.