War of the Posers

by Eric Ugland

  “Ignatius is the face man,” she replied with a benign smile, “a job which requires you not to lose face. Which he did. So he has been, well, reassigned.”

  “Ah. And you are?”

  “The one who is actually in charge. You can call me Marm.”

  “Uh, hi, Marm.”

  “Hello again, Tarzan. Or do you prefer Clyde?”

  “Either. Really.”

  She waved her hand at me. “I would prefer we speak the truth to each other today.”

  “Yeah, that seems like, uh, a good idea.”

  “I like to think so. You came here because you were looking for something. What is it?”

  “The Fayden.”

  “Ah. To learn?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who were you learning from before?”

  “Uh, Careena—“

  “Ah. Now I can place you. You have some rather interesting spells in your grimoire, eh?”

  “I guess.”

  “No use asking you if you’re the reason she left, is it?”

  “No.”

  Marm took another sip of her cider. “It’s cool enough to drink,” she said. “If that was why you were waiting. I suppose it only makes sense that she would send you to The Fayden. I doubt there is anyone else who would be willing to instruct you in Glaton. Especially if you’re looking to go further into the darker side of things. Are you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t, I mean, it’s pretty nasty stuff , and I’d probably ditch those spells if I could, but—“

  “Hard to get rid of everything, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, and truth be told, The Fayden is only half of what is complicating matters.”

  “What else is there?”

  “I suppose it’s only fair you don’t know how much you wagered on yourself is it?”

  “I know what I had in my pouch,” I lied.

  “I thought we were here talking truths,” Marm replied, giving me that look all grandmothers had long ago mastered. “Though I suppose the better reality would be, you don’t know how much of what you had was wagered for you, do you?”

  “I suppose I don’t.”

  “So if I tell you only a single gold coin was wagered, you would have no way to know if I was telling the truth, or twisting things to be convenient for us.”

  “Again, true.”

  She smiled again.

  “But back to the problem at hand,” she continued, “you had 83 gold coins in your pouch. Your first match was set at 42 to 1. And even then, we only had two betters. You won. And then, Ignatius allowed you to roll your bet over, because he had no way to know you would best Maneater as well. And that match, having seen you win, was ranked down some, 25 to 1. And yet, you won. So, you see, we are a bit at odds now.”

  “Ah, so this is where you point out that, had I bet all the gold I had in my pouch, you’d owe me twenty-two thousand gold?” I asked, hoping I’d done the math correctly.

  “Twenty-two thousand, fifty gold.”

  “Not bad.”

  “Some of our patrons saw Flossie place your bet. And others know that you had your bet rolled over. Which means we can’t exactly say you bet nothing. So you are left with a simple issue. Do you want to claim you bet all your coins?”

  “Or..?”

  “Perhaps more intelligently, you might think to say that you chose to bet, well, less. It is quite important we never welch on a bet. We cannot expect those in debt to play by different rules, can we?”

  “In my experience, most gambling institutions are more than happy to have two sets of rules.”

  “We, then, are not like most. We adhere to our rules.”

  A body fell into the arena pit, landing on the stone floor with a muffled thud.

  Ignatius. Well, most of him at any rate.

  “Another reason for Ignatius’ fall from grace,” she said.

  Two men came back down the ladder and cleaned the remains into the grate. Then, someone lowered down buckets and mops, and the cleaning began in earnest.

  It was a very strange spot to be in, having a civil conversation over hot cider while others busied themselves mopping up the blood and viscera a death match.

  “Which brings us to our negotiation,” Marm continued.

  “Are you going to put a price on me leaving here alive?”

  “No.”

  “Then on introducing me to The Fayden?”

  “It is a difficult to make a decision one way or another on that. Because who would set the value? Were it to come out that we refrained from paying you because we thought an introduction would be of such value... No, that wouldn’t do.”

  Marm sighed, and took a long drink of her cider.

  “Conundrums every way I look,” she said. “Do you have any ideas, Master Hatchett?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “But you probably realize how dangerous a proposition of betting your whole purse might be. That it would be far better to have a group of underground magicians owing you favors and goodwill, as opposed to hating you for making their lives considerably difficult.”

  “You know,” I said, “that’s probably one of the finest threats I’ve received.”

  “Despite my girlish good looks,” she said with a flip of her hair, “I have been doing this for some time.”

  She was a nice old lady, and it was a fantastic act. But I knew, and she knew I knew, that it was all an act. She was the brains and the power behind this gang, and getting to that position meant she was savage enough to throw me through the hole in the pit if I made the wrong move. Money didn’t seem to be the driving issue in my life currently. It seemed far more valuable to make a few allies.

  “A woman as bold and beautiful as you could clearly see,” I said, “that all I bet was…four coins?”

  Her eyebrow went up a little.

  “Three,” I corrected myself. “Three coins.”

  She laughed.

  “Ah, three coins,” Marm said. “That sounds like quite the wager.”

  “It was, uh, daring,” I replied.

  “I imagine so,” she said, pulling a smaller pouch out of one of her sleeves. “This contains your winnings, plus the coin Flossie ‘was holding’ for you. It is also a sorting pouch. It will hold plenty of coins, of all different kinds, and sort them as you toss them inside. Very useful for counting, I imagine. Now, I’m sure you understand how much we appreciate your willingness in clarifying exactly the amount you bet. And you understand this pouch is but a token of the goodwill we, the Street Kings will certainly be extending to you, and the Biscuits’ Union?”

  “The Skull and Thrones,” I corrected. “New branding. Cookies are, uh, not really my speed.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Can always count on the youth to favor edgy names. I will pass along a message to The Fayden. That should allow for a meeting with them soon. I will have Flossie escort you back to your things, and make sure you get to your dwelling in safety.”

  Marm stood up and brushed off her robes. Then, she winked at me.

  The chairs disappeared, and my butt hit the ground with a thud.

  She just chuckled as she climbed slowly up the ladder.

  Chapter Fourteen

  By the time I got home, it was nearing dawn. Flossie wouldn’t let me leave with any blood on me, so it was the rare occasion where I returned clean. Instead of going upstairs to my apartment, I sat on the steps of the apartments above the bakery, and watched our little corner of Old Town wake up.

  Morning is always a favorite time to people-watch. Seeing everyone come out of their homes, watching how they reacted to the weather and the new day. People around my building were seemingly content. No real fights anywhere, no one sniping at their partner through the window, no thrown clothes or belongings. It represented a vast gulf between this neighborhood, and the one I’d lived in back on Earth. There, people were a little more vocal in the morning. And angry. Here, people might have been angry, but they kept it to
themselves.

  The door behind me creaked a little as it opened, and after a few heavy boot-steps, Matthew sat down next to me.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “It is,” I replied.

  “We’ll have to continue our discussion we started last night at some point,” he said.

  “The one regarding my origins?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Is there much more to say?”

  “I’d imagine.”

  “I mean, there are so many other things we’re facing, it’s—“

  “Kid,” Matthew said, slapping his hand on my knee, “I’m not talking about you specifically so much as needing to know a bit more about Denmark. Especially given our current top competition for survival in this city.”

  “Oh.”

  “It is not always about you.”

  “Folly of youth?”

  “We can chalk it up to that, sure.”

  A comfortable silence settled between us as we watched two pigeons joining forces to chase off a hawk. Could have also been a falcon. I don’t really know the difference.

  “You seem to be taking control of things here,” I said.

  “Regarding the guild?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m just wondering if that’s something we should, I mean, do we need or want to make that official?”

  “Nope,” he replied quickly. “Better to have you attached to the flagpole. Keep people guessing. They see me, they’ll think we’re going into the spy game. And that’s not really where we’re headed, are we?”

  “I don’t know where we’re going.”

  “We’re going on the course you set, young Hatchett. We’re using this group to make Glaton a better and safer place when others won’t. To confuse my metaphor further, you be the merchant who tells the ship where he wants to go, and I’ll be the captain that gets us there.”

  “Isn’t the captain the one officially in charge of the ship?”

  “It’s not a good metaphor.”

  “It’s pretty shit.”

  “Do you understand what I’m getting at though?”

  “Yeah, but I’m also hoping you’re a bit of an organizational wizard.”

  “I’ve done this before, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Not really, no, but I’ll take that.”

  “Did you get what you were looking for last night? Find a way to a new instructor?“

  “Not exactly.”

  I sighed, then explained how things went.

  Matthew shook his head and leaned back until he was resting his elbows on the stoop’s stairs ,and looked at the morning sky.

  “Getting us on the good side of the Street Kings is positive. Just have to figure out where that swings us in terms of the rest of the city.”

  “What do you know about them?”

  “I know they’re in the body disposal business, and that means the Swamp Angels aren’t huge fans.”

  “And you’re fans of the Swamp Angels, if I remember.”

  “No, I have an agreement with them. They control the Pits and I work in the Pits. Very different.”

  “Speaking of, you want me to come back to work there?”

  “I doubt you’ll have time right yet. But I wouldn’t mind it.”

  “You have any idea what’s going on with Nadya?”

  “Not really. I take it there was more between the two of you than mere friends?”

  “A little, but—“

  “Give it time. Though that might be the end of it.”

  “It seems petty. Just because—“

  “Not something I’m qualified or interested to talk about. Try Titus — bartenders are great at that nonsense.”

  “I am a tavernkeep, thank you very much,” Titus said from behind us.

  I looked over my shoulder to see a somewhat bedraggled Titus stepping out of the door.

  “Breakfast?” he asked.

  “Please,” I said.

  Ten minutes later, we were in the Heavy Purse. Matthew and I sat at the bar, while Titus puttered around in the back. We had large bowls of a hearty porridge of some kind. I tried to eat the too-hot grains, burning my mouth in the process, while Matthew gave his version of my events the previous night.

  “Sounds like I missed quite the party,” Titus said, coming back and leaning on the back of the bar with a mug in one hand.

  “Coffee?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  I gestured to my lack of beverage.

  He rolled his eyes a little, but walked over to grab a mug for me.

  “Thank you,” I said, “oh illustrious tavernkeep.”

  “I live to serve,” he said.

  “I doubt that’s true,” Matthew interjected.

  “I live to serve myself?”

  “Closer.”

  “Now,” he said, putting a mug of coffee in front of me and one in front of Matthew, “what topic of discussion were you in need of a bartender to hear, eh?”

  Matthew tipped his bowl into his mouth, certainly scalding himself. But he grimaced, swallowed, and then closed his eyes and healed himself from the inside.

  “Gotta go,” he said, getting to his feet, and walking quickly out the tavern.

  “Special one, he is,” Titus said.

  “I’d asked him about Nadya,” I said.

  “Oooh, yeah. Would be useful to have a bartender to talk that over.”

  “But I’ve only got a tavernkeep?”

  He winked. “Bingo. Got to get this place ready to open. Otherwise I might do the ol’ lean and listen to your follies.”

  “Next time.”

  “Bet on it.”

  He took his coffee with him as he puttered toward the kitchen.

  I stared at my porridge, wondering what I should do. Things were much easier when Matthew was just ordering me around. Get in the pit, clean up the mud, kill the monsters. That I could handle. My to-do list at present was just bizarre. And growing. I picked up my mug, and found a small piece of paper under it.

  Sorry to run. Too much to do, too little time. The usual problems. I’m sure you understand.

  It appears to be Ministry of Magic was behind your uninvited escort last night. I imagine you might want to find out why they’re after you.

  Also, it might do to figure out Shae. What her game might be. There’s something going on there that I don’t understand. Keep an eye on it.

  -M

  Careful what you wish for. Now I had plenty of things to do.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I lingered in the Heavy Purse. I wanted that family feeling that came when everyone I’d convinced to live in these buildings came down for breakfast. And within an hour or so, I had it.

  For the first time, I saw some kobolds in the mix. They were having a ball, really enjoying sitting together at a table and eating porridge. I imagined they were happy to be eating something that wasn’t rotting or fighting back for once. The little things, you know.

  Shae sat one table over from them, with Boris and another one of the kobolds who seemed to have a better grasp of talking and cognitive thinking. I watched her as surreptitiously as I could. I worried it was obvious, but I’d been doing a whole lot of sneaking around, and I’m pretty sure all that stealthiness translated over to little things, like watching someone without being noticed. As usual, I was struck by her beauty, and I had to consciously push that line of thinking aside in order to actually pay attention.

  Maybe she had designed herself to be so beautiful. The thing was, there were little mistakes, small imperfections that seemed to add to the overall appeal. The way that one of her dimples was higher than the other. A small birthmark tucked behind her left ear. But that didn’t really mean she wasn’t a player like me. It could just be that she’d done a stellar job of character design. Something the Iron Silents could have spent more time on. And, to be fair, probably something I cou
ld have spent more time on as well.

  Shae had never said she was from another world. And she seemed as surprised as the others when I told the truth about myself. That would have been a perfect time for her to pipe up and say, ‘Hey, me too.’ If not to everyone, at least to me.

  And yet, she’d been silent. Well, not silent — she’d talked to the others that night, and reaffirmed her commitment to me and the Skull and Thrones.

  What, then, bothered Matthew about her?

  That she had hitched her wagon to me? That she had such an empty past? She had even less backstory than what I’d made up. Realistically, I needed to actually talk to her to find out where she came from and what she was doing with us. Plus I needed to get another bed for my apartment. Or, also an option: find another spot for me to sleep. Also, I needed to figure out what her quest reward had meant. Undying loyalty. That was what the quest promised me, but what did that actually mean, though?

  In all the time I sat at the bar, Nadya never showed up. Leofing either. I realized I was just hanging out in the Heavy Purse, hoping to get more clarity on Nadya. Which was stupid. She owed me nothing, and even if she did walk through the door, I had no idea what the hell I’d say to her. I was getting very close to wallowing.

  To be fair, that was pretty common for me when if came to romance. My parents weren’t exactly the healthiest relationship you’ve ever seen, and so far I’d been doomed to repeat their patterns. My dad was probably still pining for my mother’s return this very second, even though she’d left him years ago. So it should come as no surprise that my first and second girlfriends both left me. And each time, I sunk into a pit of pity, hoping they’d return. Thinking they owed me their return. Conflating everything we experienced together so that I could believe we were meant to be. Reaching out to talk to them, begging, threatening, cajoling. I was the worst.

  But thanks to Paul, who worked one of the late-night pizza shifts with me, I at least saw the light of reason. He noticed me looking like shit, and asked why. I told him.

  Paul informed me that I was an idiot. Relationships were two sided, and sometimes they don’t work. When they don’t, let it go. No use holding onto shit that doesn’t work. Most importantly, no one owes anyone anything. Which, you know, I started to gradually believe, at least for the most part. I tended to pay off my debts, while Paul did not. Might be why Paul disappeared one day, but he taught me that lesson before he left.