Three Acts of Penance [01] Attrition: The First Act of Penance

by S. G. Night

  “If you break twenty-four, you have a few options,” Jax continued, almost as if he could see Racath’s dice. “You can either try to bluff your opponent into forfeiting, or hope that they also broke twenty-four at a higher number than you did. At the end, we would each reveal our dice, and the victor is determined by whoever was closest to twenty-four. If both players rolled the same number, whoever used less dice wins. If that is also equal, there’s a tiebreaker roll.”

  “And if someone’s bank runs dry?” Racath asked, still confused as to where this was going.

  “Then they can no longer roll additional dice and the game jumps straight to the conclusion,” Jax answered.

  Jax continued to educate Racath on the nuances of the game, explaining the various winning combinations and their rankings (triples beat a single eight, a quintet beats triples, a straight of five consecutive numbers beat a quintet, etcetera). They rolled a few friendly games until Racath was able to win without having to ask for advice.

  “So,” Jax said eventually, rolling his dice again. “Your man. Zayne Alyward.”

  Racath smiled at the single eight under his cup. “Yes?”

  “From what my spies can tell me, the man is an avid Four-and-Twenty player,” Jax explained. “Has a bit of a gambling problem, in fact. Well, not really a problem, since he’s apparently pretty good at winning. But we think his little vice is what’s turning him toward the Demons.”

  “And?”

  “There’s a little place called the Rivet near the wharf by the bridge,” Jax continued, rolling again. “It’s on this side of the river, so it’s nowhere close to high-class. But it’s one of the only Four-and-Twenty houses in the Burrows that I don’t own. They run a high-stakes tourney on the 13th of every month at sundown. Zayne’s there every time like clockwork.”

  That tickled Racath’s memory. “Felsted’s ledger,” he said. “He wrote that Zayne was supposed to meet the informant at eight that night, but it was crossed out. It was pushed back to eleven.”

  Jax nodded. “I expect Zayne didn’t want to miss his game. He’ll probably go straight to meet the informant as soon as the tourney is over.”

  “Then I can just wait for him outside and follow him,” Racath assumed, lifting his cup to reveal his single eight.

  Jax looked at him apologetically, showing triple fives. “It won’t be that easy, I’m afraid. The Rivet’s a seedy place. Very…unsavory people play there, even by my standards. To prevent contention amongst players, its patrons are given cloth masks to cover their faces on their way to the game, during, and after they leave.”

  Racath’s shoulders slumped. “Marvelous…”

  “That’s why I’ve been teaching you to play,” Jax explained. “You’re going to have to play in the tourney to find him.”

  Racath’s expression was deadpan. “And how do you propose I do that if he’s got a bag over his head.”

  “You know the expression your eyes betray your soul?” Jax asked, taking a swig from his tankard. “I’ve met Zayne before — conveniently, he’s blind in one eye. The left one, I think, all milky and dead-looking. That should give him away. He’s also a blazing redhead, if that helps.”

  Racath bit his lip. “How do I get in?”

  “I’ve had a man watching Zayne for a while now,” Jax said reassuringly. “He plays at the Rivet so he can keep an eye on him. You’ll take his place in the game on the 13th. I’ll have him meet you in the alley by the entrance before the game starts, and he’ll give you his mask.”

  Racath nodded slowly. “That should do. And what happens if I lose and they throw me out before I find him?”

  Jax’s smile was criminal. “You’re a Genshwin, Azrael. I expect you know enough about cheating to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  Racath laughed once and nudged the cup and dice back to the count. “You have my thanks, Your Grace.”

  “Before you go,” Jax stopped him, pulling out a heavy purse. “Take this. Twenty scion. I’m sure your master’s given you plenty of funding, but I figure I’d do my part to help.”

  Racath blinked in surprise at the amount. You could live for a year on twenty scion. He’d had to bicker and haggle with the Genshwin Bursar in Velik Tor for an hour just to wheedle out one gold coin to fund his trip. “Are you sure? It really isn’t necessary—”

  Jax cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Consider it payment. Taking down Felsted and Zayne gets rid of a massive thorn in my side. I owe you something for that. Twenty scion is about what your master would charge me for an assassin to eliminate two high-value targets.”

  Racath accepted the purse. “Thanks again,” he said genuinely, tucking the money onto his belt. Twenty scion would be plenty more than to get his job done, get Elias out of debtor’s prison, and get him home to Oblakgrad. And if he could make a profit off the Four-and-Twenty game…that gave him an idea for something to do with some of the surplus coin.

  Jax inclined his head. “I wish you luck, Genshwin. I look forward to seeing you again.”

  Racath hesitated for a moment, then said: “If you search Felsted’s house, you’ll find a well-stocked library on the upper floor. I’m sure you’re people can find use for that.”

  Jax eyebrows rose slightly. “I’ll send a couple of my boys round.”

  And with that, Racath turned and left the Duke at the bar, exiting the Westside Inn and returning to the rain outside. He would have the next day to himself while he waited for the evening of the 13th, and he had a few things he needed to get done in the meantime. But first, he would catch some well-earned sleep back at the Manji Tor.

  ***

  Alexis stalked the tunnels of Velik Tor. She kicked up the dust that caked the floor in frustration. She’d been awake for days, looking for a suitable carrier for her new explosive, but she’d had no luck so far. Worse, with Racath gone, she had no one to talk to, no sounding-board off which to bounce ideas. And ever since Jared had vanished and Racath had been promoted, he was constantly away on assignment. Alexis hated it. She knew it was what he wanted, but a selfish part of her wished he’d never made Talon, so he wouldn’t have to go away all the time, leaving her with only the dusty tunnels of Velik Tor for company.

  Mumbling, she rounded a sharp corner and ran straight into another Genshwin. The other Majiski was almost a foot taller than her, and a lot broader. She bounced off his chest, tottered, and lost her balance. The other person’s hands shot out and grabbed her shoulders to catch her. Alexis grabbed hold of his arms to keep from falling.

  “Oh!” the other gasped. “Alexis, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you!”

  Alexis looked up at a pair of concerned brown eyes set into a handsome, symmetrical face. Her irritation choked and sputtered away and a hot flush shot up her neck.

  “Toren!” she blurted. “Uh…It’s…s-okay, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Oh,” Toren replied, confused, almost as though he’d expected her to be angry. “Uh…okay, I won’t. Worry about it, I mean.”

  There was an awkward pause and she realized that she was still holding onto his arm. The flush climbing higher, she released him and took a few steps backward.

  “So, uh…how’ve you been, Toren? I haven’t seen you in a while.” She hated how forced the words sounded, how overly-enthusiastic they felt. Small talk was not her specialty.

  Toren didn’t seem to notice. “I’m alright I guess,” he said with an honest shrug. “I’ve been on a few jobs recently, so I’m pretty worn out. You know how it is.”

  No, she didn’t, actually. The armory had been her whole life since she was ten years old — she was not among the assassins who worked in the field. There was no common ground here. But the last thing she wanted to make him feel bad for her. So she just nodded emphatically and said: “I sure do!”

  “By the way,” Toren went on. “Have you seen Racath? There’s a game going on in the pits and I was going to see if he wanted to go watch it.”

  Her ego stung a
little at that. Why wasn’t she invited? “You’ve been gone a while, haven’t you,” she responded coldly, crossing her arms. “Racath left for Milonok more than a week ago. Last Antag.”

  “Ohhh…” Toren said. “Well then, uh…I guess I’ll just—” He stopped midsentence, looking at Alexis hesitantly. “Would…uhh…you like to join me, Alexis? I don’t really want to go alone.”

  “So I’m just the fill-in, since Racath’s gone?” she said acidly. “Not a great way to make a girl feel welcome.”

  Toren went red. “What? No, no! I was, uh…I was already gonna ask you too, actually…I was just a little…um….”

  “Nervous?” she supplied flatly.

  “That’s the word.”

  Toren’s expression was so flustered, so embarrassed and repentant, that a sudden, unexpected giggle escaped Alexis’s mouth. It surprised her. She hadn’t meant to giggle — she wanted to be mad at him still, but she could feel her irritation dying a lonely death in her chest. Something about Toren’s face just…buoyed her.

  “Alright then, Toren,” she said, relenting. “Patchy recovery, but you get half-points for effort. I’d love to join you.”

  Toren was visibly relieved, a beaming smile blossoming on his face. “Follow me, then. It’ll be starting soon.”

  He led the way down to the pits, a large arena buried directly beneath the central plaza, marble stands ringing a sandy cavity. Alexis hadn’t spent much time down here in the past, not really interested by the forms of entertainment that the Genshwin invented to pass the time. She had, however, participated in several sparring contests on the arena floor. She’d never won before, but always scored high. She may not have been an assassin, but she was the adoptive sister of Racath Thanjel — Racath Thanjel who was the Genshwins’ most lethal practitioner of the Stingers, master of every echelon described in the Black Path. He’d taught her to defend herself just fine.

  Today, however, was no sparring competition. Today, an orbis game was scheduled. And everyone was there to watch.

  Toren and Alexis took their seats in the stands, looking down into the sandy pit just as the match began. It began with the opposing teams emerging from the “cages” on either end of the stadium floor. Each team consisted of five Majiski — two attackers, two defenders, one goaltender. One team wore red Shadows, the other white. Their hoods were raised, shielding their faces from the crowd (that tended to shake the bias up a bit). Each player toted a twin-headed staff. On one end was a metal cudgel, heavily padded with leather, and on the other was netted pocket.

  Down the center of the sand was a line, dividing the field in half. At the center was a mid-sized brass ball: the orbis. The goaltenders set up in front of the cages. The pair of offensive players from each team formed up around the orbis and the defensive couples flanked the goaltenders.

  “Have you ever seen an orbis game before?” Toren asked.

  Alexis shook her head. “Nope.”

  “Has Racath ever explained the rules to you?”

  Another shake. “Nope.”

  “Ah,” Toren said. “Well, it’s fairly simple. The attack pairs attempt to get the orbis in the goal. The defending pairs try to keep it away. The goaltenders block shots.”

  “Easy enough,” Alexis replied. “What are the knobs on the ends of the staffs for?”

  Toren smirked. “This is…a contact sport. Attacking and defending is taken very literally.”

  “Ahh...” Alexis smiled in turn. “I think I like this game already.”

  ——

  “So did you enjoy it?” Toren asked eagerly when the match was over.

  The game had lasted just under an hour. The white team had put up a fair fight, but eventually the reds — led by Mrak’s Steward, Terrance — had won by a narrow margin.

  “Yes,” Alexis answered truthfully. “Be sure and tell me the next time one of these is happening. We’ll see if Racath isn’t being too important to come, too.”

  Toren chuckled. “Yeah, we’ll see.” He paused briefly for a moment as they walked down the tunnel. “So…hungry?” He was trying to sound casual, and failing.

  Alexis perked up.

  “Starving, actually! You want to drop by the kitchens, see what Pots is making for — .”

  “Actually,” Toren cut her off. “I know a place in the city that I think you’ll love. If you’re willing to brave the rain...?”

  Alexis’s smile broadened. She’d practically bullied him into inviting her to the game, but now he was actually asking to spend time with her. Of his own free will! It made her heart skitter in her chest — no one other than Racath ever invited her to do things. Not to mention that she hadn’t been outside in weeks.

  “Sounds perfect,” she agreed. “Just let me go back to my room and change, alright? I’ll meet you in the plaza in...ten minutes?”

  Toren beamed, almost bouncing with excitement. “Great! See you then.” He turned and headed the other direction down the tunnel. Alexis hurried excitedly to her room.

  Halfway there, she slowed herself, coming to a realization. This was dangerous territory she was walking into. It was innocent enough for now, but sometimes friendly banter and invitations to dinner turned into something else. There was danger in entanglement, Mrak had always made that much clear. She needed to be careful.

  She shook her head violently, snorting derisively at herself. Picking up her stride again, she hurried on toward her room. Mrak could lecture all he wanted about the “risky nature of romantic entanglement” (entanglement, he just loved that damned word). Let him yammer on about his twice-fauled rules. What did she care? Mrak didn’t have one damn wit of power over her. If something were to spring up between her and Toren...well. Maybe she’d pursue it just to piss the old man off.

  But, she reminded herself, this was all hypothetical. Toren probably had absolutely no interest in her, anyway.

  ***

  The next day, Racath found himself watching the entrance of the Milonok debtors’ prison the shadow of an awning across the street. A Human dressed in rags stumbled out into the daylight, his dusty hair and beard scraggly with the days spent in jail. The man blinked a few times, holding a hand over his eyes as he tried to readjust to the natural light; Racath could see the raw patches on his wrists from recently-removed chains.

  Racath approached the man from behind, moving quickly but inconspicuously, and tapped the Human’s shoulder. “Welcome back, Elias.”

  Elias jumped backward and yelped in surprise, clutching at his chest. “Gods’ blood!” he cursed, gasping. “Thanjel! Don’t — do that!”

  Racath grinned at him, brushing his hood off his head and shaking his dark hair out of his eyes. “Surprised to see me?”

  “Damn you,” Elias said, panting as he tried to pick up the broken pieces of his composure. “I hate how you just…pop up, out of fauling thin air! What are you doing here?”

  “Who do you think paid off your debt?” Racath asked. “I told you I’d get you out if your information was good. It was, so I did. I’m a man of my word.”

  Elias rolled his eyes. “Yes, when you feel like it.”

  Racath made a smug face. “When I feel like it.” He looked the Human up and down, from his bare feet to the prison rags that covered his bone-thin body. “You’re starving.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I could eat, yeah,” Elias said flippantly. “Debtor’s prison doesn’t really have good funding for the kitchen staff.”

  “Come with me, then,” Racath said, turning to walk down the street, silently prompting Elias to follow. “I’ll buy you lunch. I haven’t eaten yet, and I haven’t had anyone to talk to since I left Oblakgrad.”

  Elias furrowed his brow, but hurried after the Genshwin. “Aren’t you busy?”

  Racath shrugged. “I don’t really have anything on my plate until tomorrow night. But if you’d rather go straight home…”

  “No, it’s fine,” Elias assured him. “I shouldn’t dawdle too long, though. I’ve been in there
a while and I doubt they told Eileen they were releasing me. But it’ll be better for everyone involved if I show up with a full stomach.”

  The two of them walked for a while until they came to a tavern near the eastern wharf. This close to the river, the place was free of the noxious sycophants that populated most the eastern city, but it was still high-class enough to give the starving Elias a quality meal.

  They ordered their food at the bar, then found a semi-isolated table. Before long a young, dark-haired serving girl in a low bodice brought out tankards of the house ale, steaming bowls of thick potato soup, and freshly baked bread.

  Elias’s eyes bulged at the sight of the soup, clearly torn between his ravenous hunger and the desire to maintain his comportment.

  “There ya go, luv,” the serving girl said to Racath, setting their wooden bowls down on the table. “Comes to five pennies. Can I getcha anything else?”

  Racath didn’t look at her as he handed her a handful of copper. “No, that’ll be all, thank you.”

  The serving girl took the money, nested her serving tray on her hip, and returned to the bar.

  “Gods be praised!” Elias exclaimed as the serving girl left. “It’s got little bacon bits in it!” He dug in immediately, cramming the food into his mouth.

  Racath started on his own meal a bit more conservatively. After a few bites, he pulled something from his belt. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, dropping a medium sized purse onto the table, the clank of heavy coins sounding within.

  Elias froze mid-bite, staring at the purse. “I thought you said you had already given the money to my lender…”

  “I did,” Racath said casually. “This is something extra. Ten scion. Just something to get your business back together.”

  Elias almost dropped his spoon. He loosened the purse’s drawstrings and gaped at the contents inside. “Thanjel…” he chocked. “This is…this is a lot of money. I don’t know if—”

  “By pointing me to Jax, you’ve helped me find a potential breach in Genshwin security,” Racath cut him off. “Your advice may very well have saved what’s left of my race. This is a trifling repayment.”