Travis found himself at the card table as a part of a visit to one of Maclamar’s smaller properties on the Sakewa River outside of Reeden. He was on his way to the coast where he was planning to find a job on a deep-sea fishing vessel. Maclamar had organised the game some time before, and had insisted that Travis join them. He even loaned Travis a thousand lucre. Travis expected to lose it all in an hour or so and turn in early before the stakes rose too high, but slowly and steadily he turned a thousand lucre into a couple of thousand, then ten thousand. His last hand had brought his winnings to nearly twenty thousand. He couldn’t believe his luck. This friendly game of cards was now becoming a genuine opportunity. Every lucre he won brought him a step closer to buying back his family’s property.
His mind turned back to that horrible day some twenty-five years ago. He and Biff had been excited when they heard the general was coming to the vineyard. The family had been notified by messenger the day before, and since then the boys had taken turns playing the part of King Tobias and his worthy general, and wouldn’t stop pestering their parents with questions. Travis’ parents were not sure what the general wanted, except perhaps to make an offer to buy the vineyard. Travis had later learned the general had passed by the Milarae property, and, having had a taste for wine, took a particular liking to it. Shortly thereafter, King Tobias gave the land to the general as a gift for his performance in a recent battle. The Milarae’s were condemned for sedition on some trumped-up charge. They had been completely apolitical, and therefore it would be an advantage to the King to have a loyal supporter controlling the land and the wealth it created.
But this was all information Travis had pieced together after the fact. His parents had been unaware of this. They had only known the general was coming and they prepared a feast to greet him and his men. If they had been suspicious, they had not given Travis any indication.
To get the excited young boys out of the way, and perhaps to protect them, his mother told them to go up the hill and watch for the general and his men. The two ran up a hill from where they would be able to see them enter the front gate and ride down the long road through the vineyard and around the hill to the house.
The boys waited for two hours. Discussions were held and bets were made as to the exact spot where they might see movement, or the colour of a uniform, through the trees. When they finally glimpsed the shimmering red banners behind the big poplar (Biff won the bet), the boys jumped up and cheered. They were awe-struck as small figures in the distance opened the gate and began down the road through the vineyard. They had seemed magnificent. The general rode two horse lengths behind two flag bearers, who proudly carried the King’s standard. The wind billowed through the triangular flags, stretching the fabric nearly to the general. Travis and Biff had both grabbed branches and marched around proudly, imagining that perhaps they too could one day be the standard bearers for the King.
The riders cantered in at a steady pace. Travis and Biff counted twenty-four of them. They watched for several minutes before the men reached the base of the hill which Travis and Biff occupied. The boys remained hidden, but pushed their way closer to the road as the soldiers rounded the bend. From the hilltop they also had a clear view of the house, and of the servants’ quarters behind it. Their parents, and most of the servants, were bustling about in front of the house. The women were preparing a table with large bowls of sugared fruits, spiced vegetables and fresh flowers. The men were starting a fire and spicing a lamb and a pig to be roasted on a spit. As the general and his men came within view of the house, their canter became a gallop, swords were drawn and battle cries rang out.
Travis’s first thought was that the men were excited to arrive at their destination. Travis had jumped up and down and cheered as they raced towards the house. He turned to Biff, expecting him to be jumping alongside him, but he was not. His expression was flat. He just stood there staring. This confused Travis, and he stopped cheering. In his young mind, even as the carnage began, he never quite dismissed the idea that these men were heroes. He had been far enough away from the fight so that the blood was not visible, and the screams were muted. It was as if he were watching a game, with the soldiers chasing his parents and friends around the property, and then hitting them with swords and making them fall down, the same way he and Biff had played so many times, using sticks for swords and pan lids for shields. A few men lay on top of some women and bounced up and down, playing a game that Travis had never seen before. Even now, with the full maturity of his perspective, the experience remained for him a detached sort of horror. He sometimes found himself thankful for his proximity at the time. While the horror of the day was a wrenching reality, the actual memory of it remained encapsulated in the childish perception of a six-year-old boy.
“The bet is to you, Travis,” Rupert reminded him. Travis’s hand was horrid. He folded, happy to have another game to cool off. Travis watched his friend play, trying to gain an inkling into his mind, and perhaps to find a sign that might give away his next hand. Travis knew him better than anyone else in the world, but not even he could see through the flat expression Maclamar always wore. There was much he did not understand about his oldest friend, but he did know one thing: they were orphans, and orphans were different.
“You in?” Redback asked. Travis surveyed his cards and decided to play. A few minutes later he lost the biggest hand of the night.
“That’ll do,” said Rupert, dragging the money from the middle of the table into his pile.
Travis took a deep breath, trying to keep these large sums of money in perspective. Rupert had just taken about one thousand two hundred lucre of Travis’s money. He needed about 100,000L to put a down-payment on the property. He came here with about 40,000L, and tonight’s winnings took him to 73,800L. He decided to make this his last hand.
It was Maclamar’s turn to deal. He took the deck and shuffled deftly. He swung his head to the side to clear his wispy, blondish-red hair out of his deep-set eyes. He dealt the cards with hands that looked as though they were accustomed to hard work.
“I thought we would play a game called The Reaper. Travis and I used to play it when we were kids, and then we made a few lucre with it in Chestertown and Kraal,” he said, dealing a few cards to each player. “Each player is dealt three cards, and then the betting starts.”
Maclamar then dealt three more cards, face down, at the centre of the table and placed the remainder of the deck to the side.
“The three cards here in the middle of the table will affect every player’s hand.” He tapped his thick knuckled index finger on the first card. “This card is turned after the first bets are made. It is considered a part of everyone’s hand. Bets are made after each card is turned.”
He tapped the second card. “This is the wild card. If you hold a card in your hand of the same value, you consider it wild.”
He tapped the third. “This card is the reaper, the death card. If you hold a card of the same value as this card, you are out of the game. If the death card knocks out the remaining players, it is a push, and the pot stays in for the next game. If more than one player remains, each has the opportunity to draw another card, to make his hand out of five cards, or the player can choose to play with only four, and avoid drawing another death card. Do we all understand the game, gentlemen?” he asked.
Everyone nodded in agreement.
“You forgot to up the ante, Travis.” Redback gestured to the pot.
“What’s the ante?” Travis asked.
“5000 lucre,” Webb answered.
That was the biggest ante of the night. Maclamar must have known Travis was going to leave the table soon. He couldn’t back out yet, though. He threw the ante into the pot, and looked at his cards. He had a pair of eights and a seven. A pair to start was a good hand, but with no face cards, it was not great. Redback started the betting at 1,000L, and by the time it got to Travis it was up to 3,000L.
He could afford a few thousand. He would stay in an
d see what happened.
Maclamar turned over the first card. It was an eight.
Three eights. The bet started at 10,000L.
“I fold,” said Webb, and threw his cards on the table.
Rupert scratched his double chin, making scraping noises against the stubble. He looked down his nose at his cards, and reached towards his chips, then slowly raised his hand back up to scrape his beard again.
“I’m out, too,” he finally concluded, and tossed his cards in the direction of Maclamar, who scooped them up and put them to the side with the other cards before deciding upon his bet.
“I’ll call,” Maclamar said indifferently.
Travis could feel himself growing hot. It had been exciting for a time, but now it was becoming serious. He took a sip of ale, and then he threw his bet in the pot. “I call.”
“Well, Travis,” Maclamar said as he began to deal the cards, “it seems your good fortune has made you bold.”
“And boldness has led him to good fortune,” Rupert chirped in, and raised his glass in salute.
Travis raised his ale and nodded in silent appreciation of the compliment. With only Maclamar, Redback and Travis left in the game, Maclamar turned over the next card, the wild card. It was a seven. This gave Travis four of a kind. Travis’s breath seemed to echo in his ears as Redback opened the bidding at another 15,000L. Travis matched the bet, trying not to think, afraid of what his rational mind might have to say about what he was doing. Maclamar stayed in with his 15,000L.
Now for the death card.
“Just like the old days, eh Travis,” Maclamar taunted.
“I sure hope not,” Travis answered. “I don’t recall winning very often against you.”
“You are being modest, my old friend. I actually kept a record. My last tabulation shows you were up on me by about 800L.”
Travis laughed. “You mean you are so competitive that you actually kept track of all of our games?”
“Maybe,” Maclamar shrugged. “But I think it actually comes more from my obsessive, controlling nature. I just need to see where everything goes.”
“I say, gentlemen,” Redback interjected, frustration straining his tone. “Could I be so rude as to interrupt your conversation for a moment? I would dearly love to see the next card.”
Maclamar turned over the death card. It was a prince. Travis was still in the game.
“Bok spit!” hollered Redback and tossed his cards on the table. The prince had killed him.
Rupert wheezed himself into another hearty laugh at Redback’s loss of composure. “That’s a pretty big loss there, mate. I feel sorry for you, but at least you can go home and cosy up to your pigs in the slop,” he teased, barely able to finish the insult before being overwhelmed by another wheezy laughing fit. Redback crossed his arms tightly, as if he were trying to make himself a smaller target for Rupert’s fat hands, which patted him on the back.
“Just you and me, Travis,” Maclamar said, when the room was quiet enough. “What do you say? Last bet. Are you going to draw?”
The odds were very long against improving his hand. He had four of a kind. He had never seen anyone lose with four of a kind. There was another eight still possibly in the deck along with three more wild cards, but there were also two more death cards.
Travis ran his hand through his black hair, and was surprised to find it so sweaty. “No, I’ll stay. My bet is 5,000L.”
“I will raise you to 45,000L,” Maclamar said, and dealt himself a fifth card, which he placed face down, in front of him.
Travis glared at him. Maclamar knew Travis’s situation, and yet he was trying to bully him out of the hand.
A smile curled the side of Maclamar’s mouth, and anger surged through Travis. Well, he thought, we’ll see who is smiling after this hand. Travis matched the bet.
Maclamar sat, unmoving and expressionless. He then slowly started placing his cards on the table: a three, a seven, a three, a three. Three of a kind and a wild card. Travis’s four eights could beat Maclamar’s four threes. Maclamar reached for his last card, his drawn card. It was a seven, a wild card that would have been Travis’s had he decided to draw. Travis was ruined.
“Well gentlemen, I suppose that it is time for me to leave. Thank you for the game. Perhaps we can play again sometime,” Travis said as he pushed his money across the table. “I’ll square with you later, Mac, if that’s okay?’
The men at the table nodded and mumbled platitudes. Maclamar said nothing.
Travis walked down the corridor of the river-front house of Stone Lee to his room. He walked slowly, taking in the river air that passed through the open window at the end of the hall. It was one of Maclamar’s more modest homes, but it was decorated in such a way that left no doubt as to the young man’s wealth. Nothing was ostentatious, yet everything was expensive. Travis wondered if he had chosen the wrong path.
~Æ~
The next morning Maclamar came to see Travis in his room as he prepared to leave.
“How did you make out last night?” Travis asked, as he put his belongings into his bag.
“Better than you did.”
“You know, I’ve never seen anyone lose with four of a kind.”
“Yeah, I know. What are you going to do now?”
“I’m off to the coast. I’m going to see if there is some work available, maybe a fishing boat or a shipping vessel. If I’m lucky, I may be able to find an exploratory expedition, maybe get a share of some gold if we find any.”
“Why don’t you stay a while longer? I thought you were going to be here at least until the end of the week.”
“Well, I put myself back about ten years last night, Biff. I think I’d better get to work,” Travis replied, and he slumped on the edge of the bed. He reached towards the night stand for a leaf of paper, which he began folding.
“You know, I never get tired of watching you make those things,” said Maclamar. “Listen, Travis. You don’t want to go to sea. Forget the boat. I’m a pretty powerful man these days. I can help you get to your goal a lot quicker.”
“I know, Biff, thanks. I just can’t be a part of that anymore. I am trying to ...”
“Yes, I know, build your family name again. Buy back the vineyard. I know your story. Very noble, old boy, but what kind of family name can you build if you are dying of some exotic disease on a fool’s quest for treasure in a dangerous land?”
Maclamar sat down next to his friend on the bed. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small rectangular box. “You see this?” he asked, and handed it to Travis.
Travis set down the piece of paper, which was now folded into the shape of a bird spreading its wings to fly.
He took the box and examined it. It was made of beautiful green stone with gold latticework. It had a strange metal border and clasp, something between gold and silver. It seemed to generate its own warmth. He tried to open it.
“It’s no use, you can’t open it. I’m not sure I’d want to, anyway.”
“What is it?” Travis asked.
“This is your vineyard.”
“Well, now that’s a hell of a trick. Fitting my vineyard into this tiny box.”
“No, you jerk, listen,” Maclamar said. “This box is worth a half a million lucre to you, if you take the job. You could just about buy your land outright.”
Travis sighed and turned the box over in his hands. “I thought we had agreed that each of us was going to sort out our own issues with the world.”
“Yeah, we did. I haven’t changed my mind. I’m just not sure you really get it.”
“Get what?”
“The curse.”
“Hmm,” Travis answered. “You know, you seem to be taking this orphan’s curse thing a lot more seriously than I do.”
“No, Travis. It isn’t just about the curse; it’s about you finding your way. You say you need to sort it out with the world yourself. Of course I respect that. It’s exactly what I’m doing, but I’m not so sure
you are.”
“What are you talking about? You know exactly what I am doing and why.”
“Yes, I do Travis, but the world is here, too. It is not just in the future, in the dreams you have in your head, or the jobs you take to run away from me, from the life you once led, and the home that was stripped away from you. I’m a part of your world, too, Travis, and that means you also have to sort things out with me, and with your past, and with what is happening right here, right now.”
“Yeah, I suppose I can’t argue with that, especially with five hundred thousand lucre at stake,” Travis answered, feeling very annoyed that his friend was making such a good argument.
“Easy, right?” Travis asked rhetorically. That kind of payoff could only mean a very dangerous proposition. “What would I have to do?”
“You just have to take the box to a guy in the capital. His name is Verkleet.”
“You know I hate going in that direction, Biff, especially with this new King Arconus on the throne. I feel safer among thieves than soldiers.”
“You should,” said Maclamar. “Most of the thieves work for me.”
“Good point,” sighed Travis. “All right, who’s Verkleet? And how could this thing be worth so much?”
“I don’t really know. This woman came to me, middle-aged, with an annoying, condescending attitude. She shoved this thing in my hand and told me what to do.” Maclamar shook his head slowly at the memory. “She came right into my study. She got past the dogs and all of my people without being seen, and I wouldn’t have pegged this woman as a master of stealth. I don’t know. I can’t explain it, unless, well, you know the stories.”
With Footfalls of Shadow Page 5