“Whoa, what shipwreck?”
Benni squinted at the halfling in front of him. “Where’ve you been all night? The Impending Turtle, sunk on the way from Dirishi, all hands lost.”
“That was one of our grainships, wasn’t it? One of the big ones,” Ramsey explained to me, “full of wheat and barley. And oats, usually.”
“Yup. Turns out the Leon Empire had stock in it too. The Turtle was supposed to pick up gems and sparq and such and then head onto Leon instead of returnin’ to Southwind, and the Patriarch sent some nasty messages to the Triumvate here, tryin’ to blame us.”
“What? That makes no sense. Why would we sink one of our major food suppliers just before hurricane season? Or at any other time. Triport needs those ships.”
“Yeah, well, when has sense ever gotten in the way of a war?”
“Is Leon threatening war?” Ramsey seemed skeptical of this idea, as if, however low his opinion of the Patriarch’s intelligence, surely his greed would inhibit something so unprofitable.
“As far as I can tell, it’s all rumors right now. But it’s got all the Leonite expats turning as jumpy as all these thrice damned unseasonal rats,” Benni picked up an empty bottle and hurled it at a dark shape scurrying into a crevasse, “that they’ll be conscripted by the Empire. Damn again, I missed.” The dwarf went and picked up a broom.
I paused in licking salt off my fingers as some people by the targets started up a game.
“So, Benni, I’m looking for some folks, maybe new in town, who might hang out here. You seen anyone strange come by lately?”
“You mean besides that weirdo halfling jumpin’ all over my tables? Damn adventurers. You’d think he’d run out of energy eventually. Hey, Nyern!” he bellowed. “Go practice your damn toon navigatin’ skills outside!”
Nyern flipped him a rude gesture and continued tumbling. “I’m waiting on friends!” he called back.
“They’d better be rich friends.” Benni muttered darkly.
Ramsey ordered himself an ale and settled in. “So tell me about who all else has been acting weird around here….”
Leaving them to the local gossip, I hopped down and made my way over to the target game, taking my bowl of pretzels with me. They weren’t exactly good, but they were really addictive. I crunched on another one as I watched one of the two humans shuffle his toe up to a white chalk line drawn on the floor, then leaned way out over it, and with a flick of his wrist, sent a dart into the round target board. His friend groaned theatrically and taunted him, but payed very close attention as he flicked another dart next to the first one, and then a third. Finally he leaned back and wrote a number down on a little chalk board nailed up next to him while his friend went and gathered the darts.
“Excuse me.” I asked. “What are you doing?”
The man’s look said he didn’t quite know what to make of being approached by a strange halfling, or maybe by a strange woman.
“Playin’ Around Cerulea.”
“How do you play?”
“What, ain’t you never heard of Around Cerulea? You ever played darts before? Hold on.” He looked suspicious. “How old are you?”
“I’m not a kid!”
“Ok, ok, fine, just asking. It’s easy enough to play. You just got to hit all the numbers in order, and then the bullseye.”
Now that I looked closer, I could indeed see the target was divided by wires, which were twisted at the end into numbers.
“Can I play?”
“Sure, sure. Give Grough here a chance to kick my ass, which shouldn’t take long, then you can have a go.”
Three darts later and Grough managed to hit the bullseye, and handed me the little missiles. They were made of metal, with a long sharp point at one end, and paper flights on the other. Holding one by the shaft near the flights, I hefted it over my shoulder, tip upwards, and flung it end over end at the target, like a throwing dagger. It hit the middle of the target, but not point first, and bounced off the board and onto the floor.
Grough and his buddy laughed. “Well ain’t that just the strangest throw I ever saw.”
“You really ain’t played darts before.”
I tried again, with the same result, although the dart stuck in briefly at an angle before slowly falling out. The third one I gripped by the barrel, as I had seen the men do, and tried to throw it straight. It flew upwards at the target and pinned in, barely, before hanging there, near one of the outside numbers.
More laughter. “Six copper says she misses the board entirely.”
“I’ll take that bet.” I told them.
I laid my coins on the stool next to the pretzel bowl, and Grough’s buddy matched them. I concentrated, and threw. My dart stuck in the board, though not as close to the center as I had been aiming for. I’m getting the hang of this.
“Double or nothin’ says you can’t hit the inside ring.”
“Done.”
I threw again, but the dart spiraled and went wide. The paper fins. I noticed. They’re bent, from the fall.
Groughs buddy laughed and collected the coins.
“Wait.” I told him, laying my remaining three copper on the stool. “What’ll you bet me I can hit the dot in the very middle with this last one?”
“A bullseye?” Grough routed around in his pockets. “Two silver says you can’t.”
I hefted the dart. I smoothed out the flights, tweaking them gently back into shape with my fingers. I needed to be on an even height with the dartboard, so I wasn’t throwing upwards. I took a breath, steadied myself, and pretended there was a centipede right in the middle of the target.
I jumped, as high as I could, and at the apex of it hurled the dart forward, my legs going out as they compensated for the thrusting momentum of my hand, trying to keep everything steady.
[Dexterity check: Success]
The dart hit the bullseye and stuck firmly.
Grough stared at the dart with his mouth open, like maybe it was a brand new, undiscovered life form. “That’s cheatin’!” he cried. “No one gets good at darts so fast! You been holdin’ out on us, girl?”
“Calm down, Grough.” his friend told him, laughing. “It was worth a silver just to see her jump like that, and another to see you gape like a landed fish.”
I went to retrieve the darts, and when I turned back around, Ramsey was watching, a sly smile on his face. “Hey, Sam, look casual, but is that guy over there,” an upwards jerk of his chin indicated a human man in a jaunty hat, collecting a set of dice, “is he one of the ones that took your stuff?”
I peered over Ramsey shoulder.
“I’m not sure.” I confessed. “I was kind of out of it.”
“His name is Fabien the Fence, one of my competitors in the, uh, cut-price retail goods market. Rumor has it he was bragging about a pair of boots he came across recently.”
I went over for a better look. Fabien was bent over a table with walls around the sides, lined in felt, with numbers and symbols painted on it.
“What are you looking at, girl?”
Your face. “Um, this table. It’s very unusual.”
“It’s very nice, is what you mean. Quality stuff, Benni sprung for this time. And we’re about to put it to use, so if you ain’t playing, move on.”
“What are you playing?”
“It’s called Toads. Actually this one’s called Squashed Toads, on account of we play with cards along with the dice.” Fabien leaned back, and the silver hilts of familiar daggers glinted in his jacket.
My eyes narrowed. “Sign me up.” I growled, slapping my coins on the table. The other players at the table looked alternately amused or hungry.
“Now,” I added, as I pulled up a stool to stand on, so I could see over the table’s edge. “How do you play?” The hungry looks sniggered.
Fabien looked at my coins, shrugged to himself, and began explaining. “This here is the pass-line, where you place your bets. Then the shooter takes his, or, ‘scuse me, her pick
of the dice—”
“…and if the come-out roll goes ‘toads up’, you lose, unless it’s a natural. That’d be a seven or an eleven. Then you get to draw another card, but if you’ve got more than five in your hand you have to pass.”
“Tell me about the cards.” I asked, anticipating Voice’s next question.
Fabien spread the deck out in a very professional fan, nearly as wide as his grin, and pointed out the various suits and numbers and modifiers. “Four suits, twelve cards each, eight peasants and four royalty. As you can see, swords trump others of equal value, unless it’s royalty, then quills trump all, except for the queen of hearts. When she’s played alone, she always wins. Now, there’s two jokers, one black, one white. The black one lets you negate an opponent’s card, and the white one lets you substitute a dice roll for one of your cards. They’re also both wild…”
“Right.” I told Fabien. “I’ll put three copper on the pass-line…”
“Sam,” said Ramsey, “this is kind of a complicated game. I mean, it has a lot of strategy. Are you sure about this?”
No, but the voice in my head is. I shrugged at him. “I’ll explain later.” I said, looking significantly at Fabien’s jacket. Ramsey raised his eyebrows, but said nothing as he pulled up a stool of his own, and set it down just far enough away to make it clear we weren’t passing cards under the table.
Right. Gamblers and madmen. I thought again. I guess I’m both.
Fabien grinned at the table like a jackal that just woke up. “Let the games begin.”
Chapter Six
I won my first couple of passes, which allowed me to collect a couple of cards and stay in the game long enough for the dice to come around to me. Following Voice’s advice, I played a single peasant, the six of quills, and picked up the two little cubes to toss. I rolled them around in my palm, one handed, as I had seen the others do, feeling the small pocked pips rubs against my fingers.
“They ain’t your boyfriend’s stones.” growled one of the players across the table. “Toss ‘em already.”
I did, and watched intently as they bounced merrily across the felt, hit the far wall, and then finally fell still, exhausted.
“Doubles!” cried Fabien, “Roll again!”
Huh. I thought. It’s just like the darts.
Yeah. The one die is a little heavier on the five side, but I bet I could aim them.
I picked up the dice, once more revolving them against my fingers, feeling the slightly blunted corners, aligning the pips just how I wanted them. Then taking careful aim, I threw them against the far wall, using my wrist to inflict a controlled spin, but no tumble to their flight.
They hit, bounced, rolled. One went two, then four, then five, then three. Two, four, five, three, two, four, five, three, two… Four. The other went six, three, one, four, six, three, one…. four…. and then teetered over and came to rest on a six.
[Sleight of Hand check: Partial success]
There was a chorus of amused groans and guffaws around the table at my misfortune, but Voice was ecstatic.
I managed to only lose once more by my turn, and I had a pair of nines in my hand when the dice came back around.
Huh?
<4’s and 6’s.> Voice clarified.
The fours and sixes were right next to each other on the dice. Oh, this makes things easier. I played my cards on the ten slot, picked up the cubes, took a deep, steadying breath, aimed, and threw again. They came up six and four.
The table erupted into another chorus of groans and guffaws, and the man across from me who had been covering my bet threw the remainder of his own cards on the table. “Damn it!” he yelled. “Curse your beginner’s luck!”
“You want to buy back in, Rens?”
“No.” the man growled. “I don’t get paid ‘til Wednesday, and I know better than to borrow against you.” The man collected his hat and stomped off. “Carry my tab, Benni, I’ll be back on Wednesday.”
Benni nodded, and made a little mark in his notebook.
In spite of my split bets, my win on the ten was big enough to put a nice sized pile of coins in front of me.
I rolled my shoulders a little as I collected my winnings, and smiled to myself like a sand cat with an extra sun lizard under each paw.
It worked brilliantly. Fabien tripled his opening bets, and I covered them like I owned a bank. Two more players left, and it was soon down to me, Fabien, one of the bar women who was dressed in an excess of ruffles and cleavage, and Ramsey, who was still in the game by a hair. His strategy with the cards was only marginal, but he seemed to have a sixth sense for when someone else was bluffing.
I stayed in with what looked like lucky rolls on mediocre cards, and slowly grew my piles of coins; copper and silver and even a couple of gold. It was more money than I had ever seen in my life.
And then, finally, it happened. I was watching Ramsey, who was watching Fabien, and I saw Ramsey fold on what seemed a good hand, without even the minimal raise to get a throw on the dice. Fabien’s face was very still as he stared at his hand.
Sevens were easy, and I managed to roll a six and a one.
[Sleight of Hand check: Success]
Fabien’s smile slipped though at this; he figured the luck was his. I drew another card too. The white joker. I added it to the three, four and six of swords I had in my hand.
A Fist Full of Sand Page 12