Pirates and Wizards

by Jaxon Reed

  Stin shook his head.

  Melton said, “It’s more a game of skill, unlike bone cards which is almost pure chance. In Primero, men vie to produce higher combinations of cards, then use their wits in bids with one another.”

  They watched as one of the players shuffled the cards, then dealt out a hand of four to each player. All the men placed a gold coin in the middle of the table before looking at their draw. The dealer placed several cards face down on the table, and one face up. The players began a round of negotiations, with more coins going into the pile. The dealer turned another of the cards on the table face up, then a new round of negotiations commenced, with more coins flowing to the center.

  Finally, the last round of negotiations complete, each player then revealed his cards. The winner laughed in triumph and pulled in the coins.

  Stin furrowed his brows and said, “How do they decide who wins?”

  “The hands are ranked. Four of the same card is highest, that’s a quartet. A fluxus occurs when all are the same suit. Three-of-a-kind, then two-of-a-kind are next. The player with the highest points prevails, and royal cards count as ten. The deuce counts as twelve; the trey, 13; the four, 14; the five, 15.

  “Then it gets tricky. The eins is worth 16 points. But the six and seven are even higher, at 18 and 21 points. So, four sevens counts as 84 points.”

  They watched as the men deposited their initial coins for the first round of bidding on the next hand.

  “There can be some deception in the bidding process. You’d like it.”

  Stin looked at Melton, and found the peg-legged pirate smiling at him. He said, “Thanks. I think.”

  A couple of the women from the other table stood up and left. Melton said, “Come on. They’re playing for copper over there. It’ll be a good place to learn, you can’t lose as much.”

  -+-

  Dawn glowed tentatively in the east as Stin made his way back to the Widow Raynora’s place. A constable tipped his elongated hat at him as he entered the neighborhood. He asked the young man for directions, since it was only his second time to go there. The constable, apparently bored at this late hour, accompanied him the rest of the way.

  Despite Melton’s assurances, Stin had in fact lost more than three gold at the low stakes Primero table. But he had won some hands. He felt certain if he had been able to play longer he might have had a chance to break even.

  The problem, Stin decided, was that cheating proved very difficult. Berti kept a house mage who monitored the games for magic. Even worse, most of the games had onlookers who kept an additional eye on things.

  He woke up around noon and had lunch with the widow and Quent and other officers. Quent dragged him away from the conversation after the meal, explaining he had to show Stin the city.

  Quent led him toward the middle of town, where a tall bronze statue of Gloomis stared out majestically toward the sea.

  Stin said, “It looks very clean. I presume it’s as old as the city.”

  “Mm. There’s a spell on it to keep birds off and make sure it stays shiny.”

  Vendors plied Town Center, hawking food and wares. It was noisy and smelly and crowded. Finally Stin found a place ideal for picking pockets. Rich and poor, young and old, officers and seadogs all milled together in the central marketplace. Stin picked up a handful of silver in no time.

  The moment he decided a couple more hours in the marketplace would erase his losses from the Primero table, Quent interrupted his thoughts.

  “Let’s visit that shop I was telling you about.”

  He led Stin toward the market’s periphery, and soon they wandered among storefronts facing the street, where larger things were sold like wagons and barrels. Quent kept going, and the farther from the market and Gloomis’s statue they ventured, the more dilapidated the storefronts became.

  Eventually they reached a dark alleyway, far from the other stores.

  “We’re in the old part of the city, now. Nothing’s been reworked here since Gloomis’s day.”

  The stones here were no longer white, but grime-encrusted. It looked like nothing had been scrubbed in well over a century, Stin thought.

  Back in the shadows, at the far end of the alley, a tattered door hung open propped on its hinges. Quent led the way inside, Stin reluctantly following. His eyes took a moment to adjust in the lower light.

  Both walls to the right and left were filled with shelves holding all manner of knickknacks. Pills, potions, and odd books lay scattered about. One bottle appeared to have a small bolt of lightning captured inside. It zipped and zapped, the light reflecting off other objects nearby. Another bottle, held flat between two stands, had a miniature ship floating in what looked like a storm, complete with tiny rainfall, waves, and wind.

  This one caught Stin’s eye, and he watched in fascination as the little storm tossed and turned the ship inside the bottle for several minutes.

  Other items Stin identified on the shelves included human skulls; teeth from some giant marine creature; a large fish skeleton taking up most of one wall; jars of magical reagents; a golden tiara that seemed to shift and become silver for a minute before shifting back to gold again, then copper, then tin, then gold again; and a giant black bullfrog the size of a puppy. The frog stared at him while its throat blew up in a round bubble, then slowly deflated.

  At last, Stin noticed the proprietor. Behind a counter, a little old man stared at them. His brown skin marked him as a native of Crystal. He had wispy white hair and a prominent chin that stuck out past his nose. But his most striking feature were his eyes. They sparkled in the dusky interior of the shop, lighting up the air around the man’s face.

  Those bright eyes caught Stin’s, and held them for a long moment. The old man’s face creased into a grin.

  “Welcome,” he said. “Welcome to Ye Olde Shoppe of Heart’s Desire.”

  10

  Oldstone said, “So. Let me get this straight. Controlling your dreams is the secret to defeating your mind monster?”

  Mita nodded. She sat in Greystone’s dining alcove, his facsimile servants having just placed breakfast on the table for them. A bowl of milk appeared on the floor for Deedles, who expressed her gratitude by purring and spreading warm waves of love and happiness throughout the room.

  Greystone said, “It’s my theory that the monster, in whatever form it takes, is merely a product of the wizard’s subconscious. It preys on the weakest part of his magical constitution.”

  “Or her,” Mita said. Greystone nodded.

  Oldstone stroked his beard thoughtfully and said, “We have records of some early wizards being killed by these things. It’s intriguing to think it all centers around their self-doubts.”

  “One of the first rules of magic is believing you can do it,” Greystone said. “That’s true even more so with wizards.”

  “And if you can’t believe in it, if you have that much power,” Mita said, “it could be deadly.”

  Oldstone nodded, and chewed a piece of ham. Swallowing it, he said, “I suppose it makes sense. I considered the battles with my mind monster a blessing in disguise later, because I learned how to cast powerful spells without using my arm and hand. However, looking back, I can see that was a weakness of sorts. A limitation that I overcame.

  “This brings up an interesting new set of observations, though. If controlling your dreams was your biggest self-perceived weakness, you must be more powerful than anyone alive. Myself included.”

  Mita blushed. “That’s yet to be proven, Master.”

  Oldstone nodded and said, “Yes, but it will be. I wish we could put you through the trials before our upcoming confrontation. But, you won’t be able to commence the trials without a stone, and the darkstone is not yet available for claiming. And it will remain unavailable until its current possessor is dead.”

  Silence filled the room as Mita weighed the momentousness of his statement.

  Greystone said, “Well, we’ll just have to defeat the bastard, t
ake the stone from him, and give it to Mita.”

  He shoved away his plate, and one of his facsimile servant girls rushed over to retrieve it. Watching her leave the room, he said, “Let’s get out there and do it.”

  Mita followed the two wizards out the door, leaving the cat on her own. A long line of metal men stretched up and down the street, arms lax and heads bent down. Most of the townspeople studiously avoided the giants, taking pains to go between them with the most space possible on either side, or simply avoiding the contraptions altogether.

  “I must say,” Oldstone said, “the blacksmiths you borrowed have truly outdone themselves.”

  Greystone nodded happily, and said, “We weren’t able to salvage them all. Some of the devastation wreaked on them by Mita and Theena’s facsimile left a few irreparable. But, we were able to find enough pieces to remake most of them.”

  “It should provide an adequate force necessary to retake Emerald, seeing as how their human army is quite depleted at the moment.”

  “Indeed,” Greystone said. “All we need to do is take care of their wizard.”

  He turned to smiled at Mita and said, “That’s where you come in, my dear.”

  -+-

  Kirt stood once more with Bellasondra and Bartimo in the Hall of Commerce. They waited patiently as the scribe made annotations in his ledger. Groups of armed men waited in line with chests of gold.

  The leader of each group announced to the scribe which house he represented. The scribe consulted his parchment and called forth the petitioners, who each received their allotment of gold from the families who had agreed to fund their ventures. The scribe recorded each transaction and the next family approached.

  Some of the petitioners attended alone, their relatively small sums not requiring guards. Bartimo had hired six armed guards to carry their chest for them. They were thick-necked and short-haired men, stout and gruff looking. Each carried a wicked-looking curved sword on their waistbelt.

  Soon, the last family approached the scribe and distributed their gold. Everyone broke up, those with large amounts leading their respective guards out of the hall.

  Bartimo, Bellasondra and Kirt led their men down the steps to Horse and the cart. Bartimo directed the men to place the chest in the middle of the cart. It groaned in protest as the weight of a thousand gold coins settled on its boards while Bellasondra climbed into the driver’s seat and took Horse’s reins.

  A cheery, female voice rang out. “Hi Bartimo!”

  Everyone turned to see the white-haired Finero and his beautiful young daughter approaching.

  “Hello, Phanissa.”

  Kirt looked between Bartimo and Finero’s daughter. He noted Bartimo ignored the old man. Phanissa seemed very attractive. High cheekbones. Shiny dark hair falling down in waves to her waist. Her bright white dress suggested wealth. Her olive skin, tanned by the sun, marked her as a native islander.

  A long silence ensued as they stared in each others eyes. Kirt swiveled his head between them, wondering why Bartimo seemed to stop everything and give this girl his undivided attention.

  Finally, Finero put a fist to his mouth and coughed abruptly, breaking the spell. He said, “Bartimo, since my house has funded half the cost of your venture, I’ve come to see you personally. I thought you might not mind if I make sure you get off to a proper start.”

  “Oh, absolutely, sir. I thank you for your faith in me. I fully expect all of us to profit quite well in this venture. I will do my best to bring a good return to all the families who have placed their trust, and their gold, with us.”

  “Yes, yes. I’m sure you’ll do very well. I would expect nothing less. Your father was a good trader, too.”

  Finero turned to his daughter, who had not stopped looking at Bartimo. Kirt noted she tilted her head, and she blinked slowly. Her pupils seemed dilated, and she had some color in her cheeks.

  Finero seemed to notice it too. He raised an eyebrow and said, “When you return, perhaps we can discuss some other arrangements our two families might be able to make. Would you do the honor of visiting us when you get back?”

  Phanissa said, “Yes! Please do come and visit us. Say that you will!”

  Bartimo blushed and said, “Well, of course. I would be honored. And delighted.”

  He stopped and stared for a long moment at Phanissa again. Kirt swiveled between both of them, then looked up at Bellasondra, questioningly.

  Bellasondra smiled down at him from the driver’s seat and playfully rolled her eyes. She said, “Come along, brother. The ship will leave with or without us.”

  “Oh yes. Yes, of course. I shall return and visit, sir.”

  All the while, he kept his eyes locked on Phanissa, even as he climbed up into the wagon. As Bellasondra guided Horse down the street, their guards keeping pace on either side, Bartimo kept staring back at Phanissa. When they turned a corner, he waved at her. Kirt watched her wave back before she slid out of sight, the cart pressing forward toward the docks.

  As they rounded the corner they heard someone shout, “Bartimo!”

  Bellasondra pulled on Horse’s reins, bringing him to a stop, and Palento’s widow approached the cart. Her fine dress and sparkling jewelry signaled her status to everyone on the street.

  Bartimo said, “M’lady Leddia, how are you? I only saw your agent at the Hall of Commerce today.”

  The old woman’s smile pushed up the wrinkles on her face. She said, “I have too many things to do and too little time for such trifles as that. Bartimo, have you met my daughter Tisha?”

  All eyes turned to the slender young woman on Leddia’s right. She seemed to Kirt equally as stunning as Phanissa. She stood shorter, but had the same glowing tan. Her hair appeared equally vibrant, cascading down her back, but it was notably longer than Phanissa’s. It reached so low, Kirt thought, she could easily sit on it.

  Bartimo swallowed, his throat apple bobbing. He said, “No, I have not had the pleasure. How do you do?”

  Tisha smiled up at him and fluttered her eyelashes. Kirt’s eyes widened at this brazen display of flirtatiousness.

  Leddia said, “Bartimo, I know House Palento is not your primary backer for this venture. All the same, we hold a significant stake. I trust you will meet with success and bring us back our fair share of the profits.”

  Bartimo said, “Yes, m’lady. Absolutely.”

  “Excellent. Then I also hope you and your sister will accept an invitation to visit us upon your return?”

  “Of course. We would be honored.”

  Leddia turned her attention to Bellasondra and said, “I have a nephew in need of a good wife. If you are done venturing with your brother when you return, I’ll see to it he is present as well when you two call on us.”

  Bellasondra smiled politely and said, “Thank you, m’lady. I would be remiss if I did not mention that my heart is with another. However, he was lost at sea on our voyage home when we were attacked by pirates. I’m afraid I will have little interest in seeking another suitor until I learn his fate.”

  Leddia nodded, but the look in her eyes made Kirt think the old woman considered matters of the heart to be of less concern than matters of finance. Leddia said, “We’ll talk more when you get back.”

  They waved goodbye. Kirt noted Bartimo held Tisha’s eye as they left.

  As Bellasondra guided Horse and their guards through the street once more, she grinned and said, “You have quite the dilemma, brother. Which damsel will you choose?”

  He smiled back at her and said, “Marrying into either family would greatly increase our odds of joining the major houses. I believe Finero is wealthier, but Palento’s house is older, and more prestigious. It’s quite the honor for Leddia to be considering betrothal for both of us.”

  Kirt watched as Bellasondra’s smile faltered. She focused her attention on the street, guiding Horse through the traffic of pedestrians and equestrians.

  Nobody said another word all the way to the docks. But Kirt sensed
what remained unsaid. If Bellasondra married into the same house, their status would almost certainly rise to the highest rungs of isle society.

  -+-

  Fret anxiously scanned his parchment, and made a final notation as the last barrel of beer was loaded into the last wagon.

  Dudge helped the hardy young workers secure the load with rope. He had spent the first half of the morning arguing with them about helping with the physical labor. Finally he jumped in and worked where needed, despite their protests. Now that the job neared completion, the protests had died down, but he saw the looks of concern in their faces. Few thought a prince should be engaging in labor with commoners. Especially the commoners themselves.

  “Tha’s one t’ousand an’ fifty,” Fret announced. “We’ll keep a few behind, bu’ this be a bonus in case someone needs a sample ’r somethin’.”

  Dudge nodded and joined him while the laborers trotted back toward the brewery.

  “Aye. May as well bring most along. We kin drink ’em on th’ way.”

  They looked down the road at the string of wagons loaded high with casks. Each wagon held 40 to 50 barrels of beer. They were led by teams of hogs who grunted irritably at the wait.

  Fret said, “I spen’ th’ las’ o’ yer gold on transportation.”

  Dudge nodded and threw their traveling bags up, then climbed onto the last cart. He reached down and pulled Fret up beside him.

  Fret waved at the driver in the front, some 20 carts away. The dwarf waved back and yelled at his pigs to get moving. Slowly the caravan started down the road.

  At last the rear cart trundled forward. Fret and Dudge sat on top of the casks looking backward, their feet dangling, as the Barley Family Brewery began receding in the distance.

  All the employees came out and waved goodbye. The two dwarves waved back at them. As they passed the village, townsfolk likewise stopped what they were doing and rushed to the road to watch the caravan trundle by.