by Jaxon Reed
And below it, the author’s name: Montaveous.
“Montaveous? Where have I heard that name before?”
Quent said, “Montaveous of Emerald. Died about a hundred years ago. One of the richest men to have ever lived, they say. At least, the richest one not of royal blood.”
“What did he know about playing cards?”
Quent shrugged and said, “He was an astute gambler. Made his early money at the card tables. They say he was hard to beat, but was never caught cheating. He was so good, in fact, that people stopped playing with him. I think that’s when he took his fortune and put it to use elsewhere.”
Intrigued, Stin looked at the book with renewed interest. He opened it to the first page and began reading silently.
I have no one to share this with, so I’m recording all that I know here in this journal. It is my hope that someday somebody will find this and can use my knowledge after I’m gone.
The first thing you have to understand, and the secret to most of my youthful success at the gaming tables, is that you can see through the backs of cards. You can train your eyes to do this trick without magic. Then you can know what other players are holding and place your bets accordingly, while also not running afoul of the rules prohibiting magical cheats.
I will explain how to stare into a candle for long hours and train your eyes to see through cards on the following pages. . .
Stin’s jaw dropped. He slowly looked up from the book. Ocularus smiled at him.
Without another word, Stin handed over all his gold to the old man, then left the shop with Quent. Both of them slowly walked down the alley back toward the street, each reading their respective books along the way.
-+-
The next few days Stin spent stealing silver in the crowded streets. At night he reread the journal several times over, learning all of Montaveous’s considerable knowledge about playing cards. The old gambler devoted entire chapters to all the major games, including Primero. He included strategies for betting, focusing on the idea of percentages. He explained the odds of drawing cards for different hands, and why certain cards were more likely to succeed in completing a good hand. If hoping for a fourth card to make fluxus, the player had a one in four chance his desired suit would turn up. If drawing for three-of-a-kind, the player had a one in twenty chance. Four-of-a-kind meant a one in forty chance.
And chance was simply a matter of numbers, Montaveous wrote. There are four cards of each suit. The more valuable hands were combinations of cards much more difficult to draw for, since they went against the odds.
Knowing the odds made a player more competitive. He could assess the table, and make an accurate guess at the likelihood one of the remaining cards would turn up to complete his hand. He could then bet accordingly.
But the big advantage, the one that Montaveous shared first, was the secret to seeing through the backs of cards. To train his eyes for it, Stin spent hours staring into the flame of a candle each night. Then in the wee hours of the morning, before going to sleep, he stared diligently at the back of a card from a deck he’d bought off a street vendor.
After the fifth evening, he could make out faint outlines of the patterns printed on the opposite sides. It made him so excited he spent another two hours staring into the candle until slumping over on the table, exhausted as the sun’s first rays hit his window.
By the sixth evening, he could deduce numbers, and correctly call out the suit.
On the seventh evening, he headed out of Widow Raynora’s house after an hour of staring into the candle’s flame. He felt ready to take on a game.
He made his way to Berti’s. Walking through the door he was recognized immediately and faced a gauntlet of well-wishers. The bonhomie from his exploits on Lightfish had not yet worn off, and he found himself forced to engage in conversation with several people. Some he had met in Berti’s before while others were new to him.
Finally, after politely extricating himself from all the discussions up front, he made his way to the gaming tables in back. He waited patiently for an opening at one of the silver tables. After half an hour someone left, and at last he sat down for his first round of Primero with his new ability.
Four hours later, he had completely cleaned out the other players’ money.
He made his way to the gold table, which now had some vacancies at this late hour. Half the players on the six table left, but Stin’s arrival made four so their game continued.
Mindful of Montaveous’s directions to not win too much, and to lose on occasion, Stin gave up gold his first three rounds. The other players chuckled, thinking perhaps his luck from the silver table didn’t hold.
Then he started exercising his powers of card reading and odds-estimation, and he began winning, hand after hand. On occasion, his cards were worthless, and he’d play through a hand to let someone else win. But, for the majority of rounds he pulled in the gold.
When Stin’s stiff legs finally led him out of Berti’s, a rooster crowed while the dawn spread faintly across the night sky. His purse bulged. Far too large and heavy to hide on his body, Stin felt vulnerable. He carried it with both hands. Looking around, he imagined eyes staring back at him from every shadow.
“And a good morrow to ye.”
Stin jumped in surprise, nearly dropping the heavy bag of gold. Gant chuckled at him.
“Did nay mean to surprise ye, Master Steck. Ho there! Were ye as successful at the Primero tables as ye were on the Lightfish?”
“Yes. I’m afraid I feel rather foolish carrying this much gold in the dark.”
“Afraid some blighter might nick it from ye, ay?”
Stin nodded.
“Well, we can’t have that. Not on my watch! I’ll escort ye home. Where might ye be staying?”
“At the Widow Raynora’s.”
“Ah, yes. Lovely lady! Shame the Coralians stretched her man’s neck. Let us be off, then. Have ye there by first light.”
Stin continued home, reflecting on the odd fact he was led there by an armed escort rather than being escorted to jail.
-+-
The next two nights, Stin cleaned out everybody at Berti’s. He almost got bored winning, and even deliberately lost a few times just to remind himself what it felt like. But inevitably, the lure of gold returned and he won again. And again.
The third time Gant walked him home, the constable made an offhand remark about where Stin was storing his winnings.
Stin said nothing. The remark had not been framed as a question, but it may as well have been one. Stin had more gold than he had ever possessed in his life, and most of it was stashed under his bed at Raynora’s.
“Ye should consider opening an account at the Mystic Bank, Master Steck.”
“The Mystic Bank? What’s that?”
“They have an office in every major city. And they have one here in Corsairs Cove, too. Ye deposit yer gold, go on yer travels, and when you show up at another office ye gets yer gold back. For a small fee, of course. They gots to make their money, after all. Aye, nobody quite knows how they do it. And that’s why it’s called the Mystic Bank.”
Stin thought about it for a moment as they continued making their way through the brightening streets.
“They must have some sort of coding system they can send to whatever office you show up at. Give back the appropriate amount, minus their fee.”
“Aye, one would think so. But they always give back what ye put in. Say you deposit doublets. Ye’ll get back the same. Say ye deposit silver pieces from Crystal. That’s what they’ll return ye, silver with th’ King o’ Crystal’s face no matter where ye go. I’ve heard some say they’ve marked coins, and gotten the same one back. I be no judge in such matters. Haven’t left Corsairs Cove in years. Mayhap I never will. But if I do, I’ll deposit all me money in the Mystic Bank. Keeps it safe, you see. Can’t lose it while traveling.”
Gant tapped the side of his head with his forefinger. He said, “Aye, using the Mystic Bank
be smart!”
“So, why doesn’t everybody use it? I mean, all these merchants traveling to and from the Ageless Isles . . . they could save a lot of worry and trouble by depositing their gold with the Mystic Bank first.”
Gant chuckled at the thought. “Ho ho, don’t be givin’ them no ideas, Master Steck. If everybody used the Mystic Bank, Corsairs Cove would die from lack o’ gold. Nay, to answer your question, I believe that first, not many people know about the Mystic Bank. Many of us here do, obviously. Which leads to my second speculation, and that is, the Mystic Bank mainly deals in stolen gold and silver. Honest merchants are likely afraid to use it, iffen they even know about it. Iffen they even can use it. I suspect the spells involved may only work with ill-gotten gain. And since all the gold on Corsairs Cove be stolen, it works right fine with our treasure.”
Stin agreed the Mystic Bank seemed worth investigating. Gant told him how to find it, telling him it was near Town Center. They parted ways at the widow’s door.
-+-
Stin slept till lunch, then joined the other officers around Raynora’s table. Word had spread about his prowess at the gaming tables, and everybody wanted to talk to him about it. Outwardly, he played it down, chalking it all up to an extraordinary run of luck. Nobody believed him.
Raynora said, “You must be quite skilled at cards, Master Steck!”
“Actually, I never played much before coming here. Primero is still new to me.”
“He played bone cards with the dogs onboard Wavecrest,” Quent said. “You won more than you lost, as I recall. But I don’t remember you sweeping the table like this, night after night.”
Stin shrugged and said, “I guess I’ve taken to Primero. I’ll try my luck again tonight, but this afternoon I’m going to make a deposit at the Mystic Bank, on Constable Gant’s recommendation.”
Everyone at the table agreed that measure seemed prudent. Quent said, “Mm. Personally, I’ve never had enough gold to warrant a deposit there. I spend all mine on books.”
“Well, if you spent more time at the gaming tables instead of poking your nose in parchment, maybe you’d win enough for a deposit.”
“Mm. I’d rather read books.”
After lunch, Stin found a stable boy on the street and had him fetch a horse and wagon. Quent helped load bag after bag of gold from under Stin’s bed and into the wagon while the boy waited in the driver’s seat.
After handing up the last bag to him, Quent said, “By the High Tower this is a lot of gold, Steck. Don’t you want some guards to accompany you?”
“Nah. They’ll just attract attention.”
Stin joined the boy up on the seat and told him to head for Town Center. The two horses strained in the harnesses, and the wagon slowly creaked forward under the weight of his winnings.
The boy seemed an affable type, and quite talkative. He went by the name of Cuppers, and conversed almost the entire trip. He was about 12, Stin reckoned, and he looked wiry but tough. Light brown hair and lighter skin marked him as a mainlander. Or at least his parents were. For all Stin knew, the boy may have been born in Corsairs Cove. Regardless, he knew his way around horses and wagons.
Most important to Stin, he knew exactly where the Mystic Bank was located, and said he could park nearby.
After an excruciatingly slow trip through town, the heavily laden wagon finally trundled into Town Center, and Cuppers guided the team expertly through the crowd and between stalls to the other side.
As promised, he found a spot to park, under a tree by other carts. He set the brake and pointed out the entrance to the local office of the Mystic Bank amidst a row of storefronts facing Town Center.
Stin felt a pang of disappointment. In his mind, he had imagined an impressive columned edifice, with a coterie of guards standing ready to defend the structure against assault. Instead, Cuppers insisted the plain, drab storefront he pointed to was the place.
Somewhat reluctantly, Stin grabbed a couple bags of gold and made his way inside. As he left Cuppers alone with the rest of the gold out front, he found himself belatedly wishing he’d listened to Quent and brought along some hired thugs to watch over things.
Inside he found a small, simple and undecorated reception area, with a counter and a doorway behind it leading to the back. The place seemed deserted. No pictures graced the wall, no chairs or tables on the floor.
He set the bags on the counter and debated internally whether or not to call out, when a man opened the door and stuck his head in the room. He seemed to have a cloud of despair surrounding him.
He spoke in a flat, inflection-free and depressed tone. “Oh, hello. I suppose you’re here to make a deposit. I am Mandross, at your service.”
The rest of the man’s body followed his head through the door. He stood rather tall, and seemed extraordinarily skinny to Stin. His clothes practically hung off his body. His skin looked gray, as if he never ventured outside. But most of all, Mandross seemed unhappy. He never smiled. He wouldn’t looked Stin in the face, either, but rather kept his eyes focused on the floor.
Stin said, “Um, yes. I’ve got quite a few more.”
Mandross sighed deeply, as if finding the news very, very disappointing.
“Go on and bring them in, then.”
Stin backed out, slightly perplexed. He had hoped the banker would offer to help. Outside, he was relieved to see Cuppers remained in the driver’s seat, and nobody had absconded with his gold.
Stin grabbed another couple of bags.
Cuppers said, “Would y’like me t’help, sirrah?”
“No, stay with the cart and keep an eye on things. I’ll get these in.”
Later, when there were still half a dozen bags left, Stin changed his mind and let Cuppers carry the rest for him. Stin felt exhausted from hauling the gold. Every muscle in his body ached. By now he had amassed a small mountain of bagged coins on the counter and floor.
Mandross looked depressed beyond measure. When Cuppers carried the last bag in, struggling with its weight, the banker said, “That is all.”
Stin smiled and said, “Yes. I suppose you’ll count it now?”
“There’s no need.”
Mandross pulled out a scrap of parchment from under the counter and a quill pen. He scratched a notation down and handed the scrip to Stin.
“Visit any of our locations when you’re ready to retrieve some or all of it. We take a three percent fee upon withdrawal.”
Stin looked down at the parchment and found three different numbers. The largest had a ‘g’ near it. The other two had ‘s’ and ‘c’ next to them. He realized these were the types and number of coins he was depositing: gold, silver, and copper.
He looked up at the unhappy Mandross and said, “Three percent seems awfully steep.”
The banker’s expression shifted from depressed to disdain. He said, “Look, we’ll keep it safe. You can pick it up anywhere you can find one of our offices. But if you don’t want to use our service, fine. You can take your coins and load them back up in your wagon right now and I won’t charge a withdrawal fee. You can hide them back under your bed and take them on the next ship out of here. I don’t care. Take it and go, it’s less work for me.”
Stin raised his hands in a soothing gesture. He said, “No, no. Three percent is fine.”
The banker’s ire receded quickly, melancholy settling back in. He said, “Go on, then. Have your fun. Sail off on your adventures. I’ll be here, minding your money for you. Staying here. Looking out for it while you have fun.”
Stin gave the man an odd look. Mandross stood there, his head stooped, looking for all the world like somebody beaten down by a bad life.
Stin followed Cuppers out the door. On the street, Stin thought to ask for the locations of the Mystic Bank offices in other cities. He turned and walked back inside. All the coins were gone! The entire pile was missing. His blood grew cold. Every bag had disappeared.
The door to the back opened, and Mandross walked out once mor
e, clothes hanging off his thin limbs. He let out a long, melancholy sigh.
“Oh. It’s you again,” he said in a flat monotone. “If you’d like to make a withdrawal, we take a three percent cut.”
“But . . . but . . . where did my gold go?”
“We have it. Rest assured, your money is safe in the Mystic Bank. Offices are in every major city. And sometimes elsewhere. Like here. In Corsairs Cove.”
Stin stared at him, mouth wide open. That quantity of gold could simply not be moved quickly. He wondered what kind of magic had to be involved to make it disappear. And where did it go?
Mandross let out a long sad sigh again. He said, “Would you like to make a withdrawal?”
“No. No, I just . . . I just want to make sure my money is safe. I spent all afternoon getting it here, and . . . now it’s gone.”
“Your money is safely stored with the Mystic Bank,” Mandross droned. “Simply visit any of our offices, and you can withdraw any amount, any time you choose. We take three percent upon withdrawal.”
Still shaken, Stin turned to leave. He stopped at the door and looked back one more time at the floor and counter where all his bags of gold had been, moments before.
Mandross stared back at him with dull eyes and a glum expression on his face. He said, “Go have fun. Live your life. I’ll be here. Watching your money for you. Keeping it safe. While you enjoy yourself. Out there, having fun.”
Finally, Stin walked back outside and climbed up on the seat with Cuppers. Cuppers guided the team back into traffic, and Stin found himself going back over the visit with Mandross in his mind. Halfway back to Raynora’s place, a thought struck him.
He turned to Cuppers and said, “How did the banker know I stored the gold under my bed?”
Cuppers said, “Iffen I had gold, sirrah, under the bed would be a fine place to stash it!”
“Yes, but . . . how did he know we were in a wagon?”
“How else might we’ve gotten all that gold from under your bed to th’ bank, sirrah? Of course ’twere with a wagon.”
