by Troy Reaves
Boremac was glad to be back in the place he called home and took a moment to think about the wisdom of a continued association with Flora and Fauna. He only had a moment before his brain screamed at him again for even bothering to try and think. It didn’t really matter, no more than the beating he had taken at Fauna’s skilled hands. His lips reminded him why he would return to them, and it had nothing to do with training in martial arts. He smiled, twitching his lips upward on one side of his face, in spite of his sorry current condition. He would see them again, he was certain. A day or two resting and he would be right back in their company. A quick glance from Flora over her shoulder at him resolved any doubts he may have had. The wink she gave him told him all he needed to know. Next time would be better. Sure it would.
***
Boremac was almost surprised when Mama Bear barely said a word the next time the twins came to collect him. He could not claim to enjoy the bagging, and subsequent dragging, that followed the exchange of pleasantries between the twins and his adopted mother. He was almost surprised that Mama Bear had not tossed him out the door behind them as the twins led him out of the Shadowy Pint. The trip to their hidden lair seemed like a nightly stroll in a flower garden compared to the abuses he had sustained at Fauna’s hands as their second sparring round progressed.
“Boremac, give up fighting like a man. Men are clumsy at best. Try fighting like you have some amount of intuition and grace.” Flora’s chastising almost brought his eyes away from Fauna as he and Fauna moved around the makeshift arena. “Watch her eyes. Watch for the tells. Fauna is so expressive when she tries to stick you. Watching you get cut is making me want to fight you just so you have a chance.”
Boremac did not know how, or even whether, to interpret that last part. He did know he was weakening fast and needed to concentrate on the present. Then again, maybe she was right. He had always trusted his gut in the past fighting larger and stronger boys than him. Why was this so different? “Oh, wait,” Boremac smirked inwardly, “she is a girl, at least after a fashion. Smarter, quicker, and more skilled than me and she had me before the fight started. Damn this! She wants a fight then she should have one.” He rolled backward and came up in a low crouch, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet with practiced precision. Boremac did not know what he was going to do but he knew he would force her to move first. He sheathed both the daggers he had been using and smiled at Fauna, openly taunting her as he waggled one of his hands in a come hither gesture.
Fauna responded, as her face reddened just slightly, by sliding her daggers into her own belt scabbards. “Cute. Okay, let me see if any of your lessons have stuck.” She launched herself at him, reading his mind, it appeared, and finding it a short and boring few pages. Boremac surprised her as he launched himself backward in a somersault giving, her time to slow but not enough time to recover. He knew where the crate was behind him all too well, having nearly been shoved through the wooden sides of it much more than he wanted to remember. His feet planted flat against the crate, leaving him suspended above the floor for the briefest moment before he pushed himself into the air above Fauna, twisting his body midair. Fauna appeared to be stunned for a moment by this new development and it was all he needed. Boremac slid down her back as he fell, grabbing her by the shoulders. He swept his leg under hers reflexively, giving himself over to his old fighting moves that had rescued him from capture more than once. As she began to fall backward, he swept an arm under her and pinned her own limbs before she could break free. Boremac immediately brought his other arm over her waist to restrict her hands as much as possible. Fauna was less than pleased.
“Well, that was interesting. Now let me go before I claw your eyes out. You would be foolish to think I cannot break free. Trust me, others have made that mistake and died for it.” Fauna made no effort this time to disguise her displeasure. The burning fire in her eyes and coloring her cheeks threatened to overwhelm the dusty light in the warehouse. It only intensified with Boremac’s reply. “Dear Fauna, I will release you momentarily but perhaps I should be rewarded for my efforts first.” Boremac dipped his head low to hers, bringing his lips a breath away, “or perhaps not.” He pulled both of his arms away at once, careful to make a hasty retreat as Fauna landed on her back. Nearby he could hear the unmistakable sound of light applause, and one other noise pricked his ears. The sound of giggling, muffled so fast that it would have been missed by most, but there even so.
“Quiet, Petal!” Rinoba clamped a hand over the giggling girl’s mouth next to him without even looking at her. The motion was too practiced for him to have to turn toward her and usually he could anticipate Sgaina’s losses of control, at least here. He had been distracted. The movements of the dueling pair far below where they hid in the shadows of crates were hypnotic. His target’s method of undoing his opponent fascinated Rinoba. How could one move so quickly and yet gracefully? Still the boy could not deny that the rogue had taken a terrible risk. Fauna would have pounded him yet again if she had been able to see what he planned. Now the question, was it self-assurance or stupidity that made Boremac even attempt it. Rinoba smiled, his lips parting slightly in a charming grin that already melted the lasses around him even at his young age. Sgiana felt a fist hit her in the gut, certain Rinoba was sizing up the twins again, admiring them. She bit him, putting all her pain at not receiving so much as an acknowledgement from him that she was female too into it, and tasted the blood flowing from his palm. “Damn you, Petal!” Rinoba’s whispered admonishment burned her ears. “Pay attention and you might just prove useful one day. I want those blades. We cannot take him. I do not think all of us could take him. Something will come to me.” Sgiana was sure of that. Something always did come to Rinoba. She liked that about him, even more than his beautiful face and regal bearing. The fact that his father was the leader of Alchendia’s Path, the pronounced king of thieves to whom all other guilds deferred, did not matter to her at all. It was just another one of the things she had to factor into her own plans. She would have him no matter how long it took.
10
Double Crosses
Boremac continued training with the twins in their warehouse for two seasons. Not long after he had overcome Fauna, Flora had pushed for him to be taken openly to the safe house. This cause of this leap of trust was easy to surmise, even for Boremac. The way Flora looked at him sometimes, not to mention Fauna’s open disgust and rough comments when her sister did, made it all too obvious Flora was falling for him. Boremac, for his part, was both exhilarated and terrified by the implications of this continuing development. Flora was sneaky, both in her combat style and her ways. Boremac learned over time just how deceptive Flora was in the habit of being. With just a bit of work, Flora could become a noble born visiting from some far off city while Fauna became her invisible servant. Ready pinches awaited if you knew what to look for, and when to take it, and the twins had raised their game to a form of art over time. It was on one of these adventures that Flora decided it was time for Boremac to join them. As she had groomed and dressed him appropriately, she explained that past experience had taught her that going into this particular noble’s house unwed would prove complicated. She needed to have a husband to protect her from any more unwanted advances from this particular lord. It sounded logical enough until Boremac reminded himself how deceptive Flora could be. She had brushed away any questions he had almost too quickly, as if reading from prepared lines not unlike the ones she had given him to use during the pinching. Something was definitely up.
Boremac found out what was up soon enough the first night they were in the lord’s home. The pair had retired to the room that had been prepared for them, Fauna sleeping down the hall just a bit in the servant’s quarters with the housekeepers and crockery maids. Flora turned away from Boremac and closed the door, throwing the bolt to lock it. “The game is going well, I think. Fauna should readily pinch the jeweled comb this peacock keeps in his room, for his future bride he says.” She slid h
er dress off of her shoulders letting it drop to the floor. “I say he keeps it in his suite to tease women into his bed. Fauna should have little trouble acquiring it once the drunken lout goes to sleep tomorrow night or the next.”
“How will she get in there, especially at night? I imagine his room is as locked, not to mention as guarded, as our own.” Boremac reasoned out the answer even as the question left his lips and he flopped down on the bed, enjoying the marvelous simplicity of it. “She has bedded him before. Fauna will know no end of this from me! So the wolverine has wiles after all, and uses them no less! Wonder of wonders.” He said, chuckling and tossing his head on the silken pillow where it rested, before noticing that Flora had taken a spot very near him on the edge of the bed. One of his eyebrows jumped up, like a curious furry caterpillar, at this new development, as he noted she wore only a thin chemise. “Any thoughts?” It was all he could say as a flurry of thoughts formed a whirlwind in his own head.
“More like minor concerns, Boremac.” Flora whispered in a way he had not heard before, full of promise with just a hint of desire. “I know this man almost as well as Fauna does. He is not stupid though he appears to be. His own arrogance makes him do stupid things, but I fear he senses we are up to no good. I have always used my supposed engagement to keep him at arm’s length, farther when possible, and he was readily deflected to my sister until our visit before this one. Lord Bartem proposed when last we were here and, as is his manner in most things, he did so in a most compelling fashion. The man requested no dowry. He did not even require the prerequisite meeting with my family, requesting only a letter of consent from my father with our family’s seal. He then produced a letter scripted to my noble house to say that his heart had been shattered to learn I was to be wed and, with their permission, he would make me his bride. He would then be all too pleased to use his substantial political position to bring our noble house to the front of the other nobles, both in wealth and power, with the promise of both armies and trade brought to my homeland in order to facilitate its expansion. It appears he has not given up. He stares at me as he always has, dismissing you as a simple impediment to be overcome.”
“So we should call it a loss. You should not remain here. No real trouble to be away in the morning.” Boremac stared at the ceiling high above him, trying desperately to will the fire blazing through him to come under control, and knowing he was fighting a losing battle. “I cannot see how this can possibly end well, especially for me.” He would lose in a direct challenge, even if the man did not kill him. If he forced capitulation in a duel with Lord Bartem, the man would want to make inquiries with his homeland under the guise of honoring the man who bested him and giving the lord time to find some other way to outdo him. He would, of course, insist the couple remain until proper recompense could be delivered to Boremac’s homeland and when Boremac’s duplicity was found out, the rogue would be promptly hung. Certainly Flora knew all this. What was she planning? That thought itched like a tick.
“I see only one satisfying end to this situation. The only way Lord Bartem will not challenge you to a duel for my hand tomorrow, and he most certainly will do so, would be if he saw with undeniable proof that our marriage had been consummated, we were in fact and in spirit one with the Goddess, and you make me happy. He can give up his conquest with grace, we can spend a day or two to acquire the comb, and enjoy the wealth of his house for the last time.”
Boremac gave her a quizzical look as he addressed her, his elbows pulled under him for support. “Okay, how do you intend to accomplish this in one night?”
Flora smiled ravenously before kissing Boremac gently on his forehead, bringing a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. “I think I have an idea that might work.” It turned out that she had many ideas and shared them with Boremac in a blessedly long night.
The next morning found Boremac uncoordinated and stumbling, drunk with the events of the previous night. When Lord Bartem made inquiries concerning the well-being of his guest at a splendid breakfast the next morning, Boremac waved away the concerns with a simple statement. “I suffer only from the curse of being newly wed to a healthy woman.” This seemed to satisfy their host, although the lord’s despair was less well hidden than Boremac was certain he would have liked. Boremac stoically ignored the man’s sad state by glorying in the repast before him. It was not difficult. He was starving. It was all he could do to pause between bites long enough to sing the virtues of the master of the estate’s kitchen. Flora was much more demure during the meal, staying as close to Boremac as was acceptable but, even so, reaching out stealthily to steal touches by passing her hand over his own whenever he rested it on the table long enough to do so.
“I wish to challenge you, Lord Matho.” Boremac, so unused to his assumed title, almost didn’t acknowledge Lord Bartem. He was able to disguise his confusion by taking a moment to finish chewing and look at his ‘wife’. Flora looked mildly concerned but gave no indication that this was something she had anticipated. “Do not be alarmed, good Sir. I would not be so foolhardy to duel with you, although a bit of fisticuffs might be some good entertainment for your Lady and her handmaiden, once you have recovered.” He laughed good-naturedly at the jest, certain Boremac did not understand the full implication of the lord’s statement. “I thought we might try matching ourselves in a game of luck. It would appear you have an unlimited reservoir of the stuff to draw from and I would like to test it with a game of chance I recently discovered.” Lord Bartem’s brow furrowed, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “There was an unfortunate breach of security, here in my own home no less, but the thief was captured and rots in my personal dungeon. I saw no reason to alert the constables, having ably dealt with the problem myself. It is never good to advertise there has been a hole found in one’s walls, in a manner of speaking. The rogue has proven to be invaluable, once he recovered from my warden’s rather intense interrogation, and I have learned much from him personally as well. It seems he is well traveled, a kind of diplomat, among certain guilds filled with unsavory sorts. The man had fallen out of favor for some reason with the local guild in the thieves’ quarter and appeared to be trying to make amends with them. Even under threat of death, he will not expose his sin or why he chose to solicit my home, though I believe my power as an advisor to the Governor is the most obvious factor. I digress, forgive me. The man has been kind enough to share a card game played by the commoners and rogues of the realms alike. I am a victim of curiosity, and given to gambling besides, so the man has done well bargaining for food and favors while being held. My guards have been instructed to stop extracting information from him in the usual manner, for now. I have learned enough of the mechanics of the game to have won some information from him, at no small cost to me in alcohol which he has taken in winnings. The name of the game is interesting in itself; Dead Man’s Hand. A curious name, yes?” Boremac nodded and the lord continued. “It is a deck of cards numbered one through ten with three of each number, two cards bearing stylized pictures of a king and queen, either from long ago or hidden in society of the rogues themselves.” He paused a moment to puzzle this thought over himself before continuing. “That is an interesting thought. The rogues of the lands deferring to a monarchy when the realm itself long ago did away with such a governing system. The most interesting card in the deck is Death, a simple skull and crossbones of white surrounded by a black background. The game itself has multiple versions. The first serves to teach understanding of basic play and the values of the cards. Each of us is given two cards that we may look at and play out onto the table as we choose. One additional card is given to each player, a blind draw if you will, that stays face down on the table. Any of the cards can be played at any time by the players. The dealer or deck holder plays after the other player in the first round, with play then alternating from one player to the next. Up to four players can play with one minor alteration to the rules. The first player to the dealer’s left goes first and this continues until th
e dealer’s turn. Once the dealer has played, the order of play reverses with the player on the right going first, and so on.” Lord Bartem paused to refresh his parched mouth and make sure his guest understood the rules.
Boremac nodded briefly, inwardly disguising his excitement. “What a game!” He thought, his mind racing at the possibilities. “I could really turn this bit of amusement to my advantage.” The rogue said only, “Sounds curious.”
“My thoughts exactly!” Lord Bartem smiled as if he had found a silver token lying in the street on the way to pay his tithe at the church. “I do not know how the commoners, or more likely bored bandits, came up with it but the combination of skill, luck and patience needed to master it borders on the obscene.” He laughed boisterously before continuing. “We should begin. There will be no ante, or bet to the center of the table, at first. I should explain that at the end of each round, the loser of that round must meet the ante from their purse in gentlemanly games, or from the stack of coins they have committed to play when more unsavory types play. It is my understanding that the rogues and bandits playing this game do not want anyone digging in their clothes while participating. Easy to understand why.”
