Aether Spark

by Nicholas Petrarch

  “Have room for one more?” Chance asked, leaning into the circle.

  The man gave him a slow, appraising look.

  “Aye,” he said. “But not for just anyone. This is a high stakes game. If you doubt your purse, why don’t you try a pauper street somewhere down in the Basin? They’ll let just about anyone play.”

  The company chuckled.

  “I’d rather play against you,” Chance said. He looked the man square in the eyes, unblinking. The man had a gentlemanly look about him, but without the character to match. A manservant, Chance guessed. His narrow features converged to a point just below the nose. Even his eyes were squeezed together.

  He looked back, the indifference in his face shifting.

  “You know the game?”

  Chance nodded.

  “You have enough to wager?”

  Chance nodded again.

  “Fine.” He gestured to the open spot. “Open purse. We want to know what you’re betting with.”

  “Didn’t I just see you take a blind wager a moment ago?”

  “From Timberman’s son, yes. I’d let him bet his entire inheritance if I wasn’t afraid his father would lock me up for it. Him I know, and he always comes through. You’re a different story, stranger. I don’t trust just any guttersnipe.”

  He scooped up the dice from the ground, and Chance took his seat.

  “I can’t argue with you there. It’s an awful risk to take someone at their word alone. But, we businessmen shouldn’t miss out on an opportunity to profit just because our coffers can’t fit in a purse.”

  “Businessman?” The dealer looked doubtful.

  “Handle fifty-nine separate contracts personally, with goods going out to each of them weekly.”

  “In the Basin?”

  “With my trade, the Basin provides an advantageous locality to my clients and the shipyard,” Chance explained.

  “And what exactly is your trade?”

  “Free-merchant.”

  “That doesn’t tell me much,” the man said. “Could just be a fancy way of saying you’re a desperate man.”

  “Or it could mean I’m pulling in profit enough to maintain my own license, with enough to spare that I can enjoy a generous wager in my spare time.”

  The man rotated the dice in his hand a few times, thinking it over. Chance kept his expression cool, suppressing his eagerness. His eyes remained fixed on the man’s. If he was going to be permitted to play, he had to appear confident, and a little smug.

  “And you want to play with uncapped stakes? On your word alone?”

  “On a businessman’s word,” Chance said. “And even if I lose, I’m sure you’ve got means to secure any loose debts which might come up. But don’t you worry,” he said, picking up the dice from the man’s hands. “I’m not about to run.”

  “No... you won’t,” the man said. He scratched at his chin. “If you don’t come up with what you owe when you lose—well, let’s just say you’d need more than a father like Timberman to keep me off you. We understand each other?”

  “Absolutely,” Chance grinned.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  An Unlikely Reunion

  Can we be blamed for our curiosity? For our mortal audacity? Man must evolve to survive. It’s in our nature to climb. What heights could we attain given none of our corporeal bounds?

  — Excerpt from Mechanarcissism

  G izmo!” Chance leapt into the air, pumping his fists as he did a little jig. “The tides really have turned today!”

  The circle of men glared as he pulled the pile of coins and banknotes toward himself.

  “Might want to keep your trap shut about it,” the man running the game snapped. “It’s not good manners to win gracelessly.”

  Chance couldn’t hold in a snicker. “Sorry boys, but when you’ve had luck as bad as mine you can’t help celebrate when a better hand is dealt. You can’t fault someone for taking advantage of Septigonee’s Day.”

  “Still, you make it unpleasant to play for the rest of us.”

  “You’ve still got deep pockets,” Chance laughed. “Not a reason in the world for you to be bent out of shape.”

  “It’s useless,” another player said. “You can’t teach slag manners. Leave him be.”

  Chance’s expression grew stern. “What did you call me?”

  “What you are,” the player glared back. His eyes were beady and dark in his plump face.

  Chance appraised him a moment, gauging just how close he might be to doing something about his losses. He still held the dice, and Chance saw a desire burning behind those beady eyes to teach him a lesson. He was expecting Chance’s luck to run out eventually, and Chance was willing to bet he thought it would be soon.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’ll give you a chance to win it all back. Double or nothing on one roll.”

  The man’s eyebrow raised. Chance was sitting on a little over two hundred banknotes. The wager was good.

  “Well, gents? What do you say?” Chance asked. “You gonna put me in my place? Is my luck about to run out?”

  The man with the narrow features bit on something in his mouth and spit it on the ground as he considered Chance’s proposal.

  “Alright,” he said. “Double or nothing. And why not match the game to its wager, shall we? Doubles to come up, or you’re bust.”

  Chance kept his expression unfazed, but the hairs on his neck rose a little. The switch lessened his odds significantly. The rest of the group seemed to take heart with the terms, however, a few of them fetching fresh notes from their pockets to get in on the wager.

  This could prove very profitable indeed.

  “Alright,” Chance agreed. “Doubles. I suppose we’ll see who Septigonee favors more.” He took the dice. “If anyone else wants their money back, now’s your opportunity.”

  Three of the men matched their losses, tossing their wagers in the middle, and soon Chance was looking over a small fortune.

  “Now,” he grinned, “about your money.”

  “You won! You won!” Rhett said, bouncing in circles around Chance as they walked back to the main street. The coins in Rhett’s pockets jingled as he danced, making a ruckus and turning heads.

  Chance smiled. Let them look, he thought. This wasn’t just a show of wealth, this was fortune’s turning.

  “I can’t believe you won!”

  “There was no way I could lose,” Chance boasted. “The guy had arrogance dripping out of his ears. He was overdue for a loss.”

  “He looked scary to me.”

  “They all try to be, but if you look them in the eyes most of them are just cowards in fancy clothes.”

  They passed by a pastry cart, and Rhett tipped his head up as he breathed in the sweet confectionery aromas.

  “Do you want one?” Chance asked.

  “No. I was just enjoying the smell.”

  “Pick one. My treat.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure,” Chance said, counting out a few notes from his now overstuffed purse. “We’re going to have to spend this somewhere.”

  He brushed Rhett’s head and motioned to the vendor for two of the frosted pastries. Rhett chose one with an orange and cinnamon glaze. He held it delicately between his hands.

  Chance smiled inwardly as he watched Rhett bite into such a treat for the first time. The boy’s eyes lit up, and, though he tried to savor it, much of the glaze ended up on his chin and cheeks. Chance sampled his and couldn’t blame Rhett—it was sweeter than anything they were used to eating.

  “It’s amazing!” Rhett exclaimed. His feet did a little jig as he polished it off and licked at his fingertips.

  “For the next few days, you and I are living like we own the Spire,” Chance laughed. “Have you eaten any real food yet?”

  Rhett shook his head.

  “We should probably get something more filling into you or that pastry is going to make you sick.”

  “But shouldn’t w
e be getting back?” Rhett asked. He looked up at the sun, which was now high in the sky.

  “We’ll grab something along the way. There’s probably a—”

  “You! There he is! Right there!” a voice shouted.

  Chance looked back over his shoulder and caught sight of the narrow-eyed man gesturing at him, a constable standing at his side.

  Chance cursed. “Time to run!”

  Rhett looked bewildered as the two men started toward them.

  “But you won.”

  “Like that ever mattered. We’ve overstayed our welcome. Let’s go!”

  Chance tossed his pastry and grabbed Rhett’s shoulder—pulling him into motion. They bolted for the end of the street, the constable’s whistle sounding behind them. Chance turned into a larger crowd, weaving between the people. If they were lucky, he figured they could lose them in a crowd somewhe—

  An arm shot out and seized Chance’s collar, bringing him to a sudden halt.

  Chance twisted to try and free himself, but the grip was vice-like. Looking up, his heart sank in his chest. The man wore a slate grey military uniform, and a red cape hung over his left shoulder—the uniform of a duelist.

  His fortune had run out.

  Rhett hesitated a few feet away, not sure if he should stay with Chance or continue to flee.

  “Hold, boy!” the duelist commanded. Rhett turned to stone where he was, and the duelist signaled to the constable approaching that he’d apprehended the runner.

  “We did nothing wrong! You have—” Chance stopped as he looked, unbelieving, into the duelist’s face. “Ringgold?”

  Chance was stunned. His friend from youth stood before him dressed in the uniform of a gentleman duelist. He was older, but still possessed the familiar features Chance knew.

  “By Septigone’s misfortunes,” Ringgold whispered, equally dumbstruck as he recognized his detainee. The constable and man were approaching, and Ringgold gave Chance a look as if to keep quiet.

  “That’s him,” the man said, pointing with his lean finger. “Lock him up! Run him out! But get my money first,” he added.

  “Hold, sir.” Ringgold held his hand up to stop the constable from trying to take him. “What is your accusation of this man?”

  “Little thief cheated a respectable game and walked away with our money,” the man spat.

  “Is that so?” Ringgold asked, turning to Chance. “Is this man’s claim founded?”

  “I didn’t cheat,” Chance explained. “He just can’t stand the thought that he isn’t as clever as he thinks.”

  “He’s a liar!”

  “Hold, man!” Ringgold’s voice startled the gambler to silence, and his grip on Chance’s collar tightened. “You expect to employ the law to settle your gambling losses? As far as I’m concerned, this is a private matter, and should have been handled as such.

  “As it is, you’ve caused a public commotion as well as occupied the valuable time of not only a city constable, but myself. See that you take greater precautions next time with your wagers is all I can say.”

  “But our money!” the man protested.

  “Is of little consequence to the law,” Ringgold said flatly. “And, therefore, little consequence to me. I am, however, disturbed by the unrest which this little scrap has inspired. This is Septigonee’s Day, and this type of behavior invites ill fortune. You’ll both be fined for disruption of the peace.”

  The man clenched his jaw, but resisted saying anything more. It wasn’t wise to argue with a duelist.

  “Constable, see to it that man is properly charged. And you,” Ringgold said, jostling Chance. “I think you’d be better off where you came from. I’ll escort you back to the Basin where you belong.”

  Chance allowed himself to be led away, with Rhett trailing along behind them. The narrow-eyed man glared daggers at them as they walked, but there was no way he was going to argue further.

  Chance cast him a subtle smile which left him steaming.

  A duelist, Chance wondered as he was led away. How the blazes did Ringgold manage that?

  There were few distinctions which could rival it. The duelists were the very elect of the military—the symbols of regency and law with their bright capes and golden rapiers hanging at their hips.

  And somehow, Ringgold had made the cut.

  When they were a ways off, Ringgold stopped and released Chance from his grip. “Not a minute after I see you and you’ve already got me playing watchdog again? Goodness, Chance, don’t you think I’ve got better things to do?” he scolded.

  Chance looked uncertainly at his friend. Was he serious? But then he caught the glimmer in Ringgold’s eye, and the two of them clasped hands firmly together as they embraced.

  “I can’t believe it,” Ringgold said, patting Chance on the back. “This is a reunion I’d never expected. What are you doing here?”

  “What do you mean what am I doing here? What are you doing here?” Chance asked. “I thought you were stationed in Madura or somewhere exotic.”

  “My tours overseas concluded more than a year ago,” Ringgold explained. “I’m stationed in the city indefinitely.”

  “I never thought I’d say this,” Chance said, “but I’ve never seen you looking so smart. And that’s saying something.”

  “The uniform gives me away, does it?” Ringgold smiled. “It’s not quite what I imagined when I started out, but it seems they’ve found a use for my talents.”

  “A gentleman duelist, of all things.” Chance stepped back and gave Ringgold a respectful clap. “I see you traded in for a bigger sword. Still trying too hard to impress the ladies, are you?”

  “And you’re still ignoring them,” Ringgold retorted. “Is that vest meant to make you look fuller? Because I suspect you’re just as twiggish now as you were before.” He gave Chance’s collar a playful tug.

  Chance grinned. Even after so many years their wits were still readied at one another.

  “What are you up to these days? You’re not still apprenticed to the apothecary, are you?” Ringgold asked.

  “Alchemist,” Chance clarified. “Yeah, I’m still with him. I entered a full partnership this past year. We’ve even taken on another apprentice. He’s right there.”

  He pointed to Rhett, who was standing awkwardly a ways off looking positively puzzled.

  “I see,” Ringgold said, catching sight of Rhett. “How fortunate for him.”

  Chance felt a stab of annoyance as he sensed Ringgold’s critical eye on him again. He heard in Ringgold’s voice the same distaste for his chosen life as he had all those years before, and it scorned him.

  Ringgold didn’t know what he’d been through. He couldn’t begin to comprehend the struggle Chance had endured to make it even as far as he’d come. Not like Ringgold, whose life was a fine wine—chilled and served in a golden goblet.

  All the while, Chance had been left to lap in the gutters like a dog. The familiar feelings of envy rose in his stomach.

  “What about you?” Chance asked, turning the subject away from himself. “I take it you’re more than a fancy ornament from your stripes. What are you, a general or something?”

  “Sergeant, actually,” Ringgold clarified. “Don’t go trying to fluff me up more than I need to be. It’s difficult as it is to stay modest.”

  “The prodigy’s curse I suppose,” Chance said with an air of annoyance.

  “And the prodigal’s envy it seems.” Ringgold eyed Chance. “You’re not sore with me for earning a few stripes, are you? Envy is a poor badge to wear.”

  “Not at all,” Chance assured him. “Fortune has to favor someone. Why not you? You two have become so acquainted over the years.”

  Why was it so difficult to speak to Ringgold? He should have been happy to see his old friend, and here they were making jabs and uncovering old sores. Yet, the sting came bubbling up out of him so forcefully Chance couldn’t contain it.

  “So, have you met anyone since school?” Ringgold asked, try
ing to change the subject.

  “I don’t have time to meet people. I’ve got a living to make.”

  Ringgold cast Chance an uncomfortable glance. “Have I offended you somehow?”

  “Of course not,” Chance said, feigning indifference. He felt his cheek twitching. “You have to be around long enough to offend someone.”

  “So, that’s what this is about? You’re still upset that I left and you stayed behind?” Ringgold said. “Septigonee’s misfortunes, Chance, that was years ago!”

  “I’m aware of how long it’s been.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for leaving you.”

  “Not necessary,” Chance dismissed.

  “Still, I’m sorry.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Well,” Ringgold said. “This wasn’t how I imagined our reunion going.”

  “Maybe we’re just rusty,” Chance suggested.

  At that, Ringgold laughed. Chance laughed a little too.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Chance said. “I know a pub not too far from here. How about we get a few drinks in us and loosen the rust a bit? Come on. The first round is on me.”

  Chance jingled the purse he had won from the game earlier, but Ringgold hesitated. He looked over his shoulder, and Chance became aware that there were two other duelists standing stiffly nearby. Looking around, he spotted three more.

  “Afraid I can’t at the moment,” Ringgold apologized. “I’m technically out on assignment. Your little scuffle only gave me reason to pause. I should be continuing along.”

  “Why is the guard out?” Chance asked.

  “Just a precaution,” Ringgold said, waving the soldiers on ahead. “It’s standard procedure when a crowd of this size gathers.”

  Chance didn’t know if he completely believed that. He’d seen other gatherings as large or larger unattended by military personnel. It was odd to see duelists out in numbers not accompanying members of the meritocracy. They should have been attending social events somewhere, not monitoring the masses.

  “It was good seeing you, Chance,” Ringgold said. “We should meet up soon for those drinks though. Where are you located these days?”