Before he did, however, he had a thought. No, a winning strategy, he corrected, pulling his pistol and thumping it on the table. “This, I believe, will be enough to cover five crowns, as well as raising an additional ten.”
Captain Horal whistled. Sir Gideon’s eyes bulged, and Azrael picked it up for a moment like a curator might with a new find. “This, Master Ethan,” Azrael said as he gently returned it to the pot, “is a first-rate pistol crafted by none other than master gunsmith, Victor Caslon. And together with its enchantments for rearming and accuracy against the living, it’s worth at least ten times what you say.”
Azrael’s appraisal sent a sharp stab through Ethan’s gut, and he did his best not to show any surprise. “So it is,” Ethan said, staring down Sir Gideon. “That’s an additional hundred, then, as long as we’re keeping things on the up and up.”
Sir Gideon returned the stare, never blinking. “Betting limit is fifty crowns. You sure you want to risk that over fifty crowns?”
“I’m sure I want to take your fifty,” Ethan countered.
Captain Horal leaned back in his seat, tossing his cards down. “Those waters are too bloody for me,” he said. “I fold.”
Sir Gideon, still watching Ethan like a hawk, simply pushed a stack of crowns forward. He looked as if he were going to raise again for a brief moment, but after his eyes flicked to Azrael, he held fast.
Death matched the pot without word. Then the cards came out.
Ethan had thirty.
Azrael had thirty.
Sir Gideon sat on thirty-one.
“I hope you race better than you play, Ethan,” Sir Gideon said, scooping his winnings. “For your crew’s sake, at least. Otherwise, you’re liable to get them all killed on the first day.”
A kraken-sized headache landed squarely on Ethan’s head and crushed his skull. Thanks to it, he didn’t pay much attention to what more was said by the man or what was exchanged between others around the table. At some point, after spending several moments rubbing his temples and trying not to be swept into a death spiral of pity and self-doubt, Ethan looked up when Azrael cleared this throat loud enough to grab his attention.
“I believe you still need to ante, Master Ethan,” Azrael said, pointing his cigar at the pot.
Ethan slowly nodded his head, though it was simply reflex at this point. He knew he’d been beaten soundly, and at this point, it was only a question of how little did he want to leave the room with. The answer to that was simple. He needed to call it a night.
“I think,” he said, gently nudging the port away from its position in front of him. “I’d best retire for the evening.”
“Presenting the stern already?” Sir Gideon asked with a smirk.
“You’ll have plenty of opportunities to look at my stern when I cross the finish line before you,” Ethan replied. “You can bet on that.”
Sir Gideon grinned and set his drink to the side. “A side wager, then? Thirty pounds, held by the magistrates.”
“One crown,” Ethan countered. “I don’t care about the money. I just want to see your face when your coin becomes mine.”
Sir Gideon’s eyes narrowed as he studied Ethan for a few seconds. “A crown it is.”
“If that’s done, I’d like to deal,” Sedra said with a gruff tone. When no one else said a word, cards flew from his hand as each player took his turn.
As they went about, Ethan leaned back in his chair and tried to exhale all the tension he’d been holding in his neck and shoulders. It didn’t work. So he tried again, and when that failed as well, he gave up and decided once this hand was done, he’d return to the Victory.
With that in mind, Ethan quietly watched as Sir Gideon finished his turn.
Sedra flicked the card off the top of the deck toward the man. It spun across the table and came to a rest a few inches from his drink. The Golden Templar, still looking at his cards, reached for it, almost out of pure reflex. Two of his fingers dropped onto the card back and pulled it toward him, but only a half inch.
“No, I don’t want it,” he said, looking up from his hand.
“Too late, it’s yours,” Sedra said, scowling.
The rest of the table looked equally as irked, and even more so when the Golden Templar pressed the issue. “I never looked at it,” he said. “And I never put in my two crowns to buy another card.”
“You asked for it.”
“And I changed my mind,” he said. “Stop trying to cheat.”
The minotaur jumped from his seat, hand now clenching his hammer. Though Sir Gideon was technically out of reach of the monster, Ethan didn’t doubt one bit that Sedra could close the distance and cave the Golden Templar’s skull long before the man could pull his weapon. “You’re accusing me of cheating?” Sedra roared. His nostrils flared, and he leaned across the table, the muscles in his forearm bulging even more as he tightened his grip on the hammer’s shaft. “Say it again, and the next thing that flies is your head from your shoulders.”
“Rules are rules,” Sir Gideon said evenly. “I never put in. I still have the opportunity to change my mind.”
After a few tense seconds, all eyes around the table went to Azrael, who sat there, cigar in mouth, apparently waiting for precisely this moment when he was asked to weigh in. “Rules are rules, Sir Gideon,” Azrael replied. “And the rules clearly state the moment you touch the card, it’s yours.”
“That only applies if I’m challenging the deal,” he countered. “Not for a case such as this.”
“That is neither the intention nor the spirit of the rule, Sir Gideon. Now take the card and be a sport. Perhaps you’ll still win.”
“And why should I take to heart your words on the matter?” the Golden Templar asked with a snort. “You’re still in the pot. That hardly makes you a neutral arbiter. More like a cheat.”
A few of the men gasped. One choked on his port and ended up in a coughing fit. Azrael, however, merely smiled, much like a shark might upon spotting a wounded seal. “I believe you’re right, Sir Gideon,” he said unexpectantly. “I propose then that our esteemed opponent, Master Ethan, settle the matter at hand. He no longer has a stake in this pot and thus far has shown quite the mastery of the rules tonight.”
Ethan jumped, nearly knocking over his own drink in the process. “I’m not—”
“Now, Master Ethan,” Azrael said, setting his cards face down. “No need to be modest. You’re fully capable of deciding this matter. It’s not as if a man’s life hangs in the balance.”
“Not yet, at least,” Sir Gideon tacked on.
A few snickers circled the group, though Azrael, as well as Sedra, didn’t share the humor. Ethan drummed his fingers on the table for a few moments trying to weigh what little of the rules he knew in his mind. He obviously had a full grasp on the basics, but when it came to the intricacies of what was essentially tournament play, he felt lost at sea.
Not only lost at sea, but he finally understood what the Greeks meant by being caught between Scylla and Charybdis. Azrael, no doubt, was a dangerous man—being literally Death and all—but Sir Gideon seemed to be no one to trifle with, either. And he had a deep feeling that whoever he ruled against would take it personally. His only hope, he figured, was that if he ruled fairly, the other captains around him might rise to his defense.
So, where did that leave him? The Golden Templar, true to his defense, hadn’t technically bought the card, nor had he seen what it was. As such, he certainly made a strong case. However, he did both ask for said card and did touch it. The fact that Sedra might have jumped the gun when dealing a split second before the coin officially hit the pot seemed a technicality of the worst sort.
“I believe,” Ethan said, trying to find the most diplomatic way to deliver bad news, “That Sir Gideon did indeed decide on taking an extra card, which is further reinforced by his reaching for it. And while he may not have benefited from seeing the card, he certainly benefited from
seeing the rest of the table’s reaction. And can one put a price on that knowledge? I’d say that’s worth at least the ante.”
Sir Gideon soured his face and leveled a glare. “You’ve come to your decision, then?”
“I have,” Ethan said with a short nod. “The card is yours, and you owe the pot.”
A pistol appeared in Sir Gideon’s hand, one that had been tucked into his belt only a heartbeat ago. Though he had it pointed square at Ethan’s face, he didn’t fire or even look as if he were about to. That little bit was probably only due to the fact that Azrael now had two pointed right back at him.
“I think this is one storm you’ll find unable to weather, my good captain,” Azrael said with a smirk. “Lest you want to test what sort of tempest all of us may bring upon ye.”
“You’d best pray the wind favors you tomorrow, Master Ethan,” the Golden Templar said, tucking his pistol back in his belt. He then pulled a crown from his purse, flicked it in, and scooped up the card on the table that had caused so much trouble. The man sneered with disgust before flopping the rest of his hand on the table for all to see.
Thirty-two.
“Seems the pot is mine,” Azrael said, raking it in. Once he had it secured in his purse made of red leather, he patted the bag and stood. “I believe, gentlemen, that’ll be the evening for me as well.”
The group dispersed at that point, Azrael looking quite content at his haul for the night, and Sir Gideon looking at Ethan like he was going to shank him in an alley on the way back to the docks.
Chapter Eighteen
The Deed
“How much did you lose? I didn’t quite catch that.”
Ethan paused, hands resting on the lid of the small chest near his bed, and glanced at Katryna. The woman was relaxing in one of the two chairs in the room, feet kicked up on the table. She’d taken the spot and a break from searching the cabin as Zoey pressed for details on the card game. She’d only been paying half attention to it all, right up until he’d confessed his losses. At which point, she’d perked and asked the question.
“Twenty-two crowns, four shillings,” he repeated.
“And your pistol,” Maii tacked on. “Let’s not forget that.”
“Yes, and my pistol.”
“Your magical pistol,” Maii said. “Enchanted with who knows how much magic. Able to reload on its own and blast apart dragons with a single shot.”
“It can’t blast apart a dragon,” Ethan said with a heavy sigh.
“How do you know?” Maii asked. “We never tried.”
Ethan shot the ahuizotl a glare. “Why do you always insist on antagonizing me?”
“Why does the fox slip into the hen house?” Maii asked, rolling onto his back and letting his feet stick up in the air. “Because it can.”
Zoey, who sat on the edge of their bed, frowned. “Jean’s not going to be happy about that,” she said.
“You should’ve shanked him in the alley,” Katryna said.
Ethan shook his head. “I’m not shanking anyone.”
“He’s not only anyone,” Katryna went on. “He’s a self-righteous prick that’s caused ungodly amounts of suffering in the wake of a misguided crusade.”
“Yes, I’ve heard,” Ethan said. “I’m sure we’ll cross paths in the race. We can deal with him there.”
Katryna shrugged. “Still would’ve been easier to deal with him in the alley.”
“And what would I have done with the body?”
Katryna shrugged again. “Stuff it in a barrel. Light it on fire. What do I care? Or bring it back here if you like.”
Ethan stiffened, certain he’d heard wrong. “Why would I ever bring a body back?”
“Marcus could’ve had some fun with it, I’m sure,” Katryna explained. “And Jean, no doubt, would’ve loved to see his mortal enemy turned into a mindless zombie.”
Before Ethan could answer, Maii rolled onto all fours and sat up with a huff. “As if he’d do that. He never brings back bodies.”
“First,” Ethan said, holding up a finger. “I’m not a serial killer who brings back trophies. And second, Maii, I feed you plenty.”
“But you could feed me more.”
“You were like…that big when I first met you,” Ethan said, holding his hands about two feet apart. “And now you’re like…like…well, look at you. A lot bigger. So hush.”
“Look, what’s done is done,” Zoey cut in as she took to her feet. “Ethan lost, and Sir Gideon is still very much alive. None of that’s going to change.”
The argument quieted, and Ethan held up a finger to ask something that had been weighing heavily on his mind. “There’s one other thing,” he said. “I tried to use some luck at the table, and every time, someone or something countered it.”
Zoey frowned, and Katryna shared a similar look. “Someone has a new trait,” the vampire explained with a sigh. “Or enchantment. There are a few out there. They keep anyone from tapping into luck points, essentially.”
“Even the odds is the most common,” Katryna tacked on. “Midlevel. Could’ve been any of them.”
“Great,” Ethan replied with a heavy sigh. “So at least one of our opponents nullifies my primary stat. Lovely.”
“Only when they’re in range,” Katryna went on. “Even fully developed, you’re only talking using it within ten yards, five times a day.”
Ethan’s face soured even more than it already had, and Zoey squeezed his shoulder. “The upside for you is that when active, they can’t use luck points either. Regardless, it’s nothing we can do anything about right now,” she said. “As such, I suggest we continue looking for whatever it is Azrael referenced before the sun rises. That is something we can do.”
Ethan nodded, and deep down, despite not having any answers as to who was blocking his Luck points, he was more than happy to let the matter of the disastrous card game drop. He hated that he’d lost so many crowns, but he really hated losing his weapon. Not only was it a fine pistol, and one he felt could be instrumental in surviving whatever foes the future had in store for him, but he also worried how it might be used against him—perhaps fatally this time. After all, he had been on the receiving end of the pistol when he’d squared off against Lord Belmont, and that was an encounter he’d barely survived.
Ethan pushed those thoughts away and concentrated on searching the room. He popped open the chest he knelt at while others continued inspecting the floorboards, walls, and what modest furniture adorned the room. This was the third time he’d opened the chest, and like all the other times he’d peeked in, there wasn’t much to it. Iron hinges squeaked as it opened. The smooth bottom was only an inch thick at the most, as were the walls and lid. As such, there didn’t appear to be any sort of hidden compartment, and there didn’t appear to be any markings that might offer any sort of clue as to the true nature of the Victory.
“Oh, I think I’ve got something,” Zoey said, her voice suddenly energized.
“What?” Ethan said as he shut the lid and looked up. The vampire was kneeling near the head of their bed and ran a finger alongside the bottom panel of the frame.
“There’s a puzzle lock here,” she explained as she pressed the wood with her forefinger. As she did, a two-inch section of the wood sank into the frame and stopped. For the next several seconds, Zoey kept her focus on the bedframe, occasionally prodding it here and there, but nothing happened.
“What are you looking for?” Ethan asked. “Maybe we can help.”
“Anything that moves,” she said, gently rubbing her chin. “The craftsmanship on this lock is exquisite. I barely saw the seam for that first part, and that was after missing it a dozen times. Whatever is next isn’t going to be obvious.”
“Unless that’s it over there,” Maii tossed in. The ahuizotl ambled to the other end of the bed and used the claws on his tail to pull on the trim. A section slid out a few inches, and Maii shot a smug grin. “Looks like it was obv
ious after all.”
Zoey drew back the corners of her mouth and threw up her hands. “I stand corrected. Let’s find the next step, then. We’re definitely onto something.”
The group quickly came together around the bed and kept working it from every angle they could. The third step finally presented itself a half hour later—a spot underneath the feather-filled mattress. The fourth, fifth, and sixth also took about a half hour to find. The seventh, the final, only required half that time. Ethan found a tiny latch hidden at the midpoint of the headboard. And once he flicked it, a small panel fell open above that, revealing a slender compartment with a single sheet of parchment, bound with a thin satin ribbon.
“Do you think it’s a treasure map?” Ethan said, taking the item and hoping it was. Nothing said pirate more than a hidden map to even more hidden treasure.
“No idea,” Zoey said. “Open it up, and let’s see.”
“But don’t read out loud,” Katryna said. When Ethan shot her a confused look, she quickly explained. “If it’s a magic scroll, you might activate it, and I’d rather you not drop a fireball at our feet.”
“Ah, good point,” he said. Ethan slipped off the ribbon and unrolled the parchment before setting it on the table for everyone to see. It held a rough texture and felt cold to the touch. Across the top of the page sat a graceful ink drawing of a twin-mast ship sailing across the water. Beneath that were six words written in elegant calligraphy, which Ethan read. “Know all men by thefe prefents.”
“Those are s’s, not f’s,” Zoey said, sounding amused.
“They are?”
“They are.”
“Why the hell didn’t they just write them as s’s, then?” he asked. “Because they sure as hell look like f’s to me.”
“That’s just how they come sometimes,” she explained.
“Well, that’s just stupid. What moron came up with that?”
“Asks the captain who said ‘thefe prefents,’” Maii teased with a snicker.
The Crew (Captains & Cannons Book 2) Page 17
