by Allan Cole
He nodded and smiled at me as Legg whispered into his ear and I saw two gold teeth with diamonds embedded in them winking from his mouth.
The dinksman tugged me forward and we pushed our way through the crowd of thieves. It was like stumbling on a crow’s treasure hole. Half of Orissa’s wealth seemed to be on display on the backs of the men and women gathered in the cellar. And the other half was in danger from all the conspirators gathered at tables plotting new adventures.
Beauties of both sexes held court in scanty finery that had their scar-faced and crop-eared swains swooning. Hard-faced thugs huddled at the tables in deep conversation. Drunken barrow boys danced to the tune of raucous music coming from a trio of sweating musicians.
And everyone was shouting and pounding on the tables, demanding more drink from the scurrying servers.
We paused to study the action at one of the card pits where they were playing Evocators and Demons. There was a big pot on the table and a dozen rogues and ladies were going at it hot and heavy, slapping their cards down in turn and roaring out their challenge.
“Demon king blasts the dragon!”
“Dream catcher nets the demon king!”
“War Evocator seizes all!”
Around the table they went, slapping down elaborately painted cards of ever increasing power. The dealer passed the first two times they came to him but stayed in the play by upping the house’s stakes, which had to be matched or beaten by each succeeding player. I knew that on the third turn, however, the dealer’d have to make his move, which meant the house would have to double the size of any pot in play. Then the action would become ferocious indeed.
I whispered the liar’s spell and snooped the dealer’s hole card. It was a mere Market Witch, vulnerable to all but the most common peasant and farmer cards. Then I saw him move slightly. Feet shifting under the table, hand coming back to scratch a knuckle. A flickering finger and the Market Witch was exchanged for the all powerful Harlequin. A hole card guaranteed to capture any pot.
It was an expert rendition of the card faker’s twist: card kept trapped between knee and table; slip the knee back when you require the card and switch one for the other. With no one the wiser.
I shook my head at Legg. “Don’t feel lucky at cards, friend,” I said. “Whyn’t we give the dice a go?”
Just then the dealer called out: “Harlequin fools them all! House takes the pot!”
His announcement was accompanied by loud groans from the losers. When the dinksman heard that he looked most disappointed at my refusal. But he quickly recovered, saying I ought to go with my feelings and he led me to the dice pits.
Legg joined us at the center pit where the largest crowd was gathered to watch the shooters shake the bones and bounce them off the point wall. He was accompanied by the squat man I’d seen him talking to.
“Sarn’t Rali,” he said. “Like yer to meet an old dear mate of mine and owner of this here fine ‘stablishment.”
The squat man grinned, exposing his golden teeth. “Fiorox’s my handle, Sarn’t Rali,” he said. “Owned this place near onto ten years now. Military’s al’ays been welcome, I’m proud to say. Can’t do enough for those who wear the uniform of our proud city.”
I breathed boozy fumes on him as we touched palms in greeting and slurred my words as I expressed pleasure in meeting him. He smiled wider, exposing a broad tongue with a naked woman tattooed on it.
Firox would be my second target.
He said, “Legg’s braggin’ that you and the Dink are gonna challenge the house,” he said.
Legg snickered. “All in good sport, of course,” he said. “I pride meself on me sportsmanship.”
“Of course, of course,” Fiorox said, laughing back. The dinksman joined the laughter. And pretty soon all four of us were chuckling, although it was plain that the only joke being made was entirely on me.
“What’s the limit?” I asked Fiorox.
“What’s your pleasure?”
“My pleasure,” I said, “is to take all you got!”
And, oh, how they all laughed at that.
Four hours later I was the only one of us still laughing.
Most of the room was gathered at my pit, cheering me on and marveling at the great pile of gold heaped in my stakes box. Fiorox, the owner was grim; casting evil looks at an equally glum Legg, while the dinksman whispered reassurances in his ear.
I’d just made a measuring toss and the dicewoman, a long-nailed trollop in a dress that exposed her rouged breasts, handed me back the bones.
“Six!” she declared. “Five sticks and a spot.” She rattled off my choices loud enough for all to hear. “Any combination’s even money. Hard way’s double. High mark bones is triple. What’s yer pleasure?”
I ignored the advice shouted from the crowd, and paused to consider. I made a drunken show of it, taking a long pull on my constantly replenished tumbler of strong but indeterminate spirits. “Leshh go th’ hard way,” I said. “Five sticks n’ a spot. On a high point wall toss. Nothin’ lesser’ll do.”
That drew some gasps and gapes from the crowd. I was betting I’d make six the hardest way possible - five slashes on the sticks die and one dot on the spot die. Not only that, but I’d bounce the boneset off the highest mark on the point wall. To add to the drama of the moment I made a broad sweeping gesture at my stakes box. Nearly falling over in the process.
“All of it!” I declared. “Alla friggin’ it!”
The crowd screamed in pleasure at my daring. Calling out news of my bet to those too far away to see or hear. The dicewoman frowned, then looked up at Fiorox. He hesitated. Legg whispered to him and he finally nodded agreement.
But then he said, “House calls change’a bones.”
My rogue friends crowed disapproval. All knew the fix was in and that the house would pass me a pair of treated dice. Some even cried out warnings to me.
I waved at them, pretending I didn’t hear. “Lessh go!” I cried, sweeping up the new bones the dicewoman handed me. I glanced at them. Saw the tell-tale overly long face on the spot die. Noted the waxy sheen on the stick die. I grinned. “Lookssh good ‘nough t’ do th’ job,” I said, rolling them up in my fist.
I bounced the fixed dice off the highest mark on the point wall, shouting, “Gimme a six, sweethearts - the hard way!”
In my mind I guided the dice in their fall, coaxing a five from one and a single spot from the other. They hit, I felt the long die tumble off the mark I set and I gritted my teeth and forced it back. The dice came to a rest. All was silent as the crowd considered the impossible. Five slash marks on one die. A single spot on the other. The dicewoman gaped at me.
Then someone called out from the crowd with a voice full of awe: “A six, by the gods, a six! Five sticks ‘n a spot to boot!”
And the whole gambling hall went wild. I saw Fiorox whispering furiously at Legg and the dinksman. They shook their heads violently, declaring their innocence. I knew they’d be assuring him that I was the one that was to be skinned. Not the proud owner of the Boar’s Breath.
I stuffed my winnings into my pack and hoisted it over my shoulder. I made like a clown and pretended to stagger under the weight of it to the delight of all the well-wishers. And to the mortification of the bejeweled Fiorox, whose gold it’d been.
“Tired a dice,” I announced. “Goin’ home, now! Go to sleep.”
There were groans of disappointment. Fiorox’s face was purple with anger. Legg and the dinksman leaped into the pit beside me. “You can’t quit now, Sarn’t,” Legg pleaded.
“Why th’ frig not?” I said. “We’re rich ‘nough, ain’t we? Split it whitcha soon’s we get outta here.”
Legg clasped me about the shoulder and gave me a squeeze as if he were my wise old uncle. “But think of the streak yer on, sister,” he admonished me. “Yer can’t quit now or it’ll be a... a... a insult t’ th’ gods, it’ll be. That’s what!”
Fiorox was in a murderous mood and I saw sev
eral of his thugs joining him as he fixed his bloodshot eyes on Legg and the dinksman.
Then to my companion’s immense relief I said, quite loudly, “Wouldn’t wanna pissorf th’ gods.” I raised my stubbed arm, displaying the stump bowl. “Done it afore, by damned. Paid me back good, they did.”
Fiorox and his thugs paused. I knew what was going on. Legg and the dinksman had steered me to the Boar’s Breath for a good shearing. The arrangement would be that they’d get a nice percentage from the house for bringing me in. But to Fiorox it now looked like my companions might have conspired with me to rob him.
Fiorox would’ve probably done us all then. Had his thugs cut our throats, lift our purses and be done with us. But the crowd of my new rogue friends was too enthralled with me for him to chance it. They’d rip the place apart.
I made as if I were turning back to take up the dice again, then to my companions’ alarm, I turned back and started out of the pit.
“Pissorf, or not,” I announced, “old Rali’s through with tossin’ dice. Got them bones rattlin’ in my head somethin’ fierce.”
I clambered out of the pit to the cheers of the crowd and advanced on Fiorox, my worried friends close at my heels.
He forced a broad smile. Crowd or not, he was desperate to get his money back. “Friggin’ fantastic,” he said. “Never seen such a run.” He gave my arm a comradely squeeze. “Butcha gotta give me a chance to win some of my money back.”
“It’d be rude not to, Sarn’t,” the dinksman advised.
“Wouldn’t be right not t’ give such a fine gentleman as Fiorox one more go,” Legg agreed.
I belched, saying, “Tole, you. I’m tired a dice.”
“Then how ‘bout some cards, my friend?” Fiorox suggested. “Bet th’ deck’s good ‘n hot for you.”
I shook my head. “Don’t like cards,” I said. “Not me game. Nev’r has been.”
Fiorox’s thugs crowded so close I could feel the outlines of their daggers beneath their clothes.
“Oh, be a sport, Sarn’t,” Fiorox said. “I’ll deal the cards meself. Make certain you get a fair shake.”
He was smiling but there was death in his eyes. He took my arm and guided me toward one of the card pits.
“Oookayy,” I said. Then I laughed and clapped him on the back. “Yer a goodun, yer are,” I said. “Ya deserve ‘nother go at me.”
The whole house followed us to the center pit, which was emptied by Fiorox’s thugs. Someone helped me sit at the table across from Fiorox. Someone else fetched me a fresh drink. I smelled the sharp odor of knockout drops rising from the tumbler.
I raised the tumbler to Fiorox in a drunken toast. “Here’s to ya,” I said. At the same time I cast the spell I’d used all night to change the spirits to plain water. Making the spell just a little stronger to eliminate the knockout drops. I downed the drink to loud huzzahs from the crowd who’d been amazed as much by my capacity as my luck.
Then I dumped my winnings onto the table. “Yer such a goodun,” I said to Fiorox, “I’ll bet it all. Give ya th’ best chance I can.”
Fiorox was stunned by my move. He eyed the big pile, almost all of which had originally been his money. I strongly doubted he had enough left in the house bank to match it. I saw him lift his head, eyes sweeping the crowd. A tall fellow with a look of weary royalty stood at the edge of the crowd. His rich clothes, imperious bearing and the wide space granted by the surrounding crowd made his importance in Cheapside plain.
I buried a smile as I mentally scratched him down as my next mark. I was getting very close to my final goal.
The thug chieftain nodded at Fiorox. He was backing his play. A bearded thief, obviously in the regal fellow’s employ, fetched a hefty purse. He upended it and the crowd gasped as a stream of rare gems poured out, glowing in the dim light.
Fiorox chortled and shoved a handful of gems into the center. “You’re on, Sarn’t, ” he said.
And he began to deal two hands of Evocators and Demons, the toughest, smartest and most grueling gambling game in Orissa. In the highest circles of the decadent not only fortunes had been lost, but in ancient times lords had gambled the freedom of their entire family on the turn of a card, condemning third and fourth cousins to slavery.
I grinned drunkenly, picking up my cards one by one. I adjusted my patch and got a good peek at Fiorox’s hand with the ethereye. My host was a skillful cheat and although my cards were worthy, his were better thanks to his shifty shuffling and bottom dealing. I concentrated, reached into nothingness and changed my cards for a set that would beat his if skillfully played.
I called on all my old talents as a barracks card sharp and tipped the action toward my trap with every card I slapped down. I finessed him into a classic coven switch. I played the Market Witch and he gleefully banged that with his Acolyte card. But I closed the jaws of my trap by slapping down a Spell Trove, increasing the Witch’s power and blocking Fiorox’s action.
Then I allowed the game to see-saw for several hours. Sometimes Fiorox was ahead. But mostly I kept the lead, drinking all that was given me, letting my eyes fall to half-mast as if I could barely keep them open. Fiorox grew angrier and angrier. Shouting for new cards with every deal. Screaming at his people for no apparent reason. Although he and I both knew that the cards I was playing weren’t the same as the hands he’d dealt me he couldn’t figure out how I was doing it. And he kept waiting for me to collapse from the loaded drinks I was being fed. Which was another puzzler for poor Fiorox who’d spent a lifetime dosing drunks and rolling them.
But I had him pinned by greed and fear of his backer as he was forced to shove gem after dazzling gem forward, only to lose again. And each time I gambled all my winnings, giving him constant hope that he could recover his money and his pride.
The important rogue had joined us. He stood behind Fiorox, flanked by the bearded man and another thug. Each time Fiorox lost another hand and his jewels became my property he’d grimace and tap Fiorox lightly on the shoulder. And with each tap Fiorox became paler. More frightened. More determined to win it all back because now the stakes included his own well-being.
Then the key moment finally came. I waited until there was nothing left for Fiorox and his backer to bet. The center of the table was covered with coins and gems. Fiorox had set me up for the kill. He’d dealt me a weak hand. I’d surprised him by playing it as badly as possible. For the first time the cards he’d planted were being turned up like they were supposed to. He became confident, whispering to the Regal Rogue that this time he had me.
The rogue gave him his head. I knew why, because just to make certain Fiorox had set up the twist. He had a Harlequin card trapped between his knee and the table, waiting for the switch.
After conferring with the Regal Rogue he let the play pass twice, effectively doubling the house’s risk.
Once again I’d relied on the Market Witch and Spell Trove to block him. I had one card left, a mere Goosegirl. Which he knew since he’d made certain that’s what I got. Thanks to my ethereye I knew he was holding the same card, which made us even in the play. But in Evocators and Demons evens is winners for the house. Fiorox thought he was safe. All he had to do was switch his Goosegirl for the Harlequin and I was done.
We both slapped our last cards on the table, face down. I looked him the eye, grinning as I turned my card over. He laughed victoriously, turning his. And without looking at either card he reached for the pot.
“Not’sss-so fasst, my frien’’,” I slurred. I shoved my card forward. “Gots a Harlequin, I does,” I announced. “An’ Harlequin makes th’ witch with th’ trove a Chief Evocator.”
“You’re drunk,” he snarled. “All’s ya got is a Goosegirl.” He pointed at my card. “See? A friggin’ Goosegirl.”
Then he gawped. Instead of a Goosegirl I was showing a Harlequin. His jaw dropped further when he looked at his own card and saw the milky faced maid driving her geese to market.
“Friggin’ Goosegirl�
�s right,” I chortled. “But yer th’ one holdin’ her!”
There was a near riot in the Boar’s Breath that night. The crowd went insane at my victory. My winnings were collected and put in my bag and I was lofted on their shoulders and carried to the bar. I was everyone’s hero and it was Sarn’t this and Sarn’t that and “lemme buy yer anot’er drink, Sarn’t, ‘cause we ain’t ever seen cards played like that!”
I laughed and drank with good cheer and dipped deep into my bags to haul out fistsful of money to shower on them and show what a generous sort I was. Soon I was hurling coins at people with every toss, and I made those with increasing frequency. At the same time I worked a round bundle loose from the bottom and slipped it into my cloak pocket.
Then the moment I’d expected came and when I raised my glass a shocking silence greeted my latest loud toast.
