Firebrand

A Pair of Fools

More than once during the next day, Martel returned to his room solely to check on his hoard. Leaving it in his room, even under lock, made him uncomfortable. He had never seen this much silver in one place, let alone had ownership of it. He did not even have a purse big enough to hold it all. He would have to buy a big one just so he could transport it all to Shadi. Not a problem, seeing as he could easily afford it.

~

As the day waned, he once again went to the copper lanes with his friend, both of them dressed for the part as before. Like yesterday, Maximilian led them down new paths to reach yet another lair of cards, cubes, and coin.

"This is the bigger place, more silver at stake. I figured we would practice on the smaller places first before taking this on. With a little luck, ha, we will earn all we need tonight."

Considering that Martel only needed eleven silver pieces, he considered that a certainty. In fact, they might not even need a full hour like the other nights, but could leave sooner.

From the outside, the establishment already looked bigger than the ordinary houses surrounding it; once inside, Martel could see further differences from the other places. Besides being just a larger space for gambling, it had many doors leading either to rooms or deeper into the complex. Twice as many people filled the room, and more walked up the stairs to a second floor.

Soon, their scheme proceeded as it had the other nights. Maximilian played dice, being boisterous and generally attracting attention. He cheered his wins without being obnoxious about it and grumbled about his losses without whining. He drank happily one tankard after the other, even buying for his opponent if said player proved to have bad luck. Meanwhile, Martel played the role of the servant, fetching drink for his master and otherwise staying in the background, barely noticed by any.

Half an hour later, Martel stood by his post, ensuring that Maximilian's throw turned into a pair with air, giving him another win. Another man, short and looking unassuming, approached the table. In his hand, he had a small piece of cloth inside the palm, upon which a symbol had been written. He slapped Martel on the back, pressing the fabric against the supposed valet without anyone able to see. Leaning forward, he smiled up at Martel. "Your master seems in good luck tonight!"

Taken aback, Martel did not know how to respond to this jovial outburst from a complete stranger. "I guess," he mumbled, losing his focus on the dice.

The other man smiled again and winked, as if he had made some kind of jest, before he removed himself. But first he made sure, once Martel's attention had returned to the table, to sneak a glance at the fabric in his hand, resting against Martel's back. The symbol had a soft glow to it.

~

Eventually, Martel wondered at how long they had been playing; the gambling den did not have any devices for measuring time, and all windows that might allow observation of the night sky were shuttered. Judging by the stack in front of Maximilian, there was no need to continue, and Martel made a discreet suggestion that they should retire.

"Your master is having a pleasant night, I see."

A little startled, Martel looked towards the speaker. A woman around forty met his eyes. She did not look like any of the staff working to run games or serve drinks, but nor did she look like the typical residents of the copper lanes who might be here playing. She wore sensible clothing such as leather trousers and a hardened jerkin, much like a dock worker. Yet Martel noticed a golden chain around her neck, and each of her hands had a ring of the same metal. Furthermore, her nails did not suggest she did labour for a living, whatever her clothes might insinuate.

"Upstairs, we have rules that allow for greater wagers. Intended for gentlemen such as your master. If he would care to play for more than a few coins at a time…"

"Most kind, but I believe we were about to take our leave –"

"Nonsense!" Maximilian got on his feet while stuffing his winnings into pockets and purses. The colour of his face suggested he had been drinking a little more than just for show. "Lead the way."

As the lady began walking away, Martel leaned in to whisper at his friend. "We have enough!"

"You may have, but I do not." The young nobleman pushed his way past Martel and followed the woman. Left behind, not knowing what else to do, Martel finally trudged after them.

They went up the stairs and down a hallway into the complex. Martel had no sense of where they were exactly, becoming confused in the almost labyrinthine layout of the building.

At length, the woman opened the door and stepped inside. As they followed, Martel saw what appeared to be a study of some sort. A desk stood opposite the entrance with two chairs in front and one behind. Besides that, a drawer in one corner and a chest in the other could be seen, but this was clearly not a place for gambling.

Evidently, Maximilian had reached the same conclusion. "What is this?" he growled. His right hand crossed over to rest of the pommel of his dagger.

Their guide moved around to stand behind the desk, looking at them. She gave them a smile that felt anything but reassuring. "I am Mistress Kerra, the proprietress of this establishment."

Behind them, two men entered to stand by the door. Martel noticed that one of them had brass knuckles on both of his hands, while the others had several daggers with a red-yellow glint to them stuck inside his belt.

Kerra spoke again. "Forgive me the subterfuge, but I thought it best we spoke under more private circumstances, and this seemed the easiest way to get you here. You see, I am aware that you are mages."