It is just past noon, and Jules and I find ourselves in strident march towards Marnie’s Shack, a pub by the shores of the inland sea. Its haphazard architecture clamors for attention by the low-rising cliffside with foamy waves, one side of the three-storey shack nestled by the stone bank, and the other supported by various wooden and corrugated iron beams jutting out from the waters. It’s an eatery and a pub, and an inn too, seeing the comings and goings of at least two hundred denizens within its bosoms every hour, run by a feisty and brutish but friendly middle-aged woman whose name graces its signboards. For a ten minute walk from my shop, the scenery is a welcome change as the houses and stores of various roofs clear up on the western side of the city of Serien, marred only by the overcast sky.

“AHOY! Amelie!” Marnie exclaims over the crowd as I enter through the door. “Haven’t seen ya in ages! Ya doin’ a’right?”

“Hi Marnie,” I answer sluggishly, shuffling my way towards her to place a drink.

“What’s with those bags under ya eyes?”

“Just tired.”

“Tired? Got not ‘nuff sleep?”

“Something like that.”

“Y’er flower shop doing well?”

“My flower shop? Oh –” I pause, recalling that I’ve told everyone that I’m running a flower shop so I can make it a cover for my Dream Merchanting business, “I guess I can’t really complain, haha, ha...”

“And Jules too!” she sights him, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him for a peck on the cheek like a doting mother from behind the counter. Her red mane-like hair sports minute tendrils of fire. Her Maht is Fire, after all, with a personality to boot.

“Hi Marnie, good to see you. It’s really been ages.”

“A good look’er and you spend all day working! You should show y’er face more often, lad!”

“Anyway,” Marnie continues, leaning in mischievously so only I can hear, “ya two have been together for how long now?”

She nudges my chest with her elbow, eyebrows raising and lowering.

“Why does it seem like you want us to get married?” I retort in jest, arms folded. “He’s only my assistant, you know.”

“A looky handsome good young man as ‘only’ an assistant! For 3 years straight! Or! My, my, y’er trialing him for a bit before ya take him on? Amelie ya sly nymph, ye!”

“What? No... that’d be super weird. Anyways, I know my way around stuff, Marnie, I’m twenty-seven...”

“A perfect age to get together for realsies, then!”

“Oh stop it,” I remark, brushing her ruddy hand aside, “is there a poque game on right now?”

“Right now? It’s on al’ the time. What’s gotten into ya, Amelie?”

“Oh, right...” I stammer, shaking my head. “It’s, uh...”

Marnie’s expression darkens. She lowers her voice, leaning into me with an expression of a worried mother. “Wait... don’t tell me ya’ve been doing Eisen, are ya? I know that expression anywhere. Those bags under ya eyes and that look of cromulent despair,” she remarks. “This why ya want to play poque? To pay someone?”

“That’s not really what the word ‘cromulent’ means...”

She caught on with such speed about Eisen that I find my answer catching in my throat.

“And not Eisen, no, would hate to do that. My mum and dad made me swear not to. Poque’s just for another bill I’ve got to pay.”

“Oh, a’right...” she trails off, wiping a series of mugs with her washing cloth, clearly noticing the two brown briefcases that Jules has in his hand. “Anyway, ya in a peckish mood? Seeing ya’ve dropped by once in a blue moon, the eats are on me tonight.”

“No Marnie, I can’t have you do –”

“Oh, shut up, Amelie. What ya in the mood for?”

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“...Some Sole meunière?”

“There’s ma girl. And for ye, Jules?”

“Just some fish and chips. Thank you.”

“SOLE MEUNIÈRE AND FISH AND CHIPS!” Marnie roars into her jumble of copper and brass tubes, shaped like a speaker and protruding towards the kitchen. She closes her eyes and feels their metal network up the various parts of her shack, feeling for empty spots. “Eh, the second floor’s got ya. Should be a table free near the seaside. Have fun!”

We bid her our thanks and are on the way off when –

“Oh yeah, and Amelie! If ya want to play poque, today’s ‘un ain’t on the second, it’s on the third!”

“Thank you!”

“So,” Jules leans in on our way up the wooden stairs outside, “no change to our plan?”

“No change. You’re going to be my eyes. And you’re going to signal me through here when to hold or to fold,” I answer, flashing the Tenaliton ring nestled snugly on my finger.

Tenaliton. A pretty heavy metal. It was incredibly hard to manipulate from afar, let alone vibrate. Jules was the only person I met who could do so.

So naturally, this was going to serve as our advantage.

“Remember the steps?” I inquire to make sure.

“One short vibration means you can make a better hand than the ones next to you. Two short vibrations means their hands are better than yours. One long vibration means there’s someone with an equal hand as you do. Two long vibration means I couldn’t see the other people’s hands. You decide when to hold or fold, right?”

“You’ve got it,” I say.

“Do be careful,” cajoles Jules.

“It’s only seventeen-hundred we need to scrounge. We’ll be fine,” I assure him, as the food arrives on our table. “Go get changed.”

I shuffle my way to the poque table where five others are already in the midst of a game. The dealer of the house, Vascomb, flicks an uneven eye towards me under his spectacles.

“Spectators to the back, please.”

“I’m here to play.”

He looks up again, adjusting his spectacles to take a closer look. “You understand this is real Denaros?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I affirm, clinking my two briefcases of coins.

“Very well, this game’s almost over, we’ll get you in.”

* * *

It’s not what you don’t know that gets you – it’s for you know for sure that just ain’t so, my father once told me.

And his words toll like truth as I step shakily down the wooden stairs, my briefcase empty. I thought I had read everyone on that table. The red-shawl woman, the brawny man, the skinny man, the frog-mouthed man, the impeccable gentleman with the beard, even the Dealer himself. Jules’ diligent information relays through the Tenaliton ring gave me the upper hand for 21 straight rounds, slowly making the Denaros we needed to pay off this month’s dues to the Bloods, lest our shop get repossessed with us thrown out into the street.

It was late afternoon, and I had studiously scrounged a net sum of 1,480 Denaros, winning some, losing some, but having climbed probabilistically in my favor thanks to Jules alerting me via the Tenaliton ring. Just 220 Denaros more awaited me and Jules in fulfilling the payment to the Bloods. Just one more match, perhaps.

But I lost it all to the impeccable gentleman with the beard.

Jules waits for me to clear the landing and get outside for a clear air before he grabs the briefcase to feel its weight.

“Amelie, what in the MAHA happened? Are you – are you crazy?” He gestures wildly, trying not to howl.

I cannot even say sorry. The loss of nearly ten-thousand and hundred Denaros makes me feel as if someone took a bat and swung it at my skull. We had only needed two-hundred and twenty more.

I huddle down onto the raised wooden platform.

The brawny man from the matches before marches without knowing, taking a swig from his cigar. He spots me and Jules together, briefcase in hand.

“Wait a minute...” he says, eyes narrowing in recognition. “I saw you’s sitting at the spectators.” Without warning, ripping off an unlit metal lamp and throwing it at Jules’ direction.

Jules stops it by instinct mid-air.

“Why you – you Metaler! You used the ring on her finger to help her cheat, didn’t you?” The brawny man strides, grabbing Jules’ lapel, driving a fistful of fire into his face. Jules dodges and ducks out under him.

“I OUGHT TO THROW YOU INTO THE SEA, YOU THIEVES!” He roars, rushing at me with a full tackle which I cannot possibly dodge, but two figures dressed in black trip him over mid-sprint, making him wedge his shin against the doorframe.

“What the – what in the Naraks are you –”

“You’ve got the wrong man and woman,” says a bald burly man dressed in black, towering over the brawny man.

The brawny man, holding out his fists, holler at the new adversary, getting up. “You their guard or somethin’? You wanna go right now? YOU WANNA GO?”

“If I was, you’d be dead. Now you either have a choice to run off and shut up about the whole thing, or I throw you into the sea.”

An absolute aura of menace emanates from the giant, burly man. At his words, the brawny man’s eyes dart back and forth between me, Jules, the giant man, and the smaller guard in black spectacles blocking his way from the exit.

“You – you both –” the brawny man stammers, assessing his choice.

“Should I also mention that you have no proof of this ring business you accuse the two of?” says the black-spectacled man, raising to reveal two piercing eyes of violet. “We can take it to trial if you want. But that’ll cost you money and time. You don’t really have those two on you, I think.”

“I – we – this –” the brawny man stutters, his rage fizzling away. “Fine. You all little corrupt knuckleheads keep dancin’. One day everything will catch up to ya!”

He gets up and shoves past them both, muttering angrily as he bolts out of Marnie’s by the far side, his ego bruised.

“Lady, the Madam is looking for you,” says the giant guard dressed in a black suit, helping me and Jules up by the arm.

“Marnie?”

“No, we are not her guards,” the bespectacled man answers, making a gentle bow. “We are retinues of another distinguished guest here. Please, if you may, follow us.”

We hesitate a bit.

“It’s not in your disfavor, miss,” he assures, motioning us between himself and the giant guard behind us. “Now then.”