“That’s the last one, boy.” Tan gestured Garon through the open door of the warehouse and turned to tick the load off on the ledger he kept beside the door. There was no lighting inside of the warehouse, besides that which filtered between the rough slats, but here in the doorway the sunlight was enough to write by.

Garon pushed his cart into the shadowy warehouse to store it in its place along the back wall. It wasn’t dark enough to bother carrying a lantern with him, especially since pushing the cart one-handed was cursed difficult, but it was dark enough that he moved slowly and hoped that the other men on the crew had maintained the care they were supposed to and kept the floor clear of debris.

There were three men sitting on crates along the back wall. At the distance he was standing at when he put away his cart their faces were too shadowed to tell who they were. He was surprised anyone would choose to linger here when Tan was releasing them from work now. Most of the men were outside in the sun. But when he got close enough to understand what they were saying, he realized why they had chosen to have their conversation here.

“I’m more of a mind to hit up the scarlet quarter, myself,” one of them said. Garon could tell by his voice that it was Dee, though he was so long and lanky Garon might have guessed his identity by his shape alone. “If I’m to empty my purse I’d like to have got something for it.”

Another laughed and answered in a gruff tone. “You’ll have nothing to show for it, either way, most likely. Me, I’m feeling lucky. The stars are aligned, you might say.”

That was why they’d taken this talk into the shadows. Tan didn’t forbid carousing after work, but he was a straight-laced family man who looked with furrowed brows on activities like gambling and wenching. As long as the men didn’t run afoul of the city guard he said nothing about it, but he obviously didn’t approve, and anyone with sense didn’t talk about it in front of him.

Garon hadn’t ever joined them in their partying. He didn’t share Tan’s judgmental attitude about drinking, gambling, and carousing himself, exactly. He’d just never really understood it, and if it earned him points with the boss to walk the straight and narrow, all the better. If it made the other men think of him as an uptight brown-noser, oh well. He wasn’t here to make friends.

Of course, it would be nice to have some friends. The thought brought him up short when he would have turned to go, his hand still resting on the handle of his pushcart. And now that he thought of it, maybe there was something else to be gained by going out with “the boys”. It might in fact be the best way to make some contact with the more unsavory elements that he’d decided he needed to investigate. Obviously since Tan kept his crew apart from any such activity during work hours, he’d have to do something to investigate. If anyone was likely to be out barhopping, it should be the criminal types, shouldn’t it?

He stood still long enough that Dee noticed him. He stood and stretched, the whole length of him looking almost impossibly tall. “Did Tan send you in here for one of us, Garon? What are you waiting for?”

Garon let go of the cart and approached their small group. Once away from the glare from the doors he could make out their faces easily. Dee stood with his thumbs tucked into his pockets, looming above Trev, who was the one with the gruff voice, and a baby-face that didn’t go with it, who had said he was feeling lucky. Ulrick, a man who, scarred and sun-worn nearly to leather, was worse for wear of his near-fifty years on the river, sat on the other side of Dee. He had many tales to go with his years, and shared them freely.

“Tan didn’t send me,” Garon said. “I heard you. I think I might be having a lucky day, myself, is all. If you don’t mind, I thought I might join you.”

“That decides it,” Trev said. He hopped up from his packing-crate with a slap to the thigh for emphasis. “Garon’s coming along, and we’re going to Hester’s. Don’t look so disappointed, Dee, the ladies will still be there next time!” He slapped Dee on the shoulder as they filed toward the door, though he had to reach up to do it. Ulrick threw an arm over Garon’s shoulder and they fell in behind the other two.

“Lucky day, eh?” Ulrick said. “I’ve said I’ve seen more than one of those in my time, though more of the other kind, mind. Still, did I ever tell you of the time I went twenty rounds of find-the-starling with a slickster in Belir?”

Garon had heard the story, although he remembered it being fifteen rounds the last time. He knew mentioning it would not head Ulrick off, so he simply shook his head.

“Ah, that was a good day, that one,” Ulrick said, falling into his storytelling cadence. “You see, I’d watched him play two men before me, and he didn’t know it, but I’d spotted his confederate in the crowd.”

The walk went quickly with Garon listening to Ulrick’s tale. He was a good storyteller, of the sort that you didn’t mind hearing the same tale more than once. The tales grew in the telling, with new details and embellishments, so it was likely to be better each time you heard it, anyway.

The room was hot and smoky and loud. Garon edged forward out of the way of a woman carrying a tray of drinks, turning sideways so he didn’t bump into the table the players were gathered around. Garon was not playing himself. All the most interesting games seemed to have a buy-in that was higher than Garon wanted to drop. He wasn’t the gambling type, and despite what he had told the others was not feeling particularly lucky. Pleading ignorance of the rules, he hung back to watch while Ulrick swept the table at a game that involved both cards and dice. There was a reason the man had such interesting stories; he was a person of surprising and diverse skills. Garon was beginning to get the idea of how the game was played, but not well enough to feel confident joining in, especially not with Ulrick at the table. He was about to look for other possibilities when Ulrick shoved back his chair and cleared his winnings from the table with a sweep of his broad arm.

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“Your chance to have a crack at ‘em, lad,” he said. “I believe I’ve worn this bunch down enough. Let’s give ‘em a chance to win it back, eh?”

Garon nodded as he slid into Ulrick’s chair. It was probably for the best that Ulrick was pushing him into it. He wasn’t going to establish camaraderie with the shady criminal element in Laed without actually joining in. He might as well have gone to his usual table at the cafe as stand silent watching others gamble. It would be nice, however, to finish the evening still being able to afford his usual meal. He didn’t want to lose every coin he had.

At least the buy-in on this table was fairly low. Garon tossed two coppers to the dealer and in return received his first three cards and first roll. The game proceeded with a series of bids, both on your own dice rolls and on the other players, before culminating in the reveal of the hidden cards which, when added to the already-known dice rolls, decided the winner of the round. It was confusing, especially adding in the “trick” rolls that negated cards in other players hands, like the fact that rolling an eight the hard way on the dice meant any eight at the table no longer counted as an eight, but still counted in its suit. At the end of the first round Garon was surprised, even after everything was revealed, to see the face of the player directly opposite him darken as the coins were pulled in by the man on his right. Garon kept it to himself that he had thought the first man had won.

A few hands later that same man glared at Garon’s gathering piles of coins over the tops of his cards. “I can’t read you, boy. And I don’t like surprises.”

Garon kept silent. He didn’t see any value in mentioning that it made it a little easier to bluff when he wasn’t ever quite sure whether the hands he held were good or not.

The man glared a little longer, but when Garon didn’t seem about to say anything he finally huffed and dropped his cards. “Take it,” he said, crossing his arms. “Better that than have you pull my win out from under me again.”

“I’ve told you before, you don’t belong at the table.” The voice came from right over Garon’s shoulder, and he ducked slightly in surprise at it. He hadn’t realized anyone was standing that close. “You haven’t got the spine to gamble.”

Garon’s opponent leveled a finger at the speaker. “I may be no gambler, man, but don’t question my spine. I’ve got more spine than a camel.”

Garon shifted to the side of his chair, both so he could look at the newcomer without craning his neck and to get a little bit out of the line of fire. He didn’t like feeling like that finger was pointed at him. He was startled to see that the critic was the very same scarred, blue-eyed man he had seen on Mala’s ship. Maybe this was his lucky day, for here was the very man he was looking for. The only thing that would be luckier would be for Kiri to walk in that door right now. And maybe for this dispute to resolve quickly and without violence.

“Camel?” The scarred man’s voice dripped with contempt.

“Had to come up with something you’d understand,” the other said with a defensive shrug. “Being from the desert, I know you aren’t too familiar with our animals.”

So he was from the desert? Was it possible this man was not just a business contact for Useph, but actually worked for him?

The scarred man considered the other for a moment. Strong emotion flickered darkly in his eyes, but he suppressed it. His lip curled upward. “Put your finger down, you look ridiculous.”

Defeated, and knowing it, the other dropped his hand to the table. The scarred man turned to leave but couldn’t resist a parting shot. He glanced down at Garon, who was trying to disappear into his chair. “Watch out for that one lad, he cheats.”

Garon gulped and ducked his head, moving to gather his winnings as quickly as he could so he could get out of there. As he reached across the table the glint of metal caught his eye. The angry gambler was pulling a knife from his sleeve.

“Look out!” Garon yelled, throwing himself to the side as the knife flew. He fell, chair and all, to the floor. The scarred man, eyes wide, stepped out of the knife’s path the moment Garon called out. His reflexes were impressive. The knife finished its path with a thunk, embedding harmlessly, but ominously, in the wooden wall, vibrating with the leftover energy from its flight.

Seemingly emerging from the woodwork, two large, blue-dressed men descended on the knife-throwing man and dragged him away from the table. Garon decided not to worry about what they were going to do with him. He was surprised by a hand hovering before his eyes. He followed it up to the scarred man, looking down on Garon with an assessing narrow-eyed look on his face. Belatedly realizing what the hand was for, Garon grabbed on and let the other man pull him to his feet.

“Thank you,” the scarred man said. “That knife would’ve left a mark. Meet me in front of the dockmaster’s at sundown tomorrow and I’ll have a fitting reward for you.”

“Um, of course, thank you.” Garon stumbled over his words. “I mean, you’re welcome. I won’t watch a man be murdered in front of me if I can stop it.”

“Whatever the reason,” the scarred man said. “Tomorrow.” He settled his long cloak on his shoulders. Perhaps it had been knocked askew, though Garon couldn’t see a difference from when he started and when he was done. The cloak swept the floor as the man left. Two other men fell in behind him, close enough they must have been with him, although Garon couldn’t see that he had summoned them in any way. Garon decided it was time to find Ulrick and the others. He’d had enough with gambling.