A Gambling Man

The sun had begun to fade and evening was at the gates.

The cobbled streets were packed to the brim, as laughter rang in the air, under the orange glow of the setting sun. The hills seemed to loom ever darker while lanterns were lit to ward against the coming of the night.

I sat, patiently, waiting for Yandar to finish his stew: tapping the wooden stall to keep some semblance of warmth alive. I huddled deeper into my cloak and donned my hood, as frigid winds arrived and the sun died.

Yandar rose, thanking the man candidly as I stood upon on weary legs, and we began to trudge through the crowds littering the market. The inns and taverns were akin to siren songs of yore, as farmers, miners and craftsmen alike came in droves, yearning for ale and company.

Yandar made for an inquisitive sight, standing head and shoulders above the crowd. The peacekeeper received many a greetings and even more glances as he spoke, his foreign accent like a stone, even in the crowds. He returned all greetings with unabated joy.

I led us into a silent alleyway, twisting and turning into the night as the labyrinth of the town seemed to consume us whole. I stopped, twisting into a dead end and listened for sound.

“Alright, Yandar, no one is listening. What did the priest say?”

The giant of a man seemed to huddle into his cloak, as he shook his head, his long hair swaying in the cool breeze. “The man of grace spoke of the sword. Said it punctured the heart. Nothing else, Yacob.”

My face ticked into a frown and I answered his silent question in turn. “The herbalist found no traces of poison. I let him have a look at the kitchen and pantry. The herbalist found nothing.”

The giant's forehead was furrowed and his face in a rictus of consternation. “The man of grace has his silver for silence and burial rites. We will speak of death, come dawn.”

“It doesn’t make any sense, Yandar. The death, the sword and the crow. None of it makes any sense.” My voice was heavy, as I rubbed my temples. “I’m always up for a chase, get the blood flowing but this….”

Yandar stood silent in the dark as I rubbed my fingers together to keep the cold at bay, he was clearly thinking of his words. He spoke in care. “We must speak to those who may hold grudges against Alarien. Ask where they have been seen or what they have been doing.”

I closed my eyes for a second. “And then what Yandar, do we find ourselves a lamb for the slaughter?”

The man shook his head. “We do what we can. The council will learn of Alarien’s death. They will ask me to explain. I will ask for more men to find the culprit.”

I scoffed. “They will hold a vote to replace him, another vote to see how much they can loot from his remains.” I rubbed my forehead. “I will speak to Manros, having one’s father hung, drawn and quartered lends to a slight grudge and he’s had the time to let it fester.” And the gold. “He still gambles his nights away?”

Yandar nodded his head, “Gambles and drinks like a man dying from thirst. He is on the eastside, near the Red Inn.” Yandar shook his head softly. “A woman spoke in grief about his violence against her husband. He told me he was owed a debt.”

I blinked, “Truly?”

“25 lashes, broken teeth and a broken nose. The council's mandate was held ‘each to his own business under written writ’. The man had agreed, his would be moons of indentured servitude. Reminds me of home.” Yandar’s frown was prominent, even under the shadows of the alley.

I shrugged: “A contract is a contract, Yandar. The man made his due and actions have consequences.”

Yandar sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Might does not make right.”

My lips tugged upwards into a smile. “If you say so, old friend. You best get home. A rather hectic day tomorrow, see to your rest. The cold is biting.”

Yandar nodded, “Walk softly Yacob. In peace” His fist, held against his heart in farewell.

I smiled. “In Peace.” I watched the giant of man trudge through the alleyways until he disappeared.

I moved eastward in the labyrinth of alleys.

My thoughts were twisting and turning to the hangman’s noose. The council could not let Alarien’s death go unanswered. Some poor fool would be swaying by the week’s end. The poor man’s fortune would be poison rather than the axe or the rope.

The Red Inn came into sight, as I slowly emerged back into the lit cobbled pathways. The inn was a grand thing, crafted from oak and exuding life and warmth in the night. The clear sky, filled with stars shone upon the oak tree behind the Red Inn.

I spotted a gateway leading to the courtyard of the inn. The gateway was open, as I checked, entering the courtyard of the inn.

The courtyard was green, filled with grass and shrubs. Men were gathered around the trunk of the oak tree, sitting, drinking and laughing as they gambled, placing cards and dice on the table.

A lone lantern hung above them, on a thick branch of the oak tree, swaying softly with the wind.

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Distinctive fiery red hair stood stark in the crowd. Manros was laughing uproariously, his scarred nose all the sharper with his laughter. He was shouting louder than the crowd, jeering at the dirt covered man. “Bet you fool, bet!”

The crowd jeered the hesitant man, who seemed to be looking around, again and again. The man squirmed before speaking. “6”.

He rolled the two dice and I could not catch sight of the number. But by the look on his face, he had just lost a considerable wager. The man spoke, panicked and took a drink from the pitcher. “I..uh. I’ll need time. Time to pay, don’t have the gold with me. But I’ll get it!”

Manros’s face twisted, his teeth like sharpened knives in the night, as he smiled. “That’s not how this works, friend.” He laughed, spreading his arms, gesturing to the men around him, circling like vultures.

He leaned forward, as the nervous man sat still, frozen. “You wagered and you lost. All gambling men have to pay the price. All of us. And you’ve wagered many times.” His smile was an unpleasant jeering thing, a mocking smile.

The dirt covered man seemed to wilt and I cleared my throat. The small crowd turned my way, as I removed my hood and walked closer to the light.

The unkempt man took the chance to scurry away, speaking all the while. “I’ll come back on the morrow. I will!” The man was chasing his losses, for another chance it seemed. His body a flurry of motion as he left, nearly tripping over thin air.

My interruption had Manros leaning back, his face stark against the swaying lantern, in the din of night. His eyes were sharp and glaring.

The silence continued for long seconds, as a man on Manros' right spoke to break the tension. ““What can we do for ye, Yacob? Want to play a game?” The well dressed young man was smiling widely, ear to ear.

I shook my head: “Don’t mind an old man, lads. Just wanderin’ about, running errands.” I moved the now vacant seat, backing it from the crowd, the table, before sitting on it slowly.

Manros smiled, nodding his head slowly. His eyes stayed their glare: “Oh, you do. You do have a habit of wandering where you're not wanted.” His fist was tapping the sturdy oak in some semblance of rhythm. He looked at the crowd around him, his smile stiff as he looked back at me.

“Oh, Yacob. Where are my manners, my pa always said, a man ought to have good manners. But you, oh you would know that. Wouldn’t you?”

He opened his palms, gesturing to the men around him. “Well go get him something to drown in. Hurry!” He was clicking his fingers, as 2 men moved to his command, leaving just me, him and his two guards. They had their hands on their swords.

He looked back at me, staring into my eyes for a silent moment. “But before I ask, what am I to stand accused of?” His stiff smile showed his teeth, almost glinting in the dark.

I held up my hands in surrender at his theatrics. “It was not my decision lad.-”

His smile disappeared. “It never is.” His voice was hard, as he rolled the dice in his hands onto the table. His fist was clenching and unclenching.

“There was an accident, a man was beaten badly. It was around the Red Inn, just wanted to know if you’ve heard of it.”

He paused, raising a finger to tap at the bottom of his chin. “Many men, for many reasons, are beaten, Yacob. But never those who deserve it-”

A man had returned, putting a lager of ale on the table. Manros paused, leaning in, on the table, stopping all tapping and movement. “Come, indulge in our hospitality. You're so far away, move a little closer.”

I cleared my throat. Parched as it was. “Thank you, Manros. But, this old man has given up on drinking. Just water from the wells for me.”

The red haired man chuckled.“No, surely not. We made this for you, didn’t we?”

He gestured to the returned man standing nervously at attention, who nodded in silence.

“For you.” I held my silence. “But, maybe we can get you something else. Well, ask your questions, oh and show me the writ.”

I rolled the parchment out of the pouch, leaning to push it on the table. Manros read it and put it back down.

“The peacekeeper has questions then. Ask.”

“Where were you yesterday and the day before?”

Manros looked up, his eyes on the lantern. “Yesterday, the markets, here, the gamehouses and at widow's peak. Same as the day before. Now I have a question for you, Yacob.”

My face tugged into a frown. “Not quite what we’re here for.”

Manros had uncloaked his dagger, fiddling with it as the dice sat idle and his companions stiffened visibly. I focused.

“Don’t mind it, Yacob. I can never seem to sit still. Always fiddling with something. Always something on my mind and never any answers.”

The sound of his heart, the click of his tongue and the scent of the oak reached me. He had liquor on his breath. I placed a comforting hand on my dagger.

“When you watched my father be hung, split into pieces like an animal, did you ever fucking feel any hint of shame?” His voice was rising, “Even a fucking ounce of shame as you fucking sit here, to accuse me of whatever this shit is?”

His nose was turned, and the scar across it was everclear. His knife stabbed into the sturdy bench, between the dice. The silence was ear piercing as he breathed in and out from his outburst.

I exhaled, rising. I placed my feet steadily, and picked up the dagger from between the dice, my eye on the four men surrounding Manros, who simply sat and glared, breathing heavily from his outburst.

“He was a drunk, a gambler and an upjumped noble who filled his mouth before speaking. He was a man of violence, boy.” I looked him in the eye, my face tugged into a smile before I continued to speak, clearly, taking care to enunciate every word with care.

“He was a slaver, and his banal cruelty and punishment for those under him, children, men and women alike would have made monsters faint. But that, oh that was forgivable. He was a noble of the blood, exiled he may be and had gold to spare. Then, he had the nerve to stand up and say that his caravans should collect a toll. He had bought them all out. A toll.”

I chuckled, remembering the moment in clarity as I dug the knife through the oak table, until the handle broke.

“I didn't put him in that hangman’s noose. He did it himself, boy.” I picked up the dice, while keeping an eye on the four men in front of me. “ A word of advice, don’t make idle threats. Your father didn’t learn that well enough.”

The dice was weighed on one side.

Manros' voice returned as he scoffed, his anger returning to him. “ I never make a wager that I can’t back, dog.” I stared at the red-haired man as blood stopped pounding in my ears and the world around me slowly returned in sound.

“I will have to find others, Manros, that can prove where you were. We will be talking again.” My voice arrived softer than I expected. I sighed, another difficult orphan.

I left, keeping the men at the edge of my sight, and began the march back home. Manros would have tried to kill Alarien in a heartbeat but I would need to talk with others. We would find someone, innocent or guilty, that would hang.

Dawn would come soon enough.