6 – Pitmaster

No powerful Dragon-Courted Soul-Seeker became so in the lecture hall.

-Lancaster’s Manual of Wills

I did three more fortunes that night. The orc hadn’t just told his two mates, I imagine. My last was as the sun came up, and after that I collected my sign and put it back in the window to block out the light of the rising sun. My window faced east and had about five minutes of direct sunlight after it crested the clay-tiled roof of the building opposite. That’s what flashing silver in Barrowdown gets you.

I woke up around noon, with a powerful gnawing in my stomach that stale bread wouldn’t satisfy. I dragged myself from rat-bed and pulled my robes on. The sleeve still hung in tatters. It needed to be seen to.

I got directions for a seamstress, and as luck would have it, it was only a narrow alley and a set of steep steps away from a tea shop. The seamstress fussed over the material, but I passed over twelve copper clips—almost a full silver cunning’s worth. That robe was critical to my charade as a legitimate soul seeker, and I needed it in pristine (or, at least, less ragged) condition.

Feeling naked without it, I let myself into the low, smoky tea shop and traded another clip for a steaming cup of fragrant tea. I sipped while I waited for my robe to be mended, and listened to some of the gossip from the regulars. Most of it was banal and unimportant. But anything that increased insecurity or uncertainty was good for me. Monsters had been thicker in the undercity, of late. A pair of adventurers in the corner thought something in the caverns below might be scaring them closer to the surface.

They’d get packed into the undercity, the monsters. Most of the ones suffering from the glow-steel sickness were too sun-sensitive to come out during the day. Nights were a different story, and countless secret emergence holes dotted Dragonmaw’s many slums and warrens.

I heard a pair of rough-looking girls talking about the fights from the night before. There had been a couple major upsets at the pits, and the only ones happy about it were the bookies. There was talk of cheating, but I knew organizers always kept a mage or two on staff to sniff for any outside interference. That wasn’t to say people didn’t cheat. But it was extremely hard to get away with. Easier to pay off your opponent and have them take a dive. Where I’d set up, these fights would be my main source of income. But I needed more than gamblers, I needed the fighters themselves to patronize me.

I also heard from a table of pipe-smokers in long coats that the lord in charge of Barrowdown was raising the tax on brothels in an effort to put the squeeze on a practice he found outdated and unsavory. Just because a bloke has a few whale-oil lamps installed on streets wide enough and he starts thinking all modern. Speaking of, I noticed the three did not use the modern term for the girls working in those establishments. Raised taxes cause uncertainty. People might look to a reader to see if they would make it through lean times.

Finding my tea gone well before the tailor said to return, I made my way out into the hot, humid street. The sea breeze doesn’t well navigate these borough warrens on the south end of the city. That’s why the rich and well-to-do preferred the northern reaches of the upper city that lifted them high enough to get the salt air without the lingering dead-fish stench of the docks and canneries.

I made my way east, noting a few of the businesses closest to my boarding room. Most people down here in the middle city lived where they worked, with houses and apartments stacked on top of shops and trades workshops. A good deal of them had to do with sailing, but not as many as catered to the more martial trades. Between the fight pits and the undercity, there was no shortage of people looking to hack or slash something. I passed a leather shop and eyed a particularly fine leather vest and matching bracers. But the price attached was a kick back to reality. I could barely afford to mend my robe.

Stay on task. Capital.

Despite the heat, smoke rose from the pits in the next square. The fight managers burned wood to line the pits with ash, which helped absorb stray spells and also made satisfying puffs when a fighter was thrown to the ground. The crowds had all gone home, but the fighters were up and training. I leaned over the rail and watched a half-dozen individuals, a mix of men and women of disparate races. This was the one place in the city you’d see them all… well, not get along, per say. But co-mingle. A half-orc twisted up a blue devilborn girl, clearly outclassing her. I frowned when I saw the precipice arcana inverted above her head. Treacherous footing, overconfidence, points of no return. Yet, she bounded back up and threw herself at the orc with no lack of enthusiasm.

What caught my eye was a closer pair of fighters grappling in the center. One of them, a dwarf, rolled under a drakkyn that struggled to get his claws around the slick little devil. Deceptively fast for their girth, dwarves. A bearded blur if they got a good running start.

The drakkyn had the balance arcana inverted over his head. Strict adherence. Incapable of change. The dwarf had the arcana of fortitude. Hale, resistant to decay.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

A bundle of firewood dropped beside me. “Oi, this ain’t a peepin’ show, lad. You come back when the fights are on, and you come with a ticket, savvy?”

I turned. Another dwarf stood in the dirt, dusting off his hands. He’d hauled up a cord of wood to burn down, and a sheen of sweat covered his head. He had the Crag of peaks above his head. Confident in goals, realized desires. He also had the three of towers. He had someone to protect.

“You’re the pit man, then?” I asked.

“What’s it to ye?”

I thumbed behind me. “Your drakkyn is a slow learner, yeah? Sluggish to adapt?”

The dwarf scowled. “He was one of the top grapplers last year,” he said.

“That was last year,” I replied. I leaned back against the ropes.

“A pair o’ fighters from Azurenon brought up a new style that’s running loops ‘round drakkyn wrestling. He can’t stop getting wrapped up.”

“Your brother, on the other hand, I think he’ll do well.”

The pit manager grunted and cocked his head at me. Likely the closest I’d get to a confirmation. “Get all that from three minutes o’ sparring?” he asked, picking his cord of timber back up. He hauled it to the edge of the pit and tipped it over. “You scoutin’ for Bellwos?”

I pulled out my Deck of Wills and let the cards fan out and spin slowly in the air.

“A seeker!” he said. Ash plumed below and the fighters down below shouted up. “I thought the guild wasn’t allowed in the downs.” He finally offered his hand. I took it, resisting the crushing grip. “Jeedle of Swan Hill.”

“Darcent of Stitch Alley. Guild doesn’t know I’m here,” I said, replacing the deck in my pocket. “And I plan to keep it that way.” I tapped the side of my nose.

“Side job, then. What happen, get yourself into debt?”

“Nothing so droll. The boys at the guild have their necks stooped looking at tea leaves all day. Forget they live in a world, not just a tangle of crossed omens. But any case, that means the more industrious among us can put a little silver in our pockets without too much scrutiny. Or is this an honest ring?”

The dwarf barked a laugh at the very notion. “I can’t afford guild rates, Darcent of Stitches,” said Jeedle. He dusted his hands off yet again. I couldn’t help but notice the two gold rings to go with his two gold teeth. “I can barely afford to keep the pits running.”

“Well it so happens, I don’t charge guild rates,” I said.

“Because then the guild would take a cut.” Jeedle spat. “I know all ‘bout dues.” He said the word with venom, as though dues had kicked over his last beer. He seemed to consider. Then yelled something down into the pit. A few moments later, his brother pulled himself up a rope ladder. The two looked absolutely nothing alike. Jeedle was thick and fuzzy, while his brother was thick and hairy. You gotta spend enough time near dwarves to learn the differences.

Jeedle glanced up at the sky, shielding his eyes. I knew what he was looking for. The pale shadows of the ghost dragons were muted during the day, and mages that drew power from mundane sources could freely cast in Dragonmaw. I could be a mage pretending to be a soul-seeker.

“Let’s have it, then,” said Jeedle. How’s my brother going to win ‘is fight, tonight?”

“Seekers can’t tell the future, Jeedle.”

Jeedle grunted, knuckling his brother’s shoulder, who nodded back.

“If you are a fake, you’re a damn thorough one. Alright, Darcent, where’s my brother weak and need shoring up?”

I smiled inwardly. The knave suit buzzed in the deck. They were all about exposing weakness, so the cards might actually cooperate for this reading. I inhaled and sent my will into them. They shuffled themselves between my hands, cut, and then I looked at Jeedle’s brother, I imagined attacking him, where I might find an exposed liver or artery. The cards fanned out, spinning around me like a wheel. I began to sweat. It felt like they were spinning me. I held up a hand and three cards snapped up out of the wheel. The rest clattered to the dust.

Ace storms inverted, four of petals, the warlord. Controlled chaos - concern for others…held in check by a sense of honor?

I plucked the cards from the air, rubbing my chin. With a flick of my fingers, the rest of the cards pulled themselves back together and stacked up.

“He’s unpredictable, hides his intentions well. But he wants a fair fight—he doesn’t want to hurt someone weaker than himself.”

Jeedle went a bit red in the ears. “Gronthicus, you been holding back on Salamaz?”

His brother, Gronthicus, paled. “Oi, I don’t like them cards,” he offered.

“Baby brother, I ought stripe your backside,” Jeedle shouted. He pointed at the ring. “Now get in there and don’t come out til you’ve tied that lizard in a damn knot!

Jeedle about chased his brother back down the ladder. He stormed back huffing and puffing, but not as much as me. That reading had drained me, more than I’d like to admit. My mouth was dry and my head swam. I wanted to sick up like I’d binged myself in a dock pub that mixed the booze with seawater when the bottles got low.

Jeedle noticed. “Guessin’ you won’t be doing another of those sommat soon?”

I shook my head, which just made the square spin. It was a good thing the pits had ropes around the edges. “No, not for some hours. Toss me a half-cunning, yeah?”

The pit master tossed me a full cunning. It was a generous tip, but the pit master had the legendary dragon arcana, Alkazarian, inverted over his head. Greed, unhealthy appetites. So, it wasn’t actually a tip.

“I don’t gotta be a seeker to know what you’re thinking,” he said. “The other half is a retainer, so you’re not sniffing around the other pits. I got another fighter going down there tonight. I’ll send him to you with the same. Repeat ad nauseum. They teach you what that means at your fancy school?”

I made the cunning disappear into my sleeve. Getting paid to snub other pit masters. I’d have to see if there was a way to shirk that on the sly. Though, if readings took that much out of me I didn’t know that I could handle moonlighting. This was a bum deal compared to guild rates, but it was the best I’d be likely to see. “You know the money changer on Nailbottom and Dour street?”

Jeedle nodded.

“I’m right above them. Up the steps. Give me a couple hours after that reading before you send ‘em.”

“One hour before dusk,” said Jeedle. “You’re better be there.”

“Tell them to knock hard.”