When I arrived at the location it appeared I wasn't the only one interested in 'making money quick'. The building was inconspicuous, just a little run-down shack shoved between other structures. It could not hold this many people, so where were they all going? A few men stood out front of the rackety wooden door as guards, and the burly one acted as a bouncer, checking people as they came in. Nobody handed in an invitation; it was a check to see if anybody more righteous was trying to bust their operation. I wondered how they could tell. It didn't seem to be magic.

I approached the tough, scarred bouncer and held up the piece of paper I had received from the little girl and my coin pouch. He motioned for me to take the hood off. I pulled it down, revealing my long black hair and lone grey eye. I had changed back into my clothes from the first day, the cheap pants and tunic I had stolen. In combination with my somewhat dirtied face from sleeping outside and still skinny frame, I passed the test. With a grunt, the door opened. My hood sank comfortably back over my face.

Immediately to my left was a set of descending stairs that everyone was shuffling towards, brushing past others coming back up. They faded into darkness, going deep within the earth. So that's where people were going. I followed quietly behind as the shuffling hoard headed below. The light from the day above faded into pitch black before morphing into eerie, flickering lanterns that opened up in an enormous underground foyer.

Akin to a mineshaft, the area was enclosed by dirt walls reinforced with wood and stones. The ceiling stretched high enough up that there was even a second-floor wooden walkway encircling the room's square perimeter. On the far side from where I came down was another set of stairs headed up in a spiral to the walkway. The outskirts of the room sported what looked to be booths with people waiting in line, and to the far back, away from the stairs, the area cut off into a row of wooden rooms closed to the public. Their doors were shut tight with walls extending to the roof in secrecy. In the back left corner was another set of stairs leading further down. An excited chatter filled the area, entangled with heated debates and the occasional shout. The place reeked of earth, sweat, and metal.

The biggest attention draw, however, was the giant dug-out crater in the center. Surrounded by a series of stacked rafter seating, it was enclosed by a fence and lit with impressive chandeliers. Within the crater was packed flat ground stained suspiciously with reds and browns. On opposing sides of the circle were dark hallways stretching somewhere unknown, the size for a person to walk in and out of.

This was an arena.

'So it was a fighting ring.'

I eyed the line of people at the booths.

'...A gambling fighting ring.'

What sort of deals were they offering?

I approached a booth at the corner that had just freed up, getting comfortable on the stool as the person behind the counter scratched something down in a notebook.

"Sorry about that- what can I help you with? Free drink with over a hundred put down!" The fellow chirped, looking up to greet me with a wide grin. His hair was slicked back, yellowed teeth contrasted against pasty skin. The red tint to his nose and cheeks suggested he was drunk, or that he was a consistently heavy drinker. The potbelly further confirmed this. A clean white shirt too tight to fit him anymore was spotless except for sweaty stains under the arms.

"Hundred of what?" I asked.

"Copper, or one silver!" He replied, fixing his ruffled collar, "Pretty good deal! You will get 50 copper back if you win, and keep your money!"

I recalled what I had learned from Diane. 60 copper for a meal plus a room at a nicer tavern. The average free-lancing job for a day paid about 20 copper. Do a few day's worth of work on the streets, spend a few coppers to buy your bread and water, and then risk the rest here to earn it back. Get inebriated with the drinks they sell, and gamble even more. A 50% return on investment was good...so what was the catch? If too many people won, how would they run a business?

"What if I lose?" I queried him, making my tone one of someone genuinely curious, and a tad naive.

He laughed, "It's true to turn a profit that we charge a rate of a few coins back plus what you bet if you lose; but don't you worry young man. We do plenty of lending here for our customers so they have the opportunity to earn every last drop back, and more!"

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'If it is only a few coins, where are they making their money? In a 1 v. 1 fight, statistically half the people bet right and the other half lose... it's a loss every time for them.'

I tilted my head. "Can I ask for loans upfront?"

"Well certainly!" He cheered, pulling out some papers, "By the order of the Head Magistrate I would just need you to sign a few papers, and I could get you all the money you'd like," He leaned in towards me, shielding his mouth with a hand as he whispered, "Even gold."

I pretended to be surprised, letting out a little gasp.

"Can I see the papers?" I questioned, eager, and he put them towards me. The print was tiny, and the words used were lengthy and convoluted. I was having trouble reading this, and I was not a medieval peasant. So that he didn't suspect anything, I scanned over the documents as rapidly as I could, pretending like every word was a struggle to understand.

I got a few things out of it.

It seemed like whoever this Head Magistrate was had made this to ensure that anyone who paid money for a job had legal grounds to ensure that the job got done...or their money back in full, plus more as a 'quitters fee'. If an old farmer lent a strong, young worker coin in exchange for doing his farm work, the farmer would have legal grounds to go to court and get his money back in full with interest if the worker didn't do it. If unable to pay, it would be up to the farmer to determine if the farmhand would go to prison...or legally become an indentured servant to the farmer. It sounded fine when it was just between a farmer and a dumb kid who wanted free cash...but in any other case?

My eyes widened. This was full of so many holes it was scary, and I knew nothing about legal systems. When you don't care about the rules, why care to know if you are breaking them? That had always been the way I lived.

Possibly the worst part about this was that the contractor had full control over the work the contracted performed if unable to pay up, and that the court had no legal ability to ask under what circumstances the paper had been signed, OR what work the signer would be forced to do.

It was a completely legal death trap for gambling rings and loan sharks to make slaves out of. Why would a Magistrate do this?

'Ah. That's the reason.'

At the bottom of the paper, below the signature read:

A portion of the sales of these papers returns to fund the Royal Court.

I groaned, holding my head up with my hand as I pushed the paper back towards the guy.

"I really have been trying to learn but..." I began, face going red with (fake) embarrassment, "But I just can't seem to understand this. Would you be willing ta' read it for me?" I begged, making sure to keep my voice low and masculine. With this, I pulled off my hood and let my long black tresses fall over my shoulders. I utilized my pathetic appearance yet still attractive, meek face to garner pity, shooting for a stupid pretty boy look. The man's already red face showed the slightest bit of reddening.

"Well young man," He coughed, turning his gaze away from me and towards the papers, "That is exactly the job of folks like us." He smiled. I pulled the hood back over my head and gave him my appreciation.

He read out the paper, but it was clear he either didn't know how to read very well himself or was fabricating every word. Likely a combination of both. He assured me this paper was completely legal and agreed upon by the Royal Court, and that so long as I paid the money back I could borrow all I wanted. If I couldn't pay it back I would just have to 'do a little work for us to earn it back, we can work out the details later.' He skimmed over that section quickly and got back to discussing how if I bet with gold I had the chance to triple my earnings.

No wonder so many people fell for this. Illiterate, desperate, and down on their luck...and it was approved by the Head Magistrate, whoever and whatever that was. It reeked of a scam and yet it didn't surprise me that many others had signed this. Did they make up their losses with free labor? Or was it more sinister?

"How much silver is in a gold?" I asked, realizing I didn't know.

When he told me 1000, I nearly fell off the stool.

I thanked the man for his help and said that I'd be back to sign after I earned up a bit more of my own money to put down so I could make even more. He handed me a list of the contestants, each with headshots, ring names, and basic background information. I had until the end of three days from now to place my bets, and that the competition would occur on the fourth. Afterward, I could collect any winnings and live a life 'on easy street.' He waved me off with sweaty palms, eyes shining with greed. I pushed down my need to sock him in the jaw- not that I could. I really was a terrible fighter.

I eyed over the list of fighters he had given me. Each also had a win-to-loss ratio, and a betting odds bar. Yeah right. There was no way to know if any of this was true, or if the fights were even fair. I would bet lots of money that they weren't.

Thinking things over, there were two ways this place likely made money.

One, they lured people in with lending schemes they legally couldn't escape from. God knows what happened next, but it probably made them cash.

Two, the fights were rigged based on what had been bet to ensure a profit was always turned...and to allow just enough winning that people came back.

I folded the headshots back up and stuck them in my bag, ready to head out for now. The dark stairs on the way back up gave me the privacy to finally let out a wild, mischievous grin. My hands trembled with anticipation, eyes darting with every thought. I couldn't resist the chance to put on a show in front of so many people.

'Wouldn't it be fun to rig a rigged fight?'

Four days to prepare. The opportunity had finally arisen to make use of my other ability.

I was going to concoct poisons.