Chapter 1: The Bond of Two (Cont)

“Now listen, I know you’re not going to win this hand, so you might as well give in,” a young man in his late twenties said with a smile. He stroked his short beard and looked up at his opponent, his faded brown eyes watching carefully.

“I don’t think you know what you’re betting against,” muttered the opponent, a man with a thin beard trailing down to his waist. His bald, tattooed head glistened in the torchlight as he eyed the young man.

“Oh, I think I do,” smiled the young man, running a hand through his dark brown hair and sliding in a pile of pearls.

“You asked for it then,” the bearded man said good-naturedly. He slammed down his cards and leered.

The young man stared at the cards for a moment. “Palaba, hey? Not a good bluff, because I have a Quirit.” The man tossed down his cards as the bearded man’s face went pale.

“HOW? How did you know I was bluffing? How could you have guessed that I had something worse than a measly Quirit?”

The young man shrugged, his necklace seemingly fading in color. “I’m just good I guess.”

The bearded man stared at the necklace for a moment, “Did your necklace just fade in color?” The man’s tone seemed razor-sharp.

The young man looked down at his necklace. “I doubt it,” he said skeptically. With a sweep, he gathered up his winnings and rose from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll leave you the rest of your fortune to lose to someone else.” The young man laughed, brushing off his white tunic and brown vest as he shuffled out of the booth.

The bearded man, smelling something foul, reached out to grab the young man’s arm. With a vice-like grip he clamped around the young man’s arm. There was a blur of motion and the bearded man felt something cold against his neck. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to trifle with me,” a voice said by his ear. The bearded man let go without a word and the young man walked away.

The man sat down at one of the many small, circular counters in the tavern and layed down a pearl. “A drink or two, please.” The young man smiled and looked out at the goings on. The bearded man had gotten up and was arguing with three other men over at another counter. They all had shaved, tattooed heads and long beards. “Make them quick and small, please.” The man said with a hurried tone, eyeing the bartender, an extremely tall man who he had known for some time.

“Sure enough, Blackheart,” the bartender winked, his titanic hands shooting to some glasses and pouring a purple ale.

Blackheart continued to eye the four as suddenly the door burst open and a cloaked figure darted straight through the crowd, finding a booth near the back. Blackheart turned back to the doors, noting the strange coincidence. “Hey, Mador, is it just me, or is suddenly really dark outside?”

Mador turned and stared outside as he fixed the drinks. He nodded silently, busy pouring several small tonics into the two mugs of ale.

Blackheart looked back at the figure sitting in the corner. He could tell the figure was feminine by the way they had moved through the crowd, and if there was one thing that Blackheart enjoyed, it was feminine figures. He smiled, whisking the two mugs away and walking through the crowd towards the booth. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the four men watching him closely, still muttering between each other. He slid down into the booth, catching the figure off guard. “Hello there.”

The figure eyed him for a moment and cautiously replied, “Hello?”

“That’s right, there you go. Want something to drink, don’t worry, it’s not that expensive.” He slid one of the mugs to the figure who stared down at it as if it was some foreign object. “You take that container by this thing here called a handle, put the open end to your lips, and let the liquidy stuff flow down your throat,” Blackheart said with a smile.

“I know,” the figure said flatly.

“Ah.” Blackheart looked up at the four who were all now swilling drinks as they muttered. “Certainly have a lot to talk about,” he muttered staring at them.

“What?”

“Nothing. So what brings you to this seedy, wretched tavern in the middle of the slums?” Blackheart sipped his drink and coughed, Mador always made his drinks strong.

“Staying away from certain kinds of people…like you,” the figure said downing the drink without batting an eye. “Thank you for the drink however.” The figure leaned back in the shadow, her cloak still shrouding her face.

Blackheart couldn’t help but stare. “You feeling all right there? Not many people like to down a whole one of Mador’s drinks without having a few back-up organs ready to be transplanted.” He received no reply. “Ah, so this is where you give me the cold shoulder.” He nodded and rose from the booth, marching back to Mador’s counter and sitting at a stool.

“Nice try though,” Mador consoled.

“You were watching?”

“Of course,” Mador chuckled. “It’s always entertaining to watch a man make an ass of himself.”