“I’ve played him enough myself to agree, Foris,” Reltheus told the man. “He’s just damn good, and lucky.”
“It’s all right,” Seregil said, sliding one of his carnelian pieces into place in front of Foris’s lapis one to blunt another spear. Picking up the captured stones one by one, he glanced up at the duke with a cold smile. “I’m sure it wasn’t your intent to impugn my honor.”
The duke, however, was a little drunk and not put off by the veiled threat. Lord Seregil was better known for avoiding
duels than fighting them. “Nine rounds in a row? You must have a charm on you somewhere!”
A murmur went through the crowd; it was a serious charge.
Seregil leaned back in his chair and spread his arms. “Search me, Your Grace. I swear by Illior you’ll find nothing of the sort.” He looked around at the crowd with the slightly inane grin he affected when dealing with situations like this among the nobles. “Why, the rest of you can wager on it, but I say your money is best laid on me!”
“I’ll take that wager. Have him strip!” one of the ladies cried, holding up her silk purse, and the cry was quickly taken up by the crowd.
Foris’s smile was mean. “Yes, I’ll take that wager. Fifty gold sesters says he has a luck piece or mark on him. What say you, Lord Seregil? Will you stand by your offer?”
“I suppose I must,” Seregil said with a shrug.
“You can’t be serious!” Reltheus murmured, raising a surprised eyebrow.
“It’s a matter of honor,” Seregil said firmly.
“But how will we know it?” the general asked. “A charm could be anything. Is there a wizard here?”
“Here’s one!” someone at the back of the crowd shouted.
Old Reneus, one of the senior Oreska wizards, was none too pleased to be pressed into service for such a menial task, but with some cajoling and a fresh cup of wine he finally consented.
“Now you’ve done it,” Alec muttered as Seregil handed him his sword belt and pulled off his boots and socks.
The wizard took each one with evident distaste and quickly handed them back. “No magic here.”
“Better than a duel,” Seregil whispered back, then climbed onto his chair so everyone had a good view of him. “Really, Foris, you’re throwing your money away.” He slipped off his coat and dropped it into Alec’s waiting arms. The wizard took it and searched through the pockets. Seregil pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside with a flourish.
“There, you see? Nothing,” said Seregil, turning for the crowd to inspect his bare torso.
Foris smirked up at him. “There are still places to hide something. Keep going.”
“Perhaps he has it hanging from his cock!” one wag suggested loudly.
“I’d like to see that,” the woman who’d placed the first bet concurred. “Come on now, Lord Seregil. Out with it!”
One thing Seregil had never managed to master was blushing at will, but he made a good job of looking comically outraged. “You’re not serious? Really now, Your Grace, I’ve left those days behind me.”
“A wager is a wager, my lord, unless you’d rather settle this on the plain?” said Foris.
“I’m afraid he’s within his rights, my lord,” Sarien reminded him with an avid look in his eye. Seregil made a mental note to find out what sort of brothels the man frequented, if any.
Dueling was not allowed inside the city, but a blind eye was turned on whatever went on outside its walls, and killing someone in a formal duel there was not considered murder. It had been some time since Seregil had fought for his honor.
“Very well, then.” He unlaced his leather trousers and pushed them and his linen down with a graceful flourish. The crowd exploded in applause and laughter. Those closest to Alec slapped him on the back. Seregil climbed off the chair and stood grinning, hands on hips, as his trousers were inspected, then took them back and dressed as carefully as if he were in front of his looking glass at home, smoothing out every wrinkle. Money changed hands around him; it was clear that public sentiment was on his side, for whatever reason.
“Bravely done, young man!” General Sarien said, clapping Seregil on the shoulder before wandering off in the direction of the wine servers.
Taking his place again, Seregil raised his chin and grinned across the gaming table at his opponent. “Shall we continue, Your Grace?”
More applause erupted at the duke’s expense.
Caught, Foris had no choice but to finish-and lose-the game. With gritted teeth he paid off the wagers, swept his
stones back into their fancy embroidered bag, and strode off with all the dignity he could muster.
Seregil looked around at his admirers. “Next?”
The woman who’d championed the wager took the chair Foris had vacated and poured her stones into the polished tray in front of her. They were made of blue opal, and she held one up, showing him Illior’s crescent inlaid in silver on the back of it. “The Lightbringer will have to decide between us, my lord, for I’ve been known to have the Immortal’s favor, as well. Or would you like to inspect my clothing for charms first?”
“A tempting offer, Marquise, but your honor is above reproach.”
“You’re very gallant, Lord Seregil, but now I’m disappointed,” she said with a teasing smile. “Well, you had your chance. Shall we play?”
They were still arranging their stones for the first round when a young page made his way through the crowd and whispered something to Alec. He, in turn, leaned down and whispered in Seregil’s ear, “Kepi’s outside.”
“Nothing too serious, I hope?” said Reltheus.
“A messenger,” Seregil told him. “Alec, be a dear and deal with him, would you?”
“I promised Palmani I’d make an early night of it, and it’s nearly midnight,” Reltheus noted after half a dozen rounds.
“Oh, I’d rather hoped we could get in a few more games together,” Seregil told him.
“Come to the house, then, you and Alec, when you’ve finished your business. I believe I might have another bakshi game or two in me.”
“In that case, I hope you have a few coins left in your purse. Just let me go see where Alec has gotten to, and I’ll meet you at the house.”
He found Alec and Kepi on the pavement near the entrance to the gambling house, under the watchful eye of the doorman, who clearly disapproved of such an unsightly character in the Street.
Seregil hustled them both quickly out of sight into the shadows beyond the reach of the street lanterns.
“What is it?” Seregil demanded.
“It’s Atre,” Alec told him. “He’s gone and gotten himself stabbed.”
“That actor fellow’s a friend of yours, ain’t he?” asked Kepi, looking pleased with himself.
“How in the world did you know that?”
Kepi just winked and grinned.
“Bilairy’s Balls! What happened?” asked Seregil.
“Don’t know the particulars, only that he’s over in Brass Alley, back of the Skulpin. I just heard of it and I come straight up to tell you.”
“The Skulpin? What was he doing there?” The gambling house was in the unfashionable-and at this hour, dangerous-area near Atre’s old theater and catered mostly to locals. There were plenty of cutpurses, bawds, and footpads about at this time of night, ready to relieve the unwary of their winnings.
“Is he alive?” asked Alec.
“He was when my friend heard about it. I went to your house and they told me you was here. I come straight on.”
“Good lad. We’ll deal with it.” Seregil took half a dozen coppers from his purse and gave them to the boy. Kepi made him another ill-formed bow and took off at a run, darting between horses and carriages. He was soon out of sight among the evening crowd.
“Damnation!” Seregil scrubbed a hand back through his hair. He needed to find out what the scribe had given Reltheus, but he could hardly abandon the actor in such circumstances.
“I’ll see to Atre,” Alec told him. “You go with Reltheus and make some excuse for me.”
“All right. As soon as you’re finished, come to his house, or send word to me there if you won’t be
