Gregory House - The Lord Of Misrule

Having observed the social niceties, Nick lent forward, eyes twinkling with, well what? Pleasure, anticipation, curiosity? Ned didn’t know but he was instantly on his guard. “Pray tell me, Red Ned, how has my humble tavern gained the pleasure of your lady’s presence?”

Meg Black had been mostly silent. Apart from a few murmurs of thanks, she’d played the demure lady perfectly. What’s more, on some quarter hour’s notice, she’d found a nearby friend and borrowed a swag of gilt — including gold earrings, a silver chain necklace inset with an amethyst, and another of those pearl studded french hoods that all the best reformist girls so adored. Now she played her part. “Good Master Throckmore, Red Ned trespasses on your domain on my petition.”

Earless Nick’s smile widened to show a perfect smile. Ned tried not to feel any more resentful, thinking of his chipped and not so pristine front teeth. “Is that so my lady? Well for one so fair, I must forgive the transgression and instead give thanks for your visit.”

Meg played up to the compliment and returned her own generous smile at the gallantry. Ned kept up his own hooded smile, but by the saints he’d enjoy throttling this slippery weasel. “I fear, good sir, I have mislaid something and Red Ned kindly offered to help me find it.”

The beaming smile shifted to Ned and he bathed in its warm glow. Pity it didn’t reach Earless Nick’s eyes — they still glittered, but more with speculation than friendship. “Why Red Ned, the actions of a true knight, straight out of the tales of Mallory or the ballads of de Troyes. I commend any man of honour!”

Ned returned a bow for the flattery. It paid to keep to conventions since they had naught else. Earless Nick, still polite and chatty, must be wondering how they’d passed his guard unchallenged. However none of the motley collection at the other tables had moved to investigate. So Ned’s surmise was that Master Throckmore was deeply curious at their arrival and assumed a retinue waiting outside in the lane. So Nick would string them along with the hail fellow well met play, and keep his lads close.

“So my lady…?” Nick switched back to Meg with a hanging question.

She played it well by pretending to be pleasantly startled, with a hand up to her mouth, and a further look of embarrassed surprise. Well Ned’s evil little daemon hoped she was pretending. “Oh forgive me Master Throckmore for my rudeness. I am Mistress Margaret Black.”

At that Nick’s light blue eyes sparkled with delight and maybe something deeper. Ned strained to keep a pleasant smile on his face. “Why Mistress Margaret, how can I be of assistance?”

“I am afraid I was entrusted with the charge of a cousin of mine from the country, an innocent lad named Walter Dellingham. Unfortunately this morning he went astray in the city and I fear sir, he’s been taken by varlets and rogues!” Meg had dropped her eyes and blushed deeply, as if shamed into confession.

“I see, that is terrible, the poor lad.” Nick had reached across the table with the finest kerchief Ned had seen outside the Royal courts and offered it to the clearly upset Meg. As far as Ned was concerned the weasel’s hand had lingered too long in the exchange.

Meg gave a delicate sniff and a sad smile and waved the tightly clutched piece of linen towards Ned. “Yes sir, it is a sorry tale and Red Ned here suggested I come to ask the Lord of the Liberties for his aid.”

Once more Nick reached across and patted Meg on the hand, his fingers, to Ned’s jaundiced eye, again appeared to hover overly long.

“My aunt would be distraught if she heard that anything happened to Walter and her health, well sir… it is so frail.” A single tear trickled down her cheek, lightly dabbed by Nick’s linen kerchief. “I’ve heard such terrible stories of what happens to innocent lads in London! If you could help us, I can give a reward of ten angels for his safe return.”

That was good enough to stimulate real interest, though not too much so that they’d think of ransom. Nick however waved the offer away as if it were of no concern. “To dry a sweet lady’s tears I wouldn’t think of taking any coin. Though…?” The question was let hang in the air as a floating offer.

Meg eagerly pushed forward now clutching the crumpled linen in her hand. “Yes, Master Throckmore. What is it?”

“Well if I may so bold, if Red Ned here would play me a round of cards for the pleasure of your company, I would be honoured to help.” Oh that was an excellent play crooned Ned’s daemon, what a brilliant switch.

Meg, hope all over her face turned to him and grabbed his sleeve eagerly. “Oh Ned, Ned, please accept. Think of poor Walter all lost and alone! He may even be hurt! Oh I beg you, accept!”

For a moment he played at considering, and then patting her hand, Ned consented with a gracious nod.

If anything, Nick’s smile edged towards the predatory and his eyes sparked with dangerous amusement. Then their host clapped his hands and ordered the table cleared. The candle stick was moved to the centre and a pack of cards laid out with a simple flick of Nick’s hand. Ned knew the trick — flash the fingers fast and confuse the coney. The said fingers were covered in rings. The ones on his right hand were wide and covered most of the bottom segment of the digit from index to pinkie. They were the strangest he’d ever seen, rough, heavy and battered, covered in a worn layer of silver gilt, though grey iron patches could be seen in the parts where the gilt had flaked off. For a man so concerned with appearance that was odd.

Then once Earless Nick had finished his display, he fastidiously wiped his fingers on a proffered cloth and turned to Ned with that bright smile of his. “I take it, Red Ned, you know the game, Thirty One ?”

“Of course Master Throckmore, I’ve played it often.” For the first time this evening Ned told the truth. It was a heady experience.

“Excellent. Well I’ve made a few minor improvements to liven up the game.”

Ned continued to respond politely as Nick outlined his changes and, damn, they were devilishly clever. In his version of Thirty One, the winner was not only the player whose cards added up to thirty one. Now, after one deal of five cards, you had the option of two exchanges of two cards, each of which you paid a penalty if you took an extra card rather than discard. Finally you kept two cards only and rolled a pair of dice to reach the magical number. Thus each play was a combination of two games of chance with the odds constantly shifting. That was bad enough. However with an added twist a player had to name how close he’d get with the roll. You could be one under of your proclaimed stake, but not over. A damned treacherous way to play. As if this game needed any further refinements in complication — only one Bedlamite mad would cross Hazard and Thirty One !

It took two fast games for Ned to get the hang of play, and each time he knew Nick was toying with him, Ned had noticed the way their host had almost perfectly predicted the fall of the dice. There was a trick to it, he knew. All he had to do was figure it out. At the start of the third game, the friendly banter moved up a notch. “So, Red Ned, how is my dear friend Canting Michael?”

Ned affected a casual wave of nonchalance and shifted his cards — a three of roses, a king, a queen and a pair of sevens coins and hearts. The royalty would stay and he’d toss the rest. “You know, Canting often asks me for a friendly game of bowls over in Southwark. I’m sure he’d appreciate your company, Red Ned. You know how affable he is.”

Ned gave what he hoped was an equivocal shrug and tried not to flinch at the suggestion. He knew it was code for Canting’s offer on his head. Nick was clearly suggesting a trade. The whole game was a charade and three items, at least, where being played for, the company of Meg Black being only the most visible. This fellow enjoyed games of double and triple bluff, with mirrors thrown in as well. In many ways Nick reminded Ned of a younger Duke of Norfolk. That lord’s schemes were so famously twisty, that a snake trying to follow them would be left in knots.