Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

The remembrance clipped through Nightfall’s mind in an instant, accompanied by bitterness. He kept his voice low so those nearby could not hear. "My master has the only servant he needs. If you can protect him better than me, prove it. I’ll gladly step aside and let you have the job."

Every piece of Mally’s exposed flesh turned white. "No, sir. No. I’m not trying to take your place. I’m just-"

"You’re just looking for the easiest life possible." Nightfall considered the implication of his own words. "And that’s only natural. But everyone else’s too busy making things easier for himself. Things won’t change for you unless you make them."

"Make them?" Mally’s’ gaze returned to her lap. "That’s what I’m trying to do."

She had a point Nightfall could not deny. "You’ve taken the first step, but you’re working on the wrong problem. Your problem isn’t getting a new master, it’s getting rid of the old one."

Mally glanced up, clearly confused; but Nightfall did not give her time to question.

"Think about it. But I can tell you one thing: if Prince Edward bought you, he would set you free. If that’s not what you want, don’t come to me for help." Nightfall ate another cheese cube, indicating that the conversation had ended, in his mind.

Taking the cue, Mally rose from the chair, though she remained hunched in deference. "Thank you, sir, for your advice and consideration.”

Nightfall nodded acknowledgment, but he said nothing more. He watched the slave skitter, head low, across the room to the doorway and disappear through it. It had required daring for her to slip away at the risk of punishment to discuss her lot with one her master hated. Nightfall wondered whether she would find the courage to carry through on his suggestion or even to consider a life without shackles. Yet, to her and so many, chains and collars seemed a small price to pay for regular meals, protection, and shelter.

The red-haired Trillian moved to Nightfall’s table, accompanied by a slender brunet. Their two friends remained in place, watching the dart match and whispering between themselves. The heavy-set one spoke first. "Another begging the employ of Prince Edward Nargol of Alyndar?"

Nightfall blinked, surprised. "There’ve been others?"

"Two serving girls, the stable boy, and a merchant’s stock man. That’s the first slave I know of."

"Good man, my master."

"Obviously," the other Trillian said. "And he allows his squire in the common room alone?"

Nightfall shrugged. "If he’s in a safe place and under certain circumstances. It has little to do with what he allows. I wouldn’t leave him if I believed anything might harm him." He smiled. "Good man, as I said."

The dark-haired Trillian buried a hand in his stiff beard, gaze locked on the dart game. The redhead accepted the burden of amenities. "I’m Tekesh, and my friend’s name is Ifinska." He indicated his two remaining companions at the table, a bearded brunet with recessed eyes and a tall, thin man with gray-speckled black hair, in turn. "Porlenn and Limalzy."

Nightfall acknowledged the more distant pair with nods. "Sudian," he said, not bothering to tack on title. These men already knew his master.

Ifinska continued to watch the dart-playing youths.

Nightfall had assessed each competitor’s ability naturally upon entering the common room, his judgments based mostly on build, movement, and arrangement of muscle groups. He had off-handedly watched enough of their play to get a reasonable feel for ability. "Hey, Ifinska."

The brunet turned his head with obvious reluctance.

"Do you know those boys?" Nightfall gestured at the dart and dagger games.

"The one up now’s my cousin."

Nightfall glanced to the game where a lanky youth stepped up to the targeting line brandishing a dart. Nightfall looked back at Ifinska. "He any good?"

Ifinska returned his attention to the game. "I’ll bet he sticks it in the target."

"Faint faith." Nightfall figured the odds at two to three in Ifinska’s favor, a wager not worth taking. However, he saw a means to quickly skew those chances, though not as far as he would have liked. More importantly, the betting would begin and, he hoped, grow into a fever that left no time or interest in computation. "Three coppers says he doesn’t land it in the yellow, red, or green areas." He chose the central rings, their area covering nearly half the board. Quick consideration made the bet seem even or slightly biased toward Ifinska; the zones were about the same size; and the boy would, undoubtedly, aim for the middle. Yet Nightfall held a less obvious edge. There remained a one in three chance that the youth missed the target completely or the dart did not stick.

"Three coppers," Ifinska agreed.

Unaware of the second wager upon his success, the youth hurled the dart. It flew true, embedding in the second ring from the center.

Nightfall calmly tossed three copper pieces to the tabletop, but Ifinska let them lie.

"These against another three on this next boy. Same bet.”

Nightfall glanced over. He knew the youth currently up to the line, a soldier-in-training whose preferred weapon was dagger. Nightfall’s merchant persona, Balshaz, had flung against him on occasion, and the boy had held his own better than most. He had fared well over the course of this evening, as well. However, that success might prove its own ruin as he had won enough five-for-a copper beers to impair his aim. Already, Nightfall could see that he had stepped too close for his usual spin. Nightfall clung to the role of ignorant foreigner. "All right, it’s a bet."

The dagger thumped against the central area, then clattered to the floor. Ifinska flicked the three coppers back to Nightfall, frowning as if the boy had betrayed him.

The next to challenge the cork was a scrawny, homely youth who had lost largest that night. The configuration of his muscles gave him a natural clumsiness that would probably lessen as age added growth to his torso and it came more into proportion with his arms and legs. Nightfall had watched his aim improve steadily through the evening just from the practice. “Same bet‘?” he asked, certain Ifinska would refuse.

As expected the brunet shook his head.

"I’ll make the opposite wager." The redhead who had called himself Tekesh slapped down three coppers.

Nightfall disliked the flip-flop of odds he had deliberately created in his favor. "All right, but only if I get the central five rings." That brought the odds to even, slightly in his favor if the improvement that had come with practice was considered.

Tekesh hesitated, then nodded acceptance.

Apparently not wanting to get closed out of the betting, Ifinska jumped back into the game. "I’ll take the two outer rings if you spot me a copper." Removing his purse, he worked the coins to the mouth and let them drop to the table. They bounced, winding about an edge, then fell flat to the wood.

The boy stepped up to the line, studying the target.

Tekesh objected. "If I lose the two outer rings, I get to take out a copper." He placed a finger on one of the three coins in front of him.

Nightfall shrugged, secretly pleased with the maneuvering. His chances of winning had not changed, but his potential profit had grown to four coppers for three.

The dart flew, striking and holding in the fourth ring from-the center. Another win for Nightfall.

The betting in the Thirsty Dolphin’s common room dragged far into the night, spreading from table to table like a fire. Though the goal and bets changed and reversed, Nightfall always kept the odds only slightly in his favor so that the others won often enough to maintain interest. Within a dozen bets, Nightfall had drawn in the merchants, Ivralians both, though the natives came and went as their money allowed. Nightfall kept the nature of the bets varied and interesting, mostly to distract others from computing odds that Dyfrin had taught him to estimate in an instant. On occasion, he slipped some of his winnings into his pockets, keeping an attractive amount on the table without making it obvious that he had taken in more than his share. The fluctuating participants and their sheer numbers helped to hide the fact. He won often, but no more than his calculated odds suggested he would. When interest flagged, he would purchase a round of drinks for the more recent participants from his winnings, keeping many there long past intelligent propriety.