Leesil knew this must be a disappointment to the dog, who had clearly been looking forward to eating out.
“The majay-hì is welcome to join you,” Brot’an said, as if he’d guessed what Chap just related. “I do not think he will learn much sitting outside my door.”
Something like a cat’s hiss slipped out between Chap’s teeth.
“Enough, all of you!” Magiere cut in, and then looked once at Leanâlhâm before fixing on Brot’an. “You swear to stay put and watch over her?”
Leesil didn’t like the hint of a smile on Brot’an’s face.
“I do so swear,” he announced and settled in a chair beside the girl’s.
Leanâlhâm frowned at Magiere.
“Good enough!” Leesil declared, and before Magiere started in again, he snatched the back of her belt and pulled.
“Wait, not yet—”
At least in backpedaling, she’d either follow or end up on her butt. But when Leesil reached the front door, Magiere whirled on him and almost raised her fist. Chap still lingered near the archway.
“Are you coming or not?” Leesil asked.
Chap growled once and turned to follow. Before Magiere could make any more fuss, Leesil slipped out the front door.
Exhilarated by the glowing streetlamps and the sounds of the city, he remembered one nearby place he’d seen earlier that day. He wandered happily along the cobbled ways and looked around until he pulled up short, as if stumbling upon a likely place by pure chance.
A painted sign in Numanese hung over the door; Leesil translated the words as “The Red Fox.” He stayed back from the front window he had peered through during the day, as its shutters were still half open, and he turned to Magiere.
“What about this? I can smell some kind of meat being served in there.”
Magiere went to the window just the same. Looking in, she probably spotted at least two tables full of patrons playing cards.
“You picked this place for the food?” she asked dryly.
Leesil feigned innocence. “What else?”
“Don’t you even think of touching a single card, die, or tile.”
At least this was the Magiere that Leesil remembered and back to normal for the moment. He smiled and stepped up, and grabbing the tavern door’s handle, he was inside before she could catch him.
The tavern was a bit more upscale than he’d realized. A long, polished oak bar was lined with rows of actual pewter goblets and tankards. Several buxom girls weaved among packed tables with overburdened wooden trays.
But in the back of his mind, he was thinking that whatever coins they had might be multiplied a little bit—especially since he’d been the last one to have their coin pouch, and he still did.
By the time Magiere followed him, wrestling her way through the crowded room, he’d already ordered up grilled chicken, spiced potatoes, tea, and ale—and two sausages—from one of the passing girls. When he plopped into a chair, it was too late for Magiere to say anything. Only Chap still grumbled as he circled around, momentarily frightening a few patrons at a nearby table before he settled beside Leesil’s chair.
A few years ago, Leesil had had to drink himself into a stupor just to sleep. Those nights were gone, and he no longer craved deep red wine. A game of cards was something else. That old itch still tickled him, and it had been too long since he’d scratched it.
Four men across the room at a table near the bar’s far end appeared to be playing a card game much like Two Kings, and the dealer was a middle-aged red-haired woman. Leesil took no more than a glance before looking idly about the rest of the tavern. Soon the food arrived, along with a tankard for Magiere.
She watched him throughout the meal, but with her mouth full, at least she couldn’t keep questioning him. Leesil shared his food with Chap, and every few bites he’d hack off a lump of sausage or chicken and toss it off to his right.
A clack of teeth answered, along with wet smacking and gnashing, followed by a gulp below the table. At one point there was a deep belch.
Magiere scowled in disgust, leaning back to peer under the table. When she did, Leesil arched up to look in her tankard.
More than half was gone, as fortunately the food was a bit salty—a typical trick by proprietors to sell more drink. While Magiere still scowled down at Chap, Leesil waved over one of the girls to refill the tankard. The girl was gone before Magiere looked up and Leesil quickly averted his eyes.
“What are you up to?” she asked.
He wiped his hands and stood up. “I’m going to earn our dinner back.”
“Oh, no, you aren’t!” She lunged, making a grab for him.
The table bucked up as Magiere’s legs half straightened, and as it rocked back into her legs, Chap snarled somewhere below. Magiere tumbled back down into her chair, and so did her tankard of ale.
Leesil almost stalled. Whether she drank the ale or wore it was good enough for him to slip off through the crowd. He’d pay for that later, but right now he was eager to get in on a game.
He’d barely squirmed through the crowded room when he almost stalled again, glancing down at himself. With his hauberk of battered iron rings and both punching blades strapped on, he must look like some half-blood mercenary to the locals.
At the squeak of some serving girl when her tray of plates rattled and at least one hit the floor, he knew Magiere was coming for him. Two of the cardplayers looked up, one leaning back to glance around him at the commotion.
Leesil unstrapped both blades as he settled in a vacant chair. The instant he heard Magiere behind him, he held the sheathed blades up without even looking.
“Hang on to these for me.”
“Leesil—”
“I know what I’m doing.”
Before Magiere got out another word, Chap growled, followed by ...
—If you—cheat—do not—get caught—
“I don’t need to cheat in a place like this,” he whispered in Belaskian, and when several players looked at him, he switched to Numanese. “Room for one?”
All at the table looked him over, and some exchanged annoyed glances, but he smiled at the redheaded dealer with a deck on the table before her. She studied his face, hair, and eyes for a moment.
“Do you know how to play Vëttes?” she asked.
Leesil’s thoughts stumbled over the last word. It was somewhat similar to the Numanese word for “gate”—or maybe “gates.”
“This isn’t faro or Two Kings, you idiot!” Magiere warned in Belaskian. “You don’t even know what you’re playing.”
As the dealer looked up, likely at Magiere, she smiled. She wouldn’t know what Magiere had said, but the tone of an incensed spouse was plain enough. Leesil rolled his eyes, cocked one eyebrow, and winked at the dealer.
“I learn quick,” he replied. “Maybe I watch first.”
A few players scowled, but the dealer raised a hand to brush them off. Indeed, Leesil was left to watch as the next hand played out. He noticed a number of empty tankards that hadn’t been cleared away. One young man on his right, dressed somewhat finely, glanced sidelong at him.
“I’ve never seen a Lhoin’na in armor before,” he commented.
Leesil grinned at him and shrugged, gesturing to the hauberk. “For show.”
The young man snorted with a half laugh and turned back to the game.
Leesil hoped this would lull the others into thinking he wasn’t dangerous and only preferred to look that way. The fact that his wife hovered behind him in fury would add to that illusion.
He kept his eyes on the cards. They were different from the typical deck used in the Farlands. In addition to the suits’ being foreign, the deck contained only what he would call “kings” and “queens,” but no “princes,” “knaves,” or “priests.” A Farlands deck had five suits, but here there were only four, which made the odds tighter and easier to calculate. Besides, even if he lost a hand or two, he could see by the coins on the table that the stakes were low.