Demir remained silent, studying and thinking, and it was by the fourth match that Ulina excused herself for a moment, stepping just outside the door to the box to berate one of her porters.
“You seem to be getting along well,” Demir commented.
Montego shrugged. “She’s quite knowledgeable, but too arrogant for my tastes. Do you have a plan yet?”
“I believe I do,” Demir replied. “Do you remember that little con we used to do when we were kids?”
Montego snorted. “Of course.”
“How do you feel about resurrecting it?”
“Here? Are you serious?”
“If I can make it work, yes.”
“I am not properly dressed.”
“If you were, the con wouldn’t work.”
Montego considered this for a moment. “The last time we did it, we were chased out of the Blacktree Arena by six angry bookies and their enforcers.”
“We gave fake names. This was before you were famous.”
“We’re both famous now. If we get caught…”
Demir nodded in understanding. If they were caught he would lose what little standing he had with the other guild-families. The cudgeling league would begin to tail him, and his whole operation throughout the provinces could be at risk. Considering that that operation was funding his aboveboard purchases for the Grappo, it was a dire risk indeed. But he needed access to the Ivory Forest Glassworks immediately. “Let’s do it,” he finally said.
“Fine.”
Ulina reappeared a moment later, another drink in her hand. “The porter was being too slow,” she explained sweetly, “so I sent her to be flogged. Are we about to start yet?”
“Ulina,” Demir said, raising a hand.
“Hmm?” She turned to him as if only just remembering that he was here. “Yes, Demir?”
“I’m getting the gambling itch.”
“Hah! Of course you are. Please, feel free to make use of my runner.”
“I don’t want to get involved with bookies so soon after returning to the capital. How about a friendly wager between you and me?”
Ulina regarded him for a moment, looking at him closely for the first time in the last hour. “What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know the next fighters, but I’m feeling lucky. Who do you favor?”
“It’ll be close, but I think Blago.”
“Then I’ll take Wasti. A thousand ozzo?”
Ulina’s face split in a grin. If she feared his glassdancer tattoo, she had now forgotten all about it. “You’re on!”
The fight went much as Demir expected. He did, in fact, know both of the fighters. Blago had been indirectly on his payroll several years ago, and though Blago was older and losing energy, it was an easy win for him. Demir pulled out his wad of banknotes and peeled off ten of them as the match ended with Wasti’s forfeit.
“Good fight, good fight,” he said to Ulina. When she reached for the money, he pulled it back slightly. “Give me the chance to win it back?”
Ulina’s attention had shifted from Montego now. She smiled slyly at Demir. “Double or nothing? I’ll give you the choice of fighter.”
He had her now.
Demir won the next match, and then lost the following three, then won another. Ulina sent one of her entourage to the closest bank and a hefty stack of banknotes began to build on one of the empty seats in the box. Montego looked on in bemusement, refusing to participate in the betting despite Ulina’s repeated invitations.
By the eighth fight, Demir’s blood was pumping and his mouth was dry. Over two hundred thousand ozzo had bounced between them, and even he had not guessed that it would escalate so quickly. He looked at the schedule. Just one more fight: the exhibition match between Fidori and a local champion that Demir did not know. Demir reached for the pile of money.
“Uh-uh!” Ulina said, slapping his hand playfully. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Collecting my winnings?”
“There’s still one more match.”
Demir laughed and shook his head. “Fidori is on the Magna payroll and for good reason. I’ve been having fun but I’m not going to bet against him.”
“Oh, please?” Ulina pouted.
Demir pretended to consider, then shook his head again. “Not a chance.”
“I’ll give you good odds.”
Again, he hesitated. “No. I’d be a fool.”
Ulina glanced down at the pile of money. From her personal ledgers, Demir knew that she won and lost piles like this on a monthly basis, but it was still a lot of money. A very tempting pot for anyone, no matter how rich. “Suit yourself, I suppose,” she sighed. She managed to maintain her composure, but Demir could see the frustration in her eyes.
Preparations were made for the last match. The crowd was noticeably excited, pointing and waving, screaming Fidori’s name as he strolled out among them and entered the ring. He was truly a specimen: almost as tall as Montego, light skin sun-bronzed, muscles oiled. He held a cudgel in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other, which he threw to the audience as he gained the ring.
Demir glanced sidelong at Montego, who rolled his eyes. “He stole that from me,” Montego grumbled.
Ulina was noticeably muted, though still a gracious host. She leaned forward, putting in an extra-large bet with the arena bookie, no doubt hoping to recoup some of the losses she’d made to Demir. Instead of putting his winnings in his pockets, Demir left them on the chair beside him. Ulina glanced in their direction every so often.
The fight was, he had to admit, very good. Fidori and the local champion sparred back and forth across the ring with astonishing speed and strength, blows connecting that would have felled normal fighters.
“You’re sure you won’t bet?” Ulina asked Demir. “The local chap is doing quite well.”
Demir waved her off, and it was a good thing too. The local fighter was soon bashed across the shoulder, staggering to one side and failing to protect himself as Fidori whaled on his useless arm. He fell to one knee, clearly trying to signal the referee for a forfeit.
“Come now!” Montego roared, leaping to his feet. “End the fight!” It was his first display of real investment the whole afternoon.
The referee scrambled into the ring, pushing Fidori back, while the local fighter was quickly carried away. Montego turned to Demir red-faced. “That was not a good fight.”
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Ulina said dismissively, “you’ve killed dozens of fighters in the ring.”
“I never swing once the forfeit signal is given.”
“He didn’t signal.”
“He was trying to. Always give a fighter the chance to back out. That’s good sportsmanship.”
“Fidori only does that with fighters he considers worthy,” Ulina laughed.
Demir pushed his way between them. “Hey, hey. It was a good fight. Sit down, Baby, that fighter will be good to go after a week on cureglass.”
Montego rumbled angrily to himself as he sat down, and Demir could tell it was not an act. “I’m sorry,” Demir said to Ulina, “he feels very strongly about these things.”
“Hm. Fidori is at the top running for champion next year. Unofficially, of course. The season hasn’t begun.”
“He’s not that good,” Montego snapped.
“Hah! He’s incredible. Don’t be sore. Fidori has a long career ahead of him. I bet he could have even beaten you in your heyday!”
It was the second time someone had said that, and was the moment Demir had been waiting for. “You really think so?” He turned to Ulina curiously.
“Yes, most certainly.”