“This is all new to me, and I want to take it in before I try anything,” he told the gambling hall manager. “I won’t eat any of your food. I just want to watch and think for a while.”
“That’s fine,” the manager said, “for a while. But sooner or later, if you don’t plan to do any gambling, we’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“Understood,” Kestrel acknowledged, and he turned away from the manager and the food. He went to stand beside a table of gamblers who were on the path the slaves would have to take to return to their entry door, where he planned to wait for their empty-handed return.
“Are you going to play?” a man asked Kestrel.
“What?” Kestrel was taken by surprise. He looked at the man, standing at the table, holding a cup in his hands. There were others at the table watching too.
“If you’re going to stand at the table, you need to put your money down,” the gambler said. “I’m getting ready to toss, and I’m hot! Put some money down on me,” he nodded to the table below, an intricate checkerboard of colors, shapes and numbers.
Embarrassed, Kestrel reached for his purse. He didn’t have a lot of money with him, but he’d spent nothing so far. Other than the caps on his staff, he had no other planned expenditures. He pulled out the first unseen coin his fingers grasped in his purse, and looked at the numerous small piles of coins atop squares on the left side of the table. In bewilderment he placed his coin on an empty square next to the others.
“An optimist, eh?” the man with the cup in his hand commented. He shook the cup, his hands holding the open end closed, then flung his hand away as he threw its contents down on the table.
Kestrel looked up to see that the slaves were hobbling around, distributing food from their platter to a pair of tables on the other side of the hall. He looked back down, and saw that there were five small wooden cubes on the table.
“You lucky son of a doxy!” the cupholder shouted to Kestrel. “You got the purple!”
Kestrel felt someone pound his back in congratulations, and a tall stack of coins was pushed towards him. He examined the cubes on the table again, and saw that all five had a purple surface facing upward.
“Here,” the cupholder pressed the leather container towards him, as the others at the table stared at Kestrel with smiles. “You’re so lucky, you throw the squares!”
“I don’t really know the rules,” Kestrel protested.
“You don’t have to know anything; you just have to be lucky!” the only woman at the table screeched at him as her partner draped his arm possessively over her shoulder.
“What do I do?” Kestrel asked as the other man released the leather cup, leaving it in Kestrel’s possession.
“Pick up the squares, pick your bet, let everyone else pick their bet, then throw them,” the former explained.
Kestrel looked at the silent man who wore a vest, the one who had pushed the coins towards him. The man nodded discretely, and Kestrel reached for the wooden cubes. He glanced over at the working slaves, who seemed to still be occupied with their duties, then took a pair of coins from his pile and put them on two different squares.
He watched as others placed their bets, then he shook the cup and released the wooden squares. They five cubes flew out of the cup, spinning and revealing their varied colors and symbols as they flew, then hit the table and each other and bounced against the restraining wall, before coming to settle in place. The others at the table gave a great whoop, and the man in the vest began to push forward coins to match several of the bets, including one of Kestrel’s.
The shouts attracted others to come over, and as Kestrel pulled his new pile of coins in and picked up the cubes, a buzz of chatter surrounded him as news of his luck was transmitted.
He placed a small pile of chips on a spot at random, and then watched as other coins quickly fell around it in a pattern he couldn’t figure out. All eyes went to his hands, and he began to shake the cup, listening to the wooden pieces within randomly clatter against each other, until he heard a peculiar chiming clack. He released his hand, and the stream of squares poured from the cup and onto the table top. Kestrel knew, as soon as the first wooden block hit the table, he knew he had somehow won again. When the cubes finished knocking each other against the table top and finally came to rest, there was another loud cry of triumph, as multiple hands thumped him on the back and hugged his shoulders, while a woman leaned in to kiss him.
The man in the vest looked at Kestrel with an unfathomable warning in his eyes, then began to push more coins towards the players’ bets. He raised a hand with two fingers extended, and another man in a vest carried over a heavy box of additional coins, and laid it down in front of the man who distributed the winnings. Kestrel saw the manager who had blocked his path walking over towards the table, and he took a look over at the enslaved elves. The two men were still working, he saw, so he reached for the cubes, and realized that more gamblers were arriving at his table to take advantage of his lucky streak.
Kestrel looked at the table top, placed another bet, and the whole process began again under the watchful eye of the new arrivals, both those who gambled, and those who worked in the gambling house. Kestrel’s bet and those of the other gamblers won again, and Kestrel belatedly realized that the money the gamblers won was money that the gambling hall lost. Another box of coins was carried to the table, and more gamblers surrounded the prime attraction. A glance at the elves showed that many other tables were emptied as Kestrel drew in people looking to ride his luck.
“How are you doing this?” the manager asked.
“I just listen to the cubes, and throw them when they sound right,” Kestrel answered.
There was a round of laughter at the table, then the others at the table grew silent, as the manager reached down and picked the cubes off the surface.
“I should have just let you go eat lunch, shouldn’t I?” he grinned. “It would have cost me much less money.
“Here,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out another set of cubes. “See what these sound like.”
There were immediate protests around the table from the other gamblers, but none from Kestrel. He knew that whatever was happening was the work of supernatural forces, and he didn’t think it could be stopped by the man’s mortal efforts. He held up his hand to silence the crowd, and, as if he was a prophet, they instantly quieted down. Kestrel placed a stack of coins at the random spot that looked right, and began to shake the new cubes in the cup. Others were putting down bets hurriedly, but not nearly as many as before, worried as they were that the change in the cubes had changed Kestrel’s luck.
He closed his eyes and listened to the wooden squares convulsing inside the shaking cup, and when he heard the musical tone, he released his hand, his eyes still closed, and listened to the silence of the people at the table as the colorful wooden cubes flew through the air, hit the table, and rattled towards their final resting spots.
Kestrel’s eyes popped open as he heard a thunderous round of applause. He looked down at the table and saw more stacks of coins being pushed away by the man in the vest, as someone who worked for the gambling hall came up and whispered in the manager’s ear.
“This table is closed,” the manager said. “All cube games are finished for the rest of the day.”
There were shouts and groans and complaints all around the table, and the two guards from the front door were suddenly on the scene to provide enforcement.
“One more throw,” Kestrel said suddenly. “Just give me one more throw.”
The manager looked at him, ready to deny his request, then seemed to suddenly change his mind. “I’ll give you one more throw on two conditions,” he answered.
“I accept,” Kestrel agreed immediately.
“Don’t you want to hear the conditions?” the manager asked with a grin.