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.
As night progressed toward day, the number of local Trillians diminished, including the dart-playing youths. Those remaining had drank far more than the three beers Nightfall had nursed through the night. A camaraderie had grown between the remaining bettors, one Nightfall had every intention of exploiting. During the thick of a heated debate over whether the last person entering the tavern had sandy-brown or dirty blond hair, no doubt in order to determine the winner of a silly bet, Nightfall unobtrusively swiped the bug-repelling weed the stable boy had given him against a side of each of his two remaining melon cubes. He waited until the argument subsided, then placed the food in the center of the table, one repellent side up and the other down. He studied the smallest of the Ivralian merchants, a handsomely featured man named Kwybin. Slurring his speech as if from too much drink, he pointed at the melon cubes. "I’ll bet you a silver the next fly that lands picks this one." He pointed at the cube placed repellent-side down.
Kwybin laughed. "You’ll bet on anything, won’t you?"
Nightfall seized the opening. "Lost my wife and children in a card game." He met the Ivralian’s gaze directly, giving no clues to indicate he was joking. "And I wasn’t even playing." He gestured the melon cubes briskly to keep the flies from alighting while the merchant decided. "You in or not?"
Kwybin considered, glancing from cube to cube as if to find some subtle difference in form that would make one more attractive to insects than the other. While he debated, his taller companion, Hyrowith, placed a silver coin on the table. "I’ll take the bet."
Nightfall sat back, hands clasped in his lap and well away from the melons. The size of the wager, as well as its strangeness kept most of the patrons in place, gawking. Before long, a fly hovered over the fruit, circled twice, then landed on Nightfall’s cube.
A spattering of applause and sympathetic noises swept through the group. Though he had lost, Hyrowith laughed. "I guess the bugs like you better. I’m not sure that should bother me." The others in the common room laughed.
Nightfall smiled. He reached for the cubes, rolling them casually as if to return them to his plate. Despite the seeming patternlessness of his gestures, he kept track of the repellent-marked sides at all times. His caution paid off. Kwybin could not resist his part of the action. "My turn." He smacked a silver piece to the tabletop. "I’ll bet on the winning piece." He pointed to the cube on which Nightfall had placed his last wager.
It proved easy enough to leave the chosen melon repellent-side up this time. Nightfall shrugged. "One’s as good as another." He moved away from the fruit, pushing his newly won silver toward the other. Several moments passed in silence as patrons glanced from melon to air, seeking flies in the quiet stillness of The Thirsty Dolphin. Then, a sweet-fly wove through the onlookers. Delayed by those who tried to bat it toward one cube or another, it gave Nightfall his second win.