Dawn light touched the windows, the thick glass warping it into a glaze that could not compete against the myriad candles in brackets on the walls. Nightfall finished his cheese, took a last swallow of warm beer, and stretched. "One more," he said cryptically, then explained. "I need one more bet to complete the night, something that every-one who wants to can join." He glanced about the tavern, pretending to seek something on which to pin his money, for dramatic effect alone. He knew precisely where his best bet lay, and he only needed to delay until it came to him.
Several patrons shouted suggestions, from a personal round with the dart to contests that involved drinking to the point of vomiting. Nightfall dismissed them all as not exciting or chancy enough. Then, he opened the common room door and glanced up and down the city streets. Far in the distance, he saw an approaching wagon, little more than a dot on the roadway. The direction fit perfectly, and the distant, barely audible, clop of hoof on cobble clinched the identity to just short of certainty. He whirled suddenly, as if the almighty Father had tossed the perfect idea from the heavens. "I’ll guess something about whoever next passes this doorway."
Several patrons crowded to join Nightfall in the entry-way, inadvertently becoming his witnesses that the streets stood empty. "What’ll you guess?" several asked in various fashions.
Nightfall pretended to consider for some time. "Depends on what comes."
The last remaining teen from the knife and dart contest spoke next. "I’ll check ahead and let you know." Clearly beer had clouded his judgment enough that he did not worry what his parents would think of his spending the entire night in a tavern. He trotted into the street, glanced up and down the block, then headed toward the dot on the horizon.
Nightfall tried to elicit interest beyond that already raised by speculation about the grand finale of a servant who had laid money down on everything from strangers’ skill to the preferences of flies. "We’ll make this interesting. A number. Age? Weight?" He discarded the obvious and headed toward the ridiculous. "Number of hairs on his head-”
The youth returned shortly. "Wagon coming. Melons headed for market.”
The obvious came to several minds at once, even alcohol-fuddled. One Trillian, a relatively recent comer to the proceedings, started things moving, "I’ll bet three coppers to one you can’t guess the number of melons on that cart at a glance."
Nightfall pulled at his chin, rough with morning stubble.
“You wanted a challenge," one reminded.
“A challenge, yes," Nightfall repeated thoughtfully. He smiled wanly. "All right. What are winnings for but to lose. The thrill of the game and all that." He turned back to the crowd as more patrons filed to the entrance to watch for the coming merchant. "I’ll match every coin placed on that table one for one." He pointed to the table nearest the door. "I win if I guess the number of melons on the cart within two."
There followed a sudden mad scramble for the table, every man wanting his share of action skewed so far against a gambler who had, apparently, had way too much to drink. A shabbily dressed, young man who had placed no wagers himself, but had rooted for Nightfall from the start, spoke up. "Have you thought about those odds, Sudian? Even three to one wouldn’t hardly seem fair."
Several patrons glared at the speaker, clearly worried that a shock of common sense might lose them the sure win this bet appeared to be.
Nightfall again looked out the door, stance light and balanced against the frame. "I either guess right or I guess wrong." He glanced back at the speaker. "Right or wrong. Two possible outcomes. Fifty: fifty." He shrugged. "Even money. Sounds right to me."
The warped logic brought even the most reticent bettor to the fore. By the time the wagon came up on the Thirsty Dolphin, twelve silvers worth of copper littered the barroom table. Nightfall recognized the dark brown mare hauling the cart as the one he had returned to its owner the previous day. The farmer clutched his horse’s reins, looking startled by the crowd. His gaze fished Nightfall from the others, and he smiled slightly. True to his word, he gave no other gesture or greeting to indicate he had met Edward’s squire before.
Nightfall fixed his gaze on the cart, bobbing his head as if counting. His scrutiny allowed him to ascertain that few, if any, of the melons had been stolen or bartered since he reloaded the cart. Still, it made sense for him to guess low rather than high. Melons could only diminish, not multiply, in the night. As the cart rattled past, he moved into the road behind it as if to complete his tally. When he turned back toward the tavern, he discovered every eye fixed on him.
Building tension, he crossed back to the doorway in silence. The patrons moved aside to let him enter, backing away as he took a seat at the money-ladened table. A few more coppers had joined the others while he stood in the roadway.
Dramatically, Nightfall looked up. "Forty-six," he said, at last.
"Forty-six. Forty-six. Forty-six?" The number made its rounds through the crowd, and anticipation turned to confusion as the realization sank in fully that there seemed no instantaneous way to determine the victor. After a few moments of discussion, the group chose six men from their midst to help the farmer unload and tally his product, none of whom had any money at stake nor bore more than a passing relationship to anyone who did. Having recognized two whose honesty Balshaz had trusted as well as the one youth who had cheered him since the start, Nightfall did not protest. He sat quietly, nodding with polite abstraction as the others made comments about his stupidity or luck, depending on their proclivities and confidence.
The wager itself did not concern Nightfall; he already knew the outcome. He only hoped the counters at the market would hurry, before Prince Edward awakened for his breakfast. Soon enough he would know that his squire had spent much of the night making wagers. Nightfall could soothe and explain easier, if need be, without three quarters of his take displayed across a barroom table.
Nightfall managed a haggard smile. Once the count came through, he would own a copper total of forty-four silver coins, with a few copper to spare. It seemed a fortune and a pittance at once, more than most men saw in a decade yet less than a sixth of what he needed to buy Edward his land. He doubted he could pass another five nights as successfully at the Thirsty Dolphin, not without placing his honesty too far in doubt or earning the wrath of a victim certain he had been cheated. Even if I could stay awake that long. Already Nightfall felt fatigue gnawing at the edges of his constant and necessary alertness. By the following day, schemers would come, either to quietly study his techniques or to relieve him of his new-found riches. To confront others of his ilk, some of whom specialized in scams while he only dabbled, he would need all his wits about him.
Nightfall lowered his head and let his thoughts run.
Chapter 11
Where Nightfall walks, all virtue dies.
He weaves a trail of pain and lies.
On mankind heaps his vilest woes Darkness comes where Nightfall goes.
– "The Legend of Nightfall"
By the time Nightfall collected his money and rushed back to the inn room, Prince Edward had only just awakened. The prince lay on his back, eyes repeatedly whipping open then drooping shut as he attempted to come fully awake and start the day. He seemed to take no notice of Nightfall’s silent entrance. Playing dutiful squire, Nightfall levered through the drawers, choosing clean silks for his master and unrumpled silver and purple for himself. In Trillium, they would have no trouble finding a washerwoman to clean and press their clothing, though Nightfall would see to it that the process of hiring took time. Focusing the prince on the mundane would leave less chance for idealistic, inciting lectures to slavers and their charges.