Of Prophecies and Promises

Chapter 7

7

With a general idea of how Gage read his luck, Chev, Pel, and their newly acquired good-luck piece embarked on their first visit to the corners of the lesser games. Pel decided Gage needed to learn how to mask what he knew and how to lose a few scores before he won so he didn’t scare off the other gamers. If all went well, they may earn enough to purchase another set of clothes for Gage so he would blend in with the citizenry of Malhinda.

They stopped at a corner where the crate and cups were illuminated by a light directly overhead. The roadway was not used by many of the transpos, so other than pedestrians, the path between structures was generally quiet. The Fostling that ran the game knew Pel and Chev and was curious about their companion. From eyes that were set on each side of an oval-shaped head, Wilac scanned the newcomer.

Thoughtfully stroking the whisker-like skin on the side of his mouth, he said, “Pel, good to see you. I am short on credits and can use your kind of luck.”

“Sorry, Wilac. We’re just showing the boy a few sights. Knew you’d be here gaming and just wanted the boy to meet you,” Pel answered, placing his hand on Gage’s shoulder.

“Sure you don’t want to join?” Wilac eyed Pel, hoping his tendency for placing a casual wager wouldn’t let him stay away.

“Maybe later,” Pel offered and maneuvered Gage so they stood at the edge of the crowd of gamers but could still see the cups.

As the game resumed, Chev, who didn’t have to lean down so far to speak close to the boy’s ear, described the participants. Many of them were new to the game, but a few had lost enough at the games that required more skill and perhaps didn’t have the credits to pay. That made them undesirable to the games where large credits were attached to each outcome. They came back time and again hoping that it would be the one game where Source would turn their luck, and perhaps they’d walk away with enough credits to cover their debts. The red-rimmed eyes of one human alluded to another habit. A woman that sidled up to another gamer made it clear she was here for a customer, not the cups. All were human except one Fostling who seemed to be taking more than his share of the wins.

Pel leaned down to point this out to Gage. “There is a balance between losing to gain the other’s confidence and winning to the extreme of causing suspicion. Always depart remaining friends with the owner. If not, they’ll make it known that you cheat. And, well, those who turn the luck falsely in their favor find themselves missing a body part, or their life. Understand?”

Gage nodded, taking in the details Chev and Pel gave to him. Because he was observant, he noticed that most of the gamers moved in a certain way, depending on their wagers. Some put their hands in their pockets, or rubbed their nose, or leaned forward or back. The ones that didn’t have an obvious gesture stirred Gage’s curiosity.

Pel tugged on Gage’s robe, and they moved down the street.

“Pel, is it supposed to be so obvious what the gamers do when they think they are right or wrong in the wager?” Gage asked.

Chev and Pel exchanged a look over Gage’s head. So, they had indeed found a good-luck piece.

Pel answered, “A talented gamer doesn’t show his trait, or he changes it up so the others can’t read it. Why give the others a chance to take your credits? The cups are easier to read traits. The cubes… that takes a bit more work. We’ll see if Fancy is playing tonight.”

The roadways and buildings began to look alike. Gage didn’t know how long it would take to learn his way from the owners of the games back to where Pel and Chev had given him shelter. The noise and lights made his head pound, and it felt unnatural to not look any being directly in the eye. Some would take it as a challenge and, as Gage was reminded, he was not to differentiate himself from any of the other beings, lest he cause trouble with the action around the crates.

It appeared that Fancy was working the narrow space between a building and an abandoned space that once held parked transpos. She had a particularly lively crowd. It seemed the cubes were friendly this night.

“Empress tops trader. My apologies Eldon, but your credits are mine,” the raspy voice of the human woman explained.

Her once-black hair was streaked liberally with grey. The heavy face paint could not cover how time and turns of poor luck for most of her life had affected her body. Gesturing with the herbed paper roll held in her fingers, she invited all to state their wagers, then scooped up the cubes, only to send them back to the crate where they stole credits from a few in the crowd.

Again, the lesson began. Beings were singled out based on their wealth, their habits, their traits. Nuances of the game were explained, and when a gamer wagered one direction or another, it was explained why and the possible outcomes. In his own mind, Gage kept track of what showed on the cubes, as he did for how often the rope ball appeared in the first, second, or third cup. He discovered that without asking aloud, he was not shown which cup had the answer he sought or could not manipulate the cubes to land on a particular face. Whispering worked, so he attempted to keep his lips still, as that would be his own trait should any of the other gamers choose to study him.

“Pel, Chev, who’s your friend?” Fancy gestured with one hand while the other gathered the cubes.

“Gage. He’ll be, ah, staying with us for a while,” Pel improvised.

“Teaching him the trade, are ya?” Fancy asked, bringing the herbed paper to her lips and inhaling deeply.

“The boy here seems to have a natural talent for the games.”

The Tamplian standing in front of Fancy drew her attention back to the participants. “I can’t win back my wagers unless you roll the cubes. We’re here to game, not discuss.”

Fancy’s gaze left Gage and settled on the ugly face, unblinking eyes, and protruding teeth. A typical Tamplian, he portrayed being tough to get his way, but a thread of paranoia ran close to the surface. Oftentimes, their mistrust of others caused them to respond in such a way that led to their own demise. They were an adjunct member of the Alliance, making themselves known for trading in anything, including slaves, as well as being involved in various insignificant skirmishes with just about anyone who’d reach for their laser. When serving on judging panels, they delivered harsh sentences. Patrolling the space around newly colonized planets or moons, they committed skyway robbery with the “fee” they demanded before a vessel was allowed to the surface.

Fancy rolled the cubes. “Sure thing, Thulb.”

Gage watched as the cubes tumbled. Guessing the Tamplian had placed a small wager on a cube to bring him at least halfway up the hierarchy, Gage whispered for a certain character, and two of the cubes landed at his request. The Tamplian, Thulb, shouted and punched his fist into the air above his head. Placing another wager, Fancy gathered only three of the cubes. This time, Gage asked the cubes to show a lesser character. Thulb growled his frustration.

“Now, that’s something I hadn’t thought of,” Pel leaned over to whisper to Gage. “It makes sense that if you can create your own luck, you can change that of the other gamers.”

Gage blinked up at Pel. He didn’t want the man to know he was right, so Gage schooled his features into one of confusion.

Pel narrowed his gaze at the boy, looked at the crate where the cubes once again danced across the surface, then back at Gage. “So, you didn’t just…”

Not wanting to lie outright, he continued to stare at Pel. The man mumbled under his breath, then looked back at the Tamplian and the results of his latest wager.

Gage, too, directed his attention to the cubes as the corner of his mouth kicked up into a half-smile. In every moment, he could see where there was something for him to learn. His teachings at the Monastery were ingrained in him, had instilled a sense of peace. That didn’t mean he couldn’t poke around the edges of all the lessons Bosley taught him. Source allowed him to be taken, and he wasn’t going to waste any opportunities to grow his gift or discern how to enmesh, and then disentangle, himself with the beings around him. A tug on his sleeve from Chev meant they were moving on to another crate, more gamers, and the possible credits that seemed to drive these beings to the cups or the cubes.

Jules visited a few cup dealers, searching for a boy about ten years old, with no hair, dressed in the robes of the Holy Order. He didn’t know who had taken Gage. A single word, scratched on a piece of wrapping that was pulled from a trash receptacle and handed to him by a blind and crazed man who Jules had seen occasionally around a fire in the section of Paradise City that offered refuge to those with no home, had been handed to him just two days ago. There was no need to question the man who inquired of Jules’s name as he exited his building, handed over the scrap of debris, then shuffled down the road, tapping his sight-stick in front of him.

Knowing Anada Bosley would not be able to let the boy go, Jules went quickly to the Monastery. It would have been a tragedy had Bosley lost his position at the Monastery, or sacrificed his life, had he come searching for Gage in Malhinda. That was the task that lay before Jules.

And one that was proving to take finesse. After the first few stops, where he made a cursory glance at the crowd of gamers and then moved on, he decided he would have to start inquiring. Most participants had their attention on the games, the operators, or any single gamer that proved to be competition for the credits. Jules visited another three crates before arriving at Fancy’s.

Looking up from her cubes, she smiled at Jules. “How’s my favorite Dark Warrior?”

Jules pretended to be disturbed. Placing a finger against his lips, he said, “Shhh! Fancy, no one is supposed to know.”

“Just by looking at ya, they’ll know your business,” she returned, taking in his covered head, eye shields, and black clothing.

“Really, Fancy. I’m just a part-time gamer, part-time trader, attempting to amass credits like everyone else,” Jules explained, extending his hands out to the side, palms up, a knowing grin on his face.

Fancy chuckled, then rolled the cubes before Thulb complained. “Are you in on the next roll?”

“Tempting, but I must decline. Actually, I’m looking for someone. Perhaps you’ve seen him.”

“I see a lot, darlin’.”

“That’s one of the many traits that endear you to me,” Jules smiled, tucking his hands inside the folds of his cloak. “This one would not be difficult to miss. A boy of about ten. No hair. Anada’s robe.”

Jules raised a brow as Fancy’s eyes sharpened in his direction. So, she had seen Gage. He watched as she lit another herb paper, her face disappearing slightly behind the smoke as she inhaled, then exhaled, scooping up only two of the cubes. Not knowing what Fancy would demand in exchange, Jules waited. It was one of his strengths.

“Just so happens I met Gage this evening.” She couldn’t read his eyes and was trying not to care that Jules’s very schooled features gave way to none of his thoughts.

“Did he play?”

“No. Just watched. Kind of hard to mistake him. He didn’t blend real well with the usual crowd,” she said and gestured with the smoke to the patrons standing in front of her.

“Was he alone?”

“I’ll tell you all you want to know about the ones who distracted Fancy from the cubes. Just like you’re doing. Give me two hundred fifty credits so Fancy can send those cubes dancing,” offered Thulb.

Jules smiled slightly, dipped his hand into his pouch, and produced the portable credits for those who had no account. Fancy lifted a corner of her mouth in a half-smile, shook the cubes as wagers were placed, then sent the cubes to the crate. Thulb had sacrificed two hundred twenty-five of his recently obtained credits.

“Lost with the speed that matches their finding.” Jules shook his head. “Tell me about the boy.”

Thulb, irritated that he’d leave Fancy’s with little more than that which he had arrived, moved out of the crowd, then he and Jules stopped a few meters down the walkway.

“Pel and Chev seemed real fond of the boy,” Thulb began.

“They are not familiar to me.”

“Pel is tall and has no weight. Chev is shorter and seems to carry more than his share.”

“Are they regulars?” Jules had only been in Malhinda for a year. Gamers were transient, moving among crates and roadways, sometimes to clubs, depending on their luck, or their burn.

“I’ve seen them enough with Fancy. They frequent Hobbs, whoever works 87th, and everything along the Chain. Seems they were teaching the boy,” Thulb stopped and considered asking for more credits in exchange for more information. Not that he had more, but the dark human wouldn’t know that.

“Thank you for your time,” Jules nodded, then turned towards 87th before Thulb could offer any guessing.