I ducked my chin and headed to the bar. At the front door, the very same old man who’d sat by the door the other night guarded his peephole from a backless chair, and he stared off into the crowd. Studying thefriendsof Knuckles & Bones.
I slipped onto a stool beside a woman who looked about my mother’s age. She was dressed in a fine gown, but like those I’d seen in the square, there was something off about her attire.
I looked down at the breeches and tunic belted just beneath my breasts; Brunello’s aunties had sewn them so quickly, I would have been tempted to believe they’d employed magic. But I’d seen their work-gnarled hands and heard their chipper voices as they created something functional and beautiful from the gown and the used clothing. There was nothing but passion and experience behind their quality work—certainly no hint of anything forbidden.
I shoved the question of clothing from my mind and caught the eye of a man behind the bar. His hair tied back into a long ponytail reminded me of Syndrian, but the similarity ended there. His thin face had a mean, impatient expression, and he leaned a wiry arm against the bar, barking at me for my order.
“Eh, what’re ya havin’?” He looked me over hungrily, as if I were something he might fancy feasting upon.
I could hardly contain my disgust. I’d never preened under the gaze of men or sought the artificial pleasure of a compliment. I wished I had the icy demeanor of my mother, although I had a difficult time believing she could blend into a place like this. While there were times when a cold edge and eloquent voice could be an advantage, I was grateful for my more casual accent and nondescript face.
“Some breakfast,” I said, trying to harden my voice.
“What’s a beautiful lady like yerself prefer?” The barkeep again looked me over in a way that sent prickles of discomfort along my spine. Perhaps I wasn’t so nondescript after all.
I took a moment and scanned behind me, and then around. The woman beside me noisily chewed on a link of sausage she held in her bare hands, the sloshing of food in her mouth setting my nerves on edge. She watched me with what looked like amusement, and I decided I needed to set the tone for the game I was playing from this very first moment.
“I prefer barkeeps who serve food and mind their business when it comes to a lady’s looks. You can keep the compliments to yourself and bring out something I can eat.” I slipped the dagger from my waist into my hand and leaned my elbows on the bar.
“Touchy in the mornin’, the lot o’ you is. Tournament brings out all sorts.” The barkeep frowned, but his demeanor quickly changed from wolfish to something more like a curious dog. “Sausage, bread, beans, and tea suit ya,friend?”
I nodded roughly, hoping that my aggression would serve its purpose. I turned on my chair while I waited for my meal. With the place a bit less crowded, I noticed small details that I’d missed the first time I was here. A massive shield and several flags hung from the exposed wooden rafters. The shield was carved and painted in black and green with a sigil of a gold fox and matching gold fret.
At the end of a long wooden table just beneath the shield, two men were hunched over a backgammon board. I grinned but then wiped the smile from my face as I heard the bang of a mug being roughly dropped behind me. The barkeep set a long slice of bread on the bar, piled from end to end with sloppy beans and a beautifully browned sausage. A few tiny slices of bread were on top of the beans.
The barkeep barked the price, and I dropped the pennies on the counter before digging into my meal. I used the small pieces of bread to scoop the beans and nibbled the sausage with my hands like the woman beside me had, but, I hoped, without the sloshy chewing sounds. Once I finished the meal, though it pained me to do so, I wiped my hands on the legs of my breeches. I’d have to set aside some of my manners if I really wished to blend in.
As soon as I’d eaten, I walked up to the backgammon game and watched as a very well-matched duo raced to clear their pieces from home. I couldn’t tell too much by watching the way the pieces were stacked, but I assumed a few bits of useful information. The gentleman playing black seemed to have the advantage in this game. His remaining checkers were evenly spread over the one and two spaces, ensuring that his every roll had a better chance of removing at least one, if not two, checkers from the board. The player with the white checkers had his pieces stacked in the four, five, and six spaces of his home, which might have meant he’d scrambled to get those pieces there.
By appearances, I expected black to win, and with the wildly lucky roll of double twos, he did clear his board while I watched. The man playing white nodded, a consummate good sport, and offered his opponent a handshake before they swapped coins.
“I’m out, mate.” The man playing white had an unusual accent but a pleasant manner about him. He stood from the bench and motioned toward his vacant seat. “Fancy a game, friend? I’m through.”
I met the eyes of the winning player, who nodded at me.
“Mind using my board?” he asked, his voice neutral.
I puzzled over the protocol of his request as quickly as I could. If he was a cheater, using his board and dice might give him an advantage I’d not yet had time to assess. But on the other hand, since I did not yet know the man, refusing his game and pieces might insult him and turn him against playing me.
“What’s the bet?” I asked. If the minimum bet was too high, I wouldn’t risk my money on it. Not this soon before the tournament itself.
“Yer choice,” the man said, shrugging. “A game’s a game. Quarter penny?”
I nodded and sat down at the table.
The man held his hands out. “Prefer a side?”
I shook my head. “Fine right here,” I murmured, pulling a quarter penny from my pouch.
I set my pieces and focused on the board, noting the weight and feel of the dice in my hand. I had two sets of dice, one for each player, but this man only had one set, which actually suited me quite well. I’d have far fewer worries that he’d weighted the dice or was cheating in some other way if we shared the same pair.
We split the dice, just like I did with Idony, with the higher roll moving first. He rolled a five and I rolled one, so the opening move went to him. I studied the man’s choice, trying to learn as much as I could about his strategy. I avoided staring at his face, since unlike card games, there was no bluff to backgammon. The player revealed everything about their strategy through their checkers. Within the first four rounds, I could tell he was a cautious player. Perhaps feeling out my skills as much as I was his. I played cautiously as well, leaving aggressive moves for when I had the most to gain from them.
He won the first game, but it was close. He had no unusual luck with the dice. Since I’d not noticed any signs of cheating, we played again. Same bet, different outcome. We played for what must have been hours, deliberating over rolls and moves. By the time I realized how crowded the pub was, the lamps were on, and my opponent’s purse was nearly empty.
“I’m out. Need to save some pennies for the tournament.” He shrugged and reached a hand across the table. “Excellent play, friend. I’ve never enjoying losing so much.”
I shook his hand and helped him gather his checkers, then pocketed my winnings from our hours of play. At a rate of a quarter penny per game, I might cover the cost of stabling my horse with profit if I played more before the tournament. Even though I had the additional coins from my mother, I still sought to preserve my money.