Gasps and murmured whispers echoed through the players.
“Come, come.” The well-dressed man waved his hand, and the patrons of Knuckles & Bones moved aside to make room for the man with the axe.
The player who had been accused of cheating tried to bolt for the door, but the crowd filled in around him and blocked the way. I noticed a flash of long white-blond hair by the bar. Feeling the same eerie anxiety that I’d felt before the stabbing here the other night, I instinctively moved closer to the bar. Since most of the observers were staring into the spectacle, not away, I felt confident taking an empty seat in view of Syndrian.
I was certain he noticed me, but I looked away quickly from the rapid blink of his eyes. He clutched a sack in his hand tighter and leaned forward, motioning toward the barkeep for a drink.
“Oy! Dice maker!” The man behind the bar gave Syndrian a full mug and nodded at the scene. “There’s always one, right? Always one has to make an example of himself.”
“That’s not any kind of example I’d be interested in making of myself.” Syndrian tipped his mug to the barkeep, then turned in his seat to face the crowd.
His eyes raked over me as he moved, but I ignored the flush of heat at my cheeks. We could reveal no hint that we knew each other. Could not give anyone cause to even suspect it, or Syndrian’s impartiality might be called into question. And worse, my honor. If the scene behind me was any indication, this pub took cheating very, very seriously.
“Please, friend! Please! This ain’t how it looks…” The accused looked from the man with the axe to the finely dressed man.
I mumbled under my breath to no one in particular, “This looks like business better taken outside. If blood’s to be spilled…”
The barkeep gave me a cross look but motioned toward the finely dressed man. “That man’s sole purpose is to keep peace here for the owners. At any cost.” He wiped the top of the bar with a rag and huffed a sigh. “He ain’t put off by a bit o’ blood. But cheaters might be.”
I nodded and motioned for him to pour me another ale. I breathed a slight bit better knowing that man was not likely an Otleich. Syndrian had told me last night that his contact within the Otleich family was a low-level property owner. Someone with influence who stayed close to the family but whose presence in places like Knuckles & Bones kept the attention away from the family members themselves. I was relieved to know that my betrothed wasn’t a man who threw knives and… I shuddered at whatever the fate of the accused cheater might be but was selfishly relieved that, if none of our plan worked, at least the man I’d played was not Emeric Otleich.
“May I have your attention, good friends of Knuckles & Bones?” The finely dressed man clapped his hands loudly, his voice carrying over the hushed patrons who followed his every move. “A tournament is planned for tonight, and we expect lots…andlots…of coins to change hands.”
At that, a rowdy cheer rose from the crowd. The man, like a proper host, beamed and waited for the applause to quiet. He paced a slow circle around the accused man, rubbing his palms together. “Now,” he called out, like a bard about to perform. I felt eyes on me—Syndrian’s no doubt, and I worried for a moment about where Biko was. Why he’d walked outside for this. But I tried to focus on sipping my ale and setting my worries aside.
“As you know, the owners of this fine establishment will not tolerate cheating.” The man held his fingers in the air as he listed off the prohibited crimes. “No card counting, no weighted dice, no marked cards… If you can think of an unfair advantage, you go right ahead and add that trick to my list. Need I say more?”
A few voices called out, “No!” and “No, friend!”
“Now.” The friend of the Otleiches pointed at the man accused of cheating. “We have a dispute, friend. This player seems to believe you’ve wronged her.” He spun toward the woman, his elegant charm giving way to a menacing snarl. “The penalties for lying about cheating are every bit as serious as those we levy against cheaters.” He leaned his face menacingly close to the woman’s. “Care to reconsider your position on what happened,friend?”
The woman’s voice shook, but she stood firm. “I know what I saw,” she insisted, swallowing and loudly clearing her throat. “There’s a card up ’is sleeve. I’m sure of it!”
That was all the incentive the man needed.
I felt Syndrian’s eyes on me, warning me, perhaps, to look away. But I couldn’t. If I was to be part of this tournament, I needed to know what happened to people who broke the rules. And if I lost… I’d marry into a family that delivered this kind of punishment. I felt bound to not only know what to expect but to watch it happen.
The finely dressed man lifted a hand in the air. “Friend, if you’d kindly do us the honors.”
“I ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong! Please! I ain’t done nothin’ wrong!” As he cried out his protests, the man tried again to pry his way past the crowd blocking the route to the back door.
“I appreciate a finely worded defense.” The man I’d played earlier motioned with one hand, and two more enforcers dressed in black worked their way through the crowd. They stood on either side of the accused man and shoved him toward an empty table.
“Arms down.” One of the enforcers shoved the man’s back, forcing him to brace his hands on the table.
With his arms splayed in front of him, there was an obvious movement, the slightest shift in the fabric of one sleeve.
“Ah-ha…” The finely dressed man stalked over to the table and bent his face so it was beside the cheat’s. His demeanor immediately changed. Gone were the fine manners and smoothly styled hair. He began shouting, gesturing with such animation that his hair flopped onto his sweaty face. Clots of saliva flew from his mouth as he chastised the man and cursed everything from his children to his soul.
I nearly covered my ears at the tirade but knew better than to give away any squeamishness. Any sensitivity. I forced myself to watch—but not until I’d traded a quick look with Syndrian. His blue gaze was anguished, and the slow blink of his eyes practically begged me to look away. I could not.
I watched as the finely dressed man motioned to the enforcer holding the axe. Then he spoke a gruesome order so calmly, he seemed possessed by an almost unnatural grace. Perhaps it was delight that he simply chose to mask with gravity. He struck me as someone who submitted to his violent duty with glee.
“Take his sleeve,” he said, his eyes focused on the garment where the alleged cheater supposedly had hidden cards. “Then…” The gleam in his eyes brought the sour taste of bile to my tongue.“Take his hand.”
He issued the order so quickly, neither the accused man nor anyone else had time to react. By the time the cheater screamed, his high-pitched cry for mercy piercing the hush of the crowd, the two enforcers had ripped away his sleeves, both of which did contain hidden cards, separating them from his tunic as though his clothes had been held together by little more than rotting threads.
I felt a wave of horror at what the guards had revealed. The man had cheated. Hidden away beneath the folds of filthy fabric were several playing cards. The first enforcer held up the evidence momentarily, then without waiting for any reaction, sent the axe flying. The guard sliced through flesh and bone, without so much as a grunt of effort, bringing the blade down so hard that it embedded deep in the wood of the table. As soon as the weapon completed its vicious mission, the first guard roughly tied one of loose sleeves around the gushing wound. Then, he rushed the wailing man through the stunned crowd toward the exit.