The Book of Days: Reign of Darkness

XV: Chatham

  He hadn't expected things to turn out this way. He had left Survival with ten and a half sovereigns-- his whole life savings-- and had planned to buy a house in Morwen. But that was before he'd lost most of his money to a huckster in a tavern called The Baron's Revenge.

  He had stepped in out of the biting autumn wind, his coin purse hung flagrantly on the front of his belt. He was still young enough not to know that a man who wished to keep his money did not flaunt it. He noticed the man with the cups right away. There were three of them, inverted on the table; nearby sat a flagon of ale and a coin purse much larger than his own.

  Now you have heard the saying Curiosity killed the cat, but Chatham to his great misfortune had heard no such thing. His interest piqued, he was instantly caught like a fly in the spider's web; only the fly knows it will soon perish.

  "What's with the cups?" He inquired. The man's eyes flicked up to meet him, aflame with avarice. "A game," he said. He was missing several teeth. "I didn't come here for games," Chatham informed him, beginning to walk away.

  "Oh, but this is no child's game," the man persisted. "This is for money." Chatham turned back to him, and sat down across from the mysterious man. "What kind of money?"

  "Two gold sovereigns if you win-- well, one really. Two if you count the one you get back. But if you lose...."

  "How does it work?"

  The man produced a coin out of thin air, and placed one of the cups over it. "Observe," he said. He began shifting the cups around, so quickly that Chatham began to lose track of which cup concealed the coin. Finally he stopped.

  "Now. Where is the coin?" Chatham was certain it was under the middle cup, and pointed at it. The man lifted it to reveal the coin. "Very good. You have a quick eye. These are the stakes: you give me a sovereign, and if you can correctly guess where it is, then you not only get your coin back, but I must pay you another. Lose, however, and I will keep your coin, and take another. My name is Faruk, from the nomadic tribes of the Korlann Desert. Shall we play? The demonstration does not count, of course."

  "Very well," Chatham agreed. But he had no idea how very long Faruk had been plying his trade, and how easily he could fool his opponent. Chatham had finally been forced to stop when he'd lost eight of his ten sovereigns. "This is no game," he accused. "This is a shakedown."

  Faruk had merely laughed, a wheezing, unpleasant sound, and replied, "You knew the stakes. You played the game. You lost. That is no fault of mine. And I can promise you, if you tell one of the town guards, he'll tell you the same thing." With that, Faruk had gone back to his ale.

  And at half a sovereign a day for room, board and stabling for his horse, he'd gone broke within the week. He wound up selling his horse for more money-- four sovereigns-- but that had soon dried up as well. So it was that he found himself begging for money on the streets. A few people had pity and tossed him a clip or two, but most reviled him, scolding, "Get a job, you useless lout!"

  That was when the soldiers had come. They each wore a uniform of a black tunic and trousers, with a silver belt cinched at the waist; and each wore a purple surcoat emblazoned at the left shoulder with the image of a black hand. "Alright, you," said one of the soldiers-- a general, if the golden trim around the hem of his surcoat was any testament. "Come on, no begging in the streets. We could use a strapping young lad like you. What's your name?"

  "Chatham Spilner," he replied.

  "Well, Chatham, welcome to the Imperial Army, Morwen regiment. I'm General Kempler." Kempler helped him up and said, "Come along to the barracks and we'll get you a uniform. You'll have hot meals, a krenel a day in wages, and a roof over your head. In time, if you impress your betters, you may get promoted."