The duel was tomorrow.
The streets were drenched from a storm that had passed during the night. It was the sort of brief storm that often came around autumn. Because of the wind and rain, shops opened late and the streets stood quiet. Only the scavengers were out early, searching for odds and ends the storm had carried away from their owners. Beggars picked up fallen fruit around the drains.
Late that morning, a man with his face wrapped in bandages stood before a newly opened shop at Sachet Square. The shop was just opening. As they worked, the clerks glanced at him. He must be one of the fellows who had sold his soul to gambling, to crawl out alone after being hurt badly enough to have his face bandaged that way.
He waited patiently, then approached as soon as the preparations were complete and stood before two jars decorated with lavish paint. One bore Gene’s name, the other Nikephoros’s. Cloth covered each opening, with a paper-width slit cut in the center. Notices at the back listed the money wagered and the number of participants as of yesterday. Looking down at the jars, the man patted the gold pouch hidden inside his clothes.
“Well, perhaps I’ll make a wager too.”
A few days earlier, the dueling ground had been changed from the northern guard post to the Grand Theater. A fire of unknown cause had broken out at the post during the night. Since no one guarded it overnight, dozens of stored grain sacks had burned, though there was no other damage. Once there had been a fire, however, the governor’s investigators came, and the post was closed until its cause could be found.
Immediately afterward, the Grand Theater’s manager offered the use of his venue, saying that day’s performance had been canceled.
When Gene heard, he was incredulous. There was no reason their duel had to become entertainment. Of course, many people were interested and would have come to watch even at the guard post, but that was their affair. He was not fighting to provide them a spectacle. On hearing the proposal, he lost his temper.
“Do they think I’m a gladiator?”
Luke, who happened to be nearby, spoke quietly.
“You aren’t, but there’s no harm in taking a benefit gladiators enjoy.”
“What benefit is that?”
“A fair contest.”
Then Tahyang nodded.
“Our friend has a point. Weren’t you worried the general might be preparing a scheme? Secret tricks would be difficult with so many eyes watching.”
“Oh, a true friend understands my distress.”
While the two unlikely “friends” patted each other’s shoulders, Gene thought. It was true, but if that was really the effect, would Nikephoros agree?
His fears were unfounded. Before long, one of the general’s subordinates arrived with a letter proposing a duel at the Grand Theater. They seemed positively pleased by the change. But why? Luke smiled and said, “It isn’t the first public duel held at the Grand Theater, you know.”
“Surely you don’t mean twenty-eight years ago too?”
“The general was terribly fond of showing off in those days. ‘Come, all Delphinad, and witness my victory!’ Something like that. He was beaten absurdly easily.”
“I don’t have that temperament, so I find it rather a burden.”
Gene spoke casually, though at first it sounded almost timid. Luke tilted his head at him, then looked at Ashabel.
“You know your captain well. Does that mean he lacks confidence, or what?”
Ashabel shrugged and shook his head.
“It means nothing. Putting himself down is just a habit.”
On the day the change of venue was announced, a new shop opened in a corner of Sachet Square near the library. On a standing board before its wide-open, doorless entrance was written:
One Zetark!
Witnesses to the contest of the century, test your fortune!
A great war hero against the ruler of the back alleys!
Choose the winner, and a thousand alpion may be yours!
The announcement was strange enough, something people had never seen before. Then heralds happened to pass, blowing horns to announce the change of venue to the Grand Theater, and the shop’s sign drew considerable attention. When people gathered, the waiting clerks explained.
Put simply, one wagered on the person one expected to win. A correct guess earned a payout. In addition, a thousand alpion would be awarded by drawing lots among the winners.
To most citizens, who did not even know places such as the White Spider’s Den existed, this public wager was unfamiliar to the point of novelty. Delphinad’s official gambling usually concerned whether a new play would succeed, or who would win at the annual athletic festival. Even those were the preserve of certain classes, since the basic stake was large.
But the event run by the promoter Leonis began at one alpion, the price of a single meal, so anyone could wager. Each additional julia, worth twenty alpion, brought a special one-percent bonus payout. The commission was ten percent, and there were three possible wagers: Gene’s victory, Nikephoros’s victory, or a draw.
There was no need to wait long for payment. The winnings would be paid the day after the duel. All one needed was the certificate issued when the wager was placed. Even if some difficulty arose, a certificate bearing the name of Leonis, one of Delphinad’s renowned wealthy men, could be used like a promissory note. Subject, of course, to the conditions written in its terms.
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