He'd been awake for some time now, staring up at the ceiling of the Church of First Light, saying nothing.
Distorted memories of their frenzied, desperate journey through the woods tapered off into nothingness in his head-- but here he was, awake and alive as ever. As a great thirst came over him, not feeling inclined to serve himself, Matteo called for Ash.
Their talk did little to assure him as Matteo learned about the debt-- that which he'd tried so hard to avoid, by becoming a Thief-- the three now owed their caretakers. Three silver. And how long did he have? ...A week? Maybe a little less. Feeling that he had little choice, lacking the job experience to gain any other kind of employment (and also lacking the ambition to seek more creative or effort-intensive means) he did the only thing he could think of: begging. He knew well enough as a Thief that his own kind were obligated to hand out alms to the poor, and having exactly (0) money, Matteo felt he qualified. So he took off his shoes and took to the streets, collecting grubby copper pieces. Humiliating, of course, but Matteo had made up his mind that it would be worth it once his grand plan came to fruition.
And on the last day, as he collected the last few coins he needed, Matteo knew it was time.
It was dark now, and within the pleasure district of the Seaside Fortress-City of Andeave, everything was beginning to liven up, in the same edgy, seedy way that it always had. While music drifted gloriously from the western taverns and the merrymaking warriors toasted their oaths to the beauty goddess, those within the southwestern district cared less for worship and more for flesh and risk, alcohol flowing freely from holes in the wall while scantily clad women waved at their favorites from the balconies of brothels. All sorts of ne’er-do-gooders stalked the streets, staring down others that looked too curiously in their direction, and occasionally, one could even see scar-faced merchants approaching their equally criminal clients, opening up a cloak to reveal strange vials or dried specimens.
But drugs and sex weren’t what called Matteo to this sordid area. No, clutching what alms he had scraped up over the last few days, the thief now sought to multiply his wealth through dice and cards, the dingy and sinful world around him providing him plentiful avenues to waste away the charity of others.
The brightest attraction was Hotel Moonside, a multi-story building that sparkled in an otherwise dingy district. Two bouncers stood on opposite sides of an open door, and intoxicating fumes wafted out from the resort, where buxom and lithe girls, alongside fair and lean boys, were dressed undergarments and bunny ears, pouring drinks for high rolling adventurers who had plenty of money to spend. Large sums of silver and gold were bet as if they were worth only water, and loud laughter shook the floors of the building, just forcefully enough that one wouldn’t be able to hear the creaking of the higher floors as well.
Occupying a middle ground stood a far humbler abode, if not also much more scary. The Pirate’s Den was bereft of beauty, but was also much more quiet, a darkly lit place where taciturn men threw cards down and traded dagger-glares. A bottle of something was being traded around, and occasionally, small confrontations occured, a knife drawn and then plunged, the injured tossed into a corner to seek their own medical care later. Some were even betting on body parts, a more devilish thrill that racked them large sums if they won. Dangerous, but the bar of entry, at least, felt much lower than Hotel Moonside.
On the lower spectrum were gamblers who occupied small-scale taverns. No officiating was present, some fusion of an honor code and promised violence being what kept the money flowing smoothly, but it was clear that some were also just straight up scams. Scumbags were definitely abound here, and without a buddy backing him up? Who knew how well Matteo would do, even if he did win?
Then there were groups of beggars that, with cheap drink and marked rocks, would play their own games, trading away any possibility of a normal life for a few hours of sating the addiction that got them where they were to begin with. Like Matteo, they only played with coppers, and like Matteo, they weren’t exactly the toughest people in the district, so perhaps...he’d just have to put up with getting some more scraps by gambling with the most derelict?
Stained and barefoot, still clad in the same clothes in which he, Muu and Ash had been ambushed, Matteo made his way towards the sounds of clinking copper coins. The sound, hardly noteworthy for some but thrilling for a lazy hobo with looming hospital bills-- had become part of his daily routine ever since leaving the Church of First Light.
As he approached one of the groups of beggars, some of them (perhaps) familiar from his desperate street-combing from the prior week, Matteo did not once feel bad about gambling with charity. To him, the seventy coppers he’d starved for were not a gift-- they were an investment. Just like the Guild, and the silver from Etono, and even the recruitment office. People trusted him to do great things.
“Evening, gentlemen,” Matteo said pleasantly, stopping near one of the gambling beggar rings. He patted one of his pockets to make it jingle-- he’d prudently stored his copper in multiple locations on his body, just in case-- and crouched down, giving his fellows a mild smile. “Mind if I join you for a couple hands… rolls?”
Though most of the others didn’t pay him much attention, a middle-aged man with stubble and a large hat waved him to sit down. “‘Course, kiddo! Whatcha bettin’ wit?”
Matteo turned his smile on the stubbly man and reached into his pocket, counting out a few coppers on the palm of his hand. “Maybe just five, to start?” he offered.
“Hoho, big payouts already, eh? Gotcha gotcha.” The man turned to the others then, clapping his hands to get their attention. “Starting with five, anyone in?”
Four others approached as well, plopping down in squats or crossed legs or whatever else made them feel the most comfortable. As they did, the stubbly man produced a set of grimy dice. “Looks like you’re new, so I’ll keep it real fast,” he said, “Two dice, you bet on odds, evens, or a number. Win with the odds or evens, and you share it with other odds and evens. Win with a number, and you get the whole pot to yourself. Crystal clear?”
“Sure,” Matteo said, giving the older fellow a polite nod. He glanced over at the other players, trying to read them for a moment before he gave up and turned his attention to the dice. “I’ll call odds, thank you.”
“Odds.” “Odds.” “Even.”
The man shook the cup and slammed it down, pulling it open to reveal a total sum of 8. “Oof, better luck next time, eh, champs?”
The singular winner guffawed, took a swig of some cloudy bottle, before passing it around to the others while he collected his winnings. “Less anty up, boys!” the drunkard said, pushing in the entire 25 coppers that made up his winnings. “Whose gotta balls to take it on?”
Grimacing at his misfortune (and the taste of whatever was in that bottle) Matteo passed it on and wiped the back of his mouth. It seemed to bolster his determination and he ransacked his pockets again, finding 25 copper. “I suppose another round won’t hurt,” he said. “Evens?”
Drawn by the possibility of big money, a couple more joined in now. It was clear that most of them were there for the thrill of the win, not actually trying to make money. Now the pot was a grand total of 225 copper coins, looking rather beautiful as nine people crowded around it. The dicey dealer turned to the others with a cocked head, before the bets were called in.
“Odds! “...even.” “Even.” “Odds.” “8!” “...2?” “6!” “Odds.”
The dealer grinned, exposing a missing front tooth, before rattling away. Once again, he slammed it into the dirt, and lifted the cup up. 5. Odds. The three that won thrust their fists into the air, doing a little jig before trying, unsuccessfully, to split their earnings.
One of the losers spat a wad of phelgm at the wall, before slamming ten coins in, looking at the winners. Naturally, those bunch tossed in ten as well, and the dealer called out. “Big wins today, lads! Ten ten ten, who wants in?”
Matteo put his ten in the pile, frustrated and not-yet-quite-desperate. “Seven,” he said for a change of pace.
The pot was much more tame this time, some scampering off to take a piss while others just wanted to see how anything would pan out. Still, there were more people interested now that the entry bar wasn’t nearly as brutal, and the pot was raised to 110.
“Ey, where my odd bois at!” “Odds!” “Odds!” “Od- I mean, evens.” “1.” “Haha, dude, 1? 2’s where it’s at!” “Evens.” “6.” “...odds.” “10!”
The dealer just smiled as the dice rattled in his cup, before letting it roll out this time, the six sided die bouncing against someone’s shoes. 6. The sole winner leapt up to his feet with a hoot, before doing a quick little tap dance. Others laughed at him, and the drink was passed towards Matteo once more, the first winner of the round slapping him on the back in a half-consoling manner.
“It’s fine,” Matteo assured the man, feeling like everything was assuredly not fine. He swallowed his anxiety. Forty copper gone, thirty left. Four days worth of panhandling. Well, if Muu and Ash also beg, we can make it back in just one day before the hospital bill is due, he reflected and started the next bet with ten. “Odds, please.”
“6!” “God, you always go for that, huh? Odds.” “Evens~” “C’mon, 4, c’mon!” “Evens!” “8!” “Odds.” “Evens.” “...10.” “Vyr-Nilil, pleaseeeeee. 11!” “Even, baby~!”
The stubbly dealer turned around to the others, looking for more takers, but it looked like a pot of 120 copper was going to be the deal this time. With that, he grinned, shook it hard, and let it go. A powerful slam, and wham, 10.
Immediately, the winner snatched up his pot and guffawed, the adrenaline and electricity of the win racing through his fingertips as he slammed twenty down, looking at the others with a wild-eyed look. “Lets go again! Ahaha!”
The others looked unimpressed though, no doubt due to how stingy such a move actually was. Still, many of the same players were shelling out their own copper, as the drink made its way into their veins and brains. A pot of 220 stood there, surrounded by 11 other hobos.
Would Matteo becoming the 12th?
The Thief’s heart had began to pound sluggishly, color rising to his cheeks. The bitter tang of lukewarm ale swam in his senses. His last twenty coppers, rolled into a sock inside his dirty jacket, had never felt so heavy. He’d lost every round. He’d lost almost a full week’s earnings, no, investments, and-- if he took it-- the final bet would cost him everything he had. Should he hang on?
Matteo hesitated.
Scenarios ran through his mind. Dice scenarios-- variables, chance, likelihoods of odds and evens and numbers adding up with one another. Future scenarios-- dying diseased in the gutter, held for ransom by some sadistic hospital loan sharks, gagging down runny bowls of tasteless soup from the Church for the rest of his life. Possibility. Probability.
He remembered a story-- somehow, for some reason-- about a woman whose husband had been in terrible debt. To have these loans forgiven, she made a deal. If she drew the ace of hearts from a deck of cards, his debt would be cleared. But if she drew anything else, she would lose her husband, and she would marry the dealer instead. The woman agreed, and turned over the card-- and it was the Ace of Hearts. Later, her husband asked her why she’d taken the deal when the odds had seemed so impossible. She looked at him and said “What do you mean? There was only two outcomes-- win, or lose.”
The story wound itself through Matteo’s mind as, almost as if in a dream, the youth found himself emptying his final twenty copper into the beggars’ pot. One of them, of course, is talking about probability-- whereas the other is talking about fate.
Four rounds. Four losses.
Is it my fate to lose?
His bleary eyes counted the eleven other beggars, the light in their eyes, the lucky winnings in their pockets. Were these people really meant to be more successful than he was? As their bets began to be called out, Matteo heard his voice say “Twelve.”
Two sixes, no other combinations. Only two outcomes, win or lose.
Matteo closed his eyes. Always commit.
The dice fell.
One settled first, bouncing against Matteo’s shoe. A six, gleaming with chipped gold.
The other one spun still, rattling about. It bounced up the small pile of coins, then rolled down. Struck a rock. Bounced. Flew. In slow motion, Matteo could see the gleam of six on its face.
Then it landed.
Not gold, but the red of a 1.
A total of 7.
How lucky. How unlucky.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, long after the dice game had ended, the bitter taste of alcohol and loss mingling together on his tongue. It felt familiar. He felt numb.
Some time later, Matteo found himself on a pier in the Eastern district, legs dangling over the edge of the dock. Above, the two moons cast twin reflections across the harbor. The boy looked down at his bare, dirty feet and wondered, as he had back at the blood-soaked stream, if the easiest thing to do wouldn’t be to sink to the bottom and never come back up.
The sea breeze ruffled his unwashed hair, bringing with it the scent of salt.
He flopped onto his side, still gazing dully out at the distant lights of central Andeave, and let the waves and creaking timbers lull him to sleep.
