Peter Roberts
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Told in Stone Chapter 6: Blackjack
🕑 Added 2025-02-26 17:02:59 +0000 UTCThe officers mess was a tavern in the town square that had been taken over by the well heeled commanders of the regiments. The innkeeper wore a wider smile than any of the patrons as he watched the the guilders of the monied class flowing into his coffers.
It was noon and there were only a handful of figures at the tables and the low murmur of conversation died down as Riot and Clarkson entered. Riot exchanged small nods with those that he had fought with, and matched the glares of those he had not. There were grey Erudoran uniforms among the bright colours of the Arcanum regiments and heads bowed together as they murmured and shot him dark glances.
Clarkson led Riot to a corner table and ordered small glasses of amber liquor. “Tarian brandy,” he said, proffering his glass. “My uncle says that we’ll be marching east before winter, so better get a taste for it now.” He took a delicate sip and shuddered. “Though truth told I’m not terribly used to strong spirits.”
Riot been deep into his cups before. There had been trouble with women, more dead friends than he cared to remember, and now the crushing disappointment of his failed ambition. The trick was to commit from the first glass. Riot drained the sweet liquid and smashed the glass back down and snatched at the bottle before the innkeeper could take it away.
When the four bells of half noon were struck, golden sun shone onto the empty bottle and Riot felt the heavy haze in the back of his head that told him he was heading in the right direction, that that direction was down. Clarkson had tried to keep up and now lay sprawled on the table, every breath from his snotty nose a wet sucking noise.
A shadow fell across the table accompanied by a drawling voice. “Unsurprising to see you have the vices of a common soldier.”
Leguard’s thin lips were drawn into their customary sneer and he was backed by two Erudoran officers.
“Captain Leguard?” Clarkson slurred the words, lifting his head and closing each eye in turn to focus on the Erudoran who stood less than two feet from him.
“Your regiment is a disgrace,” one of the officers behind Leguard said loudly, drawing the attention of the handful of officers on nearby tables.
“You’ll get no argument from me,” Riot said, to a ripple of laughter in the room.
Riot kept his eyes on the glass in his hand he spoke, while his free hand carefully rested on the handle of the short blackjack tucked into his belt. In a real tavern he knew the rules. The fight starts when the first punch was thrown and you all piled in, anything was a weapon. But what were the rules here in the officers' mess? “Do I have to fight you all at once, or one at a time?” he asked.
An officer wearing the deep green of Arcanum command gave a bark of laughter.
“I will have satisfaction, for all of the noble lineages ruined by your family's treachery,” Leguard hissed, throwing a glove down on the table.
Mutterings and hissed conversations could be heard now. Would they jump in? Riot couldn’t help but chuckle, imagining a group of officers brawling in a tavern.
Clarkson picked up the glove giving it a bleary eyed stare, before dropping it on the table as if he was handling a live snake. “Gods, Riot, I think he’s challenging you to a duel!”
The slurred exclamation from the young lieutenant caused another ripple of laughter.
“Not allowed to duel, General Roverans orders,” Riot said loudly. He drained his cup.
Leguards’ face flushed red and he placed both hands on the table, looming over Riot. “Unless you are a coward, you will meet me at the Gravetree Priory tomorrow at the first witches bell,” he said, his words for Riot only.
Another duel that he would lose no matter the outcome. Nothing stayed a secret in the regiments and when Roveran found out he would throw him in the stocks and there would be nothing he could do.
“I refuse to duel you, Captain.” The words felt like a betrayal, and Leguard was in his face, and he was drunk. So who could blame a man, really?
With a swift movement, Riot knocked Leguards hands apart. There was a moment of uncertainly before the Captains body realised that it was in fact, unsupported and his head bounced off of the table before he slumped to the floor.
Shocked gasps and exclamations arose around them and the two Erudoran officers bent down to tend to their captain and the tavern owner ran out from behind the bar, waving a dishcloth like a flag of surrender. “No fighting in here, out, out!” He cried.
Riot stood and swayed slightly on the spot as the room revolved around him then he grabbed Clarkson by the scruff of the neck and hauled the younger man out onto the street. He made for the officers billet in the north end of the town. It was a large manor house commandeered by the army and for a half gilder a week you could secure room and board, but a lieutenant's salary didn’t stretch to such luxuries and so Riot stayed in the regimental camp with the men.
“We had a bar fight, a real bar fight,” Clarkson slurred as Riot set him down on the stone steps of the house.
Riot remained silent. He weighed up the consequences of his run in with Leguard and realised that he really didn’t care. Leguard could report him for assault, but he couldn’t be demoted any more.
“You know, Riot, I’m quite envious of you. I think my uncle is as well. You’re a hero, a real hero.” The young officer produced a large handkerchief and blew his nose noisily, staring at the floor, drunk and miserable. “How will I get the men to respect me?”
You earn it by fighting alongside them, was what he wanted to say. But instead he said, “They’re good lads. I’ll speak to them for you.”
“Would you? Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Riot took his leave and made his way through the silent streets to the main gate of the town. Tomorrow he would report for duty at the baggage train. Counting barrels of salt beef, and arguing with the drovers that herded the bullock and sheep. Then there was the tribe of army wives and their dirty children that would now be his responsibility. Many of them bigger thieves than their husbands and twice as ruthless.
A shadow detached itself from the mouth of an alleyway in front of him, and Riot knew that if he cared to look around, there would be another behind him. It had been a while since someone had tried to kill him, and the lingering haze of alcohol quickly burned away.
“You lost, friend?” Riot said, tripping over a lose cobblestone and slipping the weighted blackjack from his belt as he staggered forward.
“You Riot?” The figure said. He had a gravelly voice with an Erudoran accent. Rank and file, wanting to earn some coin.
“No, but I heard of him. They say he’s a nasty bastard,” Riot replied, still moving forward.
“Is it him?” The man behind called, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
Riot surged forward and saw a flash of a blade in the darkness. He grabbed wildly for the man's wrist and seized his sleeve, pulling the knife wide so that it skittered across his ribs instead of plunging into his gut.
The upswing of the blackjack was as sweet as Riot could have hoped for and caught the man on the chin, breaking his jaw. The followup blow cracked him on the side of the head, dropping him like a sack of grain at Riot’s feet.
Pain flared from his sliced chest and the footsteps behind him were too close. Riot felt panic rise as he turned to face the second attacker, and saw him flop to the ground, a knife skittering from his hands as behind him rose a monstrous shadow.
“How in the name of the gods did you know I was here?” Riot said.
Loic Fitchen stepped out of the shadows, massaging his fist. “Well, I was deep in my cups, like any honest fighting man, and who do you think should walk into the ale house, but Captain Leguard.” Loic knelt down and started patting the pockets of the cutthroat. “Now, Loic, I say to myself. What's a fancy officer doing in a place like this? So Leguard, he speaks to a couple of gentlemen of the stone-eyed Erudoran persuasion and gives them some coin and they slink off into the night. Didn’t even finish their drinks. Loic, says I. There’s two men, out late at night with a fresh pouch of coin, I should keep an eye out, anything could happen to them.”
“How noble of you,” Riot said. He checked his ribs, the cut wasn’t deep, but this was his only shirt.
Loic retrieved the coin pouch and chuckled as he weighed it in his hand. “Lucky for you I am.”
Riot leaned down and seized the cutthroat's hair, pulling his head up. “You tell Leguard I’ll see him at the Priory, groan if you understand.” He waited until the man gave a moan of understanding and let his head bounce off of the cobbles.
“You’ll have to be my second,” Riot said as they walked away.
“When you're dead I get to kill Leguard?”
“Something like that.”
