The Star of Morcyth_ Book Five of the Morcyth Saga - Brian S. Pratt [30]
“You hang out here much?” asks Jiron as he stops next to the man.
Nodding, he replies, “Yes.”
“I hear there are fights going on here from time to time,” he says.
The beggar just stares at him, not responding to what he just said. Producing two coppers, he holds them out and the beggar snatches them away quickly. Looking around, he says, “Occasionally. I hear there will be one tonight.” Gesturing around at the many beggars he adds, “That’s why so many of us are here.”
“Do you know anything about who’s fighting?” he asks.
“Maybe,” he says. His hand snakes out of his clothing with the palm up.
Fishing out two more coppers, he places them in the beggar’s hand.
After his hand is once again within the dirty rags he calls clothes, he says, “Bunch of foreigners have staged fights here with locals the last week or so. They have a champion whom they say no one’s been able to beat.”
“What is their champion like?” asks Fifer.
“He was big, muscled and fought with two swords,” he says. “The last two fights only lasted a few passes before his opponent lay dead on the ground.”
Fifer glances to Jiron but he seems unconcerned about what he’s hearing. Many tales were told of opponents before they got into the pit with them, most of them were over exaggerated. Those who took rumors to heart tended to be less effective against them.
“I thought they fought with fists at times,” Jiron says.
Shaking his head, the beggar says, “No, never saw that. Not for awhile anyway.”
Jiron then produces another coin, this time a silver and asks, “Where could a person place a bet on such a fight?”
Hand moving so fast it almost blurs with speed, he snatches the silver out of Jiron’s fingers. Indicating a small alley off to the right, he says, “Go down there and knock on the third door to your right. When someone asks who it is, tell them ‘It’s no one’. That’s the password today. Inside you can make your bet.”
“Thanks friend,” Jiron says as he heads for the indicated alleyway.
“You’re not thinking of placing a bet are you?” asks Fifer.
“Of course I am,” he says. “I’m not planning on losing.”
They enter the alley and find the third door. Pausing only a moment, Jiron knocks upon it.
After a moment, a voice from the other side says, “Who’s there?”
“It’s no one,” Jiron says.
They hear a bar being removed and a lock turning just before the door swings open. An armored man stands there before them, a dimly lit hallway extending from the doorway behind him.
“Put your weapons on the table there,” he says, indicating a small table just within the hallway. He shuts the door and secures it again with the bar.
Fifer looks to Jiron who nods his head and they begin removing their weapons and placing them on the table.
Once divested of their weapons, the guard checks them to be sure they haven’t ‘forgotten’ any and then says, “Follow me.”
Moving down the hallway, the guard passes two doors before stopping in front of the third. Opening it, he steps aside and allows them to move into the room.
The room is richly furnished, surprising to find such a room here in this part of town. Oil lamps give the room plenty of light and a large desk sits in the middle of the room. A man is bent over the desk, looks like he’s going over the books. He looks up as they enter and asks, “What do you gentlemen want?”
“We understand that you take bets on the fights which occur in the courtyard outside,” states Jiron.
“Yes, we do,” he says leaning back in his chair.
The guard which had let them into the building takes position behind them, hand resting upon the pommel of his sword in the event they were to do something rash.
“I would like to place a bet on the outcome,” Jiron tells him. “I understand there’s a foreign champion which is to meet a newcomer tonight.”
“That’s right,” he says.
“What are the odds on the newcomer?” he asks as he moves closer to the desk.
“Ten to one,” the man