yelling, again with no respect for the fighters, as if this duel were a servants’ tavern brawl. Above them she heard Tess’s voice blaring: “First blood! First blood!” What was she talking about? Kaab wasn’t bleeding, and Ben wasn’t either. “I’m the cause of the fight, and I’m calling it just to first blood!”
Circling Kaab, Ben growled, “Shut up. I’m going to kill her.”
“No you’re not! You haven’t got time! Just pink her and go!”
Kaab’s body was hot, but the fight was cooling her liver-spirit, and her head-spirit was reasserting itself. Ben was distracted. Maybe his woman was even doing it on purpose, to help Kaab rescue her from her pimp. It was the perfect time to try a special little play her shipboard friend had taught her, a trick he said would never fail: a fake thrust that led the enemy to aim for your shoulder, while you blithely went in straight to his heart.
It failed.
She felt a wasp-sting in her right arm. “Rose-torn demons of hell!” Kaab shouted, dropping her blade.
“First blood!” All around her, the people were crying it out, like an incantation. Kaab didn’t trust them. Her sword had skidded west. She reached down for it—
A burly old man had his foot on the blade. “You know the rules,” he told her. “Or if you don’t, you shouldn’t be here.”
Kaab looked up at him. “Are you of honor?” It came out wrong, but the grey-head nodded.
“This is Riverside, honey. We know no honor but the sword.”
He stepped back a pace.
“Now, pick up your blade; and go back to whatever traveling sideshow you came from, girl. And if you ever want to come here again, I advise you to take a few more lessons, first.”
She risked a look across the circle. Ben stood there, panting and grinning. The perfidious Tess pulled at his arm. “Now, Ben!” She spoke to Kaab directly: “I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s mean when he’s hung over.”
“I was provoked!” Ben objected.
“Provoked to fight a girl?” someone jeered. So the sailmaker had been right. Women did not fight here.
“He’ll tell you all about it,” Tess said pointedly, “when he gets back from visiting his dying father.” She shooed people away like flies. “Stop gawking. Haven’t you got anything better to do?”
But Kaab was a curiosity, now that the fight was over, and they would not depart. “Where you from, lady?” the voices came at her. “Where’d you get them clothes? What’ll you take for that stripy head rag? Who taught you to fight?”
It was the kind of situation Kaab always enjoyed, Xamanek help her. A new city, a new role. She could tell them anything, and they’d most likely believe it as not.
She lifted her head, trying to look like the carving of Xkawkaw on a temple gate, and announced: “I came on a great ship from the west, on the Road of the Wind. An old god taught me to fight, and I honor him by shedding my blood on your soil. Lord Ben, you have served me well. I give you leave to depart.”
She nodded imperiously at him. Much as he might like to, he would not attack her again; the glorious Tess would see to that. And indeed, she was rushing him off as quick as she could, berating him all the way.
Ixkaab Balam smiled. Her shoulder stung, but she’d had worse. It was a good first day in the new city.
Such a play-actor! her mother’s voice said fondly.
And the Riversiders parted to let her pass.
• • •
The Ink Pot was a very nice place. It was pretty clean, and not too crowded. There was a good fire going, and people were laughing and even singing in one corner of the room. Nobody seemed mad, and no one was looking at her. Lots of them were drinking things, mostly from pewter or earthenware mugs.
The boy who had guided her said, “I’ll have one with you, if you like.”
“All right,” said Micah.
“Where’s your brass?”
“In my pocket.”
“Give it to me, then.”
“Why?”
“So I can go get the drinks, you gubbins! What are you having?”
“I like hot cider,” Micah said. “But you can’t have my money. It’s mine.”
“They won’t give me drinks without money! Don’t be stingy. Didn’t I bring you here? This place is for poets, and I’m a geographer.”
“Don’t call names,” Micah said. He should at least be polite.
She looked around for someone selling drinks. She’d never actually been in a tavern by herself before, and Cousin Reuben always got the drinks.
“How much are they?” she asked the boy. When he told her, she nodded. She certainly had that much, and a little left over. “All right,” Micah said. “I’ll give you the money if you get the drinks.” It seemed fair—or at least, a price worth paying so she didn’t need to wade into the throng and figure it out herself. She counted out exactly the right amount, and watched her helper head towards the bar.
“Come on!”
The voice behind her was loud and startling. Micah whirled; but they weren’t shouting at her. Four young men sat at a round table, playing cards by candlelight in the low-roofed tavern, beer mugs at their elbows.
“Rafe, are you in or out?”
“I’m in.” The tallest and darkest of them put some silver on the table.
Wow! Micah thought. They were betting with real money. She and her cousins only played with acorns.
Drawn to the game, she edged closer to the table, standing behind the dark-haired one, Rafe. She could see his cards. Not a bad hand, but it was more important to know what the others held. He couldn’t bet against them if he didn’t know. Each player had one card showing faceup on the table. The others had a Sun, a Comet, and a Two of Beasts. Rafe had a five, so at least they knew that. The betting went round again, and then another set was dealt.
The boy who had guided her handed Micah her drink, but she hardly noticed. She was following the patterns of the cards. She pretty much had them when Rafe laid more silver on the table and said, “All right. Everyone show.”
They started laying their hands out, but she couldn’t stand it. “Fold! Fold! What are you, stupid?”
Everyone was looking at her again. But she hardly even cared. How could he be so dumb?
Rafe turned a sharp face to her, and said kindly, “It’s all right, young ’un; I’ve got a pair of Beasts, a pair of Crowns and a Celestial. They can’t beat that.”
“Yes they can! It’s so obvious!” She had that needing-to-pee feeling again, only it was needing to talk, to explain. “Look! He’s got a Celestial showing, and he’s got two cards down and he’s betting high. There are only twenty-two cards left undealt, and the chance of one of them being a Celestial is five in a hundred, so that guy clearly has one more in his hand, which means he’s got two and you lose!”
There was silence. Then, one by one, each man laid open his hand on the table.
“Holy Mother!”
She was right, of course. She always was. Her cousins wouldn’t even play her anymore unless she played blindfolded.
“What’s your name, son?” Rafe asked her, and she felt so sorry for him she didn’t even bother to tell him she wasn’t his son.
“Micah.”
“Just come to town, have you?” She wasn’t wearing a scholar’s