Chương 75: V3: Chapter 16 - The Admirer

While they waited for the food to arrive, Lady Constance continued to captivate everyone at the table. Especially Gwen. She stared at the woman with equal parts admiration and animosity and wasn't pleased about either. Just because a woman was beautiful, educated, refined, confident, and rich enough to dress in diamonds and gold didn't make her worthy of respect. And just because she smiles at Royce with more than her lips doesn't mean she's evil. It just feels that way.

Constance was a lady, intelligent and educated. She spoke eloquently, discussing complicated topics with ease and used words Gwen had never heard. Confidence radiated from the woman as if she were the sun. She was poised and graceful. Her clothes fit as if tailored to her that very evening, and her makeup was perfect — not too much, not too little. And for a man who spoke infrequently, Royce talked to her a great deal. Since setting out on this trip, Gwen had been nothing but a lump.

She was out of her element and had nothing to do. Back in Medford, she hardly had a minute to herself. Everyone depended on her to deal with a constant flow of emergencies. Up north, she was useful, capable, and valued, but here... it was easy to see why Royce would be attracted to Lady Constance. Gwen didn't stand a chance. Food arrived. The beach buzzard was far better than its name, but Gwen found she lacked much of an appetite. She had even less once Lady Constance spoke to her.

"Lady DeLancy, is it?" Constance asked over her plate of cave bat. She was the only one at the table brave enough to order it. Constance claimed it was delightful, but Gwen thought she was lying. Okay, perhaps not lying, but exaggerating, certainly.

"Just Gwen." This response appeared to puzzle Constance for a moment, but she quickly recovered.

"What landholding is DeLancy? I've not heard of it before. Is it in Calis?"

"I don't have any land," she replied, feeling uncomfortably warm. To be grilled by Constance in front of everyone — in front of Royce — felt like she was taking a test she hadn't prepared for. But Gwen didn't like giving up the field without a fight. She wasn't without merit. She had pulled herself up out of the gutter to become a successful and respected businesswoman. She had nothing to be ashamed of and a great deal to boast about.

"Well, I do own Medford House and The Rose and Thorn Tavern. Although, it's true I don't actually own them. The king owns them. I rent from him. But it's like I own them. They're very successful. I'm successful. I think so, anyway." She took a breath. That hadn't come out nearly as good as she'd hoped. Seeing the pitying expression on Lady Constance's face, Gwen felt like crawling under the table.

"What is Medford House?" the lady asked. Gwen didn't answer; she couldn't. Instead, she lowered her eyes and thought, I want to die right now. Why can't I just drop over, plant my face in the beach buzzard, and just be dead.

"Has anyone heard anything new about the murdered courier?" Hadrian asked, his voice loud and booming over that of the woman.

"What's this?" Albert asked. Like everyone, he had been listening to Gwen and Lady Constance when Hadrian rudely blindsided the lot.

"Who was murdered?"

"A courier. Everyone's been talking about it."

"Yes," Constance said, turning away from Gwen and drawn by the more interesting subject — although Gwen imagined that the mating habits of dung beetles would have been more fascinating.

"Why was he killed?" Albert asked. He had finished his fish and was using a bit of bread to clean up the remainder of sea foam on his plate.

"For whatever he was carrying, I would think," Royce replied.

"And what was that?" Everyone looked at everyone else. And Gwen took the opportunity to stare at Hadrian. When he looked back, she mouthed the words, thank you. Then Albert turned to Lady Constance.

"You must have some idea. You're the Gossip Queen of the North, and you visit here every year. You have contacts. What do you know?"

"Well"— the lady smiled and played with her peas in a coy fashion — "there are many rumors, but what makes this so intriguing is that literally everyone is looking into it: the Port Authority, the Chamber of Commerce, and a whole host of shady figures including pirates. Anyone with an ounce of ambition, really. Even the Triumvirate is actively searching. Of course, no one cares a thistle about the courier. It is the package that has captured everyone's attention.

With so much interest, general speculation has concluded — and I think rightly so — that the courier's pouch contained something of immense value."

"And does anyone know what that might be?" Royce asked. Constance shook her head.

"Sadly, there is no conclusive determination on that hard nut, but as always, there are a host of ideas. The leading one is that the courier was carrying a treasure map."

"To what?" Royce asked, pushing his empty plate away.

"King Mideon's gold." Lady Constance set her own dish aside to better wield her hands in service to her words. She wasn't a big-hand talker; Gwen had known a few of those who had made her duck. Lady Constance was more of a hand whisperer: her gestures dainty and always graceful.

"You see," Lady Constance continued, "The Church of Novron has been digging into the ancient city of Neith. Literally digging. I know this for a fact because to get here I take the barge down from Colnora and then a little boat across the channel to the port of Caric, which is well within sight of Neith. We always have to wait there for the carriages — sometimes overnight. Two years ago, I saw seret knights' tents appear on the slopes of Mount Dome, and a massive excavation project had started.

The seret had an army of diggers — mostly Dromeians. The whole thing is absolutely eerie. It is difficult to explain unless you are there. Unless you are standing on that windblown rock, peering through the haze of dust clouds and watching all those bearded Dromeians wielding picks and shovels in the light of a hundred lanterns and the glow of a blood-red sunset. All you hear is the wind and the clink of picks and hammers. I swear, it is like being transported to another place and time — a time before Man."

"What is Neith?" Royce asked.

"It's the ancient capital of the dwarfs and was once the seat of King Mideon, their greatest and wealthiest king," Arcadius explained.

"He ruled over both their cultural apex and their fatal fall. The dwarven city was lost in a great war, then destroyed — collapsed by magic. There have long been rumors of the riches of that golden age still buried deep beneath the rubble."

"Precisely." Lady Constance nodded.

"But what does that have to do with the courier?" Royce asked.

"Well... eleven months after the digging started," Constance went on, her hands working once more like a magician casting a beautiful spell, "the whole operation stopped. And it was a huge endeavor. As I mentioned, there were hundreds of workers but also roads, cranes, and scaffolding. I even think they set up an irrigation system to supply water to the site. But one day the entire thing just halted. This was in the spring, right about six months after Essendon Castle burned — if you recall that.

Inquisitive by nature and curious by career, I queried the locals. The sentinel who led the project was none other than Garrick Gervaise, and witness accounts all concur he was never seen without two books in hand. One was said to be the ancient works of King Rain — who was a digger himself. That dwarf had spent time in Neith before its collapse.

The nature of the other book, however, remains a source of great speculation, but one thing is indisputable: the day the excavation was shut down, Sentinel Gervaise arrived at the worksite carrying only one book: the works of Rain. The other one, the tome of great mystery, was gone."

"A book went missing?" Royce said skeptically.

"Not merely any book. The Dromeians I talked to said the sentinel was using its contents as a guide. So, what is the obvious conclusion? The missing book must have contained a treasure map of some sort, and without it, Gervaise had to give up his search." The lady paused to drink.

"And you think the courier was killed because he had it?"

"Sounds like something a lot of people would be interested in, doesn't it?"

"Sounds like a lot of wishful speculation," Royce said.

"And if that happened only a few months after the burning of Essendon Castle, where has this map been for almost two years? And why is it popping up now? And who stole it from a church sentinel? And where was the courier taking it?" Lady Constance smiled at him.

"Welcome to the world of Tur Del Furian speculation and gossip. You are now properly equipped to enter any bathhouse and engage in the idle chit-chat of the city — well, if any bathhouses were still open, which due to the inexplicable vanishing of the entire dwarven community they are not."

"Oh, by the name of Our Lord Maribor!" a man exclaimed as he walked past their table. He came to a full stop and stared at Gwen. He was a young man with dark hair and a handsome face who had the bearing of a noble and was dressed in a sky blue doublet to prove it.

"Gwen DeLancy?" he said with enough awe in his voice to tempt her to look around for another by that name.

"Who is asking?" Royce replied, his voice low, soft, and heart-stopping to those who knew him, which this gentleman clearly did not.

"You don't remember me?" the man said, ignoring Royce.

"Of course you don't. We didn't actually meet, did we? You are always so very busy. Just sort of passed each other. And who would remember me anyway? I'm Everbryant, ah — Baron Everbryant, if you must put a point on it. But of course, you'd know me as Tim."

"Tim?" That did trigger Gwen's memory.

"Tim Blue!" she exclaimed, smiling at him.

"Yes, that's me." He pulled at the chest of his doublet.

"Tim Blue. It's so wonderful to see you again." He looked at the rest of the table.

"Pardon my intrusion. It's just, I mean, this woman is a legend. But you're having your meal with her, so of course, you already know that."

"Some of us are still in the dark about Miss DeLancy," Lady Constance said.

"Please illuminate us. Why is this woman a legend?" Tim appeared overjoyed to have the opportunity to explain.

"This lady, this goddess, is an inspiration to us all. She started with nothing, you know. Scratch that — she started with less than nothing. I mean, really, to have begun as a destitute scarlet woman at the Hideous Head, and to have clawed her way out! By Mar." He smiled at the very thought.

"Then to go on to build Medford House out of nothing, making it the premier brothel in all of Medford — scratch that — all of Melengar! I daresay, Gwen DeLancy is a hero among entrepreneurs. She is what someone such as I aspire to emulate. She is the dream incarnate, the undisputed proof it can be done. If I could only be half the person you are, dear lady... and..." He gave a nervous laugh.

"And you're sitting right here. You're right in front of me. It's such a thrill to speak to you. You have no idea." Gwen sighed. She glanced at Lady Constance, whose gaping mouth looked like a door left ajar after the homeowner spotted a tornado. No matter what Gwen said or did, the likes of Lady Constance would never approve of her.

This had been obvious from the start, but Gwen had hidden from it and pretended that the rules were different down here — that somehow, in the shade of palm trees, a Calian woman of ill repute could be accepted as a real person. She wouldn't have bothered if Royce hadn't seemed so interested in the noblewoman. But Tim Blue... Gwen smiled at him. The man was an utter delight. He, too, was northern nobility, but he didn't see a dark-skinned brothel madam; he saw his hero.

So if I offend Lady Constance, she can just take back her 'most sincere salutations' and her 'Lady DeLancys.' I don't care anymore.

"It's so very nice to see you again, Tim," Gwen said in welcome. Hadrian thought Tim Blue's timing couldn't have been better. Whoever the man was, his arrival had turned the tide. In that instant, Gwen returned to herself. Gone was the timid child playing dress-up, and back was the formidable woman in comfortable shoes kicking up her feet. Royce couldn't see it, likely because the man had a blind spot when it came to how Gwen saw him, but his attention to Lady Constance had been torturing her.

Gwen had her own blind spot, of course. She failed to grasp that Royce would murder everyone at that table, including Lady Constance, Hadrian, and even himself to spare Gwen the pain of a paper cut. In reality, Royce was only captivated with Constance in the same way a boy is fascinated with a millipede. He had no interest in the woman, just the information she could provide. With the arrival of Tim Blue, everything changed, and Hadrian saw it in the smile on Gwen's face.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Hadrian was enjoying the praise the man poured on Gwen and was equally delighted by the stunned wonderment of Lady Constance. The woman sat round-eyed and speechless. Then Hadrian saw something else. Through the crowd of endless shifting bodies, he caught a glimpse of a figure standing just inside the door to The Blue Parrot.

Hadrian wasn't inclined to have his attention pulled away, but something about the person across the room demanded it. The figure stood awkwardly, close to the exit, not coming in or going out. This, in itself, was strange. That anyone would linger at the door suggested a purpose beyond the norm. The person was a young man dressed in poor clothes. That, too, was odd for the Parrot, as all workers wore blue uniforms and the patrons either dressed in casual elegance or wore finery. Riyria was the distinct exception.

But the most remarkable thing about the figure was that Hadrian thought he seemed familiar. The young man was stretching up, tilting from side to side, struggling to peer over the heads of the crowd, searching for someone. Failing this, he turned and left the Parrot. Only then did Hadrian realize who it was. That's impossible. Hadrian stood up and stared at the entrance, not knowing what he hoped to see. He turned to speak to Arcadius, but the professor's chair was empty. Hadrian looked back at the doors. Can't be.

"Something wrong?" Lady Constance asked as Hadrian remained standing and staring, which in turned caused everyone else at the table to look at him.

"Hmm? Oh, no I — I'll be right back." He threw down his napkin and set off into the crowd. After he dodged his way to the exit, a blue-jacketed usher opened the door for him.

"Did you see a poor-looking kid just leave here?"

"Yes, sir. He seemed to be looking for someone. Was it you?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Do you know who he is?"

"Never seen him before, sir. Sorry."

"Thank you." Hadrian stepped out into the night, once more jolted by the difference between Tur Del Fur by day and how it was after the sun went down. Standing in the dark, he peered up and down the street at the gleaming lights, feeling more foolish every second. It just looked like him, that's all. I'm being stupid. He's dead — has been for years. This wasn't the first time. Whenever there was a crowd, he always imagined seeing that silly face somewhere in it. Because that's how I first saw him — in a crowd.

Depression filled Hadrian as he remembered the scene on the dock and that unforgettable voice shouting at him.

"Here! Over here! This way. Yes, you, come. Come!" Hadrian sighed, feeling the hollow pang of loss and regret. The idea of returning to the Parrot, to the crowd, to the table, felt suddenly a chore. When the Ghost of Pickles haunted, he could only be exorcised with strong drink. Luckily, in Tur Del Fur there were plenty of places for that. Hadrian was just about to head for the Parrot's bar when, instead of Pickles, he spotted a consolation prize standing near the curb.

A dark-haired woman in a black dress stared down the street expectantly. She was alone. He walked toward her.

"Still thirsty?" The lady peered at him. Her eyes narrowed.

"You wanted a drink, but Andre wasn't interested. I promised you one, remember? I hate breaking promises." He motioned to the Parrot.

"Shall we?" She smiled at him.

"I think not."

"Is it the shirt?" Hadrian looked down at himself.

"I knew I should have worn my gold doublet and chartreuse tights this evening, but it's just so hot down here, you know?"

"I don't think you have a doublet, and I'm positive you don't own chartreuse tights, but it's not the clothes. I just came out of there." She looked at the open doors through which spilled music, light, and laughter. Her expression darkened.

"I'd rather not go back."

"Is Andre inside?"

"No, but Alessandro is — which is about the same thing. I'm tired of them. I was heading back to The Cave. Ever heard of it?" Hadrian shook his head.

"Yeah, that's the problem. The Cave is Andre's excuse for a danthum. It's way up on the Eighth Tier. I sing there most nights. Live there too — now. No one goes there." She looked down the street again. Her shoulders slumped, her eyes weary.

"Shall I flag down a carriage for you, then?" She hesitated and then smiled.

"You're nice."

"I like to think so." She gave up on the street and sauntered the remaining distance between them.

"How about you walk me back to The Cave?" He glanced up at the steep rows of lights that defined the cliff at night.

"To the Eighth Tier?"

"It's a nice night." She gestured toward the stars.

"We can get to know each other better. And that's not going to happen anywhere around Andre or Alessandro. What do you say?"

"I say, it's a nice night for a walk." A group of men came in. They spoke to the girl who operated the cloakroom, and she pointed in Royce's direction. There were five, all dressed well. Not quite the wardrobe of nobility, but they could have been well-to-do merchants. And who knew? Maybe they were. Things worked differently down here in Delgos where the inmates ran the prison. Royce had expected something.

He didn't know what, but after the shenanigans of the night before, he knew there would be an immediate response, a judgment, a recompense. His suspicion had been confirmed when he noticed Pratt among them. I probably should have told Hadrian. It hadn't seemed important at the time — still wasn't, really. Royce knew these people — not the individuals, but their type. He'd grown up among them.

In a sick and twisted way, they were his family — the sort you hid from new friends and loathed to introduce to your fiancée. Hadrian would just get in the way. He'd make it harder, but it might be good if he at least knew what was going on — just in case. Royce wasn't terribly concerned. Knowing the list of possible scenarios, this was a pretty good one. They were approaching him in public, which was a positive sign. In the realm of the underworld, a meeting in public was about as close to a white flag as it got.

They fanned out in a wide circle around the table. Two more appeared, taking positions at the exit doors. None held, or appeared to hold, a weapon. All of them smiled as the line of dancing girls was once more slamming their heels to a boisterous tune, making it possible for a person to scream and not be heard, or at least taken seriously. Crowds were funny like that.

"Good evening, Mister Pratt," Royce shouted over the noise.

"Good evening, Mister Melborn." Pratt wore a fine doublet with a smart cape. He stood straight, hands clasped before him.

"A certain someone of importance would like to have a word with you."

"He wants to talk?" Royce asked.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"At his estate. It's not far: Tier One."

"I'm in the middle of a meal here."

"You've finished," Pratt said, motioning at the empty plate.

"He knows how expensive meals are at The Blue Parrot. He appreciates good food, too, and he insisted that we wait until you were done. But you can't expect him to stand by all night. Please, if you will join us?" Royce glanced over and saw Hadrian still wasn't back. Arcadius was also missing, and Royce had to wonder if the professor's and Hadrian's absence were linked with Pratt and Company. The dandy, Tim Blue, was sitting in Hadrian's seat.

The boy-baron had been talking to Gwen, but their conversation — all conversation at the table — had halted with the arrival of Pratt and his quartet. Royce acknowledged that Pratt might be there to kill him in retaliation for the death of his crossbow-wielding partner, but that seemed unlikely. It was also possible they planned to kill him for some other reason or just on principle for past deeds. But all of this rested in the low-probability category.

Whatever issues Royce had had with Cosmos had been laid to rest, and there had never been any with his daddy. The risk of going with Pratt was low, the potential for information high, and refusal dangerous. Gwen was the problem. He didn't like leaving her alone. Of course, she wasn't. They were in The Blue Parrot, surrounded by more than a hundred revelers. And Albert and Lady Constance were there, as was Tim Blue, who seemed harmless enough.

A landless, powerless noble of low rank, he was someone Gwen knew and apparently liked. The woman was about as safe as she could be without Hadrian and himself flanking her. And given that there was a good possibility that Hadrian and even Arcadius were, at that moment, being held as hostages, the decision wasn't very difficult.

"Albert, Gwen," Royce said, "when Hadrian gets back, tell him I went to have a friendly chat with Cornelius DeLur." Neither Hadrian, Royce, nor Arcadius had returned by the time the meal was cleared and the dance floor opened up. Albert and Lady Constance made use of it. This left Gwen alone with the stained tablecloth, the never-quite-empty glasses of wine, the discarded napkins, and Tim Blue.

The young man had poured himself a drink from the still half-full bottle of Montemorcey and remained in Hadrian's chair, sitting straight and proper, facing Gwen as if she were his lodestar.

"Would you like to dance?" Tim asked with an effervescent energy. Gwen's eyes widened, and she bit her lip. Just imagining Royce coming back and finding them on the floor with Tim's arms around her, made her...

"I think that might be dangerous." Tim looked at the dance floor, then back at her, concerned.

"I give you my word I would never —""Oh no, I didn't mean — never mind. It's complicated." Tim stared at her for a moment, then nodded. Gwen imagined she could admit to being the Heir of Novron, and he'd believe her. She turned in her chair to view the entrance, hoping to spot Royce. The big doors remained open, letting in the cool night air. A few people, those just off the dance floor mostly, stood in the breeze with drinks in hand, breathing hard and fluttering their collars.

She saw no sign of Royce or those he'd left with. The entire pack of sinister men with the pasted-on smiles and cold eyes had followed Royce out. Royce knows what he's doing. He does this sort of thing all the time. I just never see it. Gwen realized there were benefits to ignorance. She knew the work he did was dangerous. That was the case for many men. Sailors, loggers, soldiers — they all went out, and some never returned.

The women they left behind imagined all manner of dangers but could always tell themselves they were being silly because the threats were vague things, nothing more than hazy dreads, monsters without faces. They didn't see the gargantuan storm-born waves, the deadwood poised to fall, or the ranks of the enemy with paint on their faces. How much harder it is to hide from terror once you've met it face to face, once you've seen those cold eyes and pasted-on smiles.

Royce hadn't seemed worried, so maybe she didn't need to be, either. But was he just pretending for her sake?

"Can I say something to you?" Tim asked Gwen, as he pulled his chair closer, scraping it across the stone tile. He looked distressed and began wringing his hands.

"I haven't been entirely honest tonight. I have an ulterior motive for approaching you. You see — let me put it bluntly — I need money. Need is really too gentle a word for it. I'm absolutely desperate." His words appeared to contradict his smiling expression until she looked closer and saw the lines around his eyes and brow. Then she understood he was not bursting with joy, but manic with fear.

"You see, I was recently married to a wonderful lady, but of no great fortune, and my family isn't in a position to give me anything. It was my task then to find an income. So to make a living, I tried to emulate you. I decided to become a businessman. This was an embarrassment to my family, but a man must do what he must for the security of his family, right?" He looked at her with pleading e yes. For what, Gwen didn't know.

"Delgos is known by everyone to be the ideal place to run a commercial enterprise, so we moved here a year ago. Only, starting a business — as I'm sure you know — takes a lot of money. Money I didn't have. So, I borrowed it."

"Oh dear," Gwen said, already guessing where the conversation was headed. Tim's lips trembled, and he took a moment to gather himself.

"Yes, I know, but I wanted so much to be like you, only it's not as easy as you make it look."

"It wasn't easy, Tim. Believe me when I say that." Tim forced a hard swallow, and for the first time, he looked away from her.

"I lost everything, and now the men have asked me to repay it, and I can't. Time has run out. I have to..." Tim's voice cracked, and his eyes began to well up.

"I have to pay them first thing in the morning." Tim's hand cupped his mouth as if he might be sick.

"Or what? Prison?" He shook his head, his hand still pressed to his lips.

"They're going to kill you?"

"Oh, if only that were true!" Tim exploded as tears filled his eyes.

"They have my wife."

"Oh no," Gwen muttered. Tim nodded.

"This is Delgos, you understand. Commerce is king. They don't care if you're a threat to your fellow man. Everything is money. If you have it or make it, you're forgiven any transgression. But if you lose it, then the debt must be paid — any way possible." Gwen stared at him, terrified of his next words.

"In order to recoup their loss, if I don't repay what I owe, they will sell my wife." Tim began to shudder, his whole body shaking.

"Did you hear what I said? Sell her! I'm not even sure what that means. I'm... I'm..." Gwen watched him rock forward and back, tears on his cheeks.

"How much?" she asked.

"How much money do you need?"

"A hundred gold tenents." Gwen was astounded. She had started her business with only four gold coins.

"By Mar, Tim, what did you do with a hundred gold?"

"Things are expensive here. It's not like getting a writ to do business the way it is up north. Here you have to buy everything. The building alone was nearly fifty. Then it had to be refurbished, and goods needed to be purchased and, and it just... oh, it all just fell apart." Tim reached for the glass he'd poured himself and nearly toppled it. He had to use two hands to bring it to his lips. Then he drained the whole thing.

"But you can sell the building, right? You can get back most of it, yes?" He wiped his mouth and shook his head.

"As things got worse, I grew desperate and mortgaged against the property. It's already been seized. I have nothing."

"I don't have a hundred gold, Tim. Even if I did, I wouldn't have traveled all the way down here with it. I only have a few coins."

"How many?"

"Just four."

"That could be enough. Anything you can spare, really."

"Why, what good would that do?" Tim took a breath. He looked up at the ceiling, pressing his lips together so tightly they lost color. Then he sighed and shook his head.

"I'd like to lie to you, I really would, but I can't." He drew himself up to confess.

"I want the money to gamble with." He tilted his head toward the casino.

"It's all I have left to try." Gwen blinked.

"That's not a good incentive to make a loan. But I' m starting to see why your business failed. Is this why you're here at The Blue Parrot tonight? To gamble?" He nodded.

"My Edie, she's the love of my life. They took her because of me. I heard her screaming as she was dragged away. They are going to sell her!" He broke down weeping again. Gwen sat back in her chair feeling awful for him, worse for his wife, and at least to a degree, guilty for it all. She had inspired Tim to take the risks he had. Unintended and accidental as it was, Gwen had been his guide, and she had led him to ruin.

"Have you tried speaking to the people in charge of the city? There must be a law against kidnapping and slavery." He shook his head.

"The people who took her — they are the ones who run this city. I borrowed the money from the Bank of DeLur."

"When Hadrian gets back, tell him I went to have a friendly chat with Cornelius DeLur." Gwen felt herself becoming a little queasy as all around her carefree, wealthy people laughed, sang, ate, and drank to excess. The plight of poor Tim Blue was as invisible as an ongoing war of ants.

"It's all so hopeless," Tim blubbered into his palms.

"I'm such an idiot. A miserable, wretched, asinine fool. I offered myself, of course. Asked them to take me — to sell me. You know what they said? They told me she was worth more... as if I didn't already know that!" Gwen reached out and took hold of Tim's hand.

"I'll give you my coins, Tim."

"Really? You're such a wonderful person." Tim frowned and ran a hand roughly through his hair. He looked angry. Then he shook and lowered his head.

"No. Thank you, but... no."

"If it can save your wife —""That's just it. I don't know if it can. In fact, I'm certain it won't. No one wins in the casino, not the sort of money I need. The odds... never mind. I'm sorry I bothered you."

"But if you knew for certain that it would save her, you'd take them, right?" Gwen asked.

"If I knew for certain, I'd offer to be your slave for those four coins."

"I don't need a slave," Gwen said, then looked at the casino.

"Just let me look at your hand."