“Emperor’s Court, most beloved of tavern games among gamblers, cheats, and — most importantly—, whores, is deceptively simple in nature. Named after Emperor Idraxis the Mad, who was said to resolve courtly disputes by the roll of a die, it has endured through centuries of poor life choices.

  Each player rolls five dice. A roll of one or five scores 100 and 50 points respectively. Three of a kind is worth ten times the face value, four of a kind twenty. Five of a kind is an instant win—just as a full sequence is, though rare as a sober bard. After each roll, players may set aside scoring dice and reroll the rest, risking their balls —if the new roll scores nothing, they bust and earn no points that round. Boring players with a limp manhood may choose to keep their current score and pass the dice. A tally is kept until one emerges victorious.

  Personally, I advise getting some weighed dice. But keep your games short and your exit swift if you do.”

  — Excerpt from "Wenching for beginners" by famed bard, Asmond Trousersnake (Birthname Unknown)

  Alric looked at the bars blocking his path with a mixture of amusement and self-deprecation. Most of his afternoon had passed in a blur of dodging Acolytes and trying to fish information from the few prisoners who weren't stuck rowing all afternoon. If there was one thing Alric was proud of, it was his ability to socialize. He could seamlessly switch his way of speaking and mannerisms to appeal to his targets within just a few sentences, and seem like a friendly ole' chap to anyone who wasn't attentive or suspicious enough to notice. And he used that skill to his full advantage.

  Making sure to mention the taciturn Ignatharian's name as little as possible, and disguising his intentions as best he could, he dug through the scuttlebutt that the few loners who were too injured to row and the sycophants of Zain were willing to share with him in the smoky halls of the hold. His new position as porter opened many doors for him, as he soon found out. After all, having such direct access to luxuries that were denied the prisoners and locked away in the storage room opened many avenues for "friendly bartering".

  Of course, not everyone in the hold was friendly towards him. Many of the loners avoided him like the plague, due to their fear of Brandt, and others despised his friendliness towards the Ignatharian. Some were even openly hostile towards him, envious of his position as porter, and eager to 'vacate' the attractive position. But despite those setbacks, he had gained nothing short of a flood of information.

  Most of it was useless, either exaggerated, made up, misleading, or irrelevant. Sorting the diamonds from the trash, verifying those rumors with other people, and finally acting on this information had taken the largest part on his day.

  And yet, Alric felt frustrated. His biggest gain by far was finding out from one of the more... racially agitated prisoners where Silas's cell was supposed to be. All other things he had learned about him was of either little importance, or downright outrageous. Zain, at least on the surface, seemed to have little interest in the man, and according to his loyal sycophants he had talked to, simply killed the people he thought weren't matching the 'aesthetic' of the ship. Silas also had never interacted with him and seemed to actively try to avoid all politics on the ship. There were many theories as to why, each more outlandish than the other, one of the cursed on the ship even going as far as describing a forbidden relationship between him and the captain. In great detail.

  Shuddering as he recalled the woman's vivid descriptions, he turned his vindictive gaze back to the cell that was supposed to be the one Silas slept in. Everything fit. He had double and triple checked the claim, observed the acolytes for a good 30 minutes as they passed the hallways to make sure no one would catch him entering it, grabbed the door handle... and realized that it was locked.

  If he wasn't concerned about the noise, he would have slammed his head into the blasted bars. Usually, the acolytes did not care enough to lock the doors, why would it be their problem if something went missing from a cell? Of course, there were exceptions. People with either influence or friends in high places would get their cells locked. Alric's own cell was one of those; after all, Elara was both influential and feared. But Silas? Why would the guards lock his cell?

  Throwing one last hateful glare at the door before moving, Alric retreated back into the shadows of the hold, lest someone see him loitering before Silas's cell, and began wandering aimlessly as his thoughts churned. From the outside, the cell had looked fairly normal. The sleeping cot was perfectly made, the edges tucked in. There was a box of sorts with belongings that was closed, but didn't seem locked. On the box, he had seen an amulet, a blazing sun with golden tendrils of flame reaching around a dark core. He did not even need his memories to know what god this one represented. This was Silas's room, alright.

  But why had it been locked? Did Silas have more sway with the churches than he pretended to have? It was possible, but the only non-highborn who were extended that privilege usually were people who knew some of the acolytes personally. Not very likely considering his origins and beliefs.

  Did he find a way to lock it himself? Alric knew it was possible, some prisoners routinely either jammed the simple lock, or used some lockpickers' trick to lock it. Alric couldn't rule out that Silas possessed those skills.

  Was one of the big 3 gangs protecting him? Now that was a much more interesting proposition, and a possible one. It wouldn't be Elara, obviously. Zain, on the other hand, definitely had the influence to do that. But would he have the motive? Alric couldn't say yet.

  On the surface, it seemed as if Silas was just a normal, if slightly strong loner, but the more he looked into it, the more Alric thought something was going on here. His nose for juicy secrets had picked up a trail. Maybe he could get Elara's help with the locks? Or would she already be satisfied with this information?

  Alric walked towards the sickbay as he thought about his discoveries, mostly to seem like he was taking a stroll. Not many people were back there, the Acolytes were particularly trigger happy due to the presence of expensive reagents in the sickbay, and if he trusted the scuttlebutt he had picked up today, a real beauty of a healer. One the Acolytes were particularly protective of. Alric, with his absurdly amazing looks and charm no woman alive could resist, of course, could never risk heading there, lest the beauty fall into a forbidden love with him and... wait a minute.

  Just as Alric was about to turn back around to avoid the inevitable drama his self-proclaimed irresistible charm would cause, his eyes picked up on movement where there shouldn't be. The sickbay took up most of the stern of the lower part of the boat, and was walled off. The entrance to it was well lit to prevent unwanted intrusion of course, but the same couldn't be said for the rest of the space. Of the two sets of stairs leading to the middle deck, the back one wasn't far from here for easy access. It was much less used than the other one, and the stingy cheapskate who had designed the boat had skimped on the glowstones.

  His eyes lingered on the spot, unable to completely peer through the shadows cast by the stairs. He felt a sense of unease as his eyes peered deeper into the shadows percieving some sort of outline, before he turned to move the opposite way, perhaps a bit too hastily. He continued his stroll in the opposite direction, not moving any faster than he had moved before to avoid suspicion. Whatever was hiding in the darkness of a ship full of murder wizards was way above his pay grade. Hopefully, it hadn't seen him.

  His heart was beating quickly. The sense of unease didn't leave even after he had passed the stairs and was back in the better-lit areas of the ship. Alric didn't dare look over his shoulder, but he accelerated his steps slightly, driven by fear. And that's when he heard something. A light step, slightly out of tune with his own. It disappeared the moment after, muffled by the sound of his own steps. Fuck. Alric changed course, heading towards the front stairway, remembering the pair of gamblers he had spoken to before. He kept his cadence, but as he turned, his eyes scanned his periphery.

  A chill went down his spine. Boring into the side of his head, was the glassy-eyed, forlorn gaze of the man who had scared Alric nearly as much as the butcher when he first saw Elara's gang. Niles, Elara had called him. His steps were perfectly in line with his own, but lacked his smoothness. Jerky and awkward, they still managed to keep step with him perfectly, muffling their sound with his own. Clenched in his hands, was a stack of parchment, wrinkled by the force he was exerting on them. He was close. Not 5 steps away.

  As the moment passed and he turned the corner, with a sigh of relief, Alric saw his salvation. That Old-timer and his scammer partner were still gambling by the stairs. Pretending to not have noticed the creepy man behind him, Alric called out to the two. "Oi geezer! I know you ripped me off with that set of dice of yours. I went to the sickbay, and there's no way in the thrice-cursed abyss you smuggled anything out of there without them noticing. Fair set my bald arse. I bet those things are more weighed than the ballast they keep on this nutshell to keep it nice and low in the water."

  A white haired old man with a twinkle in his eye and a set of wooden teeth gave him a wry grin. "If it isn't the sore loser from before! Dont tell me you're hiding even more sausages in that sleeve of yours and came back for more." Then he made a poor and sickly old man face, one that only ever would work on some soft-hearted waif, before proclaiming with a wounded tone "And you came with such heavy allegations too! I'll have you know I stole those dice fair and square from Titus, that blockheaded Acolyte. Why do you think no one beat me to get them until now, huh? My poor old bones would need to get brought to the sickbay, and I might just let slip who holds his dice now."

  Alric not breaking his stride, sat next to them. His resentment towards being fleeced by those two scoundrels when he was fishing for information earlier vanished, as the sense of unease disappeared. Apparently, Niles didn't want to be seen. Thank the gods. He had made up a motive too, so now he just needed to keep the play going in case the creepy man was still watching. And so, like a true gambling addict, he began: "Bah. You might have fleeced me of my stuff now, but that doesn't mean I can't get any more. I could rob stubbly Jim with one arm behind my back, and he still wouldn't notice. Let me get my payback, and I'll make it worth your while once I get back from tomorrows shift. Or don't you have anything you could put up, Old timer?"

  The old man's eyes twinkled, most of the gullible newcomers had already died, after all. But this fool could make his business run again. Or so he probably thought, as he pulled out a set of bone dice. "You got your spunk back I see. I must have misheard it when you were calling my poor, dead mother a wart-infected toad on your last loss. But let no one say old Crow isn't forgiving." A metal cup, no doubt pilfered from the mess hall, appeared in his hands with the dice. And they began to play.

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  The stakes were low for the first game: another sausage for the old man if he won, an iron ring for Alric if he won. That old codger sure liked sausages. Alric was happy Mira wasn't here to give any unwanted comments. But unlike the first time, when he had been taken by a game he only vaguely remembered and quickly rediscovered the joy of, his mind wasn't in it. Why was Niles following him? What had he seen? It was possible the man only wanted to talk to him alone, but Alric did not want to take any chances. The glassy eyes, the stiff movements, the silent steps, that man was just too creepy. His disappearance as he reached the others only made it worse. What could he have been doing in that dark hallway?

  "Game, puppet!" The irritating voice of the old codger drew him out of his daze. Wasn't that dice a different number before? That old bastard. A wry smile lit up on the old man's face, as he continued. "For a revenge-hungry gambler, you sure aren't paying attention. Ah but I see, I see, it was the low stakes before. Let me up the ante then." He opened his coat, and Alric saw it lined with different implements. The old man took out what probably used to be a letter opener, filed into a crude lockpick, a sharpened shard of metal with a wrapped handle that made a much deadlier shiv than his pathetic splinter, and another set of wooden teeth.

  "Here's what I have to offer. Pick one, and in exchange, I want you to get me a warmweed cigar. They keep them in the storeroom exclusively for the captain. It will be a lot harder than slipping a sausage, but the way you were speaking before that must be light work with someone of your caliber, eh? What do you say"

  Alric's heartbeat sped up. Now that was a way to light a fire under him. Careful not to gape at any one prize too hard, he leveled his gaze at the old man. "How'd you get this? And why the teeth?"

  The old man grinned. "I haven't lost my touch boy, that's how. Crow the bane of silver, they used to call me before I got locked in that damnable tower. I may have grown old, but my fingers are as quick as they ever were. As for the teeth, well I figured you might need a replacement soon. I heard Brandt pulled some strings to get treated at the sickbay today. I had no idea he still had cards like that up his sleeve, but you better find a skirt to hide under soon, boy."

  A deadpan look settled on Alric's face as he froze, his good mood at finding the solution to his earlier predicament soured. Just what he needed. Not only getting hounded by some fish-eyed creeper, but by the ugly hound himself. Ah fuck.

  "Wouldn’t it be a waste of a favor if he sends me to the fishes, then?" he muttered. "You seem confident I’ll be fine."

  Crow just laughed, rough and phlegmy.

  Alric picked up the dice slowly, rolling them between his fingers. His eyes flicked back to the old man's grinning face, and a familiar thrill sparked in his blood—not fear, but the opportunity to twist the board in his favor.

  "I won’t say no to a deal like that," he said, voice casual. "In fact, I’ll even up the ante further. I know there’s top-shelf wine in that storeroom. The good stuff. Heard the acolytes talk about the bottles. Wine the captain takes just after his cigar. The pairing must be divine."

  He smiled, slow and dangerous. He wouldn't beat crow at his own game. Emperor's court had deceptively simple rules, but either the old codger cheated, or was just that good.

  So he wouldn't try. He'd destabilize him instead.

  "But we won't play your game, old man. Instead, we'll do pure luck. Odd against even. Totals. Best of three. Loser picks first." His smile widened, exuding a confidence he didn't feel. He wasn't good at dice. But a game of bluff? Oh yes. That was something he could rig.

  If the old man was destabilized by Alric's sudden burst of confidence, he hardly showed it. "Odds and evens, huh? Haven't played that in a long time. You wouldn't have been hiding your skill, trying to bait a poor old man, would you? Why would I step into your trap?"

  Alric smiled a guilty smile. "Oh, now you're suddenly venerable, huh? But alright, let me sweeten the deal then. Anytime before a roll, I'll let you back out. If you choose to back out, I'm choosing only one of your Items, regardless wether I won or lost. If it was a loss, I'll still get you that cigar. So, what do you say ?"

  The old man's eyes twinkled with waryness, mulling over the proposal. Eventually, he nodded. "Alright, young'un. But I pick first."

  With bated breath, Alric rolled the dice. The old man picked even. But the dice weren't smiling on him this time, that or he hadn't figured out how to cheat when the rules suddenly changed. The total was odd. Alric grinned, and pocketed the dice again.

  The second roll of dice clattered onto the wood, covered by the metal cup. As the loser, the old man got to pick again, and stubbornly stayed on even. This time, his guess was the right one, but Alric didn't show his disappointment. In fact, he let his smile grow even wider, and portrayed excitement.

  "My turn" he laughed with false confidence, as his heart pounded. The dice clattered against the floor, and Alric rapped the knuckles of his other hand on the floor next to the cup subtly. Just enough to draw an eye. Just enough to make that old codger suspicious. Crow's eyebrows twitched. Alric looked at the old man's face with a mirth he wasn't feeling. "I choose.."

  Before he could finish his sentence, the old man quickly interceded. "I'm backing out, damnnit. Ahh, I should have known not to let someone else choose the game so they can cheat in peace. Take your stupid prize."

  ".. Even." Alric exhaled discreetly. His bluff had paid off. He would never have gotten that wine out of the hold. If that damnable dog hadn't decided to pull some strings, he wouldn't have had to take such risks. There was one thing the old man had right, he needed a skirt to hide behind sooner rather than later. And that meant not letting that thrice-cursed locked door stop him.

  He lifted the cup. Odd. The old man's eyes widened, and his brows furrowed in anger. Alric gave a mock gasp. "Oh my! I would have lost. How shameful of me," he snickered, quickly grabbing the Lockpick from the floor. He winked at the old man, standing up.

  "I'll be back with your cigar, old-timer." He shot over his shoulder, knowing when to make an exit, "Keep that shiv warm for me."

  And to the melodious litany of swears the old bastard unleashed at his back, he walked off, snickering. This kind of bluff would only work once, but that one time was all he needed for his goals. He fingered the cool metal of his lockpick. He didn't know how to use it yet. But it couldn't be that hard could it?

  Suppressing his desire to immediately head to the cell, he made his way back to the mess hall. He didn't have long before it was dinner time, and risking slipping into a cell now wouldn't be wise, especially after stirring up some heat from both Zains sycophants and Elaras fish-eyed lapdog. Brandt getting on his case was even more worrying with the grudge he held, but that was exactly why he headed to the mess hall. There he had the advantage of the masses, and Silas hopefully wouldn't just watch him get slaughtered. Fingers crossed.

  Not long after he had sat down, the ship exploded in motion again, as the prisoners flooded into the mess hall from the galley. As the day before, Silas looked absolutely beat, wich is why Alric had generously shared a juicy piece of gossip he overheard with the cook, and received a second bowl of slop, letting Silas skip the hassle of getting in line. Silas just grunted in recognition, before pretty much plunging his head into the bowl, devouring it at record pace. Alric just chuckled at the sight of his usually so impassive companions display of humanity, digging into his own slop. Sure, it was an acquired taste, but Alric was beginning to appreciate the complex interveaving of flavor.. ah who was he even fooling. Tricking others was much easier than tricking yourself.

  He was idly stirring the glue-like mixture, trying to convince himself of its deliciousness, when his danger senses began to tingle. Slowly looking up from his bowl, he spotted Brandt, who was wearing a bandage around his shoulder, saunter towards him. He'd heard plenty of stories during his spelunking this afternoon, people were only too keen to share how fucked he was. Merric had whipped that mutt raw for his words, only stopping by the first mates orders. And the mutt did not look happy.

  "There you are, pisspot. You sure did a number on me that other day. Or rather that bas... Merric did. Right unfriendly that was, wasnt it lads?" His two sycophants nodded in unison, ratface Jannik standing further back, out of view from Silas. "So I was thinkin', we continue our chat that was interrupted the other day someplace more private. You don't mind, do you Silas?" Brandt smiled an affable smile, his Scar making it look crooked.

  A tense silence followed, as Silas finished chewing, looking up from his bowl. The tired and grumpy look Alric was familiar with was gone from his face now, his eyes filled with steel. "Did I not tell you, dog, that the next time you bark up my tree I will beat you like one?

  He slowly stood up, causing the two sycophants -even Tori, the stronger one- to back away a step or two. "I suppose my masters were right. As a dog goes back to its vomit, so a fool repeats his stupidity. Do not give me cause to spill your blood a second time, Brandt. "

  Out of all of them, only Brandt wasnt intimidated. He was slightly wary, but only tsked. "Watch yourself Ignatharian. Dont forget that most people here wouldn't mind seeing you broken and bleeding. You're only left alone because you keep to yourself. Is that something you really want to change, all over this little doll?"

  The Ignatharian only grinned, his teeth a stark contrast to his charcoal skin, as his body shifted into a more tense position. " I am left alone, worm, because those that didn't either learned their lesson, or are no longer capable of learning anything. So, are you the former? Or will you become the latter?"

  Hesitation, even a flicker of fear passed the scar-faced man's eyes at the naked threat. No matter how much Brandt tried to hide it, Alric was too familiar with the emotion to miss it. But he nonchalantly shrugged, and turned his eyes to Alric. "Your funeral. The tides are changing, coal-face. And Ill wipe that smirk off your face soon enough. As for you, my cute little rat, don't worry. Its just a matter of time until we have an intimate conversation, just the two of us. And you best believe I'll make you squeal."

  And on that happy note, he turned and began to head to his usual table, followed by his pack. Alric's gaze lingered on the man's back, before he sat back down and casually continued his meal.

  "Sorry about that," Alric said sheepishly. Dammn was he glad he got Silas that bowl in advance. "some people just don't know when to quit eh? Still, thank you for standing up for me. There was no need for you to get involved. I'll remember it."

  "As you should. But make no mistake. I am not protecting you. I am just putting a dog back in its place." Silas answered with a full mouth, his threatening demeanor from before all but gone.

  "Suuure. And I didn't bring you extra rations, I just happened to drop them at your spot. Take some credit will you?" Alric laughed.

  Silas rolled his eyes, a faint smile on his face, before pointing at Alric's bowl. "You should use your tongue less for wagging and more for eating. I have only bought you time, not safety. The hallways arent safe before lockdown."

  “Ah, shut it, you groghead. You’re just tired of my yapping, admit it,” Alric chuckled, before finally taking Silas’s advice to heart and digging in.

  Silas’s faint smile widened ever so slightly, and the two ate in companionable silence.

  But Alric wasn’t fooled.

  Silas was right. This wasn’t safety. And if he didn’t find a faction to hide behind—or better yet, a way to rise to the level of its leaders, or at least Silas—

  Well, then the world would just have to mourn the tragic, untimely demise of its most handsome and charming scoundrel.

  And that would be a damn shame.