Page 138 of Tempest

She donned a wide-brimmed brown hat made of boiled wool, the band beaded like her sandals, with the single gold feather of a sand dove. More adornment than sun hat, she would not draw strange looks for wearing it at night.

The misty waterfall bisecting the city put an uncharacteristic chill in the air, and Cat wrapped a scarf around her shoulders, dyed to match her dress. All told, she looked fine but forgettable, easy to overlook. Exactly as intended.

It felt good to walk boisterous streets again, eyes darting from one curb to another, looking for a game. Looking for a prize. She felt like a pirate vessel combing the sea, on the hunt. Pitiful as the travelers looked, she told herself to target pirates as much as she could, to exercise some small mercy. There was little moral failing in taking from someone who had already taken.

Not that Cat cared much for morals anymore.

She started small. A little table in an alley, a few hands of Lady Saints or Barrio with half-blind old men. Small wins, even smaller losses to keep the table hot and occupied. Until she would smile, most of her face hidden by her hat, and thank her opponents for their time before sweeping off again, her purse heavier.

Nera bloomed at night. The shops stayed open, torchlight blazing, the cacao bars and food windows crowded with folk. Cat winced as she passed another jewel house, a pair of fiery green emeralds beckoning like sirens out at sea.

Later, she told herself, promising to return for the earrings and whatever else she fancied. It would be a welcome reward after a long night at the tables.

Much like Alvaris, there was a pleasure district in Nera a tier above the docks, most establishments looking out over the ships in the harbor. Fewer brothels but more gaming dens, and taverns spilled out into the open streets laced with flowering vines and glimmering light. Cat felt like a fish flung back into open water, or a horse released from its bridle, given room to run.

It was an intoxicating sensation, invigorating as rum or taquil. And impossible to ignore.

Small tables, she warned herself, edging around a gambling hall heaving with sailors. Cards, game pieces, and tumbling coins decorated the walls, white limestone washed gold by many flaming lanterns. Her eyes darted, weighing the opponents she could see.

She looked across the top of the crowd, wary as always of a golden head above the rest. Spotting none, she sighed a little in relief.

He is not here, she told herself again.

Women were not uncommon in the halls, and there were enough roving the tables to allow Cat to blend in. Some wore dresses and others breeches. The latter, Cat knew, were sailors of the pirate crews.

Pirates and merchant sailors were more difficult to distinguish from each other, though she ventured most of the Meridian or Esperese folk here were anything but law-abiding citizens. They were too hardened, with sun-bleached hair and flash-burned hands, wearing knives or pistols or both on their belts.

The Itzimans were safer ground. They hardly ventured far enough north to darken the door of the Widow Rose. And Cat knew better than to expect Arcayans gambling amongst the foreigners. They had their own entertainment districts higher up the city, away from those only passing through.

Some wayward folk from the docks mixed in amongst the sailors, mostly wide-eyed civilians trying to win a hand or two. Cat suspected quite a few of them were simple men fleeing the Meridian noose, fearing the worst of the Empire returned. From Archenport or the other cities of the colonial islands, she did not know. But they all looked the same—pale, desperate, adrift.

Easy pickings, Cat thought, slowing next to a table of weary travelers. Two men argued over the very simple rules of a very simple game, giving her time to eye their hands. Pitiful. Then she measured their meager pot; little more than a few copper coins and a single polished button.

One of them glanced up at her, eager and wide-eyed. “Would you care to join our hand, madam?”

Desperate as he was, Cat could smell the greed on him. Easy pickings, she thought again, knowing he thought the same of her.

Much as Cat wanted to take his money, she refrained, what shred of decency she had left triumphing over her better senses.

“Oh, my apologies. I am a poor hand at cards,” Cat murmured, moving on before he could say something stupid and convince her to waste what time she had bleeding him dry.

On she went, circling, taking her measure of the gambling hall and its gamblers. Some tables played Merchant King, others cheered over the dice game Sevens. Lady Saints, Barrio, Corderis, Whipping Boy. Cat knew them all, her fingers itching in the folds of her skirt.

Lightning struck at a table in the center of a room, where three sailors had just finished a hand.

“Is this Red River?” she said beneath her hat, biting her lip to hide a smirk.

* * *

THE FIRST SIP of rum was out of polite acquiesce, to assuage a snarling bosun who accused her of cheating. The wine was kindly accepted in lieu of an unfulfilled bet. Then came more rum and more wine. All pushed upon her by the other card players, or so Cat told herself.

But there was no excuse for the first glass of taquil. Or the second.

Her head spun a little, but not unpleasantly. The damp air grew warmer, and her fingers danced among the cards, reading the symbols in her hand as she read the faces around the table. Three men stared back at her over the rickety wood, pirates all. One crewed for Vex, but for less than a year. The man in the middle, oddly thin for a cook, sailed under Captain Rawls. And the third had recently washed out of the Esperese navy, along with the hundreds, if not thousands, of sailors released from their commissions at the end of the war.

Hardly fools, but hardly a challenge either. One of them even tried to cheat, though Cat’s pistol was threat enough to send him scurrying off while the other men laughed.

The pot grew steadily in the center of the table. Coins stamped with the Esperese cross. The Meridian lion. Arcayan crescents, Itziman squares. A few baubles, a spyglass, and a cracked but working compass. It was a formidable pile to be sure, but Cat angled for greater.