Page 62 of The Gambler's Prize
I search all over the fair, getting more and more desperate. There’s no sign of him anywhere. I ask everyone if they’ve seen him, a pale, long-haired young man in Rhennian clothes. A few people remember seeing him push past in tears: his looks and clothes stand out here. But they can’t remember where he went.
Finally, I spot a group of rowdy young people who’ve gathered outside a café. Florian is right in the middle of the group, his voice audible above the rest. He’s extremely drunk, and a lewd-looking young man is all over him, hands like an octopus, groping and exploring. Florian is giggling prettily and justlettinghim. My stomach clenches with anger.
Mine. The thought flashes through my mind even though I have zero right. Even though Florian must hate me now. But seeing that man touch him where I touched him, and let myself hope to be the only one to touch him ever again… I can’t allow it. I go over at a dead run. And get another spike of dread. They’re playingafi. Florian has fallen back into his old gambling ways already.
“Oh, it’s you,” he slurs.
He looks up at me, blinking stupidly as that pervert’s hands continue to roam all over his precious body. He’s almost catatonic. Has he drunk that much? It isn’t too long ago that he left me. Unless he’s been pouring alcohol down his throat with a funnel, he shouldn’t be in this state already. There’s something seriously wrong. The group of friends watches me with obvious nerves, sneaking glances at each other. They’re too guilty-looking to be innocent. I snatch Florian’s cup from his unresisting hand and sniff it. Panic rips through my chest. It’s the scent ofabask. He’s been drugged.
I whirl on the man whose hands are all over him.
“What the fuck?” I yell, fury building. “You sick—”
“He’s a whore.” The young man smiles at me, serene. “He was going to give it to me one way or the other anyway.”
I kick him in the ribs, spit on him as he falls from his chair. He cries out in pain as he falls heavily on one elbow. He isn’t touching Florian anymore, his hands curling around his wrecked midriff as he gasps for air. His friends spring to their feet, shocked but ready to fight. They come forward as a group. I jump in front of Florian, who’s flopped forward to lean on the table now his “friend” isn’t here to support him. He needs medical help. But there are too many people coming at me. Cowards. None of them could take me one on one. But I won’t be able to fight a half dozen.
There are a few other people on the street, but as I look around in hope of help, everyone turns their gaze away from me. A family hurries their children away, out of danger. I’m on my own. I put up my fists, determined to protect Florian as long as I can. I should’ve thought this through. Should’ve gotten the authorities, such as they are. In panic I throw a punch, not holding back anything. One of the mob goes down. Out cold or dead, who gives a shit. The others hesitate for a moment. My hand stings but I’m ready for more.
“He’s crazy,” one mutters, and for a moment I hope I might’ve scared them off.
Then they surge forward again in a single angry wave. I fling out my fist, connect with a skull. Two down now. Then something hits the side of my head. Another blow, another, limbs coming at me from everywhere and I can’t block them all. I fall. Red dirt on my face. Pain blossoms all over my body as they kick and kick and kick.
**
I wake up staring into the lined face of Judge Draved. His bright red hair flops over his alcohol-reddened eyes as he looms over me.
“Florian,” I whisper, because my voice isn’t working properly. “Is Florian okay?”
I try to sit up. Pain spears through about fifty different parts of me. Especially my nose. A familiar feeling. The fucker is broken, again. The whole middle of my face is screaming, making it difficult to think. I’m so weak the scrawny judge can hold me down easily.
“Don’t try to move,” he says gently. “You’re okay.”
He’s missing the important thing. Is Florian okay?
“What about my servant?” I demand.
“The doctor is with him now.”
Dread claws at me. He didn’t say he’s okay.
“What happened?” I ask.
“We think his drink was spiked withabask.”
Fuck. As I suspected.Abaskis a drug that disables the body and clouds the mind. When it kicked in properly, Florian’s limbs would’ve begun to feel like lead. He barely would’ve been able to move. That disgusting excuse for a human being could’ve done anything to him if I hadn’t gotten here in time.
The thought is too horrible. I have to escape it. I look up to get my bearings and find I’m still lying in the shade of the café awning where I fell. The female manager is glaring at me as though my pitiful, felled figure is bad for business. A small, curious crowd has gathered now that the danger has passed. A bunch of city guards mills around, too. The gang who attacked me and drugged Florian are in manacles. Octopus Hands, the one who dared to call Florian a whore, looks sick with fear as a guard looms over him. Good. He’s going to face the brutal “justice” of the Galbravan system. As an ex-prisoner, I usually have an instinctive sympathy with anyone heading into custody. Not this time. If anyone deserves it, it’s him.
“Also, they made your servant sign this when he was under the influence of the drug,” Judge Draved says.
He presses a piece of paper into my hands. As I read, blinking away the pain behind my eyes, fury fills me all over again. I want to run over there and crush the criminal gang with my bare hands. The paper is a contract for thirty years of indentured servitude to a man named Hevra. Florian has signed it in a shaky hand.
“Hevra is that one.” Judge Draved nods at Octopus Hands, though I already knew it would be him.
“I’ll kill him.” My threat comes out pathetically weak. Instead of rebuking me, the Judge smiles in sympathy.
“The contract is void now that the contract holder is a criminal,” he says, soothing. “Well, he’ll soon be a criminal. He’ll be found guilty for sure. So I might as well give you this now.”
