“It’ll be dark soon,” Talmanes said, glancing at the window. “We’ve used an hour, probably more. Maybe we should—”
At that moment, the door of the inn slammed open and the burly mayor entered, accompanied by the men who had joined him earlier, although they’d left their axes behind. They didn’t look pleased to find half the village inside the tavern gambling with Mat.
“Mat,” Talmanes began again.
Mat raised a hand, cutting him off. “This is what we’ve been waiting for.”
“It is?” Talmanes asked.
Mat turned back to the dicing table, smiling. He’d gone through most of his bags of coins, but he had enough for a few more throws—not counting what he’d brought along outside, of course. He picked up the dice and counted out some gold crowns, and the crowd began to throw down coins of their own—many of which, by now, were gold ones they’d won from Mat.
He tossed and lost, causing a roar of excitement from those watching. Barlden looked as if he wanted to toss Mat out—it was getting late, and sunset couldn’t be far off—but the man hesitated when he saw Mat pull out another handful of gold coins. Greed nibbled every man, and strict “rules” could be bent if opportunity walked past and winked suggestively enough.
Mat tossed again, and lost. More roars. The mayor folded his arms.
Mat reached into his pouch and found nothing but air. The men around him looked crestfallen, and one called for a round of drinks to “help the poor young lord forget about his luck.”
Not bloody likely, Mat thought, covering a smile. He stood up, raising his hands. “I see it’s getting late,” he said to the room.
“Too late,” Barlden interjected, pushing past a few smelly goatherds with fur-collared cloaks. “You should be going, outlander. Don’t be thinking I’ll make these men give back what you lost to them fairly, either.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mat said, slurring his words just a tad. “Harnan and Delarn!” he bellowed. “Br
ing in the chest!”
The two soldiers from outside hurried in a moment later, bearing the small wooden chest from the packhorse. The tavern grew silent as the soldier carried it over to the table and set it down. Mat fished out the key, wobbling slightly, then unlocked the lid and revealed the contents.
Gold. A lot of it. Practically all he had left of his personal coin. “There’s time for one more throw,” Mat said to a stunned room. “Any takers?”
Men began to toss down coins until the pile contained most of what Mat had lost. It wasn’t nearly enough to match what was in his chest. He looked it over, tapping his chin. “That’s not going to be enough, friends. I’ll take a bad bet, but if I’ve only got one more throw tonight, I want a chance of walking out of here with something.”
“It’s all we’ve got,” one of the men said, amid a few calls for Mat to go ahead and toss anyway.
Mat sighed, then closed the lid to the chest. “No,” he said. Even Barlden was watching with a gleam in his eyes. “Unless.” Mat paused. “I came here for supplies. I guess I’d take barter. You can keep the coins you won, but I’ll bet this chest for supplies. Foodstuffs for my men, a few casks of ale. A cart to carry it on.”
“There isn’t enough time.” Barlden glanced at the darkening windows.
“Surely there is,” Mat said, leaning forward. “I’ll leave after this toss. You have my word on it.”
“We don’t bend rules here,” the mayor said. “The price is too high.”
Mat expected calls from the betting men, challenging the mayor, begging him to make an exception. But there were none. Mat felt a sudden spike of fear. After all of that losing . . . if they kicked him out anyway. . . .
Desperate, he pulled open the top of the chest again, revealing the gold coins inside.
“I’ll give you the ale,” the innkeeper said suddenly. “And Mardry, you’ve got a wagon and team. It’s only a street down.”
“Yes,” said Mardry, a bluff-faced man with short dark hair. “I’ll bet that.”
Men began to call that they could offer food—grain from their pantries, potatoes from their cellars. Mat looked to the mayor. “There’s still got to be what, half an hour until nightfall? Why don’t we see what they can gather? The village store can have a piece of this too, if I lose. I’ll bet you could use the extra coin, what with the winter we had.”
Barlden hesitated, then nodded, still watching the chest of coins. Men whooped and ran about, fetching the wagon, rolling out the ale. More than a few galloped off for their homes or the village store. Mat watched them go, waiting in the quickly emptying tavern room.
“I see what you’re doing,” the mayor said to Mat. He didn’t seem to be in a rush to gather anything.
Mat turned toward him, questioningly.
“I won’t have you cheating us with a miracle win at the end of the evening.” Barlden folded his arms. “You’ll use my dice. And you’ll move nice and slow as you toss. I know you lost many games here as the men report, but I suspect that if we search you, we’ll find a couple of sets of dice hidden on your person.”