Read Online Villains by Necessity by Eve Forward - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eve Forward
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himself lightly in the finger with a small yelp, which brought good-natured laughter from his new friends. He scanned the board. Nothing too showy for a first shot, he decided, and squinted until he couldn't see and his eyebrows hurt, then threw.
The missile thwoked into an outer single score ring, subtracting a nice fifteen points from his base. He grinned myopically. He tossed his next two shots off in similar casualness and then collected his darts and inspected the pool. Not quite twenty gold, he noted, after translating the pile of gold tellins, silver lunins and copper stellins, and sighed. He'd have to show off for the rest. The game progressed. Sam watched, threw, watched, trying not to yawn, and then at last made his move.
He stepped up to throw, hefting his darts. He'd gotten to know them well over the short game. This one had a bit of a lean to the left, this one was point-heavy, and this one was the best, having only a slight downward drift.
Good enough. He took the left-leaner in fingers, and looked at the board. Thank fates his hand was healed, he thought. Fifty-five points. Might as well make it look good.
The world narrowed until all that remained was the dingy, pock-marked dartboard, and all that was clear within it was the single-score outer space labeled "2" by its rim. His hand moved. The center of the space sprouted a fletching.
His gaze shifted ever so slightly. All was silent, or at least he heard nothing, though the vibrations of voices shivered on his skin. His eyes caught the tiny wedge of yellow that was the narrow triple-score ring, held in the triangle labeled
"I." A small spot, true, like the barest chink of pale flesh that shows through a man's armor.
Throw. Blue and white feathers obscured the square. The last one was easy. He didn't even hesitate, but tossed, putting a bit more force on it just in case ...
Thunk!* He came out of his self and looked around, remembering to look amazed at his "luck." Bull's-eye, of course. "Fifty-five!" Around him the fellows had noted the same.
Cheers of laughter and congratulations pealed out, and his bearded buddy dropped a mug of ale in front of him.
He looked embarrassed and modest as he shyly took the coins from the pool and slipped them into his pouch, while the others encouraged him to drink up. Two of them were over at the dartboard exclaiming over the last dart, sunk to the end of its needle in the elm-wood. Sam looked a little disconcertedly at the ale.
"Oh no, I couldn't..." he began, but caught the looks of puzzlement as he did so. Beard pushed the mug closer to him with a chuckle.
"Come on, Blackie, 'tis good for you. After you've beaten us at our own game the least you can do is drink with us." He eyed Sam carefully.
"Well, all right then," he replied and raised the mug to the fellows. As they went back to their hearty laughter and cheers he tipped the drink down his throat with a mental sigh, keeping up appearances.
Arcie lurked. He'd had to ditch the ungainly long rapiers in a garbage pile, after removing the gold-plated hilts with gems in them, but the rest fitted nicely into his various packs and pouches, cunningly designed and possibly even slightly magical as well. The Barigan thief had always been well-off enough to afford the best, both for business and pleasure. Sound, useful, and concealing pouches and clothing were a wise investment, as was his cloak, so drab and shadow-colored he could walk into a bar like this one and, while perhaps he might be seen, he would not be noticed.
There was Sam all right. He was holding an empty ale mug, several others of which were scattered around the table near him, also some plates with the remains of a dinner on them. Sam was looking at a large fellow with a beard and a gold tooth. Arcie was momentarily intrigued, wondering how one might go about stealing such a gold tooth. Sam probably hadn't even noticed it. But what was Sam up to?
"Two tellins," said the Beard, "says you can't do
The missile thwoked into an outer single score ring, subtracting a nice fifteen points from his base. He grinned myopically. He tossed his next two shots off in similar casualness and then collected his darts and inspected the pool. Not quite twenty gold, he noted, after translating the pile of gold tellins, silver lunins and copper stellins, and sighed. He'd have to show off for the rest. The game progressed. Sam watched, threw, watched, trying not to yawn, and then at last made his move.
He stepped up to throw, hefting his darts. He'd gotten to know them well over the short game. This one had a bit of a lean to the left, this one was point-heavy, and this one was the best, having only a slight downward drift.
Good enough. He took the left-leaner in fingers, and looked at the board. Thank fates his hand was healed, he thought. Fifty-five points. Might as well make it look good.
The world narrowed until all that remained was the dingy, pock-marked dartboard, and all that was clear within it was the single-score outer space labeled "2" by its rim. His hand moved. The center of the space sprouted a fletching.
His gaze shifted ever so slightly. All was silent, or at least he heard nothing, though the vibrations of voices shivered on his skin. His eyes caught the tiny wedge of yellow that was the narrow triple-score ring, held in the triangle labeled
"I." A small spot, true, like the barest chink of pale flesh that shows through a man's armor.
Throw. Blue and white feathers obscured the square. The last one was easy. He didn't even hesitate, but tossed, putting a bit more force on it just in case ...
Thunk!* He came out of his self and looked around, remembering to look amazed at his "luck." Bull's-eye, of course. "Fifty-five!" Around him the fellows had noted the same.
Cheers of laughter and congratulations pealed out, and his bearded buddy dropped a mug of ale in front of him.
He looked embarrassed and modest as he shyly took the coins from the pool and slipped them into his pouch, while the others encouraged him to drink up. Two of them were over at the dartboard exclaiming over the last dart, sunk to the end of its needle in the elm-wood. Sam looked a little disconcertedly at the ale.
"Oh no, I couldn't..." he began, but caught the looks of puzzlement as he did so. Beard pushed the mug closer to him with a chuckle.
"Come on, Blackie, 'tis good for you. After you've beaten us at our own game the least you can do is drink with us." He eyed Sam carefully.
"Well, all right then," he replied and raised the mug to the fellows. As they went back to their hearty laughter and cheers he tipped the drink down his throat with a mental sigh, keeping up appearances.
Arcie lurked. He'd had to ditch the ungainly long rapiers in a garbage pile, after removing the gold-plated hilts with gems in them, but the rest fitted nicely into his various packs and pouches, cunningly designed and possibly even slightly magical as well. The Barigan thief had always been well-off enough to afford the best, both for business and pleasure. Sound, useful, and concealing pouches and clothing were a wise investment, as was his cloak, so drab and shadow-colored he could walk into a bar like this one and, while perhaps he might be seen, he would not be noticed.
There was Sam all right. He was holding an empty ale mug, several others of which were scattered around the table near him, also some plates with the remains of a dinner on them. Sam was looking at a large fellow with a beard and a gold tooth. Arcie was momentarily intrigued, wondering how one might go about stealing such a gold tooth. Sam probably hadn't even noticed it. But what was Sam up to?
"Two tellins," said the Beard, "says you can't do
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