Swashbuckling in the Dark

A Bargain

"Now watch closely."

Coquettish giggles bubbled out of her at his request, and she fluttered her eyes in response to the quick smile he flashed. With practiced agility, he placed his hands on the downturned pewter cups on the table before them, shifting them left, right, forward, and backwards. Her sharp eyes followed his movements, tracking the prize.

"That one," she announced confidently, once he'd stopped the cups in their tricky dance.

Dark obediently lifted the cup. Nothing lay beneath it. The patrons who had gathered to watch groaned in disappointment. She flashed her eyes at him, hiding her reaction behind a curved, flirtatious smile. He grinned.

"Care to try again, lovely?" he asked her.

"Of course," she responded, not one to be bested.

He tilted his head in her direction. "All right—oh, careful." His swift fingers caught a lock of fair hair that had escaped her ribbon and fallen across her face. Tucking it behind her ear, Dark let the tips of his fingers stray across soft skin.

More giggles. He flashed another smile.

"Watch closely," he said again. She did so, this time picking the cup that held the prize.

Dark lifted the cup. Underneath lay not the coin he'd been using, but the small, cheap earring he'd plucked from her ear.

She gasped, hand flying to her lobe to find it bare. A few onlookers chuckled and clapped lightly. Dark bowed, holding the stolen earring out to its owner. As their spectators dispersed, the pair stood up from their table. She reached for the earring, and he caught her hand in his.

With his usual smile, he said, "Leaving so soon?"

She laughed with a toss of her long, fair hair. "Not all of us have the night off." She moved close; he felt her lips against his ear. "Thanks for the game."

The sweet scent of her perfume departed with her, leaving behind the usual pub smells of sweat, filth and stale ale.

Dark sighed as he watched her walk away. An angel on a cloud, that's all she was. A fleeting moment of heaven that never lasted, never satisfied. He chuckled to himself and kicked his abandoned chair aside.

"If you wanted to meet more eligible women, you should have been born rich," he admonished himself, shaking his head at the absurd idea.

It was a noisy night, the working men of the town made all the louder by their indulgence. Feeling suddenly anxious to leave the overcrowded, over-loud and foul-smelling pub that was his usual haunt, Dark pushed his way through the throng of drunks. Already he felt the lure of the sea—calm, quiet, and away from the masses of humanity.

He was ambling in the direction of the door, thinking the night's entertainment had gone, when loud whoops and shouts caught his attention. Curious, he adjusted course. Pushing his way past the drunkards thumping their fists and tankards on the tables, Dark came to a table in the far corner where two men were seated facing each other. The pair was engaged in that traditional competition of masculinity: arm wrestling.

He stopped and leaned against a nearby beam, thinking perhaps he'd almost left too soon. The patron next to him was swaying dangerously on his feet. Dark swiped the tankard from his hand and took a sip before he pitched forward onto the floor, the crowd clearing out of the way for him.

The man on the right, burly and mean with one eye, was losing badly. Dark choked on his ale when he glanced at his opponent. By far the largest man he'd ever seen, he didn't seem to be breaking a sweat. In fact, he barely moved.