\n\u201cTen to one he holds like an ox,\u201d I say.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhat I meant was, I sure as shit hope he hangs on to her. Don\u2019t get me wrong. It\u2019s not that I don\u2019t trust my friend, but I\u2019m betting with coin I don\u2019t have. I\u2019m not saying I\u2019m not good for it, because I am. Just, you know, my pockets are empty today.\n<\/p>\n
\nSo I sit and watch between the legs of elves and hope he keeps her off the tavern floor.\n<\/p>\n
\nI nod at the barman for another drink and slide him some coin while the good bard Pussywillow balances the poor girl on his shoulders, his knees vibrating like lute strings.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNay, Milo,\u201d Bertrand says. \u201cMake it twenty to one,\u201d and he\u2019s got his hand held out to make our simple gentleman\u2019s agreement into a done deal\u2014a slit-your-throat-if-you-don\u2019t-pay-up sort of bet. It\u2019s not the sort of bet I want to make, yet I\u2019m shaking Bertrand\u2019s hand, allowing the ale ravaging both my innards and inhibitions to make the decision for me.\n<\/p>\n
\nI can see it in Pussywillow\u2019s dour face. He knows he\u2019s going to drop her dumb.\n<\/p>\n
\nI slap Bertrand on the back, pleasantly surprised by the absence of his usual musky odor, and hand him my last coin.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNext round is on me,\u201d I say, and slip out the door, noting the unmistakable thud causing the crowd to crow is not from the door slamming behind me, but the poor girl falling\u2014and perhaps my luck.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\n\u201cYou asshole,\u201d I say.\n<\/p>\n
\nPussywillow lounges in his chair.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d he says. \u201cYou\u2019re the one who bet in favor of me <\/em>in matters regarding a feat of strength. I\u2019d say that makes you the asshole.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBecause I believed in a friend?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cA foolish asshole.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBertrand isn\u2019t going to let it go this time,\u201d I say. \u201cHow much coin do you have, by the way?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nPussywillow leans forward, his brunette coiffure still flattened from the tavern fiasco.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat\u2014why?\u201d he asks. \u201cI\u2019m not bailing you out.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWell,\u201d I say, making sure I\u2019ve given myself room to dodge whatever he\u2019ll throw at me once I tell him. \u201cBecause you\u2019re\u2026well. Sort of roped into this too.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe grabs an apple from the table.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHow? Explain to me how I am responsible for your financial misgivings?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI mean, you <\/em>dropped her,\u201d I say, and I\u2019m flat on the ground while the apple zips past my head. Better than the last time. I still have a scar from the cat.\n<\/p>\n \nPussywillow chases me around the room while I create obstacles for him from chairs and end tables and various decorative baubles.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHow much?\u201d he asks.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I say. \u201cI said ten to one\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe\u2019s slowing down, giving up.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBut then he raised it twenty to one,\u201d I say. \u201cBut I don\u2019t remember the initial wager. Honestly, I\u2019m not sure how gambling works. I\u2019ve never been much of a betting man.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI pick the apple off the floor and take a bite.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOh no,\u201d Pussywillow says. \u201cThere\u2019s that look.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI\u2019m more of a thinking man.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI have an idea,\u201d I say.\n<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \nWe wait until the moon creeps behind a drapery of clouds to make our way down the docks where, if my intel is correct, a vessel storing bags and bags of coin floats, ready to be burgled by yours truly. A handful of guards patrol the area in the early evening to protect the slew of vessels, but by this hour, they\u2019ve gone sea-legged-drunk and can most often be found shagging behind crates or paying anyone to give them a lonely wank in an alley. I\u2019m not a proud man, but resourceful, and can appreciate the hustle. They always say, sometimes you have to spend a load to create your load.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI want you to know I do not approve of this,\u201d Pussywillow says. \u201cAt all. Not one bit. I\u2019m a man who earns his keep by entertaining good people far and wide, not thieving and kniving.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nEven his whisper could wake the dead.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWill you be quiet?\u201d I ask. \u201cAnd don\u2019t even start. You sing-song types steal all your material.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cExcuse me?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nWe wander past a sleeping guardsman, sprawled out next to a deck of cards and empty flask.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYour last big hit was about your brother and his husband. A ballad of two lovers, cast aside by family, but carved their own lives in the bedrock of love.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWell,\u201d he says. \u201cWe all draw inspiration\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah, sure. Do you pay your brother a portion of the keep you earn from his story?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI bought him a lovely wedding gift.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSo did I,\u201d I say. \u201cThief.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOh, fuck off,\u201d he says.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cShhh.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou always bicker and then\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI slacken my pace and hold an arm against Pussywillow\u2019s chest.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo. Shhhh.<\/em> As in, kindly shut up,\u201d I say, pointing to the vessel that will solve our Bertrand problem.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou remember the plan?\u201d I ask.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou sneak in, steal the coin. I stay and keep watch. If anyone shows, start playing like a common busker, begging for change\u2026did I remember it correctly?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDon\u2019t pout.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cMight I remind you I opened for Bardi-B last month. I have self-respect. As a person, and as an entertainer, and I don\u2019t appreciate my talents being used as a distraction for your shoddy scheme.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWell now you\u2019re being rude,\u201d I say.\n<\/p>\n \nHe\u2019s whisper-yelling a retort again. I nod along to give the impression I\u2019m hanging onto every word while boarding the vessel.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cKeep your eyes open. Be back in a jiffy.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe tide is gentle tonight and rocks the boat slightly, luring me into a calm disposition. A small glow emanates from the cabin and shakes my mind back into a collected focus Pussywillow no doubt takes for granted. Shoddy scheme. <\/em>Pah!\n<\/p>\n \nNow, I\u2019m no boat expert, but I assume the goods are stored below. I skulk toward a large, dark hole in the main deck. A ladder leads to a stuffy room that smells of sulfur and salt. I can\u2019t see for shit, save for the ambient light trickling through the gaps in the main deck. I feel around for sacks of coin, but discover only barrel after barrel of black powder. I consider the valuables may be held in the captain\u2019s cabin, above. Seems reasonable enough, but now the plan must shift to Pussywillow\u2019s even more careful watch, followed by a distraction if anyone comes around. And to be frank, I\u2019m not all too confident in his ability to keep cool under pressure.\n<\/p>\n \nI slink to one side as the boat rocks and am frightened by a clanging noise and rattle of chains. A familiar musty smell wafts my direction, permeating through the scent of salt-seasoned wood and creosote.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBertrand?\u201d I ask.\n<\/p>\n \nThe only answer is a gruff, \u201cHello? Milo?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI find Bertrand behind a stack of crates, easily a man-and-a-half tall. I notice shackles on his hands.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAm I interrupting something? Some damsel-in-distress-role-playing thing\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat? No, you ass,\u201d he says. \u201cI\u2019m being held against my will.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWere you here for the coin, too?\u201d I ask. \u201cTell you what, we can split it. Whatever I owe you, first, then we split the rest.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDid the owner of the boat nab you?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThis is my <\/em>boat!\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI make a mental note to make sure my informants provide me with more thorough intel.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWait, are you trying to rob me?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cTechnically burgling.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHelp me out of these chains you ass,\u201d he says.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo, that\u2019s braying.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nSpeaking of braying asses, the faintest hum of Pussywillow\u2019s lute resonates above us as he sings in a register I don\u2019t believe suits him, if I\u2019m being honest. The singing clashes\u2014an unpleasant duet\u2014with the chains rattling beside me in the sort of violent chaos I often attribute to burly types like Bertrand.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWould you calm down? Gods,\u201d I say. \u201cWhat are you doing chained up in your own boat? Are you sure I didn\u2019t walk in on anything? I won\u2019t tell anyone how to spend their coin.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHold on,\u201d he says. His temperament shifts from a clumsy aggression to pensively focused, as it often does when one remembers matters of coin.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou said you owe me coin?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDid I say that?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes,\u201d he says. \u201cBut tell me, why do you owe me coin?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cCaught me,\u201d I say, giving him a friendly-don\u2019t-stab-me gesture. \u201cBut perhaps you should lay off the ale, Bertrand. We\u2019d made our bet only hours ago.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cImpossible,\u201d Bertrand says. \u201cI\u2019ve been chained up for days.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBy now, Pussywillow is bellowing above, guttural and not at all music-like, and I\u2019m having a hard time concentrating on Bertrand\u2019s predicament.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOdd, because the fellow I bet twenty\u2026ten to one\u2026really more of a gentleman\u2019s agreement with looked an awful lot like you. You wouldn\u2019t happen to be a twin, would you?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWell damn.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI pull thieves\u2019 tools from the pouch at my hip and begin to pick at Bertrand\u2019s chains.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI can\u2019t believe you planned to rob me,\u201d he says.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou should thank me,\u201d I say. \u201cI brought my kit and everything.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nOne of my picks bends in the lock.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWould you quit moving?\u201d I ask.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYeah, quit your moving,\u201d Bertrand says, only it echoes from behind.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat sort of thaumaturgy is this? You can really throw your voice,\u201d I say.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt wasn\u2019t me, you ass! Turn around.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI do.\n<\/p>\n \nAnother Bertrand stands before me while the chained-Bertrand lets out a heavy exhale my direction. One most foul. A fist connects with my nose. And then a body, as Pussywillow is shoved in my direction\u2014nose bloodied, hands bound in rope. Soon, my hands are bound and my nose is equally bloodied.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDid you not hear me singing?\u201d Pussywillow asks.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThat was the distraction-song,\u201d I say.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo, it wasn\u2019t,\u201d he says. \u201cIt was the holy-shit-someone-is-coming-song.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWell, the key was off.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nBoth Bertrands yell, \u201cShut up.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThe bard Pussywillow and I are shoved, a bit too aggressively if you ask me, toward the wall. Other-Bertrand says, \u201cCan it. You\u2019ve wasted too much time.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cForgive the inconvenience,\u201d I say, solemnly shaking my bound hands.\n<\/p>\n \nBy now, Other-Bertrand has lit a candle and has set it precariously close to the barrels of black powder. Smooth, I think to myself. Either he\u2019s dumber than he looks or he\u2019s trying to commit fraud. And murder.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cLet me guess, insurance?\u201d I ask.\n<\/p>\n \nOther-Bertrand\u2019s face sinks.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cThat obvious?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cA bit,\u201d I say, nodding at the candle and barrels of volatile powder. \u201cBut why don\u2019t you take the coin and leave us be? You can be rich without being a murderer.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m already one of those things.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nChained-Bertrand leans in and whispers his insurance policy recently lapsed.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou,\u201d Other-Bertrand says. \u201cWhat did you say?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nChained-Bertrand laughs and says, \u201cThere is no coin on this ship. I was to set sail and deliver black powder down the coast to the mines.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nGods be damned. For my shoddy intel and for pairing me with a burly dolt like Bertrand. Any thinking man would know he should have said he has no insurance, but he can keep the barrels of coin if he let us go.\n<\/p>\n \nPussywillow starts to hum a tune and through the dim candle light of doom, I see the flicker in his eyes as he connects the lyrics of the distraction-song chosen not from Pussywillow\u2019s catalog, but from Bardi-B\u2019s Invasion of Privacy, <\/em>chronicling the exploits of a swindling changeling. And in a small, but not insignificant, turn of events the gods have reminded me that my pairing is not with the dolt Bertrand, but the good bard.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHold on a minute, changeling<\/em>,\u201d I say, quickly coming up with a way to balm Bertrand\u2019s blunder. \u201cI have an idea.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nI\u2019ve always been a thinking man.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou unchain Bertrand and snuff out your candle. I bet you ten to one that I will be able to determine which one of you is the genuine Bertrand. If I fail, I owe you the debt\u2014and you let my friends go. But if I succeed, we all go free, and you will leave and never return. Nobody has to die here tonight, changeling.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cDid you think I\u2019d forget you already owe me a debt?\u201d he asks. \u201cIf you fail, you owe me the original debt and I take the boat. I\u2019ll deliver the black powder myself and keep the profits\u2014and you will join me and work off your debt, with interest.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cFine by me,\u201d I say, because the odds are in my favor. I can smell victory.\n<\/p>\n \nThere\u2019s a skepticism to his demeanor, hidden in his borrowed, furrowed brow.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cLet\u2019s make it a real challenge,\u201d I say. \u201cBlindfold me.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n \nAfter some fuss and tired, untrusting looks, we arrange ourselves on the main deck. It doesn\u2019t slip past me that on my way up the ladder, the changeling had moved the powder kegs directly beneath the hole\u2014the same hole in which he\u2019s placed a lit candle. The slimy bastard.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cAll right, turn around,\u201d the changeling says. \u201cI will blindfold you and we will commence.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThere\u2019s a shuffling of feet as the changeling Three-Card-Montys their placement upon the deck. It makes no difference, because the real Bertrand\u2019s familiar, musky odor will reveal all I need to know. I spin myself around a couple of times to give the appearance of a more difficult and fair competition. I hum and haw while paying close attention, waiting for the familiar, odorous musk to whisk its way into my nostrils.\n<\/p>\n \nOnly there is no smell.\n<\/p>\n \nUsually, I\u2019m plagued by a clogged nose around spring and again during the harvest, but it\u2019s barely a week past the summer solstice. I suck in a mouthful of heavy air, remembering that you can often taste Bertrand\u2019s brand of funk on the worst of days, but I\u2019m left with only a slight salty, fishy aftertaste. I decide to go for the nose again and take a deep breath. My throat is overwhelmed by the coppery taste of my colossal fuck up as I choke on blood, my senses corrupted by my nose\u2019s previous run-in with the changeling\u2019s fist.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWell, then?\u201d the changeling asks. \u201cWhat is your decision?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nA great question, I think to myself. What are we, but a culmination of our decisions, good or bad, arbitrary or carefully considered? And how about the ones that are heavy and burden more than the bearer? How quickly gambling for coin turned to gambling for my friends\u2019 lives. If only I hadn\u2019t opened my mouth in the tavern, I wouldn\u2019t be here now. But had I not, poor Bertrand, oafish as he is, would have been left to die alone, chained to his own boat.\n<\/p>\n \nIn the end, I choose the Bertrand on the right.\n<\/p>\n \nI pull the blindfold from my brow and use it to soak up the sweat slicking the nape of my neck. I walk toward the changeling to shake his hand. To put an end to the deal once and for all.\n<\/p>\n \nAs I do, the tide rocks the boat. The three of them are thrown against the rail along the deck into a fleshy pile. Bertrand\u2014genuine or not, I can no longer determine\u2014stares at the hole in the main deck, or rather, the candle falling into it. Pussywillow looks around, screaming about his precious lute. The Bertrands yell obscenities. And I watch the world in slow motion and curse the gods, because would it have killed them to shift the tides after we\u2019d left the boat? I truly believe it may have. The gods can\u2019t go five seconds without watching us suffer. And like clockwork, five seconds go by, and before you know it, we\u2019re diving into the murky, freezing water. Tick-tock, tick-tock. <\/em>Another five seconds and Bertrand\u2019s vessel is blown to bits. A beautiful spectacle of suffering for the gods.\n<\/p>\n \nSeveral sleepy-eyed guardsmen stand on the docks and shout toward the three of us who surfaced, asking if we\u2019re okay. Clinging to flotsam, we respond in the affirmative.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHow did you know he was the right Bertrand?\u201d Pussywillow asks, his quaff now flat and swooping along the left side of his face.\n<\/p>\n \nI spit seawater in an arc like a cherub fountain.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI didn\u2019t,\u201d I say.\n<\/p>\n \nBertrand grips the flotsam tight and says, \u201cWell, you chose right.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSorry about your boat.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt\u2019s okay, insurance ought to cover it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n Michael Bettendorf (he\/him) is a multi-genre writer from the Midwest. His fiction has appeared at The Drabblecast, The Martian Magazine, and elsewhere. Michael works in a high school library where he talks to students and ghosts all day about books. He lives in Lincoln with his partner and dog where he tries to convince the world Nebraska is too strange to be a flyover state.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cTen to one he holds like an ox,\u201d I say. What I meant was, I sure as shit hope he hangs on to her. Don\u2019t get me wrong. It\u2019s not that I don\u2019t trust my friend, but I\u2019m betting with coin I don\u2019t have. I\u2019m not saying I\u2019m not good for it, because I am. …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107943,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20131],"tags":[20132],"class_list":["post-140293","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-49-autumn-2023","tag-the-colored-lens-49-autumn-2023","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140293","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107943"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=140293"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140293\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":140294,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140293\/revisions\/140294"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=140293"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=140293"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=140293"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
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