Story for the Day: It's Educational
Many a dalliance can be got away with by the excuse of "it's educational", and while books nearly always fall under this category, games too can be disguised as learning tools-- especially when a king says so.
Alasdair
had followed what he thought was a gamesmaster, but when he realized the person
was only a fried meat vendor just having stepped out of his stall with his dice
bag attached to his belt, he grew embarrassed and turned toward the nearest
café, thinking that a Lucentian or
Livanese establishment ought to have what he
was searching for. Servers from the adjacent eateries swarmed the lanes,
scouring the streets for novitiates, offering cakes and coffee for anyone who
would populate their new terrace, an allowance given them by the kingdom,
provided the weather was good and business warranted the extension of space.
Alasdair had quite forgot the permits they applied for in the courts and only
remembered them when the proprietor of one of the shoppes came to thank His
Majesty for his attention and generosity: he had given him a license to lure,
one he was using now by ushering the royal party toward his terrace with an
open arm.
One
glance at the cakes, however, and Alasdair quietly accused him of
subordination.
“Not at
all, Your Majesty,” was the bowing salutation.
“I already received what I needed from the kingdom. It was little more than a
fishing license really, but we do what we can with it.”
The
proprietor gestured toward his terrace and urged the party to enter by way of
prostrations and winks. There was no hardship in sitting at such terrace,
however: a humble array of chairs and tables were set out, each adorned with
cups and saucers, every seat cushioned and turned out toward the river, every
napkin knifed and spooned, every plate garnished with creams and cakes, and as
the owner was so insistent—so kind and thoughtful for the Majesty to join them
and bring his whole party—Alasdair allowed himself and his family to be seated,
everyone immediately taking up a cup and claiming cake upon sitting down. Coffee was called for
and brought round, the servers were asking whether anyone would need sugar for
their cups, but Alasdair was not listening; he was spying the card games lying
in the box beside just beside and wondering whether any of the games he was
searching for were available to play.
“Ah!”
said the proprietor, noting the king’s interest. “I see His Majesty would like
a game. We have plenty here to entertain you, if you wish. Jainsago or Sirs
or—“
“Do you
have Escera?” Alasdair pleaded.
“We do.
I believe we have two decks. I’m sure there is at least one deck in the main
room. Shall I go and fetch it for you, Your Majesty? Do you mean to play a few
rounds with those in your party?”
“I
think he means to set up a formal tournament,” said Carrigh, laughing.
The
proprietor seemed amused but felt as though he had missed something.
“Your
friend the Royal Informant introduced him to Escera and Thynu this morning,”
Boudicca explained. ”Alasdair was beaten several times in a row and has never
got over it.”
“Oh,
yes, I’m sorry to hear of it,” said the proprietor, with mock severity. “Game affliction
is a common disease back home. Our gambling halls are notorious for being
filled with men who hate to lose and want revenge. Men have lost mates,
partners, attendants, limbs, and even lives over our games, and Escera is not
even the most popular one.”
“I can
understand why,” said Alasdair, taking up his cup and staring begrudgingly at
his coffee. “Who would want to play a game that would nail them to a table for
an eternity?”
The
proprietor shrugged. “Lucentians.”
“Well,”
Alasdair hemmed, “I suppose, though I should never mean to suggest anything.”
“You
may suggest as you like, Your Majesty,” said the proprietor, laughing. “It’s
our national curse, and our smoking dens the only remedy. We are a rather
debauch people, I will be the first one to admit it, but we prefer to enjoy our
time with our friends and neighbours rather than waste it on our knees. You
will never see a Galleisian card hall, but you will also never see a Galleisian
surrounded by smiling faces either.”
“True,
unless those Galleisians are in our family,” said Boudicca subrisively. “We have
a tolerable collection of them, as you well know, and they have not stopped
smiling since they joined us, though they haven’t fallen prey to the sting of
cards.”
“It’s a
disease really. Even I cannot resist once a deck is laid out, whatever the
game. Even ones I don’t know, if there is a table in the way and a drink in my
hand, I have to sit and watch.” The proprietor glanced at Alasdair, who was
sipping his coffee and trying very hard not to look at the game box. “Shall I
put the cards out, Your Majesty, or shall I put them away?”
The debate was banded about in
Alasdair’s mind, his conscience gaining ground over his sense, which told him
that he had come out of the keep to escape the sting of card games and Teague
influence, but the box was beside him, the game was within reach, and a moment
might see the deck on the table, and a strategy might be learned, an advantage
might be gained for his battles against Vyrdin’s impenetrable will. “Put them
away, please!” said Alasdair, in a fever. “I will never leave if you bring them
out!”
“You
realize, Your Majesty, that is not a problem for me,” said the proprietor, with
a sagacious aspect. “Having the King of Frewyn sit at my establishment is good
for my business, and the longer you stay, sire, the bigger the compliment it
is, the more others are likely to come.”
Alasdair
groaned into his palms, but when he looked up, he had even more reason to
grieve: a gamesmaster, with his tall hat, patched vest, and display box,
appeared at the edge of the terrace, to Alasdair’s great horror and the delight
of everyone else. His blithesomeness and
general air of assurance offended Alasdair’s ideas of abstinence, Alasdair
having decided that he was only going to play with the decks at the café and
leave off buying his own set, but some subliminal cogitation transmitted from
their side of the street to the other, whereupon the gamesmaster, who was sat
at his stall, caught it up and came to give the royal party a perusal of his
collection, a collection which Alasdair was already disdaining him for.
“Did I
hear His Majesty say he was looking for Escera?” said the gamesmaster.
“You
have excellent hearing,” said Boudicca. “He did ask, but something tells me
that His Majesty is going to have you ordered at the bottom of a well in a
moment.”
A
glimpse from the corner of her eye betrayed Alasdair’s disdain, and she
simpered at his flurns, remarking that the more he tried to escape from
learning Escera, the more the game seemed determined to find him out.
“My
hearing is tuned to the sound of demand,” said the gamesmaster, with a gallant
bow, “and I have just the supply for His Majesty. I have a deck right here,
along with a companion deck and a few extra cards that might be thrown in to a
round,” taking the cards out of his display box. “I also have Thynu, if you
would like to play with the commander cards, and I even have a copy of
Yenvizher. “
Alasdair’s
ears perked. “What is that?” he asked, giving the box a thorough inspection.
“It’s a card game, I see. Is it Livanese?” and then, in a more mournful hue, “I
already regret having asked.”
“You’ve
never seen Yenvizher, Your Majesty?” asked the proprietor.
“No,
though something tells me you’re going to show me.”
“I can,
if you wish, Your Majesty, but the game is nothing to be afraid of. Yenvizher
an old Livanese card game—the name means trader in their old language—but some
say the game originally came from the Bizarmin. It’s a very simple game, played
with forty cards over three rounds, and the only thing you can do on your turn
is trade cards in your hand for ones on the table.”
“That’s
all?”
“That’s
all.”
“Well,
the premise sounds simple enough,” was Alasdair’s hesitant reply, feeling the
first ardours of curiosity begin to surmount him.
“All
the cards represent different goods, and all you have to do is exchange them
for goods in your hand, as though you were playing a real trade market, but you
can only exchange a certain amount of cards at one time. Whoever has the most
goods with the highest value at the end of a round wins. Should I show you,
Your Majesty?”
Should he? was the question that plagued
Alasdair as the games were laid out. The games were out on the table beside
him. Three decks, two belonging to Escera and one to the Livanese trading game,
lay before him, and the agony of which to play or not play, which to buy and
which to sample, besieged him into silence. Something would be played,
something else would be purchased, that something which would claim his time
and the semblance of integrity he had been frittering away for the last hour.
One glance at the children, however, who were waiting anxiously for him to
reach a conclusion, and Alasdair’s mind was made.
“We’ll
take all of it,” he said, resigning himself to vice, “all three of them. The
children can learn the trading game. It seems harmless enough and might have
some educational value to it.”
“I
daresay Lucentian card games are just as innocuous,” said Boudicca. “How
readily you can excuse a game as being educational when the children are in the
way, but when you want to learn a game, the whole keep must be overturned to
keep you from the cards.”
“Because
we can easily tell the children to learn something else,” Alasdair contended.
“I know myself, and know I won’t stop playing game until I’ve mastered at least
some part of it.”
“Astonishing
how we kept from losing you to the gambling halls while we were in Lucentia.”
Alasdair’s
face lengthened. “We were there for diplomatic purposes.”
“Games
are as diplomatic as they are educational. They are a lesson in both, surely,
in getting to know your opponent well enough to conquer them.”
“They
are, but we don’t need northern card games to learn about adversaries or how to
defeat them.”
“We
don’t, but that does not stop you from plunging yourself into them with the
same fervour as you would a debate at court.”
Here was a flat look. “I did grow
up playing Ardri and Brandubh, you know, which now that I consider it, probably
fostered an early like for strategy games.”
“Then
perhaps, Your Majesty,” said the proprietor, sitting down, “if you are such a
professed gamester, you would do me the honour of a few rounds?”
He
gestured toward one of the Escera decks on the table, and Alasdair cringed made
a strangled “…Hrrnn.”
“As
well you might, Alasdair,” Boudicca laughed. “You have already committed
yourself, and perhaps you’ll learn a few strategies that you might take back to
the keep.”
The
private recesses of Alasdair’s mind, where he secreted away his vices-- his
affection for games, his amourous inclination for a handsome jerkin, his
passion for rhubarb pies-- had been breached, and he allowed himself the
extenuation of a few rounds, provided they could teach him enough about the
game that might satisfy his shameful curiosity and quell the unquietness of the
last hour. Anything might always be reasoned away with education, and learning
how to beat Vyrdin at a game of cards at present was the most informative thing
in the world. “All right,” he sighed, thinking his surrender a weakness never
to be got over. The cards were shuffled and doled, and he watched and listened
and learned, humming and humphing over the proprietor’s hints with contracted
brows and folded arms, while the gamesmaster went to the other table, to
demonstrate how the Livanese trading game was to be played and set them off
going, that he might skulk back to his stall and advertise himself as the man
who satisfied the king’s desire for cards and introduced a new game to the keep.
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