Tournament of Losers (13 page)

The clerk frowned. "If a selected challenge is considered even remotely dangerous, competitors will be issued royal guards to protect them throughout the course of it. But they will never be more than formality and over-precaution; we have no desire to risk the lives of the competitors. Other questions?" When no one spoke, he nodded briskly. "Then you may relax and talk
quietly
amongst yourselves until you are called to the stage."

Cheers burst from the spectators as the crier on stage said something. Rath caught
Ship of Fools
, but nothing more. He sat down on the ground, careful of the new pouch he still wasn't used to having at his right hip.

He tensed when the fancy one sat down next to him. "You're Rathatayen."

"How do you know my name?" Rath asked.

The man snorted. "Hard to forget a name that ridiculous, especially when they keep bellowing it."

Rath shrugged. If the man was hoping to rile him, he was going to have to try harder than picking on Rath's name. Everyone in the city had already done that. "Well your name must not be as remarkable because I don't remember it, my apologies."

"My name is Jessa," he replied with a sneer.

"Pleasure," Rath said, but did not offer his hand. "You seem remarkably composed. None of this intimidates you?"

"Why should competing for the crown intimidate me? I have just as much right to wear it as everyone here. That's the whole point of the tournament."

"I guess. I'm just a laborer," Rath replied with another shrug. "That's a little bit different than being a prince. I didn't think I'd get farther than a baron, and in my wildest imaginings, an earl."

"What's the point of competing if you start out setting your ambitions so pathetically low?" Jessa replied. "Aim high."

Rath's mouth tightened. "Spoken like someone who's never had to worry about what happens if you fall."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Jessa demanded.

"You're the smart one, you figure—"

"Enough," interjected the tiny woman that Rath remembered as the first one called on stage. "Save your energy for the challenges, because I promise, you'll need it."

Jessa immediately turned his attention on her, and Rath stood and left, moving to the edge of the stage where he could sneak a look at the crowd. Part of it, anyway. He tried to search for a familiar face, but mostly, it was all a blurry mess. A healer had once said Rath required spectacles, but that was not something Rath would ever be able to afford—or keep affording, since with the life he lived, they'd invariably get broken over and over again.

The spectators cheered again, and the crowd of competitors in front of the stage dispersed in a frantic rush. After that went the earl group, and then the dukes. When Rath's group was ushered onto to the stage, he almost lost his breakfast. That was becoming an alarmingly frequent feeling. Stupid. He had no reason to be nervous, not when he had every intention of losing.

On stage was a single table covered in purple cloth, with a man in ornate purple and gold robes standing behind it, the royal three-headed griffon embroidered over his heart. Whoever he was, he was important to the kingdom's finances. "Most honored competitors," the man greeted. "I am Lord Sorrith, Master of the Treasury, and it is my pleasure to present you with your first challenge, selected by His Royal Majesty King Teric: The Seven Merchants Challenge."

Rath had forgotten the challenges had names. Regent Charlet had devised the first ones alongside several members of the court, and over the years, more and more had been added. In recent generations, they just reused the old ones, modifying them as necessary. He knew some of them, but didn't recognize Seven Merchants.

Sorrith opened a coin purse that had been in front of him on the table. He tipped out several coins and spread them across the table. There was at least thirty marks there. Rath couldn't
breathe.

"Competitors," Sorrith said. "In the city are seven merchants, and mark well these names: Hamm, Chesterson, Merrick & Cold, Charlethta, Semora & Remma, Barlow, and Greath."

Rath nearly rolled his eyes; those were some of the most difficult, irritating companies to work for on the docks. All of them worked in High City. A fancy bakery, three special butchers that each only focused on one meat, because rich people expected that kind of nonsense, an ale merchant, a wine merchant, and a cheese and butter shop. Greath practically kept city guards on hand to arrest anyone he thought looked at his wine barrels funny.

Sorrith continued. "Your challenge is to buy the following with three marks: one hundred and ten gallons of wine, two hundred and fifty gallons of ale, two hundred and fifty pounds of fish, twenty-five legs of beef, seventeen legs of pork, fifty pounds of bread, and twenty-five pounds of cheese."

That was enough food to feed hundreds. Somewhere around a thousand by Rath's reckoning, though he was by no means an expert. He was just used to moving it all and overheard merchants and customers bargaining—and sometimes flat out arguing—over the price.

It could all easily be had for less than three marks. How was that a challenge? They were throwing away thirty marks just to see who could manage to be the cheapest? Did they think because they were all Low City and out-of-towners that they were too stupid to go shopping? Fucking hoity-toity. They should try to make a penny last a month.
That
was a Fates-damned challenge.

"You have five hours to venture into the city, locate the shops, and determine the best total cost for all the goods. Once you have determined them, make your purchases, and each merchant will give you a receipt for the goods and a token. Once you've completed the challenge, return here and present your receipts and tokens. The two worst totals will be removed from the tournament. Any questions?" When they all shook their heads, Sorrith said, "Come and collect your coins."

Rath frowned, falling to the back of the line as they quickly filed up to the table to collect their coins. Sorrith dropped three gleaming, newly minted silver marks into his hand like they were pennies. Except they weren't; they were shiny, smooth,
slick
marks.

When they were all back in position on stage, Sorrith said, "At the sound of the horn, the challenge begins."

He'd barely finished the words when the horn sounded, though it was nearly drowned out by the cheering of the crowds.

Rath watched the others depart, hanging back, his emotions a storm in his head and a pile of rocks in his stomach. His heart thundered in his ears.

As a silence fell, he realized he probably should have gone somewhere else to try to sort his thoughts out.

"Is something wrong?" Sorrith asked, drawing his hands together within the voluminous sleeves of his robe—a robe that probably cost several shillings at least. "Some reason you cannot attempt the challenge?"

Rath's temper snapped, and he threw his hands out. "What's there to attempt? Shopping? Do you think I'm too stupid to know how to do that? I'd like to see any of you try to survive on a penny and a half a day! Two pennies, if you're lucky and can get work with Barlow or Merrick & Cold. One penny if you're out of luck and get stuck moving barrels for Greath. I have better things to do with my day than exhaust myself hauling all over High City so a bunch of stingy merchants can tell me what I already know."

And that would
definitely
get him tossed out of the tournament, though he would have preferred to go quietly instead of causing a ruckus like his father.

Instead, Sorrith lifted his chin, mouth quirked, eyes gleaming with amusement for reasons Rath didn't even bother trying to puzzle out. Fates spare him understanding the workings of a noble's mind. "Already know, is it? You know so much, brave competitor, tell me."

Oh, they wanted to put him in his fucking place, did they? Fates bugger them! Rath strode across the stage and slapped his marks back down on the table. "Greath—110 gallons of wine for 33 shillings. Barlow—150 gallons of ale, 12 shillings 5 pennies. Hamm—250 pounds of fresh salo fish, 1 shilling, 2 pennies. Semora & Remma—25 legs of beef, 12 shillings 5. Charlethta—17 legs of pork, 5 shillings 1. Chesterson—50 pounds of bread, 6 pennies. Merrick & Cold—25 pounds of cheese, 1 shilling 2. That's the best price, when you can haggle them down to it. Fates know I've heard it all often enough."

The clerk who'd hastened over at Sorrith's beckoning stared at his papers, up at Rath, then down at his papers again before shaking his head and handing the bundle to Sorrith.

Reaching into his robe, Sorrith pulled out a delicate pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and perched them on his nose. He read over the papers, and the small quirk to his mouth became a full-fledged smile. When he spoke, his voice rang out across the field and spectators. "Challenge exceeded!" He lifted the papers high and rattled them. "Most Honored Majesties, your first victory!"

The horns sounded a victory call that would have normally made Rath smile and cheer and clap for whoever was being celebrated. Except they were for him and were rapidly inducing a panic. "What—?" Rath stumbled back from the table. "I didn't
do
anything except yell at everybody. I didn't go to the shops. I don't have receipts or tokens or—"

Sorrith jabbed the papers in his direction, then waved them about like he was holding one of those silly fans a lot of prostitutes used when beckoning to customers walking along the street. "I am the one who makes the final decision, and it's not your place to argue, unless you don't want the victory."

Rath
didn't
want the victory, but how did he say that when people were still applauding and Sorrith looked so approving. He opened his mouth, closed it again. "I don't understand."

"The challenge was to show competence," Sorrith said more gently, setting the papers on the table. He glanced toward the stands, brow furrowing for a moment and then clearing. He picked up the marks Rath had slammed on the table with long, spindly fingers. "With money, with the items being purchased, with the whole process." He stepped around the table and took Rath's hand, pressing the marks into them. "I admit I did not expect to be taken to task, but that certainly did not work against you."

Rath practically had to bite his tongue to keep from saying that made no fucking sense whatsoever and had his lordship gone mad? He frowned at the marks. "What are these for? Do I still need to go and purchase the items?"

Sorrith gave him a small half-grin. "No. Per the wishes of His Majesty, those are yours to keep. Someone else will be sent to obtain your portion of the banquet purchases."

"Banquet…?" Rath wanted to tear his hair out. Instead, he tucked the coins away before someone changed their mind.

Chuckling, Sorrith replied, "The food and drink from this challenge is actually being purchased on His Majesty's funds to host an end of tournament banquet. It's only a small measure of the food that will be available, but it makes for a good challenge while attending chores."

"You're making the competitors run errands."

"Just for this challenge," Sorrith said. He waved an arm toward the tents and tables off to the side. "Now, you have a few hours before the others will return. Go enjoy food and drink. I promise the next challenge will not be so easy, so savor your leisure while you can. And very well met, Master Rathatayen."

Master Rathatayen
, ugh. He could go the rest of his life without hearing himself called something so stupid and not enough time would have passed. "Many thanks, my lord. I apologize for yelling at you."

Sorrith patted his shoulder. "Nonsense, no apology required. Good day to you."

"Good day, my lord," Rath replied and gladly fled the stage in search of that promised wine.

He sat down under the blue tent, relieved just to be away from the staring and the touching and the kind of nonsense that caused someone to call him
Master Rathatayen.
His mother would spit her tea laughing.

Rath smiled as he thought about his mother, who would probably cry from excitement when he gave her one of the silver marks tucked away in his jacket. And he'd give another to Toph. The last was all his, and he'd coax Anta to break it down into pennies for him by then immediately paying for several months' rent.

"Would you like something to eat?"

Rath looked up at a woman holding a plate. "Oh! Yes, thank you. I was so lost in thought that I completely forgot there was food to be had. That smells wonderful." Maybe he'd been overly harsh the other day when he'd griped about the nobles not providing suitable refreshment for the competitors.

The woman smiled and set the plate down, then gestured sharply to a boy across the way, who came scurrying over with a cup of wine. White and sweet-smelling, but Rath had no real complaints. "It's not much, but it should hold you until the end of the challenge, and there's some sweets, too."

"Sweets?" Rath asked, looking around. "Really?"

"Really," the woman replied with a laugh as she walked off.

The boy lingered and, when Rath didn't tell him to leave, sat down on the bench on the other side of the table. "How did you do that with the challenge? My grandpa was saying almost no one has ever solved a challenge so fast."

"I don't know," Rath said. "I told them how much things cost and apparently did it well enough to win. Work at the docks long enough and anyone can learn that." He took a bite of sausage that he would never admit tasted far better than the ones made by his landlord. The wine was far too sweet, but it was free.

He sat there eating for well over an hour while the boy rambled on about the tournament and what his father said, peppering the chatter with questions he usually didn't give Rath time to answer. Rath had never been so easy as a child; he'd been too busy working, helping his mother at home, or keeping out of his father's sight. If he'd dared to sit and talk endlessly at someone, he'd have gotten his ears clapped and a list of chores.

How to chat and keep conversation going was one of the hardest skills he'd been forced to learn when he'd joined Trin's brothel. Back then, he'd have been happy to avoid the lessons, but a whore who couldn't talk was pretty much useless.