Salty-sweet flavors flowed over her taste buds as she bit into her snack, a grin on her lips as she watched children escape the grasp of nannies and mothers to splash in the cool water. Today is finally starting to turn around, she thought contently, taking another bite.
The sound of more excited hollers brought Niya’s attention to a winding alley to her left. The path appeared empty, but hoots echoed toward her again, and she didn’t need to see it to know exactly what elicited such a mix of reverie and disappointment. A bet.
With her mood lifting further, Niya stood. How delightful would it be if I won back what I spent on this rice square, she thought gleefully as she finished it off in two more bites. Her magic twirled, just as excited, in her veins, for any promise of gambling meant a promise of movement, energy for her gifts to nibble on just as she had nibbled on her snack.
Following the noise down the winding path, she eventually found a group of children hunched over a game by the wall. Two of the older kids traded rolling a pair of eight-sided dice, eliciting more loud shouts.
Match-a-roll, she thought, a popular game she had played often as a young girl. Niya grinned as they rolled again with more hollers of encouragement.
None had taken notice of her at their backs until she said, “I bet you two silver that you cannot roll that same number within two tries.”
Six sets of eyes blinked up at her.
“No, do not go,” said Niya hurriedly as the children scurried to escape. “I swear I’m good on my bet.” She pulled forth two silver from her skirt’s pockets. The kids stopped, eyes widening. These street mice probably had never seen such coin so close. “It can be yours if you are willing to play.”
“We got nothing equal to show for it, missus,” an older girl said.
“Hmm, I see. Well, I’ll take whatever you might have in your pockets that you are willing to lose.”
“Who says we be losin’?”
“Who indeed.” Niya quirked a brow, amused. “Is it a bet, then?”
The two older children exchanged looks.
“Go on, Alba.” Another kid nudged the girl. “You and your brother would be stuffed like pigs if you got hold of dem pretty full moons.”
“All I have is this, missus.” Alba’s brother produced a tiny pouch from his pocket, spilling out a single seed scoopling.
Niya smiled at the small golden ball, ancient etchings over its surface. She had not seen one of these in a turn. When kissed by a flame, seed scooplings would burrow through any surface. She and her sisters had played with them as children, much to their housekeeper’s horror, given she would later have to stop up all the holes made around their Jabari home.
“A fair trade, I would think,” declared Niya. “Can you be our game master?” She turned toward the smallest of the bunch.
The boy enthusiastically nodded, no doubt never having been given such a role before.
“Very good. We are now trusting you with our bets.” She passed the boy her silver, and Alba’s brother handed over his pouch with the seed scoopling.
As the brother and sister each took up a die, the whole raggedy group leaned in, licking their lips in anticipation, eyes wide with excitement.
Niya was well acquainted with the emotions spinning in these children. For her, a gamble was a success from the start. That racing of her heart, the sweet smell of exhilaration as clusters of people watched the flip of a card, the turn of dice, the final energy of motion before lives could change forever with a mere grain’s fall. She and her magic sighed at the prospect of it all.
The first roll resulted in huffs of disappointment from the children as the dice totaled thirteen rather than the betted sixteen.
“We’ll get it on the next one, Alba, I’m sure of it.” Her brother gathered the dice and handed her one.
But before they could throw again, a current of movement flowed toward Niya from the other end of the alley, where another road cut through.
Niya stilled the children’s hands, glancing down their narrow, empty street.
“Hey! What are you—?”
“Shhh,” Niya hushed the girl, tilting her head as the heavy hum of energy hit along her neck once more. “Are you lot expecting company?”
“What?”
“Are more of your friends meant to join you?” She moved to stand in front of the children.
“No,” said Alba, glancing around Niya’s cloak.
Niya’s gaze narrowed as she concentrated on the sensations of footsteps and swinging limbs she now felt flooding their surroundings. The thickness of bodies walking toward them, the energy a group gave off when breathing together, the shifting on feet. It was heavier than that of youth. Weighted. Adult. And then it fell still.
Niya’s pulse quickened.
“You may as well show yourselves,” she called out, her voice echoing down the lane.
Everything remained empty, quiet.
She tried again. “Only cowards and thieves have reason to hide.”
The only motion was the children gathering closer around her.
“Missus, I don’t think there’s anyone—”
The small boy’s words were cut off as three forms turned into their street. All had black cloths wrapped around their noses and mouths, obscuring their identities, and their garb was odd for a summer in Jabari, thick and layered, made for durability rather than show. But what really caught Niya’s attention were the blades in each of their hands and others displayed around their waists.
“Thieves, then,” declared Niya, her stance shifting along with her magic, a promise of a scuffle charged in the air. “Children, I think it’s time you run along.”
“But what of our game?” asked Alba.
“It seems you have won by my forfeit.” Niya didn’t take her eyes from the figures as they slowly stalked closer. This shall be fun, she thought.
“That’s not fair to you—”
“As I’m sure you are well aware, life is not fair. Now please, make haste and leave.”
A tug on her cloak. “Come with us.”
“I would much rather ensure this trio does not follow us first. Now go.” She pushed at the closest child. “And be sure to spend those full moons recklessly. Youth is meant to be spoiled.”
She felt the children’s hesitation, but then they turned and ran. Alba was the last to go, and she pressed something into Niya’s palm.
“A fair trade, I would think,” the young girl said, echoing Niya’s earlier words.
Niya met Alba’s world-wise gaze. An expression too old on one so young.
“We’ll call for help.” And with that, Alba sped down the other end of the alley, leaving her holding the pouch containing the seed scoopling. Despite herself, Niya smiled.
“Now.” She turned back to her guests, pocketing the item. “What is it that I can help you with?”
Sure, they might look all brass and brawn, filled with hard punches, but three thieves Niya could handle. Three were—
Four additional figures, similarly masked, appeared behind the group from the connecting street.
Okay, thought Niya, seven makes it interesting.
Her magic stirred, impatient, but she ignored it. This was not a time to show her gifts. Sliding a hand inside her cloak, she curled her fingers around one of the two daggers tucked away at the back of her skirts. She might be dressed as a lady, but she’d been raised to always be prepared for a fight. The problem lay in what exactly the thieves wanted.
“The most precious thing I have is a child’s toy,” said Niya. “So think wisely if that is worth getting bloody for.”
The group paused but offered no reply.
“I see it is up to me to make conversation, then. How about I introduce you to a friend of mine.” Her grip tightened around her knife’s hilt in the same moment a thief launched a sack into the air, another quickly sending an arrow soaring. Niya twirled back as the two collided above her head. Green smoke exploding from the bag.
“You poxes,” she laughed. “You missed—”
But then she smelled it.
The sweet scent of gaffaw bark—a sleeping vapor—and a lot of it, filled her lungs.