Mr. Keeley

I don’t want to go in. Haven’t set a foot inside this, or any other gambling hall, for over a decade. Not since my wife died.

This is the second award-winning work of Höbin Luckyfeller, and the second book in his Field Guide series. The script is hot and fresh and we also have a new cover for the book!

Enjoy.

When Höbin is contracted to research the popular game of chance, he quickly learns the truth surrounding its history is anything but. Circumstances unfold faster than he can anticipate, pulling Höbin from his assignment and thrusting him into the shadows of intrigue, magic…and murder.

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Chapter 6 — Mr. Keeley

You’d think there’d be smoke billowing up from the paper with how fast my hand was moving. My fingers speed across the surface, scribbling every thought as it appears in my mind. Dathern’s suggestions revealed several patterns I just wasn’t seeing.

A license record displays who is in charge of an establishment. The establishments' owners keep player records if they want any recourse or exemption from the law, should patrons be swindled. This includes The Whipped Mule…the main gambling hall of the Black Market. Now, that information only helps me find who plays here…and only IF the license holder will let me see the records.

If I can get a glance at the books, I just might discover who the big players are. This could show me a trail. It’s not likely that I would get credible information from gamblers, but it helps to have some creative stories to weave into the research. Entertainment is always good for keeping a reader’s attention. 

Those who win big at gambling don’t stay in one place, which is a good thing. You don’t drain the pond of all the fish—you move from town to town, game hall to game hall. Shake it up, take a little from many pockets. So, mix with those in the know…and you just might uncover something…or meet someone interesting.

Besides, owners of gaming houses know other owners. They keep a close eye on their competition and sometimes they even share secrets. Establishments have a history of their own and it’s a lot more credible than the info I’m likely to get from individual players.

I’ll have to make some new friends in low places.

Dathern also brought up another line of thought: rules that govern play. I almost missed that. Bloodsticks has changed. The organizers have employed even the mägo, or wizards, to prevent participants from cheating. Mägo are also obsessive record keepers. That means I have another set of leads to investigate.

Unfortunately, my first stop was going to be an unpleasant one.

I leave Dathern several coins and rush back to the Roadkill Tavern. A quick change of clothes, a bite to eat, and I’m standing in front of The Whipped Mule before most of the merchants have opened for business.

It’s not the only gambling house in the Black Market, but it’s the biggest…and cleanest. Well, at least after drinking hours, anyway. The bright blue double doors stare down at me. A small sign says: Open All Night. 

I don’t want to go in. Haven’t set a foot inside this, or any other gambling hall, for over a decade. Not since my wife died. 

The walls of the place have corroded paint that is flaking off, with dried snail guts accumulated over time and broken shells scattered along the ground.