“No. No, don't go!” The other boy grabbed his arm. “Stay and watch this. You'll be sorry if you don't. You sure you don't want to bet a coin or two? The odds don't get better than this. And the bear's tired. He's got to be tired. He's already wrestled half a dozen times.”
“And the last man won?” Curiosity was getting the better of Wintrow.
“Yea. That's right. Once he got up on the bear's back, the bear just folded up like a sleeping cat. Made the beast-tamer scowl, I'll tell you, to have to give him the purse.” Mild linked arms with him. “I got my last five coppers riding on this. 'Course, Comfrey has more than that. He did well at the gaming table earlier today.” Again Mild peered at him. “You sure you don't have any money you want to put down? The whole crew's betting on Comfrey.”
“I haven't a coin of my own. Not even a shirt.” Wintrow pointed out again.
“That's right. That's right. Never mind, it's . . . here he goes!”
With a grin and a wave to his gathered shipmates, Comfrey stepped into the marked-off square. No sooner had he crossed the line than the bear reared up onto his hind legs. His fettered legs kept his steps small as he lumbered slowly toward Comfrey. The sailor wove one way and then abruptly dodged the other to slip past the bear and get behind him.
But he never had a chance. As if it were a move he had practiced a hundred times, the bear turned and swatted the sailor down. His powerful front legs had a much greater reach than Wintrow would have credited. The impact of the blow slammed Comfrey face first to the ground.
“Get up, get up!” his ship-mates were yelling, and Wintrow found himself shouting with the rest. The bear continued his restless, shifting dance. He had dropped to all fours again. Comfrey lifted his face from the dusty street. Blood was streaming from his nose, but he seemed to take encouragement from his ship-mates' cheers. He sprang abruptly to his feet and dashed past the bear.
But the bear rose, tall and solid as a wall, and one outstretched paw greeted Comfrey's head in passing. This time the sailor was flung to his back, his head rebounding from the dirt. Wintrow flinched and looked away with a groan. “He's done,” he told Mild. “We'd better get him back to the ship.”
“No, no. He'll get up, he can do this. Come on, Comfrey, it's just a big old stupid bear. Get up, man, get up!” The other sailors from the
Vivacia
were shouting as well, and for the first time Wintrow picked out Torg's hoarse voice among the crowd. Evidently he had been dismissed by his captain to take some entertainment of his own. Wintrow was suddenly sure he'd have something witty to say about his missing shirt. Abruptly, he wished that he had never left the ship. This day had been one long string of disasters.
“I'm going back to the boat,” he said again to Mild, but Mild paid no attention. He only gripped his arm the harder.
“No, look, he's getting up, I told you he would. That's the way, Comfrey, come on man, you can do it.”
Wintrow doubted that Comfrey heard anything Mild shouted. The man looked dazed still, as if instinct alone were compelling him to get to his feet and get away from the bear. But the instant he moved, the animal was on him again, this time clutching him in a hug. It looked laughable, but Comfrey cried out in a way that suggested cracking ribs.
“Do you give, then?” the beast-tamer shouted to the sailor, and Comfrey nodded his head violently, unable to get enough wind to speak.
“Let him go, Sunshine. Let him go!” the tamer commanded, and the bear dropped Comfrey and waddled away. He sat down obediently in the corner of the square and nodded his muzzled head all about as if accepting the cheers of the crowd.
Save that no one was cheering. “I had my every coin on that!” one sailor shouted. He added a muttered comment about Comfrey's virility that seemed to have little relation to bear wrestling. “It wasn't fair!” another added. That seemed to be the general consensus of those who had bet, but Wintrow noticed that not one of them followed it up with a reason why it was not fair. He himself had his own suspicions, but saw no reason to voice them. Instead he moved forward to offer Comfrey some help in getting to his feet. Mild and the others were too busy commiserating on what they had lost. “Comfrey, you dumb ass!” Torg called across the ring. “Can't even get past a hobbled bear.” A few other sour remarks confirmed that general opinion. The crew of the
Vivacia
were not the only sailors to have lost their bets.
Comfrey got to his feet, coughing, then bent over to spit out a mouthful of blood. For the first time, he recognized Wintrow. “I nearly had him,” he panted. “Damn near had him. Lost everything I'd won earlier. Well, I'm broke now. Damn. If I had just been a bit faster.” He coughed again, then belched beerily. “I nearly won.”
“I don't think so,” Wintrow said quietly, more to himself than to Comfrey. But the man heard him.
“No, really, I almost had him, lad. If I'd a been a bit smaller, a bit quicker, we'd all have gone back to the ship with fat pockets.” He wiped blood from his face with the back of his hand.
“I don't think so,” Wintrow rejoined. To comfort him, he added, “I think it was rigged. I think the man that won was in league with the bear man. They show you something that seems to make the bear give up, only it's something he's been taught to do. And then when you try it, the bear has been taught to expect you to try it. So you get stopped. Don't feel bad, Comfrey, it wasn't your fault. It was a trick. Let's get you back to the ship now.” He put a helping arm around the man.
But Comfrey abruptly wheeled away from him. “Hey! Hey, you. Bear man! You cheated. You cheated me and my friends.” In the shocked silence that followed, Comfrey proclaimed, “I want my money back!”
The beast-tamer had been in the act of gathering his winnings preparatory to leaving. He made no reply but took up his animal's chain. Despite Comfrey's shout, he would have just walked off, if several sailors from another ship hadn't stepped in front of him. “That true?” one demanded. “Did you cheat? Is this rigged?”
The beast-tamer glanced about at the angry onlookers. “Of course not!” he scoffed. “How could it be rigged? You saw the man, you saw the bear! They were the only two in the square. He paid for a chance to wrestle the bear and he lost. It doesn't get any simpler than that!”
In a sense, what the man said was true, and Wintrow expected the sailors to grudgingly agree with it. He had not taken into account how much they had drunk, nor how much money they had lost. Once the accusation of cheating had been raised, a simple denial was not going to calm them. One, more quick witted than the others, suddenly said, “Hey. Where did that fellow go, the one who won earlier? Is he your friend? Does the bear know him?”
“How should I know?” the bear owner demanded. “He's probably off spending the money he won from me.” A brief shadow of unease had flickered across the beast-tamer's face, and he glanced about the crowd as if looking for someone.
“Well, I think the bear's been trained for this,” someone declared angrily. It seemed to Wintrow the most obvious and, in this context, the stupidest statement that he'd heard yet.
“It wasn't a fair contest. I want my money back,” another declared, and almost immediately this statement was taken up by the rest of the crowd. The bear's owner again seemed to seek someone in the crowd, but found no allies there.
“Hey. We said we want our money back!” Torg pointed out to him. He swaggered up to put his face close to the beast-tamer's. “Comfrey's my shipmate. You think we're going to stand by and see him beat up and us cheated out of our hard-earned money? You made our man look bad, and by Sa's balls, we don't stand still for that!” Like many a bully, he knew how to best rally men to their own self-interest. He glanced around at the men watching him and then turned back to the beast-tamer. He nodded significantly. “Think we can't just take it if you choose not to give it?” There was a rumbling of agreement from the others.
The beast-tamer was outnumbered and knew it. Wintrow could almost see him cast about for compromises. “Tell you what,” he declared abruptly. “I didn't cheat and my bear didn't cheat, and I think most of you know that. But I can be fair and more than fair. Any one of you wants, I'll let him wrestle the bear for free. If he wins, I pay off all the bets same as if that man had won. He loses, I keep the money. Fair enough? I'm giving you a chance to win back your money for free.” After a brief pause, a muttering of agreement ran through the crowd. Wintrow wondered what fool would be the next to feel the bear's strength.
“Here, Win, you go against him,” Comfrey suggested. He gave the boy a shove forward. “You're little and quick. All you got to do is get past him and onto his back.”
“No. No, thank you.” As quickly as Comfrey had pushed him forward, Wintrow stepped back. But the sailor's words had been overheard, and another man from another ship took it up.
“Yea. Let their ship's boy give it a try. He's little and quick. I bet he can get past the bear and get our money back for us.”
“No!” Wintrow repeated louder, but his voice was lost in the general chorus of assent. It was not just his own shipmates urging him on, but the crowd in general.
Torg swaggered up to him and looked him up and down. He smelled of beer. “So,” he sneered. “You think you can win our money back for us? Somehow I doubt it. But give it a try, boy.” He gripped Wintrow's arm and dragged him toward the bear's square. “Our ship's boy wants to give it a try.”
“No,” Wintrow hissed at him. “I don't.”
Torg frowned at him. “Just get past him and onto his back,” he explained in an elaborately patient voice. “That should be easy for a skinny little weasel like you.”
“No. I won't do it!” Wintrow declared loudly. A chorus of guffaws greeted this, and Torg's face darkened with embarrassed fury.
“Yes, you will,” he declared.
“Boy doesn't want to do it. Got no guts,” Wintrow clearly heard a man say.
The beast-tamer had his animal back in the square. “So. Your boy going to try or not?”
“Not!” Wintrow declared loudly, as Torg firmly announced, “He will. He just needs a minute.” He rounded on Wintrow. “Look here,” he hissed at him. “You're shaming us all. You're shaming your ship! Get in there and get our money back for us.”
Wintrow shook his head. “You want it done, you do it. I'm not stupid enough to take on a bear. Even if I got past him and got on his back, there's no guarantee he'll give in. Just because he did it before . . .”
“I'll do it!” Mild volunteered. His eyes were bright with the challenge.
“No,” Wintrow objected. “Don't do it, Mild. It's stupid. If you weren't humming on cindin, you'd know that. If Torg wants it done, let Torg do it.”
“I'm too drunk,” Torg admitted freely. “You do it, Wintrow. Show us you got some guts. Prove you're a man.”
Wintrow glanced at the bear. It was a stupid thing to do. He knew it was a stupid thing to do. Did he need to prove anything to Torg, of all people? “No.” He spoke the word loudly and flatly. “I'm not going to do it.”
“The boy doesn't want to try, and I'm not going to stand around here all day. Money's mine, boys.” The beast-tamer gave an elaborate shrug and grinned around.
Someone in the crowd made an unflattering remark about the
Vivacia
's crew in general.
“Hey. Hey, I'll do it.” It was Mild again, grinning as he volunteered.
“Don't do it, Mild!” Wintrow entreated him.
“Hey, I'm not afraid. And someone's got to win our money back.” He shifted restlessly on his feet. “Can't go off leaving this town believing the crew of the
Vivacia
's got no nerve.”
“Don't do it, Mild! You'll get hurt.”
Torg gave him a savage shake. “Shup up!” He belched. “Shut up!” he repeated more clearly. “Mild ain't afraid! He can do it if he wants. Or do you want to do it? Hurry up, decide! One of you has got to win our money back. We're nearly out of time.”
Wintrow shook his head. How had it suddenly come down to this, to him or Mild getting into a square with a bear to win back someone else's money in a rigged game? It was preposterous. He looked around at the crowd, trying to find one rational face to side with him. A man caught his gaze. “Well, who is it?” he demanded. Wintrow shook his head wordlessly.
“Me!” Mild declared with a grin and danced a step or two. He stepped into the square and the beast-tamer released the bear's chain.
Later Wintrow would wonder if the tamer had not been irritating the animal somehow the whole time they were waiting. The bear did not lumber toward Mild, nor mince forward on his hobbled legs. Instead he lunged on all fours for the boy, slamming his huge head against him and then gripping him with his huge paws. The bear reared up with Mild yelling and struggling in his grasp. Blunted or not, his claws shredded the young sailor's shirt until a shout from his owner made him throw the boy aside. Mild landed hard outside the bear's square. “Get up!” someone yelled, but Mild did not. Even the bear's owner looked rattled at the violence of it. He grabbed the bear's chain and tugged hard on it to convince the animal he had control of it.
“It's over!” he declared. “You all saw it, it was fair. The bear won. The boy's out of bounds. And the money is mine!”
There were some grumbles but no one challenged him this time as he trudged off. The bear minced along at his heels. One sailor glanced over at Mild still lying in the dust and then spat. “Gutless, the whole lot of them,” he declared and glared at Wintrow meaningfully. Wintrow returned his glare and then went to kneel in the dust beside Mild. He was still breathing. His mouth was half open and he was drawing in dust with every breath. He had landed so hard, chest first, it would be a miracle if his ribs were not at least cracked.
“We've got to get him back to the ship,” he said and glanced up at Comfrey.
Comfrey looked down at him with disgust. Then he looked away as if he were not there. “Come on, boys, time to get back to the ship.” Heedless of any injuries Mild might have, he seized the lad by his arm and dragged him upright. When Mild sagged like a rag doll, he scooped up the boy and flung him over his shoulder. The other two sailors from the
Vivacia
's crew trailed off after him. None of them deigned to notice Wintrow's existence.