The Wager Read Online Free Page B

Giovanni hadn’t checked the stable. No horses. He had to force himself to reason. Logic told him it was just as well. If the horses had been cooped up in the stable, they’d have suffered, for he hadn’t thought to feed or water them. He hoped the donkeys were gone, too.
    The younger man put out his hand. “Anything you can spare, sire.” His arm was skinny; his hand, bony.
    â€œA little charity.” The other extended his claw.
    Neither wore a jacket on this cold morning.
    Don Giovanni looked at the open palms. That’s what he would be reduced to if he didn’t come up with a plan fast. He held his own hands out. His pale, soft hands beside their brown, rough ones. Laughter bubbled up. Lack of sleep on top of everything else was making him hysterical, but he couldn’t afford to give in to it. He couldn’t afford anything. He pressed a hand over his mouth to hold in the laugh at that joke.
    The younger man cocked his head. “You don’t look well, sire. Do you even know about the disaster?”
    â€œThe wave, sire,” said the other man. “Came and smashed everything. Washed people clear away. Don’t you know?” He spoke as though to an idiot.
    Don Giovanni had always given to the less fortunate. Always. His father said Muslims had that rule right, a foundation for a superior civilization; it was built into their religion—give to the poor. Give. Give, give, give to the poor. “I have nothing to give.”
    â€œFine clothes, and nothing to give?”
    â€œI don’t owe you an explanation.” Don Giovanni straightened his collar. Humiliations lay ahead; he didn’t need to start early. “You’re trespassing.”
    â€œAnd whose property would it be, sire?” asked the other man. “Yours?”
    â€œOr are you trespassing, too?” asked the younger man. He cozied up beside Don Giovanni as if in cahoots.
    Insufferable! “I was born here. I’m Don Giovanni.”
    â€œOh, Don Giovanni takes the time to speak to us,” said the other man. “I’m not worthy of this honor.”
    The words the old crone had said. Words that almost always meant the opposite of what the speaker was thinking. Don Giovanni waved them away.
    â€œWhat’s in those bags?” asked the younger man.
    â€œGet out of here.” Don Giovanni was too tired to deal with this nonsense. He walked toward the door.
    The younger man blocked his way. “How about a wager? You’re an educated man, the way you talk. You probably read massive tomes all the time. In funny languages, too, right? But I bet I can tell you a truth you’ve never thought about before, excellent scholar.”
    Could this possibly get more vexing? “Of course you can. You work in your world, I work in mine. We know different things.” Don Giovanni tried to walk around him.
    The man jumped in his path again. “A truth about human nature.” He held one finger up in front of Don Giovanni’s eyes. “If I can tell you a truth about human nature, one you never thought about before, I get those goatskin bags. Deal?”
    â€œI don’t gamble.”
    â€œYou hear that?” the younger man said to the other. “He’s a godless man.”
    Of all the ridiculous things. Don Giovanni raised his voice. “How would you know the first thing about me?”
    â€œIt takes hope to gamble. And a man without hope is a man without God.” The younger man smiled and held out his hand.
    Don Giovanni shook his head.
    â€œI told you a truth you hadn’t thought about before.”
    â€œI didn’t accept the wager.” Don Giovanni pushed the man aside and walked through the door. He squinted in the rude sunlight. Which way to turn? Did it matter?
    He took a step when—
whap!
—he went sprawling. Pain bloomed between the wings of his shoulders. It billowed down his spine, up his neck. He curled one arm