Chapter three – A Confidence Game

I

Like the streams of the mountain, amalgamating in a deep and powerful river in the valley below, the tributaries of Dagger's scheme were all drawn together to the Fat Qu's by a force no less substantial than gravity itself.

The nighttime nobles that inhabited the city were as dubious as the hardened and callous criminals in its seedy underworld as to the web that was being spun across the city at that very moment. The web's engineer, its spider if you will, sat by the waterfront, reviewing its strings; slacking a bit there, tightening a bit here, but all in all satisfied with its work, confident it would indeed catch the object of its desire; the fly.

In other, less agreeable parts of town, the building bricks of this great scheme were consorting with pawns of their own, making the web ever more twisted; its many intentions pulling the fragile edifice every which way, threatening the strings to snap.

II

Zidane Tribal, aforementioned pawn, in love with his princess, if not with her plan, was scowling up at the night sky. He was searching for his stolen airship, cursing his back-stabbing comrades that had taken off some two days before.

"They could have waited. I mean, it's not the world to ask," he muttered for perhaps the twentieth time that afternoon, to ears as deaf as when he'd spoken the first time.

Comrades, equally jilted, though far less hurt than himself, were occupying two of the room's small bunks.

Actually, that was not quite truthful. Though perhaps not as emotionally scarred as himself, Vivi was by far the looser of this entire debacle; lying on his bed, unconscious for the second night in a row. And he would not wake until they acquired the extremely rare and hard-gained medicine. On the plus-side, the little mage was entirely dubious as to the scorn he would otherwise have suffered had he been awake.

The other companion was perhaps as self-pitying as Zidane himself, moaning quietly and dripping copious amount of spittle on the bed sheets. Her tongue, paled from lack of sustenance, resembled a water-hose, spraying moisture every which way the Qu pointed it. Luckily her starvation had been enough to scare of Vivi's attacker, whoever it was; the Qu was still too riled up to speak of it.

Needless to say, they made poor company to a vibrant and adventurous young man like himself. There was, however, a silver lining to it all, their abandonment giving the perfect excuse to get a little closer to his object of desire, but she was currently too busy laying plans of ridiculously epic proportions. And on that note, he should probably get going; having promised her to meet up before the whole calamity (as he was certain it would be dubbed sooner or later) began.

But thief, bastard and general scoundrel he was, he had not passed up the opportunity to lay some collusions of his own. With Steiner already out of the way, this was his opportunity. He would, one way or another, snag the Princess. Not just her body this time, but her heart also. That must assuredly be worth any quandaries she might throw at him in the process.

III

Despite the very nature of a Confidence Game, Jules did not trust that dark-haired woman. He disliked any woman on general principle. When said woman was a brunette, and consorted with the Dismas of Treno to boot… No, there was no depending on her trust. But he would surely make her depend on him. That was the beauty of the game – how he had missed it.

He supposed he ought to thank her in that respect, having drawn him out of his drunken and broke stupor to engage him in some proper money-winning scheme.

Jules' unkempt mane of raggedy brown hair, flapped in the cool breeze of his rooftop apartment. Technically, it was Aue's flat, having come upon a lucky inheritance. But Jules had been living there for so long, that it hardly mattered whose shaky signature were on the deeds.

One would hardly expect men of such ogre-like resemblance to own an apartment only slightly less then respectable. But Jules was an enigma; just as surprising as he was clever.

At that very moment, he was putting the brain, hidden under his bush hair, to good use. Brushing away the aforementioned mane in impatience, he mulled his own plan over, creating a little Game of his own.

Faithful sidekick and acting manservant, Aue came staggering up the stairs, supporting his burly frame on the rickety railing with one hand, carrying a cup of tea in the other. Last night had been a long one and, as it turned out, too much for Aue to handle. Not that he was in prime condition himself, but he could bloody well walk up a staircase without taking a tumble. Most likely anyway. He let Aue do his business with cleaning the table and placing down the tea before him. He would have left Jules to it, progressing to fulfill the remainder of his household tasks, if not for the expression on his friend and partners face.

"How're the plans comin' along?" he asked.

Jules looked up, eyes bloodshot, his leathery skin stretched in a scowl.

"How d'ye thing? Bad idea with that last drink. I mean, how the bloody 'ell I'm I supposed to plan a counter game, when I don't know the rules o' the first one?"

"Yeah, yeah…" the other man sighed, wishing he hadn't asked. "If ye can't think 'o anything, why don't we just wing it, yeah? Or decide later, when she's given us some details?"

At the virtual daggers Jules were shooting from his bloodshot, yellow-tinged eyes, Aue made the astute assumption that this was not the answer the man was looking for.

"Aue," he sighed, his voice gruff, "I know for a fact that yer ain't stupid. So why, in the name of Ifrit 'imself, do ye insist on acting it?"

Aue stood by the table, letting the profanities wash over him, like a tidal-waive breaking upon rock - he being the rock; silent and unmovable. It took some seconds before Jules once more made sense.

"We're just pawns in the little ladies Game. At 'er command, yeah? We won't know what sort of thing she's planned before it's all over and done with. And that, my dimwitted friend, is why we're going to invent a little Game o' our own, thus sabotage 'ers and reapin' the profit all on our lonesome. Got it?"

Aue nodded in silent reticence. He knew all this, of course, being no stranger to the Confidence Game. But long experience had also thought him that Jules' plans were mostly rubbish. He acted along, certainly. If not, a major fight would be sure to commence. But in secret, far from his partner's prying eyes, he spun his own scheme, so that when the time came, they'd be ready.

IV

The engineer herself was sitting by the waterfront, on the Stella-family's property; its vast and lush lawns squandered on a woman who rarely took a step outside, contented with counting her coins and treasures.

Hidden behind a large bush, she doubted anyone would see her, but that did not refrain her from jumping in fear and surprise every time someone passed.

She tried to concentrate on the plan at hand, but being constantly deterred by passing citizens and worry for her wounded companion. And then there were Zidane, proving to be less than helpful. She was honestly surprised at this, given his previous eagerness for her to learn the ways of the commoner. And what was lower, and indeed less lady-like, then arranging an elaborate scheme to pry money from the undeserving hand of her peers? He had even been the one to tell her of it, so for him to suddenly take the moral high-ground was not only annoying, but outright hypocritical.

Kicking the water, pretending it was his smug face, the pond rippled in tiny waves, threatening to give away her position. This was just like the Hunting-feast incident all over again. Or, as Zidane called it: 'the time you drugged me and run off with Rusty.' That calamity also remained one of the few contentions between the two, and she dreaded having to pull the memory out in the light of day. But when his lack of trust in her had spurred her to drug him once, she did not vacillate towards doing so again. Was it not he, she though with a huff, who had suggested this thieving duo? In the dusk of Madain Sari, its secret caves that offered shelter from Steiner and Eiko's prying eyes. He had proposed they called themselves 'The Betrothed'. Dagger, despite herself, had to smile fondly at the memory.

Almost as if summoned, with a sense of timing like no other she had ever met, the object of her contemplation rushed through the thicket of shrubs that hid her. Yelping in surprise, she almost toppled over into the pond. He rested his palm on her shoulder, refraining her from doing so, and hunkered down with his cheeky grin, any deference absent as was only customary were he was concerned.

"What's up? Why are you hiding in a bush?"

He spoke without heed for sentries guarding the estate, or indeed even inquisitive ears of people that might damage their scheme.

"Will you be quiet," she hissed, jerking him to the ground, so that one would not see the top of his blond head peeking over the shrub. "I have been working too hard for you to spoil my efforts."

And if she was a bit angrier than strictly necessary, deflecting some of her exasperation at the general situation onto him, it was no more than he deserved. He in turn did not take her anger with good grace. But when he slumped down in a huff he did so in silence, provoking no more of her anger.

"How did you find me?" she inquired, wondering as to how he'd penetrated her foolproof (or not so foolproof as it turned out) hiding place.

That had apparently been the right question to ask. Soon he was all smiles, flattered by her interest in his skill.

"That's what it's like when you grow up in the Tantalus. With three older brothers and a borderline abusive boss, you learn to hide. Besides, it's just like you to sneak away at a spot like this. Madain Sari all over again."

She had to smile at that, knowing that he had not forgot either. The memory was enough to soothe her anger and resume her train of thought.

"Never mind that. Now, are you ready?"

His blithe smile was somewhat dimmed by this reminder of the job at hand. But given that his part, for the moment, was rather diminutive, she did not think he had much ground for complaint.

"Yeah," he sighed, twisting his head to peek a look at his rear; the reasons for his bad demeanor.

Where there normally would have been peeking out a blond and furry tail, his rump was now as smooth as any Humes. The blue trousers had been exchanged for something without his customary opening for the additional limb.

"Excellent."

"No." He shook his head in vigor. "Not excellent. I'm not the same without my tail."

"Well, you've sill got it. It's just hidden. Which is the entire point of this night's endeavor."

He shrugged in reticence, without qualms against appearing petty and immature. Then again, if there were two words that described him… She let the thought hang unspoken in the air.

"But your hair, you should cut it," she continued, enjoying the way his expression of disgust morphed into outright dread.

"My- my… What? Why?" he demanded.

"Or you could just pull it further back. Your choice. The important thing is that you don't look like… well, you."

After a long staring contest and a raging battle of wills, he gave in at last.

"Man, this is some twisted plan…" he muttered, loosening the string that bound his hair together in a loose ponytail. When he knotted it again, it was much tighter, suddenly revealing so much of his features that usually were lost under his large mop of hair.

"Indeed," she muttered in distant agreement.

When finished tying his hair, she nodded in satisfaction. The transformation, though primitive and precarious was, for all intents and purposes, complete. No more was needed, or so she hoped. Later on she must try persuading him into a more substantial transformation. Not today though; Dagger recognized a lost cause when she saw one.

Shaking her head in quiet exasperation, her gaze left the stubborn thief to stare at the pond, glittering in the nights meager light. Despite her reserve towards outdoor activities, Stella had invested in lampposts, the metal poles coiling around the pond in perfect a circle. The unassuming bush that made their hiding place was right at the waters edge. She could not resist dipping her hand in the tepid water, enjoying its rippling movements about her hand.

The plan was laid, the web complete. Thought executing it might prove to bring some difficulty. 'And that,' she snorted to herself, 'was the understatement of the century.'

V

Later that night, little streams of schemes, greed and desperation, merged together into the river that was this new Confidence Game. The Fat Qu's, the arena in which said game was to be acted out, was incidentally the point of conflation for other, less ill intending, if just as devious people.

There were times Dagger forgot Zidane's origins - his past as a thief. But seeing how well he blended inn in a place like this, almost indistinguishable from the backdrop, reminded her all too well.

The stuffy atmosphere darkened with so much smoke that she was certain the air must be poisonous, making an unpleasant change from the fresh night air outside. Zidane was seemingly oblivious to this change of fumes, but then he'd practically inhabited such bars as this once. In fact, his mood was visibly lightened by their surroundings of drunken plebeians and scantly clad maids.

He chuckled in approval as one of them handed him a jug of lager, saying it was on the house, before walking away with swaying hips. Dagger had to give him a good shove after that, in order for the poor, besotted fool to gather his wits. He gave her a sheepish grin that she ignored, before sipping gratefully from his jug.

While Zidane was busy finishing off his drink, looking around for the woman that had brought it, Dagger did some scouting of her own. Jules and Aue had agreed upon this meeting-place, and were supposed to be waiting at their customary table. But no such ragged duo were to be found; not at the table, not anywhere.

Cursing their tardiness and Zidane's flirting in equal measure, she was determined to wait outside, not wanting to expose herself to the intoxicating air for longer than necessary. But as a godsend gift, they came, just as her partner was declaring he would stay inside and order something more to quell his thirst.

As they entered, Dagger found her description to be quite apt; ragged they indeed were. With appearances that exuded both poverty and drunkenness, she began to think that tonight might not be the best time to put the plan into action after all. But as it turned out, drunken con-men were a force to be reckoned with. More so than Zidane, who had held true to his word and disappeared into the crowd that surrounded the bar-counter.

Once spotting her, Jules waived her over with a grin as suave as it ever got. She left Zidane to his business, as she went to tend to hers.

"Hi there, gorgeous," Jules greeted her, smile still held firmly in place. "How're ye doin' this fine evenin'?"

Not bothering with this semi-polite banter, she pulled out the rickety chair and glided into place with all the grace she could muster.

"Please sit," she ordered in habitual command. "My partner will join us shortly."

They scrambled to sit, making such haste that she had to quirk her eyebrow in query. They offered no other explanation other an exchange of meaningful looks.

Not demeaning herself to inquire as to what their silent communication was regarding, she pressed on with the job of sorting her mind and hand out the orders to her subjects. 'Perhaps,' she came to think, 'the tasks of Queen and thief are not so different.'

"Is the Dismas comin'?" Jules asked incredulous, interpreting her words all wrong.

Snickering in contempt, she hastened to set the record straight – or as straight as this pawn would know.

"No no. He does not deal personally with the likes of you. The only way to speak to the Dismas, is through me. No, I have another partner for our little venture. Look, here he comes."

And right enough. Zidane, new drink in hand, came stumbling over to them, lager sloshing about in his cup.

"Jules, Aue, let me present my partner: Dagonet."

Despite said partner's boasts about previous ventures of similar construction, Zidane looked around in confusion at the mention of his false name. It was one that she had made up, and perhaps she's been wise to tell him so. But thankfully he caught the jest soon enough, and extended his hand in greeting.

"Hi there! Nice to metcha."

Voice back in his Lindblum-accent, and head in the Game, he pulled out the last chair and sat.

"Alright. Everyone is introduced. Now; let the Game commence."

IV

Several hours later they all left the Fat Qu's, everyone spinning their own little web, making everything a right knot of plans and intentions; a right and proper Confidence Game.

"No, you go ahead. I think I'll take a little walk first. Quiet the nerves, you know."

She grinned blithely, and strolled away in the opposite direction of Zidane and the inn. He did not protest, which came as some surprise. But perhaps even he had to concede that pissing her off more that night would result in an unpleasant experience involving his head (or perhaps something a bit further south of that) and her Rod, which was surprisingly heavy for a staff.

She wandered off, relishing in the relative solitude. Though there were no real distinction between night and day here, they had all decided to follow standard time for sleep. Acting with that in mind, dawn would soon come, though granted without the sun.

She hastened down the alleyways, heading for the main-street with the ambition of completing that night's tasks before Zidane began to worry. Though such concern for her well being at this point, after his blatant overtures towards the waitress earlier in the night, would be nothing other than hypocritical.

Rounding another corner, slipping at the muddy ground, she righted herself and hastened onwards. The alley led up to the main-street, which glowed before her like a beckon in the dark night.

Like a moth to the flame, she quickened her pace, looking forward to being rid of the stench of these unpaved streets were waste and sewage water were as common as the rats. But before reaching her intended destination, a hand closed around her arm, pulling her further into darkness.

The hands worked quickly. She didn't fight them, but let herself be pushed up against the wall. Bricks collided with skull harder than could possibly be healthy, spots of black and white dancing before her, distracting her from getting an actual glimpse of her attacker.

The warm breath caressing her neck in a rather intimate manner, told her he was close enough that she might attempt a counter attack. But as she endeavored to gather strength to lift her arms, the attacker's hand closed around her windpipe, squeezing with no more effort than if it was made of rubber. Spots now being replaced by a fulminating darkness, she clawed feebly at the hand threatening to bring her to an untimely end.

"Will you stand still, wench," a voice hissed, coating her ear in spit.

With no voice to make an oral affirmation, or indeed strength enough to nod her head, Dagger got completely limp, slumping down as means of showing her submission.

"Good."

He let her go then, sending her straight to the greasy ground, were she rolled around in a good imitation of the drunks one so often found there.

"Now tell me," he continued before she'd so much as regained her ability to speak, "how did it go? Are they inn?"

At the attempt to speak, her abused throat only managed a dry cough. She therefore resorted to nodding, coating her head further in the grease as a result.

"Good," he said again, leading her to believe his vocabulary was as lacking as his manners. "And they have all agreed to their tasks?"

Another nod. She could feel the dirt making its way into her ear. Face now coated in slime, shirt thoroughly ruined, she gathered the strength to sit up. Stinging pain shot up and down her arms at the effort, as the cure-spell began to heal her wounded head and throat automatically.

"Excellent. Good job."

She had not yet regained her vision fully, but could sense the man moving away nevertheless.

"Let the games begin," he cackled, the sloshing of boots against muddy ground marking his departure.