Jacob squinted. He couldn’t help it. It had been over two minutes since he had blinked, and in this smokey environment that was already doing horrible things to his eyes. The tears were streaming down tracks etched in day-long dust on his cheeks.

“Hah,” yelled the man across the table from him. “I heard that!” Jacob flinched when the man slapped his hand on the surface. Tears flicked from Jacob’s cheeks and he felt them rain on his arms.

“Ah, galicks,” he muttered. When he opened his eyes again – after vigorously rubbing them of course to remove the sting – he looked at his opponent. In the dark and dingy air of the tavern, the older, dirtier man across from him looked smaller than he was. “Harrod, how do you do it,” asked Jacob as he fished his pouch for the payment of the bet.

Harrod laughed and accepted the crude silver disks with a small flourish then leaned into the candlelight. “Jacob, me-boy,” he sighed, “you don’t want to know.” Jacob blanched as the two blank sockets stared back at him.