The Gambler

Simeon Williams believed he was as godly as the next man, and a damn sight more godly than some. Superior in breeding and beliefs, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure that his family’s good name remained just that. A man’s reputation was as effective as armour in a war. He would not tolerate unseemly behaviour from his sister and, by God, he would see her punished if she continued to defy him.

He was not as perfect as he liked himself to be portrayed. Simeon Williams was a sycophantic and sadistic officer who used his position to cow others to his will. Abusing his position of power, he had an unhealthy obsession with demeaning the locals and destroying the careers of any who crossed him. He was prone to using tirades against ‘the heathens’, to strip them of their possessions, particularly anything he coveted, primarily antiquities. He was above paying for such things. What could ungodly creatures need such treasure for apart from to worship their heathen gods? Better that he held onto them. He had a good transport company, an English company, more than prepared to ship his treasures back home for him for a fair price.

Put quite simply, Simeon Williams, like most bullies, enjoyed the rush of power he felt from denigrating those around him, especially when it resulted in seizing antiquities without having to pay a penny. It was his forte; that and gambling.

Gambling was where many of his ill-gotten gains ended up. But only the more un-Christian pieces, Simeon reasoned, as he examined the boxed pair of katars. He had yet to see a more ungodly item than these hideous knives. The heathen’s script marring the hilt, those cursed words he couldn’t read. Gibberish. They were an affront to civilised mankind. He would use them as collateral tonight, at Lord Grey’s table. You need big stakes to play his table, and the gems in these will do the trick nicely. It paid to have a little in reserve for a big hand.

Simeon strode through the house, calling for his horse as he marched through the well-appointed rooms. He’d always considered that this was the life he should be living in England, surrounded by servants to cater to his every need. God dictated that every person had their place on earth, and his place was at the top. His father had forced him to join the army, swearing that there wouldn’t be a penny of inheritance until he had proven himself a man. So he’d sailed to India, sure that his father would summon him back to take over his estates as he got older, but that hadn’t happened. And now he was stuck in this Hell on earth. As long as his sister stayed unmarried, the entire inheritance would remain his, and as God was his witness, she would die a spinster, so contributing to his household and happiness.

Now it was time to bolster his coffers, using the heathens’ knives. Lord Grey would be in his cups by the time he got there, which meant luck would be on his side. He packed the katars and enough gold to buy his seat at Lord Grey’s table, and left the house, full of the glory and righteousness of God.

Lord Grey’s house was filled with a number of officers, clouded in the fug of cigar smoke. Whisky abounded and, in the absenceof women, collars were loosened and morals relaxed. Simeon entered unhindered. He may not have been able to count any of the other attendees as friends, but his money was certainly welcome at the table.

God was not on his side. Simeon’s anger at his sister clouded his judgement irreparably. He was not well-liked by other officers in the regiment, so not one stepped forward to stop him when, in a fit of frustration at his losing streak, he placed his remaining gold, and the katars, on the table as his stake.

The officers around the room were all educated enough to see the value in the pieces, not just for their gemstones, but as historical artefacts. Simeon was the only one too blind to see his folly. The blindness of faith. A fate suffered by millions around the world.

And that blindness saw him bet everything, for a hand that was never going to win. He laid his cards on the table.

‘Four of a kind,’ eyeballing the other players.

Lord Henry Grey, who hadn’t been drinking as much as normal, on account of a bad case of gout, which was about to speed up his return to England on the grounds of ill-health, spread his cards out on the felt-covered table.

‘Royal Flush.’