1??????????Soul Bound
1.2????????Taking Control
1.2.4??????An Artful Carnivale
1.2.4.23???Expected values
Alderney: “I told you our recordings were popular. You’ve got whole professional choirs from around the world joining up, hoping to gain popularity here because they won’t be competing against artificial songs produced by expert systems. There’s even a noticeable upturn in unemployed people taking out loans to buy low-end tiaras, hoping to strike it rich in Soul Bound, or at least work as a support crafter for a guild who’ll pay them in arlife currency.”
Bulgaria: “Which means Scaramouche who keeps a room full of bored players to gossip with probably knew how rich Kafana is, right down to the nearest mithril tallero, and guessed that Beppe the guide was me, the missing party member, in disguise.” He gave a disgusted sigh. “Any chance Beltrame doesn’t know?”
Alderney looked thoughtful: “Scaramouche is with the Sons of Hawkwood, who’re allied with the Sea Saints. Neither of them are allied with the Disciples, but they are not feuding either. I wouldn’t bet against Scaramouche having sold everything he knows about us to Beltrame.”
Wellington sounded pedantic: “Whether a bet is a good one to take doesn’t just depend upon being likely to win 6 or more times out of every 10. It also depends upon how much you pay if you lose, and how much you gain if you win. A bet that you’d lose 9 times out of 10, but where you gain a thousand ducato each time you win and pay only ten ducato each time you lose, has an average expected profit of 91 ducato per try. It’s a good bet to take.”
Bungo: “What if you’re trying to pretend to be a particular type of gambler, like one who is always cautious, so you can later get away with bluffs because they won’t expect them from someone like you?”
Wellington: “In the long term, against a single competent opponent, the correct strategy is one in which, for a given situation, the frequencies of your different possible responses (such as bluffs and folds) are in a Nash equilibrium with each other.”
Bungo: “Yeah, but what if a fool joins the two of you at the table? Isn’t it worth deviating from that optimum strategy if doing so lets you scoop the fool’s money before the other experienced player scoops it?”
Bulgaria said wryly: “In Tarot games, there’s always a Fool at the table. Just hope it isn’t you because if it is, you won’t realise until it is too late.”
Kafana: “You all sound really into this. Am I the only one here that doesn’t gamble?”
Alderney: “You remember the spin-the-wheel stall we passed? ‘Every result wins a prize, no gambling required’.”
Kafana: “Yes, they had a big stuffed bear. It was cute. I was surprised you didn’t play it.”
Alderney: “The expected return was negative. They had a big box of really cheap prizes behind the counter. Even though you ‘win’ each time, the prize you get on average is worth less than the price you pay to spin the wheel.”
Kafana: “Ah, I didn’t spot that. I was looking at the incredible paintings around the rim, of ragged beggars, prosperous farmers, smiling smiths, etc. all the way up to a resplendent emperor and then the same figures again, in reverse as it carried around to meet again at the start, with the second set having tired faces and hard-worn clothes.”
Alderney: “It is worth knowing the maths, even if you never enter a casino. Each time you accept a job offer, or pick a financial investment, there are risks and returns to consider. Ask Wellington - he’s the biggest gambler.”
Wellington: “It is true that investing in the shares of an individual company is much like backing a horse in a race. But generally bid-ask spreads offered by a market maker, the fees charged by an exchange and commissions paid to a broker are less than the vigorish charged by a bookmaker or the edge collected by the house in a casino.”
Kafana: “But you do gamble?”
Wellington: “Not always. The best sort of deal is when you can sell shares in a company on one exchange while simultaneously buying the same number of shares in the same company at a lower price on a different exchange.”
Kafana: “You can do that?”
Wellington: “If you can send and receive information between two exchanges faster than anybody else can, yes; it’s called arbitrage.”
Wellington: {And that’s what players in Soul Bound are going to be able to do between the exchanges in Torello and the exchanges in Kalzburg. If this issue isn’t addressed, then within three months half the traders in Torello will have been pushed into bankruptcy. Probably by The Crew - they’re the player guild best positioned to do it.}
Alderney: {We’re entering the Labyrinthe now. Let’s move into combat formation and keep it quiet. We want to avoid combat.}
Tomsk: {In combat the stakes are life and limb, but sometimes you’re forced to play even when the odds are bad. Every day you live is a gamble.}
Bulgaria: {And one that we all lose eventually. So let’s make the days we do have count, rather than just counting the days.}
On that grim note they wound their way along ill-tended dismal streets, keeping to the edge rather than striding down the middle. There were no signs by doorways indicating what lay inside, and one looked much like another. At one point Alderney led them down a ramp by a delivery chute that unexpectedly kept going and turned sharply into a passage going under the buildings; it was damp, fetid and so narrow that Bungo had to turn sideways to fit along it. Alderney scuttled ahead and looked relieved when they made it through to the other side.
Alderney: {I hate this area. I’m always afraid the whole thing will cave in on me.}
Tomsk: {It''s a lovely area if you''re defending it; just rig a few key tunnels. Even a squad of high expert warriors wouldn''t survive a building being dropped on them.} He used enthusiastic hand gestures to illustrate both ends of a tunnel twisting shut like a sausage skin filled with panicking infiltrators before pressure from crumpling tonnes of masonry squeezed them back out in ketchupy spurts,
Alderney shuddered so hard, her cap nearly fell in a puddle.
Bulgaria: {Think positive; the risk is over, we didn''t get killed by the Lily, and now we know the tunnels are safe.}
Wellington: {Strictly, we only have evidence about that particular tunnel and whether it''s lookout, on that particular occasion, had yet received permission to kill any group matching our current appearance.}
The glare Alderney directed at Wellington would have made Signora blanche. Wellington didn''t even notice.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Kafana looked at the others. Bungo was grinning, though he hid it quickly when Alderney looked in his direction. Bulgaria was inconspicuously removing the rough clothes from his disguise as Beppe the opportunistic Stevedore, and replacing them piece at a time. Tomsk looked relaxed and unhurried, the picture of a bachelor looking forward to an evening in the company of his friends. In fact, she realised, they''d all stopped creeping along with heads darting to identify every new sound or shadow. Kafana decided it was probably for the best and nearly put it out of her mind when a second though occurred to her.
Had Tomsk done that on purpose, dropping a verbal bomb into the conversation in order to make their interactions look more natural? It wouldn''t be like the Tomsk she knew, but what if learning how be Captain in Soul Bound was affecting not only his leadership skills in velife, but also his values in arlife? Or maybe he''d just become so immersed in this game that he was starting to treat his character, Tomsk Capitano, as having it''s own history, beliefs and personality, rather than just a puppet.?
UCL had a small drama society which took pride in rehearsing one work each year and then, come bankruptcy, broken legs or burning theatres, performing it every night of the last week of Spring term. Several of Kafana''s fellow music students had been in the cast during her second year when the society picked a musical version of Shakespear''s The Taming of the Shrew, and she''d felt obliged to turn up to give moral support after they''d managed to get her free tickets for the whole run. The performances had been mixed, though she applauded them all. But one singer did stand out; not for her singing, but for how believably she portrayed Bianca, a sweet-tempered supporting part; and then, when she had to take over the lead part the very next evening, the strident ''shrew'' Kate, the actress made it seem equally authentic.
She remembered telling Bulgaria about it, as asking which of the two opposed personalities was the lie.
"Neither", he''d said, "Our personality is a galaxy, with a constellation for each situation that we''ve visited or may yet visit, and a star for each way we are capable of reacting in that situation. No single view can show the whole of something that large and complex, that rich and wonderful. We are everything we have read, every person we have known and every action that we take. A good actor is a self-aware one, able to find within themselves the things they need to resonate with a role, not rejecting their role''s truths. A role can become a teacher you learn from, or even glass through which you look for self-knowledge, but you must never be allow one to become your master - an excuse, an addiction or a crutch." In a voice filled with regret, he''d slowly added: "There''s a time to act, and a time to stop acting. It isn''t always easy. Some roles tempt you with a few more gains if you delay for another day and sometimes, by the time you recognise when you should have stopped, that point is already long in the past."
She thought about Bulgaria''s warning, and tried putting her fears for Tomsk into words. How would Wellington describe the risk? Rare but costly loss combined balanced against frequent wins with tiny pay-outs, resulting in a negative expected value? She shook her head at the effort of thinking that way. Not helpful. What was she afraid of? Was her fear that the friend she''d believed she knew was much deeper and more complex than she''d realised, and that she''d been foolish or inattentive enough to only realise this now, when offered a glimpse of a part of him that she''d not previously seen or been aware of, lurking beneath the easy-going persona he usually presented? Or was she afraid of him? Afraid that during intervening year, her friend had held onto a role so long he''d lost the ability to set it aside and had instead become it, become a manipulative stranger who she didn''t know and shouldn''t trust, and who was just using Tomsk Capitano as a mask to hide behind?
She gave a wry chuckle. At least, when you put them into words where you could look at them clearly, it became easier to spot which fears were baseless. She used to ignore them and scold herself for being silly but over the years she''d learned to be a little more forgiving of her own imperfections and now had gotten into a habit of visualising herself giving the fear a gentle hug, as though it were a child in need of being listened to, acknowledged and reassured. She still felt a little self-conscious about it but, since it was surprisingly effective, she kept doing it. She might perhaps have felt a defiant enjoyment about standing by her guns, if she wasn''t so careful to guard the knowledge that she hadn''t told anyone about it. Ever. Not even Alderney.
A few minutes later, Bulgaria back in his normal adventuring clothes, they approached the rear entrance of the Fiorio. Kafana stealth cast her learning buff over them and offered up a short prayer to Rac: “Let now be the right time for stored secrets to be shared with us.”
The irony in the prayer escaped her.
<hr>
9:15 am, Thursday June 8th, 2045
3 bells of the dog watch
Lunday full, 8th day of the month of KrevinBelember, A2F1600
Under the cover of a loading bay was the side door to the kitchens. She led the way in and, after a short chat with a member of the serving staff who was grumbling about breakages being deducted from wages at retail price, Kafana persuaded her to let them through and into the gardens, where labourers, craft masters and nobles mixed together, sipping coffee and debating the issues of the day with impassioned voices.
The building was much larger than she’d expected, and an engraved sign beside the door into the public area caught her eye:
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Rules and Orders of the Coffee House
Enter, Sirs, freely, but first, if you please,
Peruse our civil orders, which are these.
First, gentry, tradesmen, all are welcome hither,
And may without affront sit down together:
Pre-eminence of place none here should mind,
But take the next fit seat that he can find:
Nor need any, if finer persons come,
Rise up to assigne to them his room;
If you would a bet onto boards place,
please to show your own true face.
All other times mask and mage may hide,
and pray that fortune finds their side,
but do not witch with chance or mind,
nor switch the dice or dare like kind,
else penalty most severe will fall,
upon your purse, upon your all,
for in the pit your fall will brake;
our edge is sharp, and so''s our stake!
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</tbody>
</table>
Tomsk: “Unexpectedly egalitarian.”
Kafana: “I get the bit about not using sleight of hand, or magic to cheat. But what’s the bit about pits and stakes? Is that more gambling terminology?”
Bungo: “Ah, no. Not how they mean it. I saw the ground floor here, when we caught FancyAnts. But it is probably better to show you than explain.”
He took them in, through a crowded room full of people placing wagers or picking up winnings at a row of kiosks, onto the main gaming floor. To the west was the proper front entrance, and to the east was a long polished wooden bar, behind which coffee was being served by staff dressed in smart black and silver uniforms ruined by soft leather hats worn at a rakish angle. The hat, looked at in isolation, was beautiful - it was constructed from a soft iridescent snakeskin that shimmered from an ice blue through to luxurious purple. It just clashed hideously with the outfit.
In the center of the room, surrounded by tables, was a pit 15 meters across, protected by an ornate polished railing. As they stepped closer, she could see a 10-meter hole in the ceiling above it and a 5-meter hole in the ceiling a story above that. Her eye reluctantly followed the path a falling body would take, down to a sharp stake at the bottom of the pit. It was twice the height of a man, carved of ebony and etched with harsh looking runes. She gulped. No, cheating here would not have a positive expected value.