The Sixth

The brown horse‘s head barely passes the black horse’s rear, yet the audience erupts in cheers or agitated roars. There is never a dull moment at the race track. 

If the emotional reactions aren’t enough of a dead giveaway as to who bet on which horse, then you merely have to listen for the people praying for the gods’ favor over the horse they bet on.

The appeal of gambling is one Darlin simply can’t fathom. It’s a risk that devours wealth in the blink of an eye. She would know seeing as Heinrich will take after Felicity by developing a taste for it, with the exception of her self-control or luck.

The brown horse quickly gains on, then overtakes the black one. Adding to the mounting suspense, a grey horse with white spots is now in pace with the black one. 

Darlin covers her ears as the audience shouts their joy and sorrow to the high heavens. “Ugh…!” You better be worth the headache, Seven. 

Her thoughts are directed towards the fourth horse, a brown thing with seven black spots on his rump.

“Unlucky Seven” is a large, southern stallion that’s lost every race he’s ever been in, always claiming last place and nothing else.

Word on the street is Unlucky Seven is only kept in races because the money needed to breed a southern stallion out of its natural habitat is no mere bit. It would be too much of a waste to put him down. 

No one could have imagined that in one fateful race Seven’s luck would completely turn around.

“Would you look at that?!” The commentator guffaws, “Seven, that old bastard, is catching up for the first damn time! HAHA!”

Unlucky Seven was indeed catching up, but not nearly enough to be neck and neck with the two fighting for second place.

“Bah! When are they gonna put that loser down?”

“Right? Seven’s never won a day in his life!”

“What idiot’s betting on that loser?”

With her elbow propped on her knee, Darlin turns her face into her palm to hide her smile. That would be me.

Yes, yes, she who looks down on gambling has placed bets on this race. 

She’s no hypocrite, however, as Darlin is not taking chasing any thoughtless risk. She knows Seven will win, and that’s why her money is on him.

The person recording the bets looked at her like she were a fool, but Darlin didn’t care. In fact, she was pleased to be the only one betting on the loser horse because the return will be immense thanks to the sheer number betting against him. 

No one saw the horseshoe fall off one of the brown horse’s hooves. It disappeared into the raised dust, unnoticed by everyone but Darlin, who has been anticipating it.

The brown horse, who is in the lead, must have stomped on something displeasing as it immediately neighs in panic and falls to the floor in a mess of flailing limbs. The grey and black horses aren’t able to stop in time and wind up crashing into the brown one.

Horses are large animals so very full of anxiety. The three go into a panic, whinnying and thrashing their powerful limbs. The trainers can’t get too close without the chance of taking a hoof to the face.

In that time, who should overtake them all but Unlucky Seven? 

Finally, the crowd falls quiet, unable to believe their eyes. They were left speechless as the stallion breaks through the blue ribbon, placing first on the last lap.

“…Wha… WHAT THE HELL!?” One man’s furious yowl awakens people from their shocked state.

The devastation is almost palpable, almost every soul in the stadium opposing Seven’s victory, calling the race rigged, a fluke, outright insanity for Unlucky Seven to win like this!

Darlin was the only one who left Greywart’s place happy. 

At worst, the memories of her past lives are almost crippling with the trauma they host, at best they are a convenient means to an end. It’s not often they leave her feeling almost… happy. 

Darlin did not indulge gambling in her past lives, but Unlucky Seven’s victory was news so big there was nationwide gossip as Greywart got to keep the money of every poor bastard who bet against Unlucky Seven or the victory of any of the other three. 

In fact, after today, Unlucky Seven would become a metaphor for underdogs.

It will be a minimization to say she won big. In total, Darlin bet over a hundred thousand gold— most of it on Unlucky Seven’s win, and the rest she used to bet on the other three horses placing last. 

Apart from the money she put down, she also won the money of those who bet against Unlucky Seven for a quick win, and the money of the ones who bet on the victory of any of the other three horses. Even after the racetrack subtracted their share, the amount Darlin won was so large they had to send her off with a cheque. 

The zeroes put a sparkle in her eyes, just not enough to make Darlin so ditzy to think she is completely out of the woods. 

They’d be all too right to suspect me. The

 useless loser suddenly emerges victorious thanks to the winning horse losing its shoe mid-race, and only one person profited off Unlucky Seven… Darlin would be skeptical too if she were in Greywart’s position. 

Darlin hails a public carriage, “Simmons and Sons.” she orders the driver before climbing in. 

The two men knew not the face of the brown haired woman, but they were sure of two things; she is noble, and she is oblivious of their presence.

They were half right. Darlin only surmised she was being followed because it’s what she would have done. It’s what she did, regularly even, after Vincent usurped Greywart and left the fields under Darlin’s management.

Many nobles enjoy gambling with most trying to keep it secret. Being associated with the vice did not appeal to Darlin, especially not so soon after she’s come of age. 

Not to mention her parents will no doubt fear for Flora’s already half-dead reputation and either confine Darlin, or begin monitoring her movements. Neither outcome is favorable to the regressor.

Darlin takes a watch from her skirt’s pocket, huffing, “Eight minutes left.” No time to waste. 

Once at the bank, Darlin alights and tosses the coachman a silver coin, leaving before he can thank her for the generous pay. 

“Damn, she’s got no issue with money.” One of the creepers in the alley sulked. “What’s a lady like that gambling for?”

His companion clicks his tongue in disdain. “Nobles always got time an’ money to be wastin’.” More importantly, we can’t follow her in! They’d stick out like a sore thumb in a place that specifically caters to the wealthy. He throws down his cap. “Damn it all!” Why’d she have to cash it so soon?!

“Should we be heading back then?”

“And tell Mister Wart we lost sight of one woman? Not on yer bloody life!”

Noticing Darlin’s graceful form, an attendant immediately approaches her. “Welcome, my Lady. Is there anything I can help you with?”

With her purse neatly held in front of her, Darlin discreetly turns over one of her hands to reveal a gold coin. “Might I trouble you for a private room?”

The attendant’s eyes gleam brighter than the coin. Poorly hiding his covetous expression, “Ahem!” he comports himself into a reverential bow. “Of course~ Right this way please.”

No sooner is she seated in the luxurious room before the attendant starts, “Can I offer you some tea, coffee? Our scones are absolutely delicious and—“

“No need.” Darlin nonchalantly tucks a lock of white hair into her cap with a honeyed smile. It’s wearing off already. She opens her palm, now tempting him with two coins. “I need a cheque cashed. I am in a bit of a rush so…”

“I will let a teller know we have an important guest waiting!” 

He was greedy but also quick on the uptake, the latter a trait Darlin rather appreciates.

Once given some time alone, Darlin lifts her cap and uses a small mirror to inspect her head. “Dammit...” The brown had totally faded from roots of her hair, along with some locks at the front of her head.

Granted half the potion remains, the time to consume it is impractical, for whoever may, or may not, be following her will continue. 

There was nowhere else for Darlin to be, and if she meanders they might realize she is aware of their presence. How they will react, she did not know and has no desire to find out.

Just as well, she will not be able to return to the cafe, where her maid and carriage are waiting. 

Not only will it verify her identity to her pursuers— the last thing she wants— “That idiot maid might say something if I return with a different hair color.” The second last thing she wants. 

Darlin exhales in an attempt to calm herself. …The ring it is. Then again, she brought it as insurance. For all she’s done for them, the Fritzs should let her off with this much.

After making sure all her hair is properly tucked into her hat, she fishes a ring from her purse and slips it onto her index.

The teller didn’t really believe the young attendant when he said there was an extremely high profile guest, but after seeing Darlin… she wasn’t so sure.

Though the upper part of Darlin’s face is hidden by the veil, her temperament speaks volumes of her peerage. Search her mind as she might, the teller was unable to match the veiled lady to any noble she knows. 

Growing more impatient by the second, Darlin places the cheque on the table. “I need this cashed as soon as possible.”

The teller adjusts her monocle as she picks up the cheque. The first thing she notices is the name and insignia of Greywart Fields. The racetrack? Simmons bank know Mister Greywart well— That greedy guy actually sent someone to withdraw from his personal account? She was wary, but the magic artifact, the monocle, detected no trickery. 

Next, she checked the amount, her eyes blowing so wide her brows nearly touched her hairline. “Wha—!” The teller had to slap a hand over her mouth. “I— Apologies for my behavior. The cheque is fine, except I will need your name and signature.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Darlin taps her index to draw the teller’s attention to it. “I am not sure that will be necessary.”

The teller almost choked on air. She damn well jumped out of her chair, stuttering, “I’ll return in a moment!” By the gods, she’s from Fritz?!

With the teller gone, Darlin beckons the attendant close with a crook of her finger. “You’ve been very helpful.” She praises as she rains three coins into his cupped hands.

“It has been my pleasure, my Lady!” With another deep bow, he took his leave. 

The teller returned not long after with three men, as she’d needed more hands to move all the money. “Here is the exact amount, my Lady.” She assured as the men placed bags on bags of coins on the table, “Down to the last bronze, not a single one is missing.”

Darlin nods, pretending to be in thought as she mutters just loud enough for the teller to hear, “She won quite a bit this time.” To the teller, she said, “Thank you for your help. You may leave now.”

On their way back to their stations, one of the attendants whispered, “She was talking about the Duchess, right?”

“As expected of Her Grace, even her servant is on another level…”

“Isn’t it strange though?”

“What is?”

“Have you ever heard of a noble allowing a servant to wear the family’s cres—“

“Don’t you know better than to gossip about customers?!” The teller held up a finger as she scolded, “How nobles conduct their matters is none of your business, you got that? Focus on doing your jobs properly!” She turned away, signaling the end of the matter. Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder, Maybe… I should mention this to the manager…? 

Back in the private room, Darlin exchanges the ring on her index for a bronze one with a bright green emerald. Waving her hand over the bags, each one distorts into a haze that’s vacuumed into the ring. 

Before Darlin can exclaim in joy, a small, sharp sound pierces her ears.

“…No.” She didn’t want to believe it, but reality was against her. Already?! She heaves, “Lovely.”

Time sensitive as her situation is, Darlin finds a laugh escaping her. 

Carrying out all sorts of secret missions to aid the Fritz’s treacherous dreams, Darlin was always on high alert when acting covertly.

Now, however, she felt the bubbly stings filling her up. 

She felt like a child as she took off her hat just in time to watch the last brown lock turn white. She disconnects the veil and discards it under her seat. 

She was like one of those spunky heroines in novels, changing up her appearance by undoing her cravat and stuffing it into her purse, then replacing it with the ribbon holding her hair in an updo. 

The final step is also the most embarrassing. Darlin’s hands hesitate on her waist, but she can’t afford to renege on her mission after coming this far.

With renewed resolve, she removes her blue pencil skirt and turns it inside out.

When Darlin left the room, no one linked her to the veiled, brown haired woman who’d withdrawn an absurd amount of money— Not the attendant she’d bribed, nor the goons who would remain in that alley until the bank closes in the evening. 

Her heart didn’t stop trying to beat through her rib cage until she sat safe and sound in her carriage. Darlin’s body was so tense from her little adventure that her joints hurt. It was no good time for the maid to grumble, “My Lady, you were gone for an awful long time.”

Darlin looked her over. She only knew the maid’s name starts with an “M”, though she is the only one Darlin takes with her on outings.

Under Darlin’s unreadable appraisal, the maid squirms. Is she upset I complained? As silence persists, the maid is overcome with a choking feeling. Darlin’s soft smile skewers the poor girl, and the disparity between what the maid’s eyes see and what her instincts know brings a cold sweat to her brow. 

“I-I… I’m sorry,” The maid crumbles under the invisible pressure. “I am sorry for speaking out of turn, I—“

Darlin’s giggle cuts her off. “I’m quite happy you went out with me.” It’d be troublesome if you were a smart person. Thank you for being stupid, you whose name I don’t know.

“…Y-Yes…! I am grateful I c-could be of help, my Lady.” The maid told herself she was being silly. Everyone likes Lady Flora much more, so she’s grateful to have some company. 

All the same, the maid couldn’t get herself to sit up straight, nor stop her heart from racing for the rest of the outing.