Page 153 - The Grotesque Children's Book

would accrue incensing her customers that she would need to wager against, so she wagered
lightly and quietly.

Tozzo rolled. Damned if it wasn’t Carola’s six and six and three and one. A roar belched
out of the great Tozzo to end all roars. “I’ve lost!” he shouted. “These bones! They’re cursed!
They’re against me!” He raised his thick arms high above him, jabbing his paw-like fists as far
against Heaven as a standing man can thrust. “I curse you, God of the Hucklebones! Show
yourself! I’ll fight you with my fists! I’ll teach you --” He broke off mid-heresy when he saw
the bonesman push a high mound of denari in front of him.

“Sixteen,” said the bonesman.

Tozzo stared at the bonesman, confused.

“You won,” explained Carola. “Sixteen. Just like you said! Either three threes, or a six,
six, three and one. You called it, Tozzo!”

“Did I?” asked Tozzo, in a bit of an ale-fog. Though, truth be told, it wasn’t the ale
which was affecting his mathematical skills. It was...his mathematical skills which were
affecting his mathematical skills. “Yes! I remember now! I win! I win again! The great Tozzo
Scatenarsi!” He looked sheepishly upwards. “Eh...never mind that fistfight, God of the
Hucklebones. Let me buy you a drink. You too, humans. This round’s on me, gents!”

A great whoop went up. The tavern drinkers were never terribly unhappy when Tozzo
won, as he more often than not, turned right round and bought everyone a tankard. The fact is,
because of Tozzo’s bleary-eyed desire to be generous, they often ended up with more money in
their pockets at the end of the evening when they lost to Tozzo than when they won. It was all
about che acquista l'alcol -- who’s buying?

The middleman carefully and blatantly counted out the coins necessary to buy everyone a
tankard, and made a great show of giving Tozzo all the rest, down to the last denaro. An honest
middleman is a safe middleman. Carola sighed at all the money she was passing up by wagering
in such small amounts, but she calculated that it was better to show all the customers she was an
honest girl who made more money from tips than from bilking poor beast-brained Tozzo.
“Forty. Fifty. And sixty,” counted the middleman. “Two for Carola and her one-denaro bet.
There’s thirty-six left to you, Tozzo. Well won!” The middleman put the denari into Tozzo’s
large large left hand.

“But now, last round, gents,” Carola said. “Can’t make it too late a night. I’m expected
at the Duke’s Palace early early again tomorrow morning for another --”

Tozzo’s eyes went wide, and he clamped his large large right hand over her tiny tiny
mouth. “Tsssh!” he said with a hiss, “Carola! What did I tell you about that?”

She pulled his hand off her mouth, or rather, he let her pull his hand off. “What? I’m
modeling for the Duchess’s portrait when she doesn’t want to sit all those hours --”

Again Tozzo clamped his hand over her mouth, and this time he kept it there, making
sure she couldn’t speak. “Carola,” he said, his voice dropping to a growling whisper such that

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