Lucian slowed when he heard the call. He turned, spotting the bronze-skinned man limping toward him. The fellow's leg dragged with each step, like the ground clung to him. His smile never left, though the edges twitched now and then as if it might crack apart.
"Young man," the man said, a bit breathless but cheerful, "do you wanna earn lots of money?"
Lucian raised an eyebrow. "You're definitely a swindler."
The man waved both hands, huffing a laugh. "Wait, wait. I'm a swindler. People say that because they refuse to admit someone beat them fair."
Lucian paused, considering walking away. He knew these types—parasites around pits and taverns, promising a shortcut while digging pockets.
The man called after him. "I saw you leave the purse after that fight. You left it behind without looking back."
Lucian's grin spread wider, but he kept his back turned. "So why are you asking me if I need money?"
