<\/div>All this for six thousand piastres—less than one solid Spishy Mishy. Either horse racing’s a dying art or dressing like a nun and decapitating people is a going concern.<\/p>\n
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This is a problem. You see, I’d like more money. I’d like really quite a lot more. I’m pretty sure the game opens up once you get a little money tucked away, and after two very busy days I’m starting to get annoyed that I’m not a millionaire yet.<\/p>\n
Goods are the obvious way to turn a profit, but margins are slim buying and selling them even if you only hit the most lucrative trade deals. It’s like the only way to get rich is by stealing cargo from other ships. Who has time for that?<\/p>\n
Screw it. Let’s try gambling.<\/p>\n
In half the taverns are named characters sitting awkwardly opposite Suspicious Corner, waiting for a wager to drop into their laps. Because professional gamblers have a notorious sense of sportsmanship, most will not take the money of an unproven player and demand you make a name for yourself elsewhere before they accept your challenge. Let’s poke around until we come across someone willing to scrap with a scrub.<\/p>\n
<\/div>“Deal me some” indeed, Wilkins. And what game shall we have?<\/p>\n
<\/div>Blackjack, naturally. I balked, but honestly this is probably the most recognizable game of chance you can plausibly date to the late 17th century. We know a game basically indistinguishable from Blackjack was played in Europe because Cervantes is pretty specific about the rules in one of his stories, Rinconcete y Cortadillo<\/em>, published more than half a century before this game takes place. The story also makes it clear that it was played in essentially this context: a couple dumb sketchy strangers with more money than sense (and not a lot of money) squaring off in a fleabitten pub.<\/p>\n Rinconcete y Cortadillo <\/em>is the only work of Cervantes I’ve read, so if Don Quixote <\/em>has a chapter where the protagonist rides past a stripper to hit a jump with his racehorse let me know and I’ll draft my apologies.<\/p>\n Yeah, there’s not a lot of strategy to Blackjack. Intractable 100-piastre bets shuffle back and forth across the table as neither of us score much of a victory. It’s clear I’m not going to get rich gambling anytime soon. Finally, a few hundred in the hole, I get frustrated and quit out.<\/p>\n Lost in the background noise of the tavern, a sound effect doesn’t play. The echo of silence catches up to me before I reach the tavern door—and I hesitate. My hackles have caught on to something good and they’re giddily waiting for the front office to catch up.<\/p>\n What didn’t just happen? I was gambling. I exited. And…<\/p>\n There was no jingle of coin. There’s always <\/em>a jingle of coin when money changes hands in a Mount and Blade <\/em>game. So why didn’t I just hear one?<\/p>\n I start a round of gambling, lose some money, hit “End playing.”<\/p>\n Jingle.<\/em><\/p>\n I start a new hand, lose on purpose, and hit Escape. It brings me to the main menu, and I hit Escape again to return to the tavern. No jingle.<\/p>\n I’ve still got all my money.<\/p>\n Now–the distinction between the cheat and the bug exploit is subtle and chiefly philosophical. Feel free to argue the finer points in the comments. My own perspective is this:<\/p>\n I can only play the game they made. If a glitch gets my horse stuck in a wall, that horse is well and truly stuck. If bad design makes me run five minutes across town because there’s no easy way to quit a mission, I get to lose five minutes. If alt-tabbing crashes the whole thing to desktop, then that’s a fat bit of developer logs and loading screens I get to sit through just because I had to adjust my Fraps binding. And if pressing the wrong key makes the game forget that I owe it money?<\/p>\n
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