The cards were tall and hand-coloured. They flowed from the dealer’s hands like punch-tokens from a cogitator. There was a charged atmosphere around the table.
Rawne had taught Daur the rudiments of the game, a trick-and-trade variety called Suicide Kings, but he was hardly an expert. With each hand, it was a constant struggle to remember the basic combination hierarchy and the correct moments to discard, let alone the tips he’d been given. Three of a kind sweeps two pairs, and quads sweep everything except the dynasties. The odds of a straight or regal dynasty are 649,739 to 1, so a lousy player always chases hands that are statistically unlikely. The deuce of swords reverses the march, the sequence of play, and allows for out-of-turn wagers. The king of cups, Blue Sejanus as he is called, is wild when the march is clockwise, and the ace of swords, its single pip bloated and enlarged to incorporate the tax-paid duty stamp, is wild counter-clock. Base your wagers on a calculation of your available outs. Certain court cards are magic kickers that could break tied hands.
So much to remember. Daur focused on the two chief rules. Limp, to stay in as long as possible, but make them aware of just how much you have in your pocket.
He played the minimal bets on every hand, but between deals, or when the march switched, he took out his roll of bills and pretended to count them under the edge of the table. He played through four hands, won nothing, and lost the minimum.
‘For Throne’s sake, have a real bid, why don’t you?’ the Tanith girl whispered into his ear.
Just before the fifth hand was dealt, the hostess in green came over to the table with a flat leather case. She unlocked the wooden drawer under the tabletop where the dealer was standing, and slid it out. There was cash in its wooden tray already, about fifteen hundred in mixed bills. She opened the case and loaded the tray with twenty thousand in crisp bricks of currency. Daur watched the whole process, his blink-rate rising.
‘Could I get a drink?’ he asked the Tanith girl. ‘My mouth’s a little dry.’
‘Of course,’ she said, and left the table.
The hostess closed the drawer and went away with the case. The fifth hand came out. Daur had a pair of sevens. He began to bid with a little more vigour.
The Tanith girl came back, and put his drink on the table beside his wrist.
‘All done,’ she whispered in his ear. She looked at the table. ‘Getting a little bolder?’ she teased. The bidding went around the table again. It came down to Daur and another player, a sour-looking Navy officer, who called him.
They each had a pair sevens. The Navy man sniffed and turned his kicker. It was a ten of swords.
Daur flipped his own kicker.
The jack of cups.
The dealer swept the pot across to Daur. He’d just taken over a hundred on a single hand.
‘I’m beginning to like you,’ chuckled the Tanith girl, stroking his ear.
There was a sudden crash. It was the sort of crash that a door the colour of a victory medal’s ribbon would make if it got kicked in. There was a commotion, and some shouting. Players jumped up from the tables, cards knocked askew. Four men in battledress burst into the parlour aiming service pistols. Some of the players and girls tried to leave, but the soldiers had all the exits blocked.
‘What the hell is this?’ Urbano demanded, storming out from the private areas. Elodie shrank back. She hoped her boss would have the sense not to kick off.
‘Looks like an illegal game to me,’ replied the Imperial commissar who wandered into the room through the soldiers aiming the pistols.
‘Oh, come on!’ said Urbano. ‘You know this is a waste of your time.’
The commissar looked around. ‘Huh. This is the famous Zolunder’s, eh? You’ve no idea how long the Commissariat has been trying to close you down.’
He looked at Urbano. ‘Nice place. I mean, tasteful. You’ve got a pattern on your carpet that’s not the consequence of vomit. That’s rare, by gambling parlour standards.’
‘You’re making a mistake, commissar…’
‘Hark,’ replied the commissar.
‘Well, Commissar Hark,’ said Urbano, ‘you should know that the Commissariat has tried this before, to no avail.’
‘Oh, I know how you cover yourself,’ said the commissar. ‘The oh-so-expensive lawyers you keep on retainer throw out any raid as an illegal search, and you keep your considerable cash supplies locked up in a safe, knowing that we can only confiscate monies in game circulation. So we take a few hundred off your tables, stick you with a nuisance fine for unlicensed gaming, and go away with our tails between our legs.’
The commissar smiled at Urbano. ‘The thing is, pal, we’re not here to mount another pointless raid on Zolunder’s tonight. But you’re going to wish we were.’
‘What are you talking about?’ growled Urbano. ‘Just give me the fine notice and get out.’
The commissar placed his hand on Daur’s shoulder. Daur kept staring at the cards on the table, but he shivered.
‘Hello, Daur.’
‘Sir,’ Daur whispered.
The commissar looked at Urbano. ‘We’re here for Captain Daur.’
‘What’s he done?’ asked Urbano.
‘Not your business, but it wasn’t pretty,’ said the commissar. ‘And it was enough to send him here tonight in a desperate attempt to raise enough cash for a ticket off-world. Let’s have him, boys.’
The soldiers closed in around Daur and got him to his feet. One of them cuffed him and began to lead him away.
‘Let him be!’ the Tanith girl snapped.
‘Bring her too,’ the commissar told his men. ‘Let’s see what she knows about his activities.’
The Tanith girl began to scream and shout as another of the soldiers manhandled her off the premises.
The commissar looked back at Urbano.
‘One last piece of bad news for you,’ he said. ‘We’ve just apprehended a deserter in flight. That’ll make felony two, and it means we can seize all assets involved in said commission.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ Urbano breathed, his eyes wide with rage.
The commissar shook his head sweetly. His two remaining men cleared the table of all cash, emptied the pockets of the other players, and then opened the table drawer and removed the fat, crisp bricks of notes that Elodie had put in the tray. They dumped the takings into three canvas evidence bags.
‘Do you want a receipt?’ asked the commissar.
‘Get out,’ said Urbano.
Outside, it had begun to snow. The garmentfab had closed for the night and its windows were dark. The night sky over the ancient city was a threatening maroon haze. The men bundled Daur and the Tanith girl into the back of a cargo-8 and clambered aboard. The truck started up, and rolled down out of the court onto the empty street.
In the back of the truck, the commissar sat down on the bench facing Daur and the girl. He weighed the evidence sacks in his hands.
‘About twenty-two, twenty-three thousand,’ he said.
Daur stared back at him.
‘Commissar Hark’ he smiled. ‘Nice work, captain.’
‘Thanks,’ replied Daur. ‘You look a complete gimp in that commissar suit, by the way.’
Rawne took off the commissar’s cap.
‘Well, it did the trick,’ he said.
‘I’ll say,’ chuckled Meryn, sitting back and unbuttoning the collar of his battledress.
‘Can I hold the stash?’ Banda asked Rawne. ‘Just hold it, for a moment?’
Rawne laughed and tossed her the evidence sacks.
She opened the canvas pouches and sniffed.
‘We’ll make a career criminal out of you yet, Daur,’ said Meryn.