Alicia gave him a level stare. "You mean you'd prefer to live like those verminous nomads in Qaath, struggling to stay alive?"
Fodor nodded. "If I had been born a barbarian, I'd be twice the man I am. Why am I bald? Because no true barbarian would smear on his scalp the stuff that grows hair on a bowling ball."
White whispered to Reith, "The real reason is that he's allergic to the pilogen, like me."
Waving an arm like a knobby utility pole, Fodor orated, "I am barbarian swordsman at heart! Cut! Thrust! Slash! Blood running in the gutters! Heads rolling in the mud! If I could make a picture with real heads, real blood, that would be my great artistic triumph."
White snorted. "It's easy for you to talk about blood and gore. But when I saw those heads on spikes at Mishé, they almost made me shoot my cookies."
"Aw, hell!" said Fodor. "Your trouble, Jack, is your ancestors got civilized too long ago. The disease you call civilization only infected us Magyars in the last thousand years; so we haven't been so long going downhill. We still got a little of the old, manly barbarism.''
Alicia said: "If the Qaathians were to spring one of their lightning invasions while you're shooting your picture, you wouldn't think them so romantic."
Reith added: "They may in fact be up to something. For moons they kept their borders closed."
Fodor snorted. "Just a couple of rabbity decadents, scared of your shadows. Now let's play. Jack, set up the table. Nancy, where the hell are the cards? Michelle, get out the chips. Fergus, you seem sober; you be banter. Straight draw, nothing wild. Poker with wild cards is degenerate."
"It's my lucky night," murmured White. "The astrologer told me so." His eyes held the glitter of a compulsive gambler about to indulge his addiction.
Reith took the money—Terran paper and a pile of silver coins from Sivird. There was a tedious wrangle about rates of exchange until Reith said: "Damn it, if I'm banker, I set the rates!"
Alicia said: "I didn't bring much cash. What'll you allow me on this?"
She unclasped a silver necklace, set with amethysts and rock crystal, and laid it on the table. With a start, Reith recognized the ornament as a souvenir from her long-ago days of wild adventure in the Khaldoni countries.
"What would you say, Sivird?" asked Reith.
The Krishnan picked up the bauble. "I would allow the lady five hundred karda."
"Good enough," said Reith, counting out chips.
"Hey!" bellowed Fodor. "Since we got so many beautiful ladies, let's play strip poker. Then we have a real game! How about?"
Michelle spoke with a French accent. "I do not sink so. On ze Riviera, perhaps ..."
"No!" said Nancy Boyce. "I will not take off my clothes in front of all these people!"
"It's against my religion," muttered White.
"Okay, okay," grumbled Fodor. "Cut the cards. Fergus, you deal first. Nancy bets."
Fodor pulled a new deck of cards from their box, ruffled them, and laid them before Reith, who saw that the backs bore a complex design centering on the monogram F.A.G.
"Are these your special cards, Attila?" Reith asked.
"Sure. I had them made."
"What does F.A.G. stand for?"
"Fodor Attilla Graf," growled Fodor. "In Magyar, we put the surname first, like the Chinese."
"Then is 'Graf your middle name? It's German for 'count.' "
"It means 'count' on the cards, too. I'm a hereditary Hungarian count, or I would be if they hadn't abolished tides there long ago." He shrugged. "To use it makes me feel good; so why not?"
"No reason," said Reith. "I'll call you the Grand Khan of Tatary if you like."
"Ah, the Tatars!" exclaimed Fodor. "The last real men—"
"Let's play!" said Reith loudly, to cut off another monologue on the joys of barbarism.
For the first few hands, betting was cautious and stakes, low. Unfamiliar with their opponents, the players felt each other out. Reith lost a little through over-cautiously dropping out early; then he won a pot with three kings and more than recovered his losses.
White lost small sums. Then he plunged; Reith called his bluff, and White had to buy more chips. Fodor played in swashbuckling style, winning and losing substantial sums but coming out about even.
Ordway, now deep in his cups, leaned forward between hands to stare at Alicia's bosom. His playing was erratic; his words, surly.
To Reith's surprise, Alicia began steadily winning. Her face was as blank as when he had tried to talk about their joint future at Rimbid.
On Reith's left, Sivird played thoughtfully in a style much like that of Reith. He accumulated chips foster than Reith; but then Alicia beat him on a couple of hands and reduced his holdings almost to his starting stake. Fodor's women, who sat on either side of the director, played timidly, repeatedly dropping out before cards were called for.
Ordway, who had lost most of his chips, roused himself and began raising the limit. All dropped save Sivird, who kept raising until Ordway's pile had vanished. Ordway called. He showed a foil house; Sivird laid down a flush.
For a long moment, Ordway blinked at the exposed hands as if he could not believe his eyes. Fodor said: "All right, Cyril! Shove them over!"
Ordway's stubble-bearded face turned an apoplectic red. "Goddamned if I'll let any fuckin' wog ramp me! Oo the hell does he fink—"
Ordway rose; his chair crashed to the floor. Instantly Fodor was on his feet, roaring: "Drunken son of a bitch!" With two strides he came around Michelle's chair and seized Ordway's arm. Ordway swung a fist at Fodor, but his short arms merely fanned the smoky air.
"Out!" yelled the director, whirling Ordway towards the door. He yanked it open and thrust the struggling inebriate through. Putting a large foot against Ordway's rump, he shoved, catapulting the production manager across the corridor, to crash into the wall on the far side.
Fodor slammed and locked the door and returned to the table. "Sorry, folks," he growled. "Poor Cyril goes on these bats. Tomorrow he'll come crawling with apologies. Whose deal?"
Play continued. Then Fodor said he had a pat hand. Alicia took three cards and bet the limit; she raised him. Back and forth they went until Alicia's pile was almost exhausted and Fodor's completely so. At that point, Fodor dropped.
Reith hoped for a glimpse of the cards; but Alicia and Fodor both folded their hands, keeping the faces of the cards out of sight. Fodor pushed his pile to Alicia.
"You got to give me a chance to get even!" he said. "Fergus, I am broke, and I got no more cash. If I was a proper barbarian, I would just whack off a couple of heads and take back the chips. But as things are, let me give you Nancy as security for a loan, until I get to the bank tomorrow."
"Eh? What's that?" said Reith. "An I.O.U. would do—"
"No, no, you do like I say. I might be dead tomorrow, and then where would you be?"
"Now what," said Reith, "do you expect me to do with Nancy?"
"Good God! You have to ask? Take her to bed and ride her till she founders, natural!"
Reith looked around the table. "Does he really mean this?"
Nancy said, "Yes, he does! I've been through this before."
"He must be crazy," said Reith.
"I—we had a fight today," said Nancy, "and th-this is his way of g-getting even." She dissolved in tears, rose, and started for the door.
Michelle also rose, put an arm around Nancy, and went out with her, murmuring: "Ma pauvre petite! Il est un sale bête, ce grand fripouille-lá!"
"We still got five," said Fodor. "Jack, it's your deal."
"I think I've had enough," said White.
Sivird said: "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I must get the shop open early tomorrow, for last-minute purchases by your cinema people." He rose, bowed, and pushed his chips forward for redemption.