Without even a sideways glance, Long-Face throws in the required coins, along with two more, both ten sickle pieces! The bet for this round alone is up to forty sicks, more than we came with. If I keep playing and lose this hand, I’ll already be broke and owe Nasal-Voice silver. Sweat begins beading under my arms and below my knees. Feeling somewhat faint, I wriggle out of my heavy coat and drape it over the chair behind me. It helps, but my mind is still spinning. If I fold now, I’ll be throwing away the best hand I might get all night. Plus, maybe in a high stakes game every pot will be this big. If I’m going to take a chance, now is the time to do it.
I throw in forty, trying to breathe evenly.
Buff stares at me like I’m crazy. He’s gotta throw in forty to stay in it. He throws his cards in instead, face up. Twin medium stones. Not a bad hand, but not good enough considering how fast the pot’s growing. It’s all up to me now.
Twin-Two throws his cards as well, unwilling to match Long-Face’s raise. Down to me and Long. Twin-One flips over another draw card. A boulder! Chill freezin’ yah! I scream silently. I think the edge of my lip twitches, but that’s as much celebration as I’ll allow myself outwardly. There’s still money to be made, and there’s no doubt I’ve got the best hand now.
Buff stares at me—now he’s trying to read me. I can see it in his eyes: he knows what I’ve got. After playing a whole lot of cards with him, he knows me too well. I hope Long’s still in the dark.
The bet’s over to Long, who burns a hole through the two draw cards—the arrow and boulder—with his eyes, as if he hates what he sees. Either he’s an icin’ good actor, or he knows that last card wasn’t good for him. He passes to me.
A tough call. I know I’ve got the better hand, but if I bet big then Long will suspect it, too, unless he thinks I’m bluffing. He might fold, which of course means I’ll take a pretty nice pot. But on the other hand, if I can get him to keep betting, I can make it an even bigger take. I toss in a modest thirty sickle bet, beginning to feel like a real high roller, if only because I now consider thirty sickles to be modest. As if it’s nothing at all, Long slides the required coins across, smiling. He won’t be smiling in a minute.
Another card is flipped. Another boulder. Un-freezin’-believable!
Four of anything will win you a hand almost every time. Four boulders, well, that’s a lock. Long taps the table, signaling he’s passing to me again. Finally able to show my emotion, I smile, big enough to make him think I’ve got a good hand, which I do, but small enough to hopefully convince him I’m bluffing. The math’s gotten too convoluted for me to have any clue as to how much is already in the pot, but I know it’s more silver than I’ve ever had in my life, enough to pay back our advance, fix the stuff we broke at Yo’s, and buy something nice for Jolie.
I push every last one of my remaining coins into the pile in the center.
Long scrunches up his nose and folds, leaving his cards hidden. I’ll never know what he had, but I don’t give two shivers about that, because my hands are curled around a mound of silver, raking it in front of me, trying not to tremble with excitement.
There are smiles all around the table, except from Long. “Nice hand,” Pierced-Ears says.
“Thanks,” I say, standing up and starting to shovel the coins into my pouch, “for the game.” Buff’s already on his feet.
Pierced’s smile fades quicker than visibility in a snowstorm. “Whoa there, pretty boy. Didn’t they tell you at the door? It’s a five hand minimum for a seat at a table. No winning and running.”
I feel the color drain from my face. “No one told us that,” I say.
“Must’ve slipped Ham’s mind. He can be a bit of a snowflake sometimes. All brawn and no brains. You know the type, right?”
“Well, he didn’t tell us, so…” I push in my chair.
“Sit down, boy!” Pierced screams, his face red and snaked with popping veins. All activity in the Hole ceases abruptly. Someone drops a coin and we can all hear it rolling across the floor, not stopping until it runs into the wall.
Silence.
I stare at Pierced, who now looks nothing like the kind, fun-loving card player from before. Despite the fact that he didn’t lose anything but his five sickle ante in the last hand, he’s dead set on us playing at least four more hands. A hostile environment is nothing new to me, except normally I’m the one bringing the hostility. As I look around, I see more than a few faces that look like they’ll die before letting us leave.
My eyes meet Buff’s and he shakes his head. The odds are against us—not the right time to pick a fight. I pull my chair out and sit down, scattering my silver on the table. Buff does the same, although his pile is much smaller than mine.
Gone are the smiles around the table, replaced by narrowed eyes and glares. This is not a friendly card game anymore, if it ever was to begin with.
“Deal,” Pierced-Ears commands Buff. Buff scoops up the used cards and blends them back into the main deck. Hands them to Twin-Two, who does a bit of blending of his own before passing them back. Buff deals and I take a deep breath.
Four hands. We can just play it easy, fold out each hand, losing only the ante. It’ll take a chunk out of the winnings, but not so much that we won’t be able to take care of what we owe Yo.
I look at my cards, if only for show. A crown and small stone. Not the worst hand, but not the best either. I’ll be careful with it. Buff doesn’t even look at his, just tosses them into the center facedown. He’s got the right idea. Twin-Two bets twenny sickles and I add my cards to the center before the betting even makes it around. Pierced’s eyes never leave mine as he throws in the required silver. The betting goes around and around as they play out the hand, but still Pierced’s eyes are glued to me. I look down, look away, count and recount my coins, but I can feel him on my face, as if he’s physically touching me.
Pierced wins a sizeable pot and then it starts over again, with Twin-Two dealing. Three more hands and then we’re outta here, no big deal.
I lift just the corner of my cards to have a peek, and then toss them in the center immediately, just a second behind Buff’s even speedier fold. I had twin small stones. A playable hand, but not worth losing any more silver over.
The hand plays out quickly and one of the twins goes away with a pretty weak pot. Two to go. Fold and fold and we’re done.
Mimicking Buff’s technique, I fold the next hand without looking at my cards, but I can’t resist sliding them in face up, where the twin crowns stare back at me, almost gleaming brighter than the silver ante coins in the middle. A really strong hand. I grit my teeth, trying to bite back the regret that tightens in my throat. Regardless of whether playing the hand was a smart move, showing my cards is high on the list of stupidest things I could’ve done. Pierced smiles at me, but not kindly like he did before, but with icicle teeth, cold and sharp, knowing full well that I’m not playing for real anymore.
“Hmmm,” he muses. “I don’t think it counts if you fold all five hands, isn’t that right Mobe?”
Long-Face has a name. Mobe straightens up, drums his fingers on the table. “I’d have to check the rulebook, but I think that’s right.”
“You said five hands,” I say between clenched teeth. Fighting’s suddenly feeling like something I’d really like to do.
“Rules are rules,” Pierced says.
“What do we have to do?” Buff says, trying to placate Pierced. He can probably see the violence all over my face. I got him in hot water with my temper once today—he won’t let me do it again.
Pierced flicks a look at Buff. “Wise choice, kid. If one of you bets in the next hand, then you’ll have fulfilled your obligation to the table.”
I look at Buff—he looks back at me. It’ll be more winnings lost, but worth it to avoid a fight. “Deal,” I say.
The hand plays out with us waiting on the sidelines. Long-Face wins a small pot; it’s almost as if no one was really trying. Last hand. Ante plus one of us bett
ing and it’s over. My deal. I blend the cards, slide them to Pierced to blend some more, and then hand them out facedown, two to each player.
When I look at my cards I feel a swirl of exhilaration in my chest. Impossible. The chances of what’s just happened have to be close to zero. For the second time in five hands I’ve come up with twin boulders.
Chapter Five
I stare at my cards, half-expecting them to morph into something more normal, like a bear claw and a stick, or a medium stone and a crown. Anything but what I’ve got. But the boulders remain, two big old rough eyes staring right back at me. Maybe my prayer to the Heart of the Mountain worked more than I thought.
“Your bet,” Pierced says.
My head snaps up, where everyone’s watching me. I dealt, so I should be betting last, not first. But then I notice: there’s a heaping pile of silver already in the center. Everyone’s already bet, and by the looks of it, they’ve bet big. “Sorry, I missed the bets,” I say, feeling stupid and amateurish.
Pierced shakes his head like his child’s just painted mud on the walls. Luckily, Buff helps me out. “Initial bet was twenny. That was matched by everyone but me.” So Buff’s out already, which means I have to bet. He’s left his cards face up as if to prove to me that he had no choice. A stick and a small boulder. One of the worst hands you can get.
“Thanks,” I mumble. So all I gotta do is throw in twenny sickles and it’s over. We leave with whatever we’ve got left. I do some quick math in my head. The one-oh-five I won in the first hand is down to eighty five with the four antes. Take away Buff’s four antes and we’re left with sixty five in winnings, before I ever even bet this hand. If I throw in twenny now…well, an extra forty five sickles will be nice, but they might not even cover the repairs to Yo’s tables and chairs.
But I have no choice—I have to play. So if I’ve got to play with twin boulders in my hand, I might as well play big.
I shove forty sickles into the middle.
“Whoa, we’ve got a player,” Pierced exclaims, rubbing his hands together. Like everyone else, me and Buff included, I think he expected me to just throw away my twenny sickles and run out with my tail between my legs. Not tonight.
He flips two more coins in and I watch as everyone else except Buff does the same. It’s the biggest pot of the night and not even a single draw card has been turned. I flip the first card. A boulder! Excitement buzzes through me as I realize I’m about to make both Buff and I rich. But amongst the shower of silver coins that are floating through my mind, I see only one face. Jolie’s. She’s smiling the biggest, happiest smile I’ve ever seen as she comes home. Although I thought we started this because of what happened at Yo’s, I realize now that subconsciously I was always doing it for her—to bring our family back together.
Although my butt’s glued to the very chair I desperately wanted to leave not too long ago, I feel like I’m flying way up high where the summer songbirds cut lazy circles across the gray clouds. Nay, higher than that, above the clouds, where the sky’s redder than blood and the sun’s hotter than chill. Nothing can bring down my mood, not even a thirty sickle bet by one of the twins. Everyone, including me, matches it, but I run a few more coins through my fingers, trying to decide whether to add a bet on top.
Anticipation of adding silver to the pot zips up my spine. Everything feels so light, like I could fly right out of here with all the silver on the table and a new life.
Somehow I manage to bet small, flattening my face like a stone wall. Twenny more sickles. I expect a few folds, but everyone matches. I meet Buff’s eyes, which are unblinking and wider than the palace grounds.
I flip the second card. A medium stone. I’m still way ahead with my triple boulders. No bets this time around, so I throw in another twenny, which everyone matches. We’re all in too deep to back down now, but what none of them knows is that I’ve got them right where I want them.
Last card. A small stone, nothing against my trifecta of boulders.
The final round of betting begins with a surprise. Pierced-Ears raises an eyebrow and then pushes his entire pile into the pot. My mouth drops open, and so does Buff’s, but everyone else looks like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to do at this point, even though they have to all know I’ve got a huge hand.
Then the folding begins. Both twins chuck their cards into the mountain-sized pile of coins with gusto. A couple of them flip over, a crown and an arrow, nothing that could’ve stacked up against mine anyway. Long-Face shakes his head and then flips his cards over to show us before folding. Twin crowns. A good hand, but not good enough.
It’s down to me and Pierced and I can’t for the life of me see how he could have me beat, and it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve already got so much riding on this hand that I was always going to see it through to the end. I push whatever coins I’ve got left into the pot.
“Maybe you’ve got stones after all, kid,” Pierced says with a nod.
I smile, basking in the unexpected bit of respect from a guy who looked ready to take my head off four hands ago. And now I’m going to take all his silver.
“But you ain’t got no brains,” he adds, which wipes the smile right off my face. Huh? What does he know? “Show ’em.”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I snap one boulder over, then the other, slide them toward the draw cards to make it obvious what I’ve got.
He glares at the cards like he’s going to grab them and rip them to shreds. But then his expression changes: his lips turn up, his eyebrows arch, and he laughs. Of all things, he laughs.
With a short twist of his wrist, he reveals his cards, the final boulder and a medium stone. I gawk at them, try to figure out what they mean, think back to how in the chill those cards could be better than my three boulders. The name of the very game we’re playing springs to mind. Boulders-’n-avalanches. His two cards, when combined with the draw cards: two boulders, two medium stones, and one small stone—an avalanche. The best hand in the game, and a nail in my coffin.
I stare at him, unable to breathe, unable to speak, feeling every prick of his continued laughter in my skin, drawing blood. Final blood.
I drop my head in my hands as he rakes at the pile with greedy fingers.
Time passes painfully slow. Chairs scrape the floor. There are voices, pats on the back, but I barely hear them, barely feel them. Eventually, the voices die down and I’m left in silence. I feel a presence nearby and finally raise my head.
Buff sits next to me, staring off into space. “I—I—” I start to say, but my throat’s too dry and it just comes out as a rasp.
“You had a good hand,” Buff says, turning to look at me. “You did the right thing.”
His words are no comfort. “I lost everything. Silver that wasn’t even ours to lose.” What’s my sister going to think of me now that I’m broker than a lumberjack’s leg trapped under a fallen tree?
“Not everything,” Buff says, pointing to what’s left of his pile of silver. Maybe a hundred sickle. He was the smart one. He played it safe, didn’t take any big risks. “And you still got me as a friend.”
His words only make the loss hurt more. I don’t deserve him as a friend. I don’t deserve anyone. All I’m doing is bringing down pain on everyone I touch. “You should stay away from me,” I say.
Buff shakes his head. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he says. “We’re gonna get through this together. We’ll pay back every sickle.”
I feel numb. “How?”
A nasally voice chimes in. “You will pay back every sickle,” the redhead says. “And you’ll do it our way.”
“What the freeze is that supposed to—” I start to say.
“My boss has a job for you. Two months of it and we’ll call things square.”
“What kind of a job?” Buff asks.
“Now you’re working for the king,” she says.
~~~
“I got a job,” I announce proudly. I don’t men
tion that half of my pay will go to the Chance Hole, at least until I’ve paid off my debts. The funny thing is, I don’t even mind that part of it. I was two seconds away from being broke and jobless—now I’m just broke.
“I thought you already had a job,” Jolie says, cocking her head quizzically. It’s nice having my sister at home, even if she’s only allowed to stay until Wes and I leave. She can’t be alone with my mother.
“Ha! Dazz, having a job—you must be thinking of someone else, Joles,” Wes says with a laugh. My older brother stirs a mug of steaming tea for mother, who’s curled up on our bearskin rug.
I give Joles a look, hoping she’ll get the message to forget about what I said before. “Uh, that didn’t work out. But this one’s different.”
“Did Yo finally convince you to work behind the bar?” Wes says. He always tells me I spend so much time at the pub that I might as well get paid while I’m there. He helps mother to a sitting position and folds her hands around the mug.
I smile, anticipating the look on his face when I tell him who I’ll be working for. “Naw, nothing like that,” I say.
“Tell us,” Jolie says, resting her head on my shoulder.
“I don’t think Wes is interested, but I’ll tell you.” Jolie giggles, sticks her ear close to my mouth so I can tell just her.
“I’m. Working. For. The. King,” I whisper.
Joles pulls back, an awed expression flashing across her face. “Are you joking?” she asks. A fair question, considering how much I joke with her.
I tickle her, drawing a fresh set of giggles. “Stop, stop,” she cries, but I don’t listen, focusing on her stomach, which is her most ticklish spot. She’s squirming and laughing and yelling for me to stop. Finally, I relent and we both gasp for air.