In the last game he had drawn the Emperor and, despite a strong hand, had proceeded to ensure he lost: rather than consolidating power, he played into the hands of Heng's three Minister cards. Heng's rebellion had succeeded and Sergey had ended by losing a thousand yuan. He had seen the gleam in Heng's eyes as he noted down his winnings on the tab and knew that the time was ripe. Heng had won the last two games. He must feel he was on a winning streak. What better time, then, to up the stakes?
Sergey looked down, pretending not to see how Heng looked to his left at Tsang Yi, knowing what was to come.
‘Forgive me, ch'un tzu,' the Han began, getting to his feet and bowing, first to his friends, and then – his head barely inclined – to Sergey, ‘but I must go. My father...'
‘Of course,' Heng said smoothly, before Sergey could object. ‘We understand, don't we, Shih Novacek?'
We do, he thought, smiling inwardly, then watching as another of Heng's circle took Tsang's place at table.
‘I'll buy Tsang out,' the Han said, his eyes meeting Sergey's briefly, challengingly. Then, turning to Heng, he added, ‘But look, Chian-ye, why don't we make the game more... exciting?'
Heng laughed, acting as though he didn't understand his friend. ‘How so, Yi Shan-ch'i? Was that last game not exciting enough for you?'
Yi inclined his head slightly. ‘Forgive me, honourable cousin, but that is not what I meant. The game itself was good. As enjoyable to watch as I'm sure it was to play. But such a game needs an added bite, don't you think? If the stake were to be raised to ten thousand yuan a game...'
Heng laughed, then looked across at Sergey. ‘Maybe so. But let's ask our friend here. Well, Shih Novacek? What do you say? Would you like to raise the stakes, or are you happy as it is?'
It was delicately put. Almost too delicately, for it was phrased as if to let him back off without losing face. But things were not so simple. He was not one of them, even though he sat at their table. He was Yang kuei tzu. A foreign devil. A barbarian. He looked down, wrinkling up his face as if considering the matter, then looked up again.
‘Ten thousand yuan...&rsquoas theh="thei; He laughed nervously. ‘It's more than I've lost in a whole evening before now. Still... Yi Shan-ch'i is right. It would make the game more interesting.'
Heng looked to his two friends, then back at Sergey. ‘I would not like to pressure you...'
‘No.' Sergey shook his head firmly, as if he had made up his mind and was now determined on it. ‘Ten thousand yuan it is. For good or ill.'
He sat back, watching Yi deal. As ever Heng picked up each card as it was dealt, his face an eloquent map of his fortunes. For his own part, Sergey waited until all seventeen cards were lain face down before him, watching the other two sort their cards before he picked up his own.
As he sorted his hand he thought back to the last time he had played Heng. The object of Chou was straightforward and could be expressed quite simply: it was to hold the most points in one's hand at the end of the final play. To do so, however, one had not only to strengthen one's own hand but to weaken one's opponents. The game's complex system of discards and exchanges, blind draws and open challenges was designed to simulate this aspect of political life; to counterfeit the sticky web of intrigue that underpinned it all. Heng played, however, as if he barely understood this aspect of the game. As if only the relative levels of the cards – their positive attributes – mattered to him. He sought to cram his hand full of high-scoring cards and bonus combinations – Ministers and Family Heads and Generals – failing, like so many of his kind, to understand the other side of things: the powerfully destructive potential of Concubines and Sons.
In Chou the value of a card did not always express its significance in the scheme of things. So it was with Concubines. At the end of the game they were worth only eight points – fifty-six points less than a Family Head and one hundred and twenty points less than a Minister. Unless...
Unless the Emperor were without a Wife. In which case, the Concubine took on its negative aspect, cancelling out not only its own value but the two hundred and fifty-six points that the Emperor would otherwise score.
Likewise with the Sons. While they scored only four a piece at the final count, in the company of their respective mothers they became a liability, cancelling out not merely their own value but that of any Minister held.
The skilful player sought, therefore, to pair Wives with Sons and hold back Wives from those who held the Emperor and then, at the last throw, to offload their pairings and Concubines in an exchange of hostages. To win by undermining their opponents.
Sergey smiled, noting that he had both Concubines in his hand. Well, good. This time he would keep them. Would make it seem he had drawn them late in the play, before he could offload them on another.
A half-hour later he had lost.
‘Another game, ch'un tzu?' Heng asked, jotting down Yi's victory on the tab. Sergey glanced across. He was eleven thousand down, Chan nine, Heng eight. Yi, who had taken on Tsang's deficit of two thousand, was now twenty-eight thousand up.
Heng dealt this time. ‘Has anyone the Emperor?' he asked, having sorted out his own hand.
Sergey laid it down before him, then reached across to take another card from the pile. Having the Emperor made one strong. But it also made one vulnerable – to Concubines and the scheming Sons of Wives.
Again he smiled. He had a good hand – no, an excellent hand. Three Wives and Three Ministers and there, at the far left of his hand, one of the Concubines. The tiny, doe-eyed one.
He looked down, momentarily abstracted from the gamg aelliecthad a e, thinking back to earlier that evening and to the row with Catherine. He had shut it out before, but now it came back to him. It had been his fault. He could see that now. But why did she always have to provoke him so? Why couldn't she be more like the other women he knew? He felt a mild irritation at her behaviour. Why did she always have to be so stubborn? Didn't she know what it did to him? And all that business with the ‘technician'. Shepherd. Why had she done that, if not to spite him? She knew how jealous he was. Why couldn't she be a bit more compliant? Then again, he liked her spirit. So different from Lotte and her kind.
He laughed softly, conscious of the contradiction.
‘You have a good hand, Shih Novacek?' Heng asked, smiling tightly at him, misunderstanding the cause of his laughter.
‘I think so, Heng Chian-ye,' he answered, leaning forward to place two of the Ministers face down on to the discard pile. ‘I think so.'
Two hours later he was sixty-one thousand down. He wasn't the only one down, of course. Chan had a deficit of nineteen thousand marked against his name. But Yi was eighteen thousand up, and Heng, who had won three of the last four games, was sixty-two thousand in credit.
It had gone perfectly. Exactly as he'd planned. He looked across. Heng Chian-ye was smiling broadly. In the last hour Heng had begun to drink quite heavily, as if to buoy up his nerves. He had drunk so much, in fact, that he had almost made a simple mistake, discarding the wrong card. An error that could have lost him everything. Only Yi's quick action had prevented it – an intercession Sergey had pretended not to see.
Now, then, was the time. While Heng was at the height of his pride. But it must come from Heng. In such company as this it must seem that it was not he, but Heng, who raised the stakes a second time.
In the last hour a small crowd had gathered about the table, intrigued by the sight of a Hung Mao playing Chou in The Jade Peony. Sergey had noted how a ripple of satisfaction had gone through the watchers on each occasion he had lost and had felt something harden deep inside him. Well, now he would show them.
He leaned back in his seat, pretending to stifle a yawn. ‘I'm tired,' he said. ‘Too many late nights, I guess.' He smiled across at Heng. ‘Maybe I should stop now, while I've any of my fortune left.'
Heng glanced across at his friends, then looked back at him. ‘You mean to leave us soon, Shih Novacek?'
He straightened up and took a deep breath, as if trying to sober up. ‘Fairly soon...'
‘Your luck must change...'
‘Must it?' He laughed harshly, then seemed to relent. ‘Well, maybe...'
‘In which case...' Heng looked about him, then leaned towards Sergey again. ‘Maybe you'd like the chance to win your money back, eh, my friend? One game. Just you and I. For sixty-one thousand.'
Sergey looked down. Then, surprisingly, he shook his head. ‘I wouldn't hear of it. Even if I won, well, it would be as if we hadn't played.' He looked up, meeting Heng's eyes. ‘No, my friend. There must be winners and losers in this world of ours, neh? If we are to play, let it be for... seventy-five thousand. That way I at least have a small chance of coming out ahead.'
Heng smiled and his eyes travelled quickly to his friends again. There was an expectant hush now about the table.
‘Make it a hundred...'
He made a mime of considering the matter, then shrugged. ‘All right. So be it.' He turned, summon toe smsqutaning a waiter. ‘Bring me a coffee. Black, two sugars. I might need my wits about me this time.'