Ice Country(11)

“Minimum advance is one hundred,” she says flatly.

“Make it two hundred,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Buff nudges me, his eyes wide and green again. I shrug. Just go with it, I mouth.

Nostril-voice counts out the coins and hands them to me. “Welcome to the Hole. May you have bad luck,” she says, smirking. I hope she says that to all the customers, but I have a feeling she brought it out special just for us.

I lead the way, skating between the tables like I belong, even though inside of me Looza’s stew is sloshing and churning, like even it knows we’re doing something we shouldn’t. The slap of cards is like a hammer to the back of my head, which starts to ache again.

Every table appears to be full, except one, which has two chairs pulled out at an angle, as if whoever vacated them left in a hurry. One of them was probably the nervous-looking bald guy’s. They’re still playing, but the game almost seems friendly, as if they’re just having a bit of fun, without care as to whether they win or lose. Seems like our kind of table.

I approach, ducking my head to draw one of the gambler’s eyes. A round-faced guy with double-pierced ears looks up at me with a smile broader than Looza’s hips. His eyes are blue and twinkling with red flecks under the lantern light. “Hey, kid. You want in?” His tone is light and friendly. We’re just here to enjoy each other’s company, it seems to say.

“Sure, thanks,” I say, feeling more and more at ease. It almost feels like the cards we normally play back in the Brown District. Only we’ve got a hundred sickles each that aren’t ours to play with. “Mind if my buddy joins, too?” I ask, motioning to Buff.

“The more the merrier,” he says.

I give Buff a hundred sickles from the advance, and keep the same for myself. That should be plenny to get us started. Sliding into a seat, I watch Buff do the same. He looks less pale than before, as if he’s settling into things, too. We watch as the players finish out their hand, tossing in bets of a few sickles each, and laughing when the merry-eyed guy with the big smile wins a nice pot of perhaps forty sickles when he shows double boulders.

A friendly game amongst friends. The others at the table appear equally easygoing. On my left is the guy who invited us to play, and on my right is a thin, clean-shaven guy with a long face that almost touches the table. He’s got at least two hundred sickles piled up in front of him, perhaps double what I’ve got. On either side of Buff are twins, each with jet-black hair and knit caps that they’ve kept on despite the relative heat of the crowded cellar. They’re all quick to smile and don’t seem to mind parting with their silver if it means one of their buddies wins.

“Ante’s five sickles,” Pierced-Ears announces.

Buff and I grab a five-sickle piece each and toss it in the center of the table. The other four do the same. Excitement builds in my chest at the prospect of winning even the ante, which is five times the normal one-sickle ante I’m used to. Twin-Number-One deals, two cards each, facedown. I’m feeling more and more at home. This is my element. I’ve been playing boulders-’n-avalanches since I was old enough to understand the rules. I’ve always been good at it. This is just like any other game.

I peek at my cards. Twin boulders! What are the chances? I think. I do my best to hide my excitement behind a blank stare, but my heart’s beating so hard I swear the others can hear it. Pierced-Ears takes a look at his cards and rolls his eyes, tosses them in the middle. “I’m out,” he says. A small stone and a minor tree branch. He was smart to fold. No chance of winning with cards like that.

Twin-Number-One dealt, so it’s Buff’s turn to bet. He glances at me but I can’t read him. Glances back at his cards. “Five sickles,” he says, tossing in another coin. There’s no way he’s got my hand beat, but it doesn’t really matter. Me taking his money is as good as him keeping it. We’ll split all the winnings anyway. Twin-Number-Two nods and tosses in some silver. Long-Face chews on his lip and then does the same.

My bet. I’ve got to play this one slow, or they’ll know right away I’ve got something good. I toss in the minimum required to stay in the hand, five sickles. We skip Pierced-Ears since he’s out. Twin-Number-One throws his cards in the middle, facedown. Another one out.

It’s time to show the first of the draw cards. An arrow. No impact on my hand, which is already very strong. Unless someone else has twin arrows, I’m probably still winning.

Back to Buff. He passes, lets the bet go to the twin on his left. The twin places his cards on the table, stretches his arms over his head, and then throws in two large coins. Twenny sickles. Already the pot is heating up and I’m starting to worry the remaining twin does have something good, like two arrows, which would leave him with a triplet, automatically beating my twins. Across the table, Buff’s eyes widen.