Ice Country(12)

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.