[Thrawn Trilogy] - 01(90)

Han met his gaze evenly. “I’ll meet anything you’ve got.”

Torve nodded slowly. “I may just take you up on it.”

“This is all very interesting, I’m sure,” one of the other players spoke up. “Some of us would like to play cards, though.”

Torve raised his eyebrows at Han. “The bet’s at four,” he invited.

Han glanced at his cards: the Mistress of Staves and the four of Coins. “Sure,” he said, lifting six chips from his stack and dropping them into the hand pot. “I’ll see the four, and raise you two.” There was a rustle of air behind him-

“Cheater!” a deep voice bellowed in his ear.

Han jumped and spun around, reaching reflexively toward his blaster, but even as he did so a large hand shot over his shoulder to snatch the two cards from his other hand. “You are a cheater, sir,” the voice bellowed again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Han said, craning his neck up to get a look at his assailant.

He was almost sorry he had. Towering over him like a bushy-bearded thundercloud twice his own size, the man was glaring down at him with an expression that could only be described as enflamed with religious fervor. “You know full well what I’m talking about,” the man said, biting out each word. “This card-” he waved one of Han’s cards “-is a skifter.”

Han blinked. “It is not,” he protested. A crowd was rapidly gathering around the table: casino security and other employees, curious onlookers, and probably a few who were hoping to see a little blood. “It’s the same card I was dealt.”

“Oh, is it?” The man cupped the card in one massive hand, held it in front of Han’s face, and touched the corner with a fingertip.

The Mistress of Staves abruptly became the six of Sabres. The man tapped the corner again and it became the Moderation face card. And then the eight of Flasks … and then the Idiot face card … and then the Commander of Coins …

“That’s the card I was dealt,” Han repeated, feeling sweat starting to collect under his collar. So much, indeed, for keeping a low profile. “If it’s a skifter, it’s not my fault.”

A short man with a hard-bitten face elbowed past the bearded man. “Keep your hands on the table,” he ordered Han in a voice that matched his face. “Move aside, Reverend-we’ll handle this.”

Reverend? Han looked up at the glowering thundercloud again, and this time he saw the black, crystal-embedded band nestled against the tufts of hair at the other’s throat. “Reverend, huh?” he said with a sinking feeling. There were extreme religious groups all over the galaxy, he’d found, whose main passion in life seemed to be the elimination of all forms of gambling. And all forms of gamblers.

“Hands on the table, I said,” the security man snapped, reaching over to pluck the suspect card from the Reverend’s hand. He glanced at it, tried it himself, and nodded. “Cute skifter, con,” he said, giving Han what was probably his best scowl.

“He must have palmed the card he was dealt,” the Reverend put in. He hadn’t budged from his place at Han’s side. “Where is it, cheater?”

“The card I was dealt is right there in your friend’s hand,” Han snapped back. “I don’t need a skifter to win at sabacc. If I had one, it’s because it was dealt to me.”

“Oh, really?” Without warning, the Reverend abruptly turned to face the pudgy sabacc dealer, still sitting at the table but almost lost in the hovering crowd. “Your cards, sir, if you don’t mind,” he said, holding out his hand.

The other’s jaw dropped. “What are you talking about? Why would I give someone else a skifter? Anyway, it’s a house deck-see?”

“Well, there’s one way to be sure, isn’t there?” the Reverend said, reaching over to scoop up the deck. “And then you-and you-” he leveled fingers at the dealer and Han “-can be scanned to see who’s hiding an extra card. I dare say that would settle the issue, wouldn’t you, Kampl?” he added, looking down at the scowling security man.

“Don’t tell us our job, Reverend,” Kampl growled. “Cyru-get that scanner over here, will you?”

The scanner was a small palm-fitting job, obviously designed for surreptitious operation. “That one first,” Kampl ordered, pointing at Han.

“Right.” Expertly, the other circled Han with the instrument. “Nothing.”

The first touch of uncertainty cracked through Kampl’s scowl. “Try it again.”