Martin Scott - Thraxas Under Siege (ARC)

"Deputy Consul, surely you cannot be serious! Horm the Dead coming here? To play cards?"

It's Praetor Capatius. He's just heard the news and he's not pleased. General Acarius joins in, declaring that he's deeply shocked.

"What is the reason for this?" demands the General.

Cicerius won't say. He simply informs the gathering that it's for important reasons of state. It's part of our bargain with Horm that the other players mustn't know what's going on. Otherwise Horm might suspect that they were ganging up on him. It's reasonable. In his position, I'd have expected the same.

"This is intolerable," cries Capatius. "No decent man could put up with the company of that foul Orc."

"Why look," cries Glixius. "There he is now, standing beside Thraxas."

Every eye turns towards us. I take a hasty step to the side.

"Thraxas has bought him a glass of klee!" cries Praetor Capatius. "Cicerius, is the Investigator blackmailing you somehow? Tell us the truth and we'll throw him from the city walls."

"Silence," barks Cicerius. "Horm the Dead is not blackmailing me. I have allowed him to play for reasons which I cannot explain. Suffice to say it is important for the welfare of the city."

There are a lot of angry and suspicious looks as I walk towards the card table, followed all too closely by Horm.

"Are you telling us that Horm's presence has nothing to do with Thraxas?" demands Glixius.

Cicerius is slightly troubled. He hesitates, and naturally everyone notices. By the time I reach the card table it's firmly fixed in every mind that I've brought Horm the Dead to the Avenging Axe for reasons of my own, no doubt as the first part of a traitorous attempt to sell out the city.

I can sense the Sorcerers at the nearby table expending all their energies in checking around them for unexpected Orcish sorcery, probing the air for spells, and all the while wondering if there is some way of removing the Ocean Storm from Horm. Horm no doubt senses it too, but remains calm. He greets everyone at the table quite politely, and sits in the vacant chair.

"Are we ready to begin?" he asks.

There's a long pause, and a few uneasy expressions around the table. Finally General Acarius speaks.

"Who is dealing the cards?"

We don't have a designated dealer at our games at the Axe.

"We usually just deal ourselves," says Grax.

"I think a dealer might be better, in the circumstances," says the General.

"I assure you, I have no intention of cheating," says Horm, smoothly.

"I wasn't referring to you," growls the General, and looks straight in my direction.

"Yes," says Glixius, also looking in my direction. "A dealer might be better. There are some players whom one can never trust not to manipulate the cards in their favour."

"Are you calling me a cheat!" I roar, rising to my feet.

"I wouldn't dream of it," says Glixius. "Although it has struck me as odd before now how every time Horm the Dead troubles our city, you're involved in it somehow."

"Gentlemen, stop this," roars Cicerius. "The game must proceed. Try and act like civilised Turanians. Glixius, I assure you that Thraxas's continual involvement with Horm the Dead is nothing more than coincidence."

There seem to be a lot of eyes turned in my direction. I get the impression they're judging how many men it will take to throw me from the city walls. Quite a few, probably, though I have lost a pound or two since the yam shortage began.

"Who will deal?" says Cicerius, looking round.

Moolifi rises to her feet.

"I'll do it," she says. "I've dealt a lot of cards in my time."

I doubt if the music-hall singer would be Cicerius's first choice, but he's keen to get things underway. He nods, and asks if anyone has any objections. No one has, so Moolifi takes a seat at the table and picks up the cards. We're finally ready to play.

Chapter Twenty

There are several varieties of rak. Tonight we're playing palace rak, with the standard pack of forty-eight cards. Four suits, black, red, green and blue, cards numbered 1 to 8 followed by bishop, queen, king and dragon. Two cards are dealt to each player and if you like what you've got you make a bet. You get dealt another card and you can bet again. When your fourth and last card is dealt, if you still like what you've got, you can keep on betting. The highest hand you can have is four dragons. It doesn't happen that often.

The first two cards Moolifi deals me are a green three and a red eight. It's a poor start and I fold immediately. The next five hands are no better and I don't place a single bet. I'm not averse to bluffing when necessary, in fact I'm a master of the art, but I generally don't like to do it too soon.

There isn't a lot of action from anyone in the early hands. Everyone is treading cautiously. There's a long way to go and no one wants to find themselves financially crippled after only a few rounds. I sip my beer and study my opponents, looking, as always, for some telltale signs that might give me a clue as to their play.

Moolifi deals the cards quickly and skilfully. She seems to have dressed up a little for the occasion. She's wearing a long dress of dark red material, quite eyecatching in its way. It leaves her arms bare and I notice that though her limbs are slender, she's quite taut and muscled, rather like Makri. She's not soft, Moolifi. I'd guess she can take care of herself. As she deals out the next hand we're suddenly interrupted by a fit of coughing. Old Grax the wine merchant splutters violently then slumps in his chair, perspiration running down his forehead. Praetor Capatius, sitting next to him, draws himself back quite suddenly.

"He's got the malady!"

I'm already on my feet.

"No need to panic," I say. "There's a lot of it around."

I help Grax out of his chair. Makri comes to assist and we carry him back to the store room behind the bar, while Dandelion looks on with concern.

"You have more medicine?"

Dandelion nods. We're so used to this now that we take it in our stride. Grax is a tough old customer. A few days' rest and a good dose of the medicine and I've no doubt he'll be back on his feet.

Before I return to the table I draw Makri to one side and whisper in her ear.

"Moolifi is not quite what she says she is."

"What?"

"There's something not right about her. I don't believe a Niojan chorus girl would be so good with a pack of cards."

Makri looks puzzled.

"Why not?"

"Just a feeling. I wonder if she might be a Niojan spy."

"So what do you want to do?" says Makri.

"I don't know. Nothing, probably. I'm just mentioning it in case anything happens."

Makri nods, and I return to the table and retake my chair. There are a few polite enquiries over Grax's health.

"He'll be fine. There's a healer giving him some medicine right now."

No one is really that concerned. It would be unlucky to have a player actually die at the table, but apart from that, everyone is keen to get on with the game. Matters proceed quietly enough apart from a brief moment of excitement when Ravenius takes a large pot, beating Casax's three dragons with four sixes. Casax loses a lot on the hand but, like the cool gambler he is, he masks his disappointment.

So far Moolifi has dealt me nothing worth gambling on. It means I haven't made any serious losses but I haven't been able to get into the game either. I'm just starting to feel slightly twitchy when she sends me two queens in the first deal, giving me some hope that I might finally be on to something. When everyone has their first two cards, Glixius pushes thirty gurans into the centre of the table. The bet is covered by Ravenius. I slide thirty gurans across too. Acarius and Capatius do likewise. I sip my beer.

When the third card arrives it's another queen. I now have three queens and that's a good hand. I take a brief look at the archaically dressed ladies on the cards, put them back face down in front of me, and wait for Glixius to make his bet. He slides a hundred gurans across the table. I'm next to bet.