Mardock Scramble

himself into the present gathering, preparing the way for Balot’s debut in society, taking on the role of entertainer while the shuffle was under way.

The shuffle was done thoroughly, so it took a surprisingly long time. Plenty of people took advantage of this lull in the action to cool off, maybe take a step back from the action, and new players would take their places. Or they would take a drink, or engage in friendly banter with the other players, or engage the dealer in conversation about their legendary exploits or the hand that got away. Rumors, scurrilous stories, tales of bankruptcy and ruin were all the currency in such situations.

With the demeanor of one who was used to utilizing the shuffle break effectively, the Doctor turned to the dealer. “Looks like we’re welcome here,” he said. “Deal us in, Marlowe.”

The dealer’s eyes snapped up to the Doctor. His all-seeing eyes were now focused on one point, as if he were trying to work something out.

“Have we met before, sir?” the dealer asked him, friendly, apologetic that he seemed to have forgotten. But behind the mask there was a trace of wariness. There were plenty of professional gamblers who worked out the individual habits of dealers and tried to exploit them.

The Doctor showed no sign of picking up on this, though. Instead, he said the dealer’s full name out loud, as if he was reminding himself, “Marlowe John Fever.”

The dealer nodded. The other punters looked at him, almost as if it had only just occurred to them for the first time that the dealer might have a name.

“No, I don’t believe we’ve met face-to-face before, Marlowe. But your reputation precedes you, sir! You come highly recommended by this girl’s father, who happens to be a poker buddy of mine.”

The Doctor named an obscure gene therapy patent company, indicating that he was a director there, and continued. “Your table is supposed to be the safest place to play a peaceful and enjoyable game. I wanted to see for myself. The conversation flows easily around you, they say, and your sharp eyes don’t permit any sort of card counting.”

At this point the monocled man ran his hands through his hair. Hmm—he seemed impressed. He had perked up at the mention of the phrase “card counting.”

But the Doctor had no more to say on this front. Instead: “I’ve taken my beloved niece under my wing for the day. I want her to experience a nice, clean game. And look, as I thought, isn’t he nice and handsome? Quite a dish, eh?” He turned to Balot for the last bit, but he was obviously teasing the dealer just as much for the benefit of the other players.

It would take more than that to ruffle the feathers of the dealer known as Marlowe, though. “Well, if there’s any part of the game that you’re unsure about then feel free to ask away, miss,” he told Balot coolly.

–Thank you. I will.

When Balot replied, the others at the table turned to look at her in surprise. Everyone except the dealer, who asked her, calmly as ever, “Your throat?”

“Yes, a car accident. Don’t worry, though, she can speak loud and clear using that thing. You won’t have any trouble understanding her,” said the Doctor.

The dealer nodded, and then, for the first time, stopped shuffling the cards.

“Do you know the hand signals for this game?”

In lieu of an answer, Balot lifted her left hand.

–Stay.

Palm down, hand waved from side to side.

–Hit.

She tapped the table with her index finger.

–Split.

Both index fingers, pulled apart from each other.

–Double down.

She mimed placing a chip on the designated cross on the green cloth that covered the table.

The dealer smiled kindly. It was a smile to reassure the other players. If it came down to it, she could play even if her voice didn’t work. She was glad that he didn’t make a big deal of her disability. It was only natural as far as the casino was concerned, of course; they wanted to make their customers feel as comfortable as possible. For a moment, though, Balot felt that maybe this man was as wonderful as the Doctor had made out.

As the dealer calmly went back to shuffling the cards, Balot suddenly felt some words from Oeufcoque appear in her left hand.

–Ask about card counting. Before the dealer finishes shuffling.

Balot was brought back down to earth with a jolt, taking her eyes off the dealer. She couldn’t afford to develop feelings for the man that was, for all practical purposes, her opponent—she had let down her guard, and it wouldn’t do. Gathering her wits about her, she tugged on the Doctor’s sleeve in a manner that she hoped came across as endearing.

–Um… Uncle?

She had—finally—gotten used to calling him that.

–What is “card counting”?

She asked the question in the most casual tone she could muster. The Doctor looked surprised, or rather the Doctor looked surprised.

“How on earth did a refined young lady such as you hear about such a thing?”

–You just mentioned it, Uncle.

The Doctor looked up to the ceiling as if he had just realized his grave error. “Hum…look, just don’t tell your father that you heard about such a thing from me, will you?”

–Okay. So what sort of rule is it?

“It’s not a rule, exactly.” The Doctor seemed to be searching for the right words. “Card counting is, well, it’s counting the cards. Remembering what’s come before. If you know what’s already gone, you have a better chance at guessing what comes next, right?”

–Wow! Sounds exciting! Will you show me how it’s done?

“Uh…erm…” the Doctor swallowed his tongue. The lady next to him burst into a giggling fit. The old man and the monocled man were both grinning at the scene unfolding in front of them. They knew all about card counting. How it wasn’t so much considered a tactic as it was a serious threat to the casino. “It’s only grubby little card sharps who try and use card counting to rip off the casino. Gambling is a game of luck and courage. It’s only cowards who don’t trust their luck who try such a thing. It’s not appropriate for a young lady like you.”

The Doctor was passionate in his lecture.

–Hmm.

Balot looked disappointed—bored, even. The doctor raised a finger and waggled it from side to side. “Casinos exist to be battled fair and square. Gambling is enjoyable precisely because you don’t know whether you are going to win or lose.” He pressed his point home.

Fair and square. Not remotely true, of course. The odds on most games were stacked firmly in the house’s favor. Still, Balot nodded, as if to say that she thought she understood.

–I still don’t understand why were you talking about card counting as if it was such a bad thing, though.

“Professional gamblers spoil all the fun for us proper players. The game is there to be enjoyed. In any case, how are you supposed to memorize all the cards in six decks of cards? It’s impossible for one person to do it—you’d need a whole gang of you on the case.

–But I thought you were good with numbers, Uncle?

“Sure, as long as I have a calculator at hand.”

The others around the table all laughed at this. This was better than a sitcom. Fun for all the family—and, indeed, it was starting to feel like a family gathering.

Thus it was that Balot and the Doctor accomplished their first task: to draw the others into their world, make them laugh, make them relax, lower their guards. Not to win big, not to steal all the money from the other players. But to win steadily. This was what casinos feared the most. Players who won and won, bit by bit, undermining their whole operation. Earthquakes had caused less damage to casinos.

This was the table, and the dealer, that the Doctor and Balot had been aiming for all along. None of their