Mardock Scramble

conversation had been wasted.

Before long the dealer finished the shuffle, and the comedy show drew to a natural close.

“Please place this marker wherever you like in the pack of cards,” said the dealer, handing a transparent red card to Balot. It was the last step in the shuffle. He had chosen Balot for the task as he knew this would meet with the approval of the whole table. Balot did as she was asked and placed the marker somewhere in the middle of the pile.

The dealer cut the cards again, so that the red marker was now in the final thirty or so of the 312 cards. When during the course of play the cards reached the red marker it would be game over and time to reshuffle. This was a measure taken by the casino to give the appearance of fairness—after all, it was one of the players who got to decide where the marker was placed. More importantly, though, it protected the casino from card counting—even if a player had somehow managed to memorize all the cards, they wouldn’t have the opportunity to use this to their advantage at the tail end of the deck.

There were 312 cards in all. They were all placed in the card shoe, and the lid placed on top.

The dealer placed his hand on the first card and looked around at the players.

All conversation had stopped. The only sound to break the silence was the clatter of chips as they were placed on the table. The atmosphere was at once both calm and fevered. Balot gripped her chips tightly in her hands and then, when she was ready, placed them down on the table in front of her. They made a satisfying click as they landed.

The game was about to begin.

Book III:

THE THIRD EXHAUST

Chapter 9

CRANK SHAFT

01

To survive—that was what Balot thought in response to the cards that were dealt to her.

She had no intention of being killed a second time without putting up some resistance. Instead she was here so that she could grasp her enemy’s heart in her hand, and in order to do that she had to stay in the game at all costs. She had to survive the game that the man called Shell had drawn her into. She had to make the game her own and solve her case.

Blackjack—that was the name of this, the last game in the casino.

The dealer dealt the cards, starting from the right. The first card Balot was dealt was the queen of clubs. Worth ten points, a good card, a useful card. The suit was irrelevant in this game.

–Wow, clubs really are your suit. They helped you win at poker too, didn’t they? Oeufcoque’s words floated up inside the glove covering her left hand.

–Is this a good omen, do you think?

–Well, it’s not a bad one.

Oeufcoque said this to calm Balot down, to make her feel better. Balot clung to these words, clasping her hands together as if in prayer, and watched as the dealer’s upcard was revealed. Unfortunately, it was the ace of clubs.

–How’s that not bad?

She couldn’t stop herself. Inside her gloves, though, Oeufcoque just shrugged, she thought.

Then Balot’s second card was dealt to her. Another club. But a 6 this time. Her total was now sixteen.

Her eyes flew involuntarily to the dealer’s second card. The card that faced down, next to the ace.

She heard the voice of the monocled man who sat at the far right of the table, bold and resolute, calling for another card—hit.

Balot was about to look toward him, but Oeufcoque quickly stopped her.

–You don’t need to worry about other people’s cards just yet.

Balot looked down at her cards. The problem wasn’t the cards but Balot herself. Suddenly her heart started racing. What if she got it wrong? For the first time since she had entered the casino, Balot felt nervous. She tried to remember what sort of number sixteen was, but found that she couldn’t. What had the Doctor said to her again? Was it a good number or a bad number?

She heard the monocled man calling stay. The old man stayed too.

The woman hit—then paused a moment before staying.

“Hit.” The Doctor’s voice, right next to her. Her heart skipped a beat. It took every ounce of her self-control not to look at the Doctor’s cards. Her heart pounded hard, and she was in turmoil. A veritable earthquake.

“Stay,” said the Doctor. He was going to weather this one out.

Balot raised her head. Her eyes met the dealer’s. She was sucked in completely.

–Hit.

The dealer dealt her third card in a well-rehearsed move, turning the card over in front of her with machinelike precision. Jack of spades. She felt like she had been stabbed by the spade itself.

“Bust.” The dealer reported the outcome as everything was swept away. Her cards and her chips, all gone in an instant. And with it, the game, at least for this round. The dealer collected them all and deposited them in their designated places, then turned his hidden card over.

It was a 7. According to the rules, this made a soft eighteen—the ace and the 7. This meant that Balot would have lost regardless of whether she stayed or hit. So hitting might have been the right decision after all.

Or was it?

She heard a humming sound. It was the monocled man. Had Balot not called just then, the one-eyed jack— jack of spades—would have come to him. Tough luck.

In blackjack, where you chose to sit—and whom you chose to sit next to—could end up influencing your game considerably. Someone who drew cards needlessly could spoil things for everyone else and in particular the players right next to you—Balot remembered the Doctor telling her something like this. This factor worked in the dealer’s favor.

And yet a moment ago she hadn’t been able to remember anything. Balot reproached herself.

The dealer divided up the winners and the losers in much same way you would sort through the contents of your pockets—things you needed, things you didn’t. This time it was the Doctor and the old man who had won. Their money doubled.

–Let’s move on to the first step of our plan, Oeufcoque said as if the preceding game had never happened.

–What was I supposed to do back there? Did I make the right move?

–The first thing you need to do is be able to work out the answer to that question for