hands that came before them. They were all interconnected.
The losses—and the winnings—would always remain, after all…
The dealer said something to Balot. Consoling her, perhaps. Then he carried on dealing the cards.
The point tally moved from plus six to plus ten, up to plus fourteen, then back down to plus twelve.
Then Balot felt it again. Like a shadow in the distance, she could just sense its contours taking shape.
Balot checked what the maximum amount was she was allowed to bet, according to Oeufcoque’s bankroll management system. Then she bet the maximum amount. The basic unit was three hundred dollars, so the upper limit was ten times that, three thousand dollars. She piled a number of chips together so that she held this total in her hand, then laid it on the table.
The lady flinched visibly. The dealer, by contrast, showed no outward sign of interest—as was only appropriate for a dealer of his rank and training.
The Doctor whistled appreciatively, and Balot awaited her next hand from behind her three thousand dollar fortress.
The lady and the Doctor were each dealt a 10. The point tally moved from plus twelve to plus ten.
Balot was dealt a 5. This added two points to the tally, bringing it back up to plus twelve.
The point tally continued to rise as she waited for her second card.
Balot’s second card was finally dealt: another 5.
The point tally stood at plus seventeen, and the dealer’s upcard was a 2.
The lady hit, drew an 8, bust.
The Doctor hit. He had a sixteen, drew a 2, and chose to stay.
The point tally was now plus nineteen—the highest it had been since Balot had started counting the cards. Balot’s cards were 5 and 5, a total of ten.
The dealer turned to Balot. Balot called.
The dealer’s eyes narrowed. The lady was stunned. Balot was in fact playing by the book—it was the only sensible move, given her hand and that of the dealer’s. Still, the amount at stake was far above her previous hands… Balot struggled for a moment and had to force herself to physically pile the chips up.
The dealer stared at the pile now on the table in front of Balot—six thousand dollars’ worth of chips. Staked it out, like a hunter his quarry. Mouth watering at the prospect of the sweet, sweet flesh that was being served up to him on a plate. His hand slid over to the card shoe. No sign of foul play—he didn’t appear to be dishing out a pre- prepared dud card from the bottom of the deck.
The card came. For the first time since the game began, Balot actually noticed the suit of the card. It was the queen of clubs. It took her total up to twenty.
Without further ado the dealer flipped his own card over. Ace of clubs. With his existing 2, the dealer’s total was now thirteen.
He hit again, as prescribed by the rules. It was a 10. The ace in his hand would now be counted as a soft card, its value falling from eleven to one in order to prevent the dealer from going bust. His total now changed to a soft thirteen.
The dealer’s fourth card would prove decisive.
Balot had gone with the flow. It was the only choice she could have made, really. And yet all it would have taken was for the cards to have shifted slightly, one way or another, and she would have been beaten.
As it was, she’d won.
“Wow! What a hand! Is my little niece secretly a magician or something?” The Doctor made a great fuss over Balot’s victory—the perfect smokescreen.
Balot lifted her head toward him.
Balot did everything she could to imitate the mannerisms of the lady, and indeed this served perfectly to throw the dealer off the scent. After all, hadn’t he just influenced the lady to play recklessly? The lady was even more impressed when the dealer pushed over the two piles of six thousand dollars toward Balot: the original stake and the winnings. The lady was caught up in the moment completely now and practically threw her next lot of chips at the table. She was betting in increments of a thousand dollars at a time. And if she truly thought that her moment had come, that victory was
The dealer said, “Lady Luck seems to be playing a fickle game tonight, madam. I have a feeling that the person who invests the most in their cards is likely to come out on top in the end.”
The dealer said, “Everyone wants to be in a good position to take advantage of their lucky streak when it comes. Be sure not to let yours slip from your fingers.”
The dealer said, “Victory is such a subjective concept. Everyone should set their own definition of ‘victory,’ and aim always for that.”
The lady, in turn, would throw back questions at the dealer, only to have them answered in the dealer’s smooth, inimitable way.
“Do you think I’m playing in a way that’s keeping my lucky streak at bay?”
“It’s difficult to say, madam, as only you know for sure exactly how far away you are from being able to ride your own lucky streak. It’s like being with a lover—only you can know how close you really are to them.”
“Ah, yes. Like when you only realize your true feelings for them after you’ve left them and the moment has passed.”
“Exactly, madam. And, forgive me for saying so, but it seems that as a woman of the world, you’re experienced enough to know your own feelings.”
Even as the dealer was replying, the lady had another fistful of chips in her chubby hands, ready to continue.
Oeufcoque’s tone of voice was that of a professional athlete praising the winner at a junior sports day.
