Mardock Scramble полностью

–The man at the end is completely under the dealer’s spell. Whether or not the other players start copying the man’s style of play, at the very least his game is likely to leave a lasting impression. The seeds of influence are planted, and all the dealer has to do now is cultivate them, make them grow.

–How?

–Why don’t you and I play a little game?

Balot’s eyes widened. In another world, it had become Balot’s turn at blackjack.

–Stay.

The dealer then proceeded to reveal his hidden card. A 7. Total eleven.

He drew once more, bringing his total to eighteen.

Balot’s chips were taken in by the house again, but the focus of her interest had shifted elsewhere.

–What sort of game?

–From now on a player will leave the table at every new shuffle. Let’s try and guess which one.

–Leave the table? How can you know a thing like that?

–There’s less than an hour to go before this dealer moves on. He’s worked hard to bring the punters here under his spell and doesn’t want another dealer taking over and reaping the benefit.

Oeufcoque spoke as if the dealer was a big game hunter on the trail of his trophy beasts.

–But what about if someone else comes and joins the table?

–Unlikely at this point. Certainly the dealer isn’t expecting it.

–Why not?

–Since we arrived at this table the dealer stopped looking out at his surroundings. He’s been deliberately cultivating the impression that this is a close-knit table of friends all playing together—a closed shop to outsiders.

Balot didn’t ask him how he knew all this. As far as she was concerned her hands were cocooned in a pair of magic gloves, founts of infinite knowledge and wisdom. Balot just sat there, deeply impressed.

–Why only one at a time, though?

–Everyone breathes differently, with different rhythms. If the dealer wants to be certain, that’s what happens. This dealer intends to pluck the players at his table one by one, thoroughly emptying their pockets.

She hadn’t really noticed until now, but Balot’s two cards had come. Jack and king, total twenty. She didn’t need to look at the upcard to know what her move would be. Balot more or less ignored her own cards and turned her attention to the other players instead.

–The woman.

That was Balot’s guess. The monocled man might have been losing heavily, but she didn’t think he was the type to give up that easily. The old man was playing steadily and going nowhere in a hurry. If he did move, it would be on the lady’s orders, to accompany her, probably. And if anyone was going to be the first to leave it would probably be that fat lady; she was betting extravagantly, losing heavily. Even if she wanted to stay on, it wouldn’t be too long before she ran out of chips, surely?

–Fine. So if the woman is the one to stand at the next shuffle, you win.

–Why, who do you think it’ll be?

It was Balot’s turn. The dealer was smiling at her, patiently waiting for her to call. It was a gentle smile, inviting. Doing her best to fight it, she calmly called out her intention to stay.

The result of the hand was that Balot was the only winner. The monocled man, red-faced, called a waiter over and snatched a glass of gin off his tray, gulping it down to try and cool off in the face of the heat of the battle.

–The man on the right.

Balot was a little surprised at Oeufcoque’s answer—the monocled man seemed so into the game after all.

–Anyhow, let’s enjoy the game as it unfolds and pray that no one else joins the table.