Mardock Scramble полностью

Balot scowled conspicuously and pointed toward the new card as if it were an unwelcome interloper.

–What a shame! I didn’t think this would happen, Uncle. The pictures are all out of whack—they don’t match at all!

“Do you know what? I think you’re right about what you said earlier about not changing the pattern. You really do show talent as a budding artist.”

–I like to think so, Uncle.

The two of them prattled on, a truly inane conversation. Pointless. But the dealer tried to find what meaning he could in it. He looked from one face to another, trying to break down the illusion.

Balot popped her head up.

–Stay.

Obviously. She hardly needed to say it, yet the dealer reacted as if he was momentarily surprised by Balot’s decision. He nodded and flipped over his own card. A face card, value ten. His total was twenty. Balot had won.

The dealer paid out Balot’s winnings, but she left them to one side, apparently uninterested—disappointed, even—in her victory. In fact she had won twice over: once because of the hand and again because she had successfully thrown the dealer off balance. But she kept this all to herself.

From this point onward Balot said whatever came to her mind as the cards were dealt, anything to put the dealer off the scent—and draw him further in at the same time.

Balot said,

–The cards are like a flock of birds in flight. I want to help them fly away to freedom.

Balot said,

–The cards seem a little jagged at the corners. I hope I’ll be able to smooth out their rough edges a bit.

Balot said,

–They seem a little soft—but maybe they’re exactly right just as they are.

And then, –Still, I’m going to hit. And then, –Because of that, I should stay, I think. And then, –Even so, I’d like to hit, please.

Balot could hardly work out whether she was coming or going herself. Let alone the dealer.

The Doctor supported her act as best he could, occasionally turning to the dealer with a face that said I’ve no idea what she’s going on about either, but let’s humor her.

–The dealer’s doing a pretty good job of keeping his cool so far, but even he won’t be able to keep it up much longer.

Oeufcoque seemed mildly amused by his own mischief. He brought up the true count on Balot’s hand, thoroughly and accurately.

–He thinks he has you worked out—what sort of personality you are. He has you down as a proper little spoiled princess, someone who doesn’t even have to ask before she gets. So he’s working out how to give it to you—his head’s full of just how he’s going to do that.

Balot shrugged her shoulders. She started to appreciate just how powerful a force misdirection was.

Basically, this dealer was exceedingly proud of the fact that he could read any customer like a book—or so he thought.

In other words, the dealer knew that however irrationally the customer seemed to be acting, there was always a reason behind their behavior, whether it was conscious or subconscious.

Despite his brave face, though, all the dealer had to go on at this point was the fact that Balot had suddenly gone from being more or less mute to a real chatterbox. Balot could feel his breathing rhythms start to sway, and even if Oeufcoque hadn’t been there to guide her she would have been able to work out exactly when to interject, to prod him, for maximum effect, throwing him further and further off his guard without his even realizing it.

–Looks like clubs are my lucky suit. They’re always there for me when I need them the most.

The Doctor nodded in agreement, showing he was in full sympathy with his “niece’s” line of thinking. “Oh, yes, it’s most important to discover your special suit. It’s a well-known fact that a particular suit can act as a mirror for your soul.”

At this point Balot had no clubs in her hand. Only the dealer’s upcard was a club.

Balot was presumably going to sit tight and wait, hoping for the dealer to bust. But no. The second after the Doctor said he would stay,

–Hit.