"Earl?"
Dumarest looked at his money. "I'll raise," he said. "All of it. Table stakes, right?"
"No limit, Earl, that was what we agreed."
From the circle of watchers a man growled, "What the hell, Sonef, aren't you ever satisfied? You trying to buy the pot or what?"
Draw poker, no limit. A man with enough money would always win because he could put down more than his opponent could match. A risk Dumarest had taken, one lessened now that Lekard had dropped out. He could match the other's bet, but after? He knew what would happen after.
"Table stakes," said another man from among the watchers. "We always play that way. No limit, but you can't beat a man into the ground. I say meet his pile, draw, and show."
"You're not playing," snapped the gambler. "So you just shut your mouth. Earl, if you want I'll accept your paper. Good enough?"
I.O.U's which would carry a high rate of interest. Registered with the company cashier, Dumarest would be working for the gambler until the debt was paid. Again he pretended to hesitate.
"Any amount?"
"As high as you want. And I'll meet it with cash." Sonef, certain he would win, could afford to be generous. "Hell, Earl, shove in the cash and I'll match it. Then we can draw. Fair enough?"
Dumarest nodded, waited until the money was placed, and looked again at his hand. Three aces. No normal player would do other than draw two cards hoping for a pair, or a fourth ace.
He said, "Put down the deck, Lekard."
"What?"
"Put it down." Steel flashed as Dumarest lifted his knife and slammed the point through the pasteboards into the table beneath. To a man standing at his side he said, "Pull them from the top. I want no seconds or bottoms-just deal them as they come."
The man was uncertain. "Elg?"
"Do it." Sonef was confident. "Just deal them as he says. How many do you want, Earl?"
Dumarest dropped the nine, the deuce and one of the aces. "I'll take three."
He heard the incredulous suck of breath from a man behind him, a kibitzer who had seen his hand, saw the sudden hardening of Sonefs face, the accentuated pallor on Lekard's thin features.
He didn't have to look at his cards, he knew what they had to be. An ace followed by two cards of the same suit, either of which would have completed Sonefs running flush. If he had taken one card or two, he would have held four aces against a winning hand.
He said, flatly, "I bet a hundred. You want to see me? No? Then I've won."
He rose, dropping his cards face upwards, sweeping the money into his pocket. To Leon he said, "Get your gear. It's time for us to go."
Chapter Three
They reached the city at mid-afternoon, dropping from the raft which had carried them, the driver waving a casual farewell as he drifted away. The area was bleak, a mass of warehouses and rugged ground, huts and offices showing hasty construction. An extension of the old town which lay in a hollow, at the head of a strait leading to the sea.
The field lay beyond on a stretch of leveled ground, ringed with a high perimeter fence topped with floodlights. On Tradum the authorities maintained a check on all arrivals and departures, a policy backed by the Zur-Sekulich as a precaution against contract-workers leaving before their time.
Leon said, "What now, Earl?"
"We find somewhere to stay. Then we eat, then I'll look around."
"Can't I come with you?"
"No, you'd better rest those ribs."
"Nygas!" The boy scowled. "That animal! He had no right-"
"You were warned," said Dumarest curtly. "You knew what to expect."
He glanced at the sky. Walking would save money, but be costly in time. He waved as a pedcar came into sight, the operator a slender man with grotesquely developed thighs. Leon sighed with relief as he slumped into the open compartment at the rear. His face was pinched, the nostrils livid, dark shadows around his eyes. He clutched a small bag, the sum total of his possessions, a cheap thing of soiled fabric which he rested on his lap. Dumarest had nothing aside from what he carried on his person.
"Peddling," the operator asked, "You from the workings? I ask because I was thinking of getting a job up there. A friend of mine, my sister's second cousin, he reckons a man could do real well. You think it's worth me trying?"
"No harm in that."
"I could handle a machine given the chance. And I can take orders-hell, in this job you do it all the time. Say, you boys looking for a little excitement?"
Dumarest said, dryly. "What had you in mind?"
"There's a new joint opened on Condor Avenue. Young girls, sensatapes, analogues, all the drinks you can handle, and all the games you can use. Fights too, if you're interested. Real stuff, no messing about, naked blades and no stopping. Interested?"
They were from the workings. Men from a long bout of hard, relentless labor would be interested.
"Condor Avenue," said Dumarest. "What's it called?"
"The Effulvium. Crelk Sugari runs it. If you want, mister, I'll take you straight there. Why waste time?" His chuckle was suggestive. "Get in while the fruit is unspoiled, eh?"
"We'll drop in later."
"You do that." The operator handed back a card. "Hand this in when you arrive. It'll get you a free drink. A big one, and you won't have to pay entry. Don't forget now."
Dumarest took the slip of pasteboard. Handed in, it would ensure the man his commission.
"You know a good hotel? Something not too high and with available service?"
"Service?" The man twisted his head, grinning. "I get it. Sure, Madam Brandt runs a nice, clean, interesting place. Just don't make too much noise and everything will be fine. You want me to take you there?"
"Just drop us close by. You got a card for me to give her? Thanks."
Leon staggered a little as he left the pedcar, leaning on Dumarest for support as the vehicle moved away, the operator waving and pointing to the front of a house with shuttered windows and gaudy streaks of paint on the walls.
Dumarest watched him go, then turned and headed in the other direction.
"Aren't we going in there, Earl?"
"No."