Unfortunately, Dodi no longer was. Kal went from table to table searching for the Suerton, with no success. Canto was really getting going now; Kal figured you could lose a gundark in the main hall. But following the sounds of cheering brought him to the side of Thodi, who had evidently given up on turbolift races in favor of the jubilee wheel.
“Come on,” Thodi declared, depositing his coins on the playing surface. “Earn it back!”
Kal remembered the story about the brothers blowing his much-deserved and painfully lost progressive jackpot here, and wondered what insane theory Thodi was using to lose everything this time. But looking at the table, Kal could see that the Suerton had placed his bets on a single space.
Kal sidled up to Thodi. “Why Green Triangle?”
“Oh, hello again,” Thodi said. His professorial tone returned. “You see the person operating the spinner? She has three fingers. Three fingers, triangle.”
“But why green?”
“I’m green.”
Kal stared at him. “That makes sense,” he said. Kal put half his coins on Green Triangle, beside Thodi’s, just as the operator put the wheel into motion.
“Green Triangle pays,” she declared when the spinning had stopped.
Kal collected his winnings. Desperation was overcoming good sense. “What next?” he asked Thodi.
“Well, that last one was the fifth triangle in the last ten spins. Which means now we bet on Pentagon.”
“I’m following you,” Kal lied. “Any color?”
Thodi’s face wrinkled. “You know, this table left me blue earlier.”
“Blue it is.” Kal and Thodi placed bets simultaneously—and rejoiced when Blue Pentagon hit on the wheel.
Okay, so Thodi isn’t the jinx. He’d won the turbolift race earlier, after all. He continued to bet where Thodi did, quizzing him about his goofy reasoning each time like someone genuinely interested.
The problem was other gamblers seeing the Suerton’s luck began following suit. “It’s not a game if you’re all copying me,” Thodi said drily to the table. “Show some originality.”
Kal had feared that would happen. He shifted to a different strategy, placing tangential bets that, while not exactly mimicking what Thodi was doing, still stood to benefit from his choices. On Thodi’s Double Gold Star bets, Kal bet Doubles. Or Gold. Or Stars. It was less of a moneymaker, but it seemed to irritate Thodi less.
Kal couldn’t believe what he was doing. He’d always avoided playing the wheel—and now this? He was even more surprised to be disappointed when Thodi stopped. “I’m moving on,” Thodi announced after converting his coins to higher denominations.
“Where to now?” Kal asked.
Thodi looked unsure he wanted Kal’s company. “You might not like this. I want to hit zinbiddle again, now that the stakes are raised. I never got to test my latest ideas.”
“I’d love to see them. Lead the way.”
And Thodi did—right into one of the high-roller rooms. Kal gulped. He had no experience with such places, except for the times he’d watched some tournament final games—both won, he recalled, by Orisha Okum. She was there, he saw, playing Savareen whist with some mogul; on seeing Kal, she rolled her eyes before returning to her game.
Thodi claimed the only seat open at the table. “Bad luck,” he said. “No space for you.”
Kal scowled. Then he remembered that he wasn’t out of options. He stood directly behind Thodi’s chair, hanging over his shoulder. Thodi placed a pile of coins on the zinbiddle instant-win marker.
“I thought you told Dodi never to play those,” Kal said.
“The sun was still up then.”
Kal nodded. “I have so much to learn.” Then he reached in, preparing to add a stack of his own coins to Thodi’s side bet.
“Master Sonmi!”
Kal looked back to see Vestry storming toward him, looking as cross as he’d ever seen her. She rotated among all the card rooms, never seeming to sleep; it hadn’t helped her disposition. “What are you doing?”
“Gambling at a casino,” Kal said. “What are you doing?”
“Enforcing Canto’s rules. This is a high-limit room, high minimums. No spectators outside tournaments—and I highly doubt you can afford to play here.”
“I am playing.” He pointed to Thodi, in front of him. “I’m a rider.”
Vestry glanced at Thodi, and then looked back to Kal. “A rider? You?”
“It’s legal. I can stand behind any player in the house and finish their bets, as long as they don’t go over the limit.”
Thodi counted out his Cantocoins on the side-bet marker for her benefit. “Nine hundred and nine. My bet counts are always numeric palindromes when the player to my right is an Ithorian,” Thodi told her. “It has seldom failed me.”
“See?” Kal said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Numeric palindromes.” He quickly reached in and placed ninety-one of his own next to them to bring it to the limit. The dealer, a veteran Kal seldom saw during the day, ably kept the bets separate as he continued the hand.
Vestry’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t Cloud City. Here, the rider must have the player’s permission.”
“I’m always willing to take on a learner,” Thodi said. “Oh,” he said, turning up his cards. “Zinbiddle.”
“Zinbiddle, he says.” Kal’s pale face flushed as both his and Thodi’s winnings were paid out. He smiled at Vestry. “I’m always willing to learn.”
Vestry stared at him for several moments before stomping off without saying anything. Kal again caught a look from Orisha, who was now struck curious—but for the next hour, he had no time to worry about anything but the table. As a rider, Kal had no control whatsoever on the decisions Thodi made—and while he was free to decide whether to follow the Suerton into any bet, he wound up regretting any apprehension. Thodi was on a roll.
Or was, until Wodi showed up. “There you guys are,” he said. “How are you doing, Kyle?”
“Kal.”
“Don’t bug me,” said Thodi, in the middle of a hand.
Wodi looked at the pyramid of cards his brother was building. “You know, you can draw some cards to help that hand.”
“Which you could have done earlier today, but it would have been a mistake,” Thodi said. “I don’t need lessons in how to play from you, of all—”
“Zinbiddle,” called the Ithorian.
We lost? It hadn’t happened in so long that Kal had almost forgotten what it felt like. He hadn’t wagered all his holdings, but he’d lost ground. His brow furrowed as he tried to remember his earlier episodes with the brothers. Something about how they got together…
He followed the aggravated Thodi into the next pot, but bet much more conservatively this time. He regretted that caution when Thodi hit big—seconds after Dodi walked up.
The dealer spoke to the growing group behind Thodi. “Don’t crowd the players, please.”
“Forget this,” Dodi said. “I’ve found another game. You’re going to love this.”
“Drinks first?” Thodi asked, rising from his chair.
“And always!” Wodi declared.
We’re moving again. Kal gathered up his coins—now a nice trayful—and made for the exit, following them. On the way out, he found Orisha waiting. Keeping an eye on where the brothers went, he paused and displayed his tray with a smile.
She was unimpressed. “Big Sturg lent you eight hundred thousand. That won’t cover his appetizers.”
That reminded Kal that he’d forgotten to eat, but he ignored it. “There’s still time. I’m onto something.”
“You’re on spice.” Orisha shook her head. “Tagging along with those characters? I thought you were a good player.”
Kal didn’t defend his abandonment of everything he knew about gaming. He couldn’t. But he’d heard words that caused him to look at her sideways. “You thought I was a good player?”
She pulled his shoulder to draw him closer and spo
ke so no one else could hear. “Don’t imagine that I like you—and don’t think I’m rooting for you. I made ten million last year. But Ganna is always looking for the next Orisha Okum. He funds several of you small-timers—but none of you are in my league. And you never will be.”
Kal stared at her, before looking down at his tray. He wasn’t so proud of it anymore.
She released him and backed away. “I’ll be back before sunrise. And if you don’t have the eight hundred thousand, Ganna’s Wookiees are going to take you for a nice walk. And they are going to rip your arms off and beat you to death with them.”
He swallowed. “Sounds lovely.”
Strolling away, she said, “You can bet on it.”
Kal was sure of that.
THE SE-8 SERVER DROIDS CIRCLED the tables, trays in metallic hands, like the Mon Calamari Ballet; zipping here, stopping there—and always having to recalibrate their destinations because of people who’d moved since ordering. And whatever safeguards Industrial Automaton had put into the servants’ programming, nothing stopped four droids going in opposite directions from colliding noisily in the aisle directly outside Ganzer’s bar.
“Yes!” Dodi shouted, clasping hands with Kal in triumph. “We did it!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Ganzer cried, drawn from his haunt by the clamor. The droids had collided at great speed, creating a tangle of limbs and sending trays and beverage containers in all directions. Maintenance droids were already on the scene, attending to the wet floor.
“That was a thing of beauty,” Thodi declared, turning to the breath-mask-wearing gambler at his side. “You owe all four of us, I believe.”
Disgusted, the loser paid out. “I wouldn’t have thought you could make it happen.”
As Thodi passed out shares of the winnings, Ganzer looked up from his cleanup. “What happened here?”
“A wager,” Dodi said.
“A wager!”
Thodi faced the gaming hall and drew a picture in the air. “You see, by the four of us ordering drinks and then constantly moving, we were able to choreograph something spectacular.” He glared at Wodi. “Which you nearly screwed up!”
Wodi shrugged. “Hey, Kal went the wrong way, too.”
“Kal?” Ganzer looked at him, offended. “You were part of this?”
Kal shrank back in guilt. “Sorry.”
The bartender shoved the tray of empties he’d collected into Kal’s arms. “Then you can carry these back to the Grotto.”
“Follow the leaders, boys,” Dodi ordered, falling in line behind Kal and Ganzer. “There’s a bar over there!”
The brothers only followed until they saw a server; then, they raced ahead. Kal turned to his friend and shook his head as they walked inside. “I’m sorry, Ganz. This hasn’t been a normal night.”
“I think I see why you play the day shift. What’s going on?”
“What hasn’t been?” Kal waited for Ganzer to go behind the counter before setting down the tray. The gambler sat in a chair and rubbed his feet. “I love these shoes, but they’re killing me.”
Ganzer raised an eyebrow. “Talk to me after you’ve waited tables all night.”
“Sorry. I never dressed for running around. I’ve been following the Lucky Three.”
“After they beat you? I wouldn’t think you’d talk to them after that.”
“I need to—” Kal started, before stopping. “I can’t get into all that. But it’s been insane. We’ve lost plenty, but we keep winning it back, and more. And they bet everything. Dice games, card games, people with their own personal uvide wheels—”
“Droid destruction,” Ganzer growled, moving glasses into his sink.
“Ganz, we went out to the wharf and bet some yachtsman on whether a seabird would land on his mast. I didn’t even know that was a thing.”
“They’re a force of nature.”
“Of something. I don’t know what—but I think I’ve got it,” Kal said.
“I hope it isn’t contagious,” Ganzer responded.
“No, I’m serious. The brothers. Their luck. I’ve figured it out.”
“Really.” Ganzer huddled over the counter, interested. “You know what they’re doing?”
“Well, no, I haven’t figured out why they’re lucky. But I have figured out when they’re lucky.” He leaned over the counter and directed Ganzer’s attention to the quaffing Dodi. “When one brother is alone, he’s lucky. Beating the odds most of the time.”
“Okay.”
He pointed at Thodi and Wodi. “But when two of them get together—any two!—they tank. They start bickering, and they stink. Their luck gets ticked off at them and runs off with whoever is playing solo.”
“Luck has legs?”
“And limited patience. And if the two are betting the same game against each other, nobody wins, anywhere. And I don’t mean they both lose. Everybody loses.”
“Is that a fact?”
“A fact. Awhile ago nobody was able to get up into the tower because they bet on opposite turbolifts.” He took Ganzer by the shoulder. “But when all three of them get together, Ganz? Lock the doors. The probability charts go into the trash compactor. They win everything that’s not welded down.”
Ganzer nodded tentatively. “I follow you.”
“So what I have to do is make sure I’m with them when they’re all together, or with whichever one is alone. And I bet their way.”
The bartender took a breath. “You’ve developed a system—a gambling system—based on which brothers are in the room?”
“I know it sounds silly.”
Ganzer waved his hands. “I’m a bartender. I don’t judge.”
“I’ve got to do something, or I’ll lose my mind. I’ve gone from one to thirty-three thousand since hooking up with them.” He reached into the pouch on his belt and drew forth his coins, all high denominations—but he did not know how to feel about them. “Tell me as a friend, Ganz—and someone who’s been around. I’m not crazy for playing with these guys, am I? This works, doesn’t it?”
Ganzer snorted—and then chuckled. “If you—as someone who’s devoted his whole life to memorizing complicated sets of numbers—can get those numbers down to three, I say more power to you.”
Dodi appeared nearby. “Oh, this was for the trouble earlier,” he said, passing Ganzer a handful of coins.
It was a generous gift. “Thank you, sir.”
“Kal, the red-eye runs are going at the fathier track. Want to tag along?”
Kal looked at Ganzer, and his eyes widened. Fathier races?
“Sure,” Kal said. “I’ll be right there.”
“Great,” Dodi said. “We’ll go in a minute. Wodi’s hand is stuck in a mug and I have to help him get it off.” He departed to find his brothers.
Kal felt sick. “Fathier races.”
Ganzer stared at the brothers. “What do you know about fathier races?”
“Not a damn thing. Except to avoid them.”
“Well, at least you’ve got your theory.”
Kal looked nervously at his pouch. “Yeah.”
“You’re about to learn whether you’re right,” Ganzer said. He patted Kal on the back—and then pulled a bowl of snack food from the counter and shoved it toward the Heptooinian. “Eat something. The way you look, I’m worried you’ll be dead tomorrow.”
“No time,” Kal said. The brothers were on the move. “Got to go!”
“LOOK,” KAL SAID AS HE hobbled beneath the archway, “my rule number one is, Don’t play the races.”
“But they’re fun,” Dodi said, trotting ahead of him. “I can’t believe you’ve never done it before.”
“They’re a bottomless pit,” Kal replied.
“Falling’s fun,” Wodi said, pushing Kal along. “Sounds great!”
The brothers had adopted Kal as their fourth over the past hours, and their luck had combined with his desperation to drive him to do some reckless things. Most recently on the walk over from Ganze
r’s Grotto, the three had bet an inebriated human that he could not balance on a tall outdoor planter. He’d paid off before the medics carried him away, leaving Kal, who had joined in the bet, with holdings totaling forty thousand.
The amount wasn’t remotely sufficient to solve his problems—but more than he’d had in a long time. The bulging pouch on his belt had started to weigh on him, enough that as he entered the racing grounds, fear was trumping abandon—fear that his crazy theory about the brothers would prove to be exactly that when tens of thousands were on the line. His aversion to racing only compounded it. At least at the jubilee wheel, Kal knew enough to recognize Thodi had no idea what he was doing. He’d somehow found the nerve to go along then—but could he now, when so much more money was at stake?
He needed reassurance, if only to slow his pulse. He had to find someone who knew the races, knew the track, and had some kind of system developed. Something, anything, that would provide a little guidance.
I need to find the racing “me.”
He marveled as the brothers led him through another set of arches. Canto’s trackside clubhouse was legendary for its opulence and splendor; even now, late at night after multiple races, it remained brightly lit, without a scrap of garbage in sight. The grandstands and remote betting locations he’d seen on other worlds always grew filthier as the card progressed and gamblers discarded losing tickets. One could still get a physical voucher of one’s bet at Canto Bight as a memento, but no one would think of despoiling the spectator area by casting them away.
A warm fresh breeze greeted him as he and the Suertons stepped out to the apron, the grassy spectator area between the grandstand and the track. Canto Bight’s most tireless handicappers stood on the sidewalk alongside the railing, watching each of the long but lean animals saunter out of the barn on four dexterous legs. This was the post parade for the thirteenth race of the late-night card, or so Kal understood from one of the displays. The brothers headed straight for the rail—having once again gotten someplace just in time.
Dodi craned his neck to look up at one. “They’re big.”
“That’s observant,” Thodi replied.
Canto Bight Page 24