For the second time since taking her seat at the table, Balot received the transparent red card for her to place in the deck as she pleased.
She focused her attention on the pile of cards and felt a certain something that seemed to emanate from one point. She slipped the marker right in at that exact place.
The dealer cut the cards one last time, smoothly as ever, then placed the cards in the card shoe. Balot felt the movement ever so keenly; it was as if she had set off a little ripple that could now spread out across the whole pattern, and more importantly, the dealer responded to that ripple—to its influence—when he cut the cards.
–We’re taking our system through to the end, it looks like. Best tell the Doctor that we’re moving into the final stage.
Balot squeezed back at the words as they emerged in her hand. Affirmative.
–Uncle, I have a feeling that I’m going to win big this time. My lucky streak is about to arrive, I’m sure of it.
“Dear, dear, and the game’s hardly even begun…” The Doctor wrung his hands, skillful as ever in his portrayal of the part of the indulgent uncle who was now gently exasperated at his young charge’s impatience. He looked like he was surrendering.
His eyes, though, told a different story as he caught Balot’s own eyes for an instant. Then they went back behind the smokescreen.
“Well, then, we’ll have to get serious! Let’s see who can win the most—you or me!”
That was the cue for them both to bring their chips to the table.
The dealer smiled and checked their chips before dealing out the cards with the utmost care.
The game had begun. The game that Balot was going to win.
05
–I’m now going to display the true count.
The display on Balot’s left hand transfigured again. Another level of detail had been added. More numbers, the fluctuations in the count. In terms of the quantity of displays, there was now actually slightly less to take in—the other players’ data was no longer there—but the numbers that remained were now of another order of complexity, far beyond the computational power of the average person.
The point tally was no longer a simplistic one or two points at a time, either.
A 9 was now minus one, a 10 worth minus three and an ace minus four. The other numbers, too, were assigned values between plus and minus four. The resulting tally would then be used as a coefficient to other factors, namely the number of cards already played compared to the number left. The result of these calculations would in turn produce the ultimate optimized betting strategy.
In particular, the most important new development was that they were now keeping track of every single card that was played in the course of a round.
This was the one and only way to achieve their aim: absolute victory.
They would memorize all the cards that had appeared so that they could work out with mathematical certainty their odds of winning. Hence the true count.
There were six decks of cards in play in total, or 312 cards. Of those, thirty-odd would be excluded from a round because they would come below the red marker. The remaining 280 or so could be memorized, though, and if done properly the true count would be able to pinpoint the precise moment when the odds were most in Balot’s favor—the moment to strike.
This was what Balot and the Doctor had been waiting for all along, and it was the reason they had been playing the waiting game.
–Sooner or later the moment will definitely come. The right moment to bet everything on a single hand. Until then you need to preserve your bankroll at all costs.
Balot squeezed her hand again—roger that.
She turned to the Doctor.
–Come on, Uncle! Your turn!
“Sure, sure…”
–No fair! Just because the other players have gone doesn’t mean you can dawdle around and hold up the game, you know!
She knocked the Doctor’s arm as if to hurry him along. Really, though, she was thinking that they’d managed that well. In order to win through card counting they needed to get through the earlier hands as quickly as possible in order to get to the good stuff. The Doctor’s dallying was the perfect smokescreen—no one who was deliberately taking their time was likely to be a card counter.
The Doctor raised his head and hit. He drew a 3 on fifteen, total eighteen.
The Doctor called stay, and exhaled deeply, as if he’d struggled to make the decision.
Balot hit on sixteen. The dealer flipped her card over: 8.
The dealer’s upcard was a 9. It wasn’t the wrong decision for Balot to have hit—her move was tactically sound. It just didn’t help her very much; the result was that she bust, plain and simple. The cards and chips were collected, and Balot was about to take her eyes off them when Oeufcoque gave her an unusual instruction.
–Keep your eyes glued to your losing hand.
Balot did so, staring at the discard pile where her cards now rested.
The dealer turned his hidden card over: 9 and 8, which made seventeen—the Doctor won the hand.
–Try and make out that you’re somehow winning.
–Even though I’m obviously not?
–Yes. As if you can’t bear losing, so you’re changing the rules in your own mind so that you’re somehow winning.
Not the easiest request in the world, and Balot had to give some thought as to how she was going to do this. But then the Doctor fed her a lifeline, almost as if he had read her mind.
“There you are, you see? Less haste, more speed. Sometimes you do need to think about it in order to pull off a good win!”
–Whatever. My score was higher than yours, anyway.
“What are you talking about?”
–I had twenty-four. You only had eighteen, Uncle.
Balot had no idea how she’d come up with this or where she was going with it. Judging by their reactions, neither did the dealer, or indeed the Doctor.
“Erm…you do understand the rules, don’t you, my dear? That’s not quite how the game is played.” The Doctor peered over at her, somewhat nonplussed.
–It’s my money, I can play how I like!
Balot tried to sound as plausibly petulant as she could. The Doctor looked over at her indulgently, turning to the dealer as he dealt the cards. I’ll humor the child, he seemed to say.
The dealer continued to deal, his expression as serious as ever.
Suddenly Balot felt somewhat embarrassed. Instinctively she turned to Oeufcoque to see if she had done something wrong.
–Was there a point to that?
–Of course.
–What, then?
–To manipulate the dealer.
–How?
–We show him just what a mysterious creature woman is.
That didn’t really satisfy Balot—she still wanted to know how—but then it was her turn.
Balot hit on thirteen and bust. The card that should have helped her as a player was now sticking its oar in, getting in her way. Don’t rely on the cards to help you out, even the good ones. The key to playing a steady game was never to hope for too much. Unless you expected fully to lose at any moment and could cultivate that sense of detachment, you were doomed to be led around by the nose. She had been taught this by the Doctor prematch, and she ruminated deeply on its meaning. Suddenly it came to her: was this what Oeufcoque wanted?