Dragon's Honor - Kij Johnson [73]
The betting proved unexpectedly daring, going two entire rounds with nobody folding. The kitty had grown from splashes of gold on the white tile floor to a small pile of gold coins. When his turn came around again, Riker considered his hand. His three jacks were good, but not so strong that he wanted to throw any more gold at it. He started to fold, and then an idea occurred to him. He looked at the grim, determined faces of other players. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry, but I have to ask: You don’t all believe you’re going to win this hand, do you?”
“Oh, no,” the Heir said. “I have very little here, and will almost certainly lose what I am putting in.”
“Then why don’t you fold?” Riker asked.
“Fold?” Chuan-chi said. “I don’t believe you explained this.”
I thought I had, Riker mused. “Perhaps I did not make myself clear. Depending on how good your hand is, you must all make a judgment as to whether it is strong enough to merit throwing more money after the money you have already bet.”
“We must?” the Heir said with hauteur.
“It is not required, no,” Riker said hastily. “But it is a part of poker. When a hand is no longer worth investing in, one folds.”
A long, tense silence greeted Riker’s explanation. “What?” Riker asked finally.
“There is no honor in folding,” the Heir said.
“The higher the mountain, the wetter the avalanche,” Meng Chiao added.
Riker sighed. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Another bachelor, one Lord Li Po, spoke up. “It is to admit one’s inferiority to others. While I am willing to admit this to the Dragon-Heir, or even as a courtesy to yourself—” He bowed to both of them as gracefully as his voluminous robes and cross-legged posture permitted. “—it would be a dishonor to fold to any of my other noble compatriots, although I say this with no intention of offending anyone.” He bowed to the rest of the players.
“That is quite understood,” Chuan-chi said. “Indeed, I cannot imagine folding to anyone at this table.” He spoke as though he was simply stating a matter of fact, comparable to the law of gravity or the half-life of dilithium crystals.
“But you need to fold in poker!” Riker protested.
“Then it is hardly an honorable game,” the Heir said, “and I am unsure why you wished us to play this.”
Riker suddenly saw his brilliant plan backfiring on him. “Certainly not to offend or cast doubts on the honor of anyone present,” he insisted. “Wait, let me explain it this way. You say there is no honor in folding, correct?”
The other men murmured and nodded. “The light dims when the oyster swallows its pearl,” Meng Chiao intoned.
“Whatever,” Riker said. “If no one folds, the bidding will go on and on until each of you runs out of coins.”
“Then we will also wager our properties, slaves, serfs, and women,” one of the younger nobles said. Riker thought his name was Li Shang-yin, or was it Li Yin-shang?
“But at some point,” Riker persisted, “each of you will run out of possessions, which means he who started with the most assets will win everything else.”
Everyone turned to look at Chuan-chi, who was contemplating his cards with a typically sour expression on his face. “The Dragon-Heir owns Pai itself,” Lord Li Po explained, “so the Heir would win, as indeed he should.”
Chuan-chi shook his head. “There is nothing honorable about this. I might as well buy them outright.”
“That is where chance and skill come in,” Riker said, hoping he wasn’t digging himself in deeper. “Folding is entirely honorable. It is like retreating in war, to fight again another day.”
“But we don’t do that,” Lord Li Po said. “It is a warrior’s duty to fight on until he is stopped by death.”
Riker began to wonder if the Pai could possibly be related to the Klingons. Too bad they weren’t more like the Ferengi, he thought. Then the only