Serpent's Reach by C. J. Cherryh

beginning. “I belong to Andra Lines. My knowledge doesn’t extend beyond the range of my ship.”
    “Do these folk make you nervous? I’ll ask them to leave if you like.”
    “Please, no,” Jim said hoarsely. Raen shrugged and made the cast.
    It came up three stars. She took first throw. Twelve. Jim made his: two. Raen gathered thirty-six points. Jim took up the wands as if they were venomed, threw three whites. Raen won the dicing and automatically took game.
    “Your luck has bit a sudden downward turn,” Raen said, gathering up the three wands. She passed them to him. “But there’s still margin. We’re at four hundred fifty-five to your four hundred sixty-two.”
    He lost all but the last game, setting the tally at four hundred sixty-three to four hundred fifty-seven. His margin was down to six.
    He was sweating profusely. Raen ordered a drink for them each, and Jim took a great swallow of his, all the while staring at a blank comer of the room, meeting no one’s eyes.
    “These folk do make you uncomfortable,” she said. “But if you win—why, then you’ll be out among them, free and very wealthy. Perhaps wealthier than they. Do you think of that?”
    He took yet another drink and gave no answer. Sweat broke and ran at his temple.
    “How many games yet remain?” she asked.
    “We dock three days from now.”
    “With time in the evening for a set?”
    He shook his head. This was to his advantage. He still had his lead.
    “Twenty games, then.” She glanced at the Istrans, gestured them to seats on opposite sides of her table, between him and her. Their faces blanched. There was rage there, and offence. They came, and sat down. “Do you want to play a round for amusement?” she asked Jim.
    “I would rather not,” he said. “I’m superstitious.”
    Azi served them, all four. Jim stared at the area of the table between his hands.
    “It’s been a long voyage,” Kont’ Raen said. “Yet the society in the salon has been pleasant. What brings you out from Istra and back, seri?”
    “Trade,” Kest said.
    “Ah.”
    “Kontrin—” Merek Eln said. She looked at him. He moistened his lips and shifted his weight in big chair. “Kontrin, there’s been some disturbance on Istra. Matters are still in a state of flux. Doubtless—doubtless you’ve had some report of these affairs.”
    She shrugged. “I’ve kept much to myself of late. So trade took you off Istra.”
    There was a hesitation, a decision. Merek Eln went pale, wiped at his face. “The need for funds,” he confided. His voice was hardly more than a hoarse whisper. “There has been hardship on Istra. There’s been fighting in some places. Sabotage. One has to be careful about associations. If you’ve brought forces—”
    “You expect too much of me,” Kont’ Raen said “I’m here on holiday. That is my profession.”
    This was irony even they understood as such.
    They said nothing. Kont’ Raen sipped at her drink and finished it. Then she rose and left the table, end Jim excused himself hastily and withdrew among the azi who served.
    The thought occurred to him, not for the first time, that Kont’ Raen was simply insane.
    He thought that if she gave him the chance now to withdraw from the wager, he would take it, serve the ship to the end of his days, content in his fate.
    He lost two points off his margin the next evening. The tally stood at four hundred sixty-seven to four hundred sixty-three.
    There was no sleep that night. Tomorrow evening was the last round. No one in the azi quarters offered to speak to him. The others sat apart, as if he had a contagion. It was the same when one approached termination. If he won, they would hate him; if he lost, he would only confirm what they believed, the luck that made them what they were. He crouched on his mat in a corner of the compartment, tucked big knees up to his chin and bowed his head, counting the interminable moments of the final hours.
vi
    Jim was at the table early as