The card-playing demons were gathered in a circle lit by balefires and tallow candles made of unsavory waxy substances. There was also an outer circle of demons, gathered to watch and comment on the action. As Azzie came to the circle a big hand was in progress. In the pot were a scattering of gold coins, some silver denarii, and a human torso, worth plenty since blood was still dripping from the stumps of its arms and legs. The final bet was made, and a small, potbellied demon with skinny arms and legs and a great long nose (a Laplander, to judge from his reindeer sweater) won it and raked it all in.
“New player!” someone called out, and they slid over and made room for Azzie.
Azzie sat down, laid out his jewels in front of him, and was given cards. He was cautious at first. It had been quite a while since he had sat in on a game. This time, even with the lucky amulet of felixite, he was determined to be cautious, bet only good hands, fold when he was in doubt, and do all the other things that poker players, human or demonic, are forever telling themselves to do. He converted some of his gems into body parts and began to play. There in the darkness, lit by the uncanny green-tinged flames of the balefires, the game went on, with demons laughing and swearing as fortune shifted from one to the other.
Demons playing poker are jolly companions as long as things are going well for them. They start out a game in fine high fettle, betting entire human heads and raising limbs with gay abandon. All this is accompanied by the sorts of jokes demons consider hilarious but other beings consider in poor taste. “Anyone for a hero sandwich?” one of the serving demons asked as a tray of human parts was passed around.
Azzie’s caution soon left him. He began to plunge, betting more and more wildly. He was thinking of the Millennial Evil Deeds banquet and how much he would like to participate. If only he could be a winner! He really wanted to represent evil in the great Millennial contest between Light and Dark.
But unfortunately, his pile of parts kept dwindling. He knew he was betting wildly, stupidly, demoniacally, but there was nothing he could do about it. Caught up in the pace of the game, he scarcely noticed how the bigger demons seemed to be getting all the big pots. What was going wrong with his felixite? Why wasn’t he winning any big hands?
Then it occurred to him that all demons carry good-luck charms, and the more important the demon, the better the charm he could afford. It stood to reason that the charms of the others were nullifying his own charm. He was being wiped out again! It was unthinkable, and very unfair.
The night passed rapidly, and it wasn’t long before Azzie noticed a faint lightening in the eastern sky. Soon it would be dawn, when the game would have to break up, unless someone had the keys to a private tomb. At this point Azzie had lost most of what he had started with.
Feelings of rage and chagrin flooded his foxy head. The hand he was holding was another bust, a pair of deuces and three middle cards. He was about to fold it and give up when a feeling came over him. No, not exactly a feeling, more a sensation. It was a warm glow that came from the vicinity of his pouch. Was his good-luck amulet trying to tell him something? Yes, it had to be! And it occurred to him that if the felixite really wanted to help him, it would wait for a single hand, then put all its capacity into winning that one for him.
So certain was he that this was the true state of affairs that he wagered recklessly on his bad hand, raising again and again.
He was given his final cards. He didn’t look at them, but continued betting.
There came the showdown. Spreading his cards, Azzie saw his deuces, and saw that he had picked up another pair of deuces. He was about to declare two pairs, when it dawned on him that he had four of a kind. No one else was even close. The others grumbled and threw in their cards. The pot, biggest of the night, was raked over to Azzie.