“The one by the bar,” said Amadej Baťa, shaking beer foam from his moustache, “with the Chalice on his chest is Habart Mol of Modřelice, one of Rohač’s captains. The bearded man who looks like a priest is his comrade—they arrived together. The men at the table with Huncleder are his dealers, I only remember the name of one. They call him Jeřábek…”

“Come on, gentlemen!” Huncleder called from the table, rubbing his hands together vigorously and enthusiastically. “To the table, let us play! A fortune awaits!”

Manfred of Salm was the first to be seated, Scharley followed his example, and István Szécsi and Amadej Baťa pulled chairs over. They were joined by Rohač’s captain with the Chalice tabard, and his comrade resembling a priest moved away from the bar. Reynevan, mindful of Scharley’s warning, stayed put. Berengar Tauler didn’t move from the table, either, but gestured towards the nearest wench with his head. She was red-haired and freckled; even her exposed forearms were covered in freckles. She didn’t appear as worn out as the others, but her face was strangely hardened.

“What shall we play?” Huncleder, dexterously shuffling the cards, asked the men gathered at the table. “Piquet? Ronfle? Trentuno? Menoretto? It’s your choice, your choice, whatever you want, it can be cricca, or bassetta… Or it can be trappola, or buffa aragiato, or perhaps you prefer ganapiérde? I know all the genera ludorum fortunae! I’ll agree to any. The customer is king. You choose.”

“There are too many of us for cards,” said Baťa, “and we should all join in. I suggest dice. To begin with, at least.”

“Dice? The noble tesserae? The customer is king. I’m ready for any game—”

“Especially using the dice you’re turning over in your hand,” István Szécsi said unsmilingly. “Don’t treat us like idiots, friend.”

Huncleder laughed hollowly, tossed the distinctively yellow dice he’d been fiddling with into a mug and shook them. His hands were small and squat, his fingers short and lumpy. Quite the opposite of what one expected from the hands of a cheat or a swindler. But once in action they were skilful and nimble—as agile as a monkey’s.

The yellow dice, tossed with a dexterous movement from the mug, rolled a short distance and both came to rest with sixes uppermost. Face still twisted in a grimace that mimicked a smile, Huncleder gathered up the dice in a single, swift movement, as though catching flies. He shook the mug in a sudden acozzamento and tossed them again. Two sixes again. Jeřábek chuckled. Rohač’s captain swore.

The quick movement, the acozzamento, the throw. Again, the double sexta stantia, twice sex puncti. The throw. A double six. The throw. Same again. The throw. The captain swore again.