“But that’s exactly what I had in mind,” replied Samson, as serene as a statue. “Trading in people is a matter for thugs and bloody whoresons, while gambling, in spite of its many flaws, also has its merits. In a game of chance, as the name indicates, one must rely on unfathomable chance. Aren’t you curious about unfathomable chance, Huncleder? You say you’re prepared for any game. Go on, then. One throw of the dice.”

Silence fell on the room. Grimaces of wild amusement still contorted the faces of some of the men present, but they’d stopped laughing aloud. Huncleder’s pockmarked face set and contracted hideously. With a movement of his head, he ordered his servants out of the shadows. Then he tossed a pair of dice—the same ones they had played with—in front of Samson. And picked up his own, yellow ones.

“So let’s play,” he said icily. “One throw. If you win—the girl’s yours. You won’t even have to pay extra. But if I throw a higher score than you…”

He snapped his fingers. One of the servants handed him a hatchet. Another raised a loaded crossbow. Scharley quickly grabbed Reynevan by the arm.

“If I throw more,” Huncleder finished, putting the hatchet down on the table in front of him, “I’ll chop off as many digits as I score. Fingers first, then toes as well if needs be. Depending on what I throw. And what unfathomable fate demands.”

“Hey!” said István Szécsi angrily. “What’s this? Put down those confounded yellow dice—”

“What butchery are you planning?” interrupted Habart Mol of Modřelice, Rohač’s captain.

“The dimwit wants to play!” Huncleder shouted over them. “So he will! Since he’s a free fellow. With the right to be independent. He can still quit. Admit of his own free will that he made a fool of himself and leave of his own volition. No one’s stopping him. If he doesn’t delay his departure too long.”

The captain, it was clear, might have challenged that, and the stern faces of the Hungarian and Baťa spoke for themselves. But before anyone could speak or act, Samson had shaken the dice and tossed them onto the table. One of them showed a four, the other a three.

“That’s seven,” he said with a horrifying calm, “if I’m not mistaken.”

“You aren’t.” Huncleder rattled his dice in a cup. “Four and three make seven. And regarding your fingers and toes: ten and ten make twenty. For the present.”

The dice rolled. All the men crowded around gasped in unison. Jeřábek swore.

The two yellow dice landed with the ones uppermost.

“You lost.” Samson Honeypot’s bass interrupted the deathly silence. “Fate’s not well disposed towards you. The girl is mine. Thus, I shall take her and be on my way.”