In order for my plan to work, I need three things. First, I need them to keep underestimating me. That's not too difficult—I just spend a few hands leaning into their biases. I play simple hands, ask for rules clarifications in broken Fa'aun that "accidentally" reveal my hand, and make naive bets.

The second thing I need is for them to seriously try to clean me out. So far, most of them have at least been pretending to go easy on me, but my strategy won't work if they pull their punches. Thankfully, after testing the waters with a slightly larger bet, it becomes clear that when the proverbial chips are down, I can rely on them to jump on the opportunity.

Finally, I am going to need a bit of luck. Even if I set things up perfectly, I need the right hand to show up at the right time to capitalize on it. It's not a guarantee, but I think my odds are pretty good. It doesn't have to be a strong hand—just look like one.

"It's your draw, Miss Maev," Rafaam reminds me.

I duck apologetically, pretend to agonize another moment over my hand, then discard an obvious choice that doesn't fit anything else in my hand.

Fusion is a simple matching game on its surface, but it has some surprising strategic depth to it. You must form fusions to score, but doing so too early reveals part of your hand. It's more advantageous to hold onto your fusions until the last moment, but that can backfire if another player wins the hand before you get a chance to score.

It's a delicate balance, made even more complicated by the betting system. After completing and revealing a fusion, players can place bets. The naive strategy is to simply bet more on your own hand if you think it's stronger or more likely to win, but unlike poker there's no folding. Instead, you can bet on other players' hands.

The payouts are a bit complex, but essentially you get higher shares based on your score, how much you bet, and how much other players bet on you. It's an odd system where you're both trying to win, and trying to predict the winner. Players can't afford to ignore their own hands, as their winnings will be too small without a decent score, but they also need to manage how they hedge their bets across the other players' hands.

It's...a very challenging game. Even with my past experience, I would have no hope of winning as a total beginner, except for one quirk in the rules.

If other players bet on your hand and you lose—you keep a portion of their bets. The winner of the hand still usually takes the majority of the pot, but critically, the winner of the hand loses any bets they placed on other players. It's difficult to get the most out of a high scoring hand, since other players will see that you're not spreading out your bets and jump on the opportunity to bet on your hand.

Honestly, I think it would probably take me years to fully grasp the intricacies of the betting strategies in this game, but I can see one silly cheese strategy that can only work if nobody at the table expects it. That's why I need them to keep underestimating me. That's why I keep throwing hands and making simple bets.

I'm on a time limit, though. I need the right kind of hand, and it's not showing up.

"Rough show, Miss Maev," one of the sailors chuckles. "Usually your first game comes with at least a little beginner's luck."

I smile politely and form a weak fusion—declaring it far too early in the round—then place the minimum bet on myself.

A terrible play by any metric, but it's exactly what they expect from me at this point. I've essentially just been playing solitaire. I don't lose a lot, but I lose often, and the few hands I win aren't worth much.

I'm nearly out of the donated funds when I finally get a hand that might work. I start with one of the strongest possible fusions in my hand—and a bunch of garbage for the rest of it.

I'm a little nervous, but I don't let it show on my face. It's now or never.

"Can bet all?" I ask, intentionally simplifying my already basic grasp of the language.

Rafaam raises his eyebrows, barely suppressing a grimace. "You can, of course—but if you've got a hand that strong maybe you should—"

"No coaching Rafa!" one of the other men—the one that keeps insulting me because he thinks I can't understand him—interrupts with a hungry grin. "Let the girl play!"

He sighs and nods. "There's no maximum bet on a fusion, miss."

I blink at the rude man, glancing between him and Rafaam in feigned confusion, then lay down the fusion.

"Tier four. Bet all," I declare innocently.

No turning back now. I can only do this because I have nothing to lose and my opponents are underestimating me. It's a huge bluff. On any poker table it would be glaringly, almost insultingly obvious. I am baiting them into placing large bets on a losing hand.

Under normal circumstances, they could just wait to see if my hand actually pans out before betting—especially since I've already gone all in. But I've spent this entire game carefully crafting a situation that prevents that.

First, by taking the initiative I put pressure on the other players to form fusions sooner in order to place their bets. The strong fusion combined with a huge bet implies that the rest of my hand is not only strong, but nearly complete. If they don't make their bets fast, they might not get a chance to score at all.

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Second, I've been nothing but obvious the entire time. While anyone else would draw huge suspicion with a terrible move like this, it's not only in line with how I've played so far, it's the kind of rookie move one might expect from a rank novice.

Finally, by making nothing but tiny conservative bets, I've been slowly frustrating the vultures that were hoping to pick me clean. This is the first and only large bet I've made, and if they ever intend to take advantage of me to get their donated funds back, now is the time.

To be clear, going all in and then throwing the hand is an absolute garbage strategy. The game is explicitly designed to punish that kind of play and encourage players to make the best hands they can. The only way a bluff like this can work is if nobody calls it. I need every single one of them to walk into a painfully obvious trap.

The rude fellow is the first to bite. "Tier two. All in on Maev."

I allow myself a smile and he gives me a smug sneer in return. "I guess I was wrong about you understanding the rules."

"Tier three," Rafaam sighs, declaring his own fusion and giving me an apologetic smile. "All in on Maev. Sorry, I did try to warn you."

It takes a few discards, but eventually the other sailors all follow. Once the bets are placed, they watch me expectantly, waiting for the final shape of my hand to take form. Draw, discard, draw, discard, draw, discard—around the table it goes. The sailors declare a few more fusions in order to one-up each other for a bigger share of the pot, but they're all relaxed, just waiting for the inevitable.

Draw, discard, draw, discard. Their casual chatter starts to peter out as we near the end of the hand. Draw, discard, draw, discard. Only a few turns left, and my hand hasn't moved an inch. Despite how strongly it started, I've done nothing but discard every card I draw.

"Hold on..." the rude man grumbles. "What is this?"

Draw, discard, draw, discard. Only one turn left.

"Why isn't she making any fusions?"

Draw, discard. End of the hand. Nobody won outright, which means that we reveal our hands and score any held fusions.

"Tier eight."

"Tier five."

"Tier seven."

The sailors announce their final scores one by one, until finally it comes back around to me. I drop my hand full of garbage on the crate and smile innocently.

"Only tier four," I sigh. "I guess I lose."

Rafaam is the winner of the hand, but it doesn't really matter. Everybody bet on me, the obvious winner from the very first draw. Except I didn't win. As the one with the lowest score, any bets placed on me are forfeit, and I get to keep them. The whole pot.

"Blood and acid," Rafaam chuckles. "I think we just got hustled."

The rude one surges to his feet, knocking over the crate and scattering cards and coins all over the floor.

"Godshit!" he shouts. "That can't possibly count! What kind of idiot plays like that?! It must be against the rules!"

"It's unwise, but it's allowed," Rafaam replies. "It's our fault for falling for it."

"How did we fall for it?" one of the other men groans, knocking on his horns. "Now that I think about it, that was pretty blatant."

"Because she cheated!" the rude one accuses, pointing down and advancing a few steps towards me. "She's no beginner at all!"

I creep backwards, sweating nervously and eyeing the cloth-wrapped spear sitting on my bunk a few meters away.

"We've got Nipper if it comes down to a fight," Maggie whispers in my head. "And I snuck a candle into our pockets earlier. We can take him."

"Maybe let's reserve murder for plan C," I mutter under my breath.

"What was that?" the agitated man demands. "You think I'm stupid?"

He's one to talk. Rafaam and another man hold him back.

"Calm down," Rafaam insists. "It's just a game."

"Bleed you it is!" the man retorts. "I just lost a month's salary to this little troglodyte!"

Why was he betting a month's salary on a card game? Wait, he didn't seem to be betting more than anybody else.

"We all did," Rafaam confirms. "That's part of the game."

I take another step back as the man struggles against the ones holding him back, my heart pounding in my throat as the threat of violence becomes increasingly imminent. It was just supposed to be a game. I thought we were having fun!

Talla, Draga, and Jira are all above deck, and none of the other sailors around seem inclined to put a stop to this or hurry off to report it. In fact, I can already see a few coins changing hands—don't they have anything better to do?!

The tension snaps as the agitated man headbutts Rafaam and breaks free of the men restraining him. My hand snaps down to the knife at my belt and I can already feel Nipper writhing around my shoulders, preparing to strike.

"Wait!" I scream at the top of my lungs, the sheer volume and pitch stunning the men briefly.

"Blood and acid, what a stupid fricking thing to fight about," I grumble—mostly in Fa'aun.

The agitated man—Bora—blinks at me in confusion.

"I knew it!" he accuses. "I knew you were faking it! Liar! Cheat!"

I roll my eyes. "You didn't seem to mind when it meant insulting me to my face."

While he does his best gulping fish impression, I kneel down and start picking up the scattered coins.

"Don't touch those!" Bora growls. "We haven't settled this."

"Settling this is exactly what I'm trying to do," I counter. "Just give me a moment."

My sudden change in attitude seems to have at least managed to stun Bora into confusion long enough for the others to rein him in again and give me time to gather up the money with the help of Rafaam.

The crate is propped back up, and we pile the winnings onto it. I sort through the pile and set aside the money they loaned us, then double it for good measure.

"There," I say pointing at the separated pile. "Repayment for the loan."

"That's not enough," Bora complains. "We should get a portion of—ow!"

The guy I tried to boot out before kicks him in the shin with his hooves.

"Shut up! She's not obligated to give us anything," he argues. "Congratulations, your little tantrum worked—and made us all look like a bunch of hornstrong schoolboys in the process."

"Learn to lose with grace, Bora," Jira's bellowing voice startles me from right behind. How the heck did she sneak up on me like that?! "Or you're swimming home."

"Aye, captain," the humbled sailor mutters quietly.

"And you," Jira says, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. "I think we should have another private chat, aye?"

I chuckle nervously up at the huge old woman. "Aye, captain."

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