Jessum said nothing, knowing he was on dangerous ground.

            “Luck,” growled Strout.

            “My dear Strout, no one is that lucky.” His voice was gentle, as if disabusing a child of a naïve belief. “May I examine the dice?”

            Jessum handed them over. The Earth Skyll rattled them softly, weighed them in each palm, weighed them together, then weighed them against his own. Then, he laid Jessum’s dice on the table. He didn’t throw them, as a throw would have meant a roll. 

            “His dice are weighted,” he said, at last.

            Strout uttered a particularly obscene oath. The boys whispered and cursed.

            “They can’t be!” Jessum stammered. 

            “They are,” repeated the Earth Skyll, then, “Where did you get these?”

            “From you, Sire, I mean, they were in—”

            “I gave you these dice?” 

            Jessum flushed. There was truth behind his words, but his own nervousness had twisted everything into a lie. 

            “That’s not what I meant. The dice were given to me on the day I received a tunic, this tunic.”  With a shaking hand, he pointed at Strout. “He gave them the dice out as well.”

            Elymas allowed the silence to mount.

            “Are you implying that my loyal servant, Strout, placed weighted dice in your rulla pouch?”

            “The dice are not weighted!”