Story of the Day: The Rules of the Game

The Old Lucentian game of Machanabi  has many rules, and while the game easily played, it is not so easily won, as Peppone soon finds out:

                The turn was passed to Bartleby, who drew a tile he did not want, grieved about it, and tossed it out. Danaco drew a tile he knew he would not need and therefore hardly looked at it before passing it over to Ujaro, who picked it up and put it in his hand, though he had no need for it, and tossed out one in the pair that he was unable to finish.

                “How the minnows will flail about,” Danaco sighed, shaking his head. “Magochiro, give me the tile. You will lose the round anyway. It is only a matter of points for you, whereas if you make the round a draw, you will have a Bartleby and his bricks to deal with.”

                Magochiro smirked at the old man, who was muttering to himself, trying to work out how it was he had a winning hand and was not allowed to call it.

                “Oh, because I have the one here, and cannot keep that if I want to put a set down—oh these rules are hugmuggery, captain! No wonder Marridon does not want to play this game. I have a full straight and cannot do anything about it because of some balderdashery that says I cannot have the red tiles or ones if I want to call early—gah!” he scoffed, waving a hand at the tiles. “You, mums-it-all,” turning to Magochiro, “give the captain his tile, and let that be an end of it.”

                “So you don’t want in the next hand?” Brogan asked.

                “OF COURSE I do, you dumb-witted chaff,” the old man gnarled. “I have to have some revenge for giving me this terrible hand.”

                Magochiro had no choice but to give the captain the six of suns; he had no need of it and was only holding it to spite everyone at the table, and when he drew a second six of suns, he must either break up his hand to keep it or relinquish it to the discard, where the captain was certain to claim it. He put it out, Bartleby ignored it and pulled a tile from the hedge, and when the turn was given to the captain, Danaco unfurled his tile wall and revealed his winning hand. Shanyi called the round for the captain and tallied the points, a cheer went up, the captain made a fulsome bow, and the players changed their places, Peppone taking over as the captain’s second at the head of the table.

                “I’m not sure I remember all the ways to finish a hand,” said Peppone, somewhat anxiously.

                “Never mind, nindano,” said Danaco, taking up a chair beside him, invigilating the round. “I will watch you and remind you of the rules. You simply mix the tiles and draw, and we shall see how you do.”

                The tiles were mixed and the hedge wall remade, and Panza was the one to take his turn first. The round progressed, the purlieu of surveyors superintended the tiles, some called their matches early and put their sets down, preventing them from winning but defending their hands against any severe point loss, and Peppone was on his way to a win until he took a tile from the discard, put it in his own wall, and was about to throw out another in the same sequence. 

                “That is an illegal move, nindano,” the captain warned.

                “Is it?” said Peppone, charily looking over the tiles. “But I have the three sets here and a pair to finish. I know I’m breaking up this match, but I think I’m likely to get a better one if I do this.” He shuffled a few tiles about and showed the captain the new arrangement. He hesitated. “Is this not allowed?”

                “No. Look here: you have a ready hand. You only need one specific tile to win, and while you want to change this straight to open it and make it succeed on both sides, thereby increasing your likelihood of a win, if you throw out that specific tile, you are breaking up your set. Removing a tile from your hand that would otherwise allow you to win creates a forfeit hand, which will permanently prevent you from taking up anything from a discard. You will then have to win on a draw only, which may ruin your chances of winning entirely.”

                “Ah,” said Peppone, a little bemused.”How about if I break the pair instead? Will that give me a forfeit hand.”

                “Not in this instance, but remember, nindano: if you break that pair, you will have to throw out the second tile on your next turn to rid of it, and it is much the best plan if you keep your hand as is.”

                He followed the captain’s counsel and left his sequences as they were, taking out the tile he had just put in and discarding it into the well. On his next turn, however, the excitement of drawing another tile that would further opened his hand whelmed him, and he began to tuck it into place when the captain disclaimed.

                “Nindano,” said Danaco firmly, “how you do forget.”

                “Ah,” said Peppone, with an anxious conscious. He threw out the tile and bowed his head. “Crave pardon, sir.”

                “Boon given, my soilspawn, but only once. The next time, I take an appendage of my choosing. I am a kindly and unshocking head upon the whole, but my rules are mine and they will be obeyed.”

                “Yes, sir. Just tell me what I should do to win, please.”

                Whilst Peppone was following the captain’s instruction, Bartleby was fidgeting behind Panza, who was staring at the horizon, glowering and stewing, fantasizing a life that did not include the old man leaping about behind him.

                “No, no—what are you doing?” Bartleby cried, in a thrill of agitation. “Do not throw that out. Keep that. Get rid of this one. There is one of the other out already, and is therefore safe to throw out, and the third is in the bonus tile—NO, not that one. You already have the five, six, seven. Do not bother keeping the four unless you want to make a double out of it. And what do you mean by keeping this one? If you hold onto it, you will have to wait until you have a perfect hand to call anything.”

                Panza raised his fist to his cheek, leaned his head against his hand, and heaved a sigh.

                “Do not breathe at me, you ignoramus. Keep your oral feff in your mouth and your hand on the tiles.”

                Panza chose a different tile to discard and mumbled something about would Bartleby rather he cut him at the neck in his sleep for revealing part of his hand.

                The old man’s alae flapped. “A brick to the brain will do for you. Silence cannot breed offense. I know the rules to this game, you don’t. If left to you, you would have called the hand ages ago. You are missing a set, but you could easily win if you were a little more observant and mathematically superior. Winning at this game, even with all its rules, is a simple matter of arithmetic and probability.”

                “See?” said Brogan, nudging Peppone with his elbow. “Told ya he’d say that.”

                “Quiet, you ursine bleb. It is our turn, and until Panza has thrown out the proper tile, you will keep your comments to yourself. You may speak again when your partner’s turn comes round—your game partner, that is, not your resident bedfellow.”

                The turn came to Feiza, who was Brogan’s second, and after everyone had watched his hands and determined he did not cheat by removing a tile from the wrong side of the hedge, Brogan spoke again.

                “See? Told ya he’d say that,” he smiled, his teeth gleaming.

                Bartleby moved to strangle him, but Brogan’s hand consumed the old man’s face, and Bartleby was held at a distance, swinging at him with fists waving in blind fury.

                Without Bartleby to order him about, Panza won the round with little difficulty. He did it quickly and therefore gained as few points as was possible, which infuriated the old man, but the round was over, and Panza was left to walk to the railing, where he could indulge the violent musings of the last ten minutes, throttling a certain scientist and feeling sorry for it, and breathe away from the officious threats of bricks and banter.