After placating Lord Charles Wellesley, I returned to the hall where James was waiting.
No one would find a ten-year-old boy suspicious in a place like this. Even so, I made sure we returned to our seats separately. Habits like that were difficult to break.
"You took longer than I expected, young master," James said. "Did your conversation run long?"
"It seems Lord Wellesley took quite a liking to me," I replied casually. "He said he'd like to speak further, but he stepped away from his card game to talk with me. He suggested we finish the game first and continue the conversation afterward."
"I see."
"So later you may return home first, James. Lord Wellesley invited me to his residence. He said we could talk there and that he would have a carriage take me home afterward."
Planning the next steps required privacy.
And there was another matter as well.
In this child's body, I had never actually handled playing cards before. If I wanted my old instincts to return, I would need practice—and for now, Lord Charles's residence seemed the most suitable place.
So James, sorry, but you'll have to leave early tonight.
"You're going to Lord Wellesley's residence?" James looked surprised. "You only met him today. What could you possibly have said to make him like you so much?"
"Oh, we spoke of various things. You mentioned that Lord Wellesley attended Eton, didn't you? We talked about that for a while and seemed to get along well. With a bit of luck, I might even receive a letter of recommendation."
James's eyes widened.
"If that happens, there would be nothing better! His father, the Duke of Wellington, is one of the most celebrated graduates Eton has ever produced. If you could obtain a recommendation connected to that family, admission would practically be guaranteed."
Sorry.
That was a lie.
Well, technically it was a lie for now. But since there was a very good chance it would become true in the end, perhaps it didn't count.
"Anyway," I continued, "let's wait until Lord Wellesley finishes his game. When he's done, you can return home first and inform Father that I might be late tonight."
"I'm sure the Earl will be delighted," James said with a pleased smile.
After that, while making casual conversation with him, I continued observing how Lord Charles was being cheated.
The card game here was essentially poker.
Modern poker had not yet fully settled into its current form, but the bones of the game were already there. The flow of play and the hand rankings were nearly identical.
There were, however, several key differences.
And those differences were exactly where the weakness of this scam lay.
First of all, unlike modern casinos, gambling houses in this era did not use chips.
The money placed on the table was almost always cash. Sometimes it was gold, sometimes jewelry—actual valuables.
There was also an unnecessary tendency to complicate the calculations. That likely stemmed from aristocratic vanity.
This was, after all, an age in which the upper classes could not bear the idea of playing by the same rules as common citizens.
The most obvious example was the different payout multipliers based on the winning hand.
Even if the wager was one pound, the amount you received depended on the combination you won with.
From my observations:
One pair or less: 0.5× payout
Two pair: 1× payout
Three of a kind: 2×
Straight: 4×
Flush: 8×
Full house: 16×
Four of a kind: 32×
Straight flush: 64×
Royal straight flush: 256×
In other words, a one-pound bet could turn into 256 pounds with a royal straight flush.
Of course, that combination appeared perhaps once in hundreds of thousands of hands. It might as well not exist.
Aside from the multipliers, however, the game was almost identical to modern poker.
And the reason for those multipliers was obvious.
If the dealer predetermined what hand would win, it became easy to control the flow of money.
They could let the mark win big once with a high multiplier to give him a taste of victory, then reclaim everything over the next several rounds.
Or they could allow a series of small wins and take everything back with a single large multiplier.
Simply put, it made the mark far easier to manipulate.
Still, I noticed one interesting point.
The dealer rarely allowed combinations stronger than four of a kind to appear.
If high-multiplier hands showed up too frequently, people would grow suspicious.
In that regard, at least, they were careful.
"I think Lord Wellesley might lose everything today," James murmured anxiously. "His luck with the cards seems terrible. If he won big, his mood would improve—and your chances of receiving that recommendation would rise as well."
"Indeed," I said. "I suppose I'll have to cheer him up later."
James, who knew nothing of the situation, watched as Lord Charles continued losing money and grew increasingly uneasy.
But everything was proceeding exactly as planned.
There it is again.
Another bottom deal.
I had been watching closely in case they used a different method, but now I understood the trick perfectly.
Their main technique was bottom dealing.
The dealer prepared the desired cards at the bottom of the deck and slipped them to the intended player while pretending to deal normally.
A skilled cheat could perform the move without anyone noticing.
Anyone unfamiliar with the technique would watch it happen right in front of them and still fail to see it.
Just as Lord Charles had until now.
"Well, Lord Wellesley lost again," James muttered.
"With three of a kind, he had every reason to bet. But the other player had a straight."
Each time the dealer performed a bottom deal, I lifted my mulled wine as if taking a sip.
That was the signal.
Three times already.
And every time, it had been correct.
By now Lord Charles trusted me completely and was following my instructions—breathing slowly and keeping his expression calm.
"Don't worry, James," I said. "Lord Wellesley mentioned that he won quite a bit here last time. He probably expected to lose today."
"Is that so? Well… I suppose that's reassuring."
James disliked gambling and clearly did not understand the psychology behind it.
Of course the explanation was nonsense.
No one loses money and feels good about it.
But Lord Charles had to lose today.
The more he lost now, the more convincing the next stage of the plan would be.
Still…
Watching them work made me realize something.
The sleight of hand used in the early nineteenth century was not nearly as impressive as I had expected.
Frankly, it was disappointing.
The difference between modern techniques and those of the 1830s was larger than I imagined.
Then again, thinking about it, that made sense.
Modern cheats developed their skills under constant surveillance—cameras, recordings, and monitoring devices forcing them to invent ever more sophisticated tricks.
Naturally their techniques evolved.
Compared to that world, these men were amateurs.
Which meant one thing.
At this level…
I could strip them clean without them even realizing what had happened.
Like wringing out a dry rag until not a single drop remained.
* * *
As expected, Lord Charles eventually lost all the money he had brought.
After the game ended, he returned with me to his residence.
Thanks to my earlier warning, he did not explode with anger—but the frustration was obvious.
"You look heated," I said lightly.
"Of course I'm angry," he replied bitterly. "Those cheating bastards have been bleeding me dry."
"But you'll recover several times that amount soon. Try to calm down."
"…Yes. You're right." He exhaled slowly. "If it weren't for you, I would have overturned the table and dragged them all to prison already. But tell me—why didn't your steward come along? You said the plan was his idea."
That was because I had no intention of revealing my true abilities to James or my father yet.
In Lord Charles's study, I casually picked up a deck of cards and began shuffling.
For a moment I worried that changing bodies might have ruined my sense of touch.
Fortunately, it hadn't.
With a few days of practice, I could probably recover eighty percent of my former ability.
More than enough to toy with those amateurs.
"I owe you an apology," I said.
"An apology?"
"I lied earlier."
He frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"It wasn't my steward who discovered the cheating or devised the plan. That was me. I simply used his name because I thought you wouldn't believe a ten-year-old."
"…What?"
"Yes. Exactly what you're thinking."
Lord Charles stared at me, stunned.
To everyone else, this secret would remain hidden.
But Lord Charles was different.
He was the shield I had chosen.
Once this affair ended, he would become someone firmly on my side.
And to achieve that, he needed to understand exactly what kind of person he had just allied himself with.
I briefly explained my circumstances—omitting anything about my previous life.
"So you grew up in a place called Joseon somewhere in Asia… and only recently arrived in Britain," he said slowly. "That explains why I never heard the Earl of Arran had a son. But how on earth do you speak English so well?"
"Lord Wellesley," I said calmly, "sometimes the world produces a prodigy. It may be easiest if you simply think of me that way."
Calling myself a prodigy was embarrassing.
But in this situation, confidence was the most convincing weapon.
Between what he had already witnessed and the fact that I spoke flawless English after only a few months in Britain, Lord Charles could no longer see me as an ordinary child.
"I must say," he muttered, shaking his head, "it's harder to believe that I'm discussing criminal strategy with a ten-year-old than the fact that I've been cheated. So tell me—what exactly is this perfect plan of yours?"
"There are a few conditions first," I replied.
"What conditions?"
"You must learn to recognize their cheating yourself—and catch them in the act."
"Me?" he said incredulously. "Even if you explain the trick, they're experienced swindlers. If I stare too closely, they'll notice."
"That's why you'll train."
I shuffled the cards smoothly.
"When they attempt the bottom deal, you seize their hand immediately. If the prepared cards are exposed, they won't be able to deny it."
Normally, if someone was caught bottom dealing in a gambling house, their hand would be cut off.
But I had no intention of settling for that.
What use was a severed hand?
Money was far more valuable.
"So how am I supposed to train?" Lord Charles asked skeptically. "Should we hire a professional cheat?"
"That won't be necessary."
I smiled faintly.
"You'll train with me."
I began shuffling the cards again, demonstrating the technique.
Compared to my old life, the movements were crude.
But to Lord Charles, they might as well have been magic.
"How can a ten-year-old move his hands like that?"
"Where I come from," I said calmly, "this is normal. It's a place where the weak don't survive."
Naturally, he had no way to verify that claim.
And if the results proved it true, then my words would simply become reality.
With a smooth motion, I dealt the cards.
Lord Charles looked down at his hand.
His eyes widened.
Four aces.
And a king.
A perfect four of a kind—a hand he had not seen even once at the gambling table that evening.
"Good heavens… when did you…?"
He stared at the cards in disbelief.
"I didn't see anything."
I simply smiled.
The reaction of a nineteenth-century aristocrat confronted with real sleight-of-hand was…
Remarkably entertaining.
At this rate, I might become addicted to it.