<span style="color: #008000"><span style="font-style: italic">I Know That The Spades Are The Swords Of A Soldier<br/>I Know That The Clubs Are Weapons Of War<br/>I Know That Diamonds Mean Money For This Art<br/>But That’s Not The Shape Of My Heart</span></span><br/><br/><br/>Ichabod smiled across the table at his opponent -- the sort of triumphant, taunting smile that had gotten him punched in the face more than once.  But tonight, the smile’s recipient was too busy scowling at his cards to pay any attention.  Ichabod suspected that the Duke was deeply regretting his decision to stop at this particular tavern for a meal and some recreational gambling.  Already, most of his retinue had been forced out of the game.  Now, only the Duke and Ichabod remained, and Ichabod was riding high on an impressive winning streak.<br/><br/>“Something more to drink?”<br/><br/>Impatiently, the Duke thrust his empty tankard at the serving girl.  Most of the tavern staff had gone to bed hours ago, but she remained, filling cups and making sure the fire never got too low.  Ichabod made a mental note to leave her a generous tip when this was over.  He felt certain that he’d have money to spare.<br/><br/>After swallowing a mouthful of ale, the Duke went back to examining his cards, as if a new one might have appeared while he was looking elsewhere.  Still smiling, Ichabod drummed his fingers on the table -- just softly enough to avoid any accusations of purposely antagonizing his opponent.  But he earned a glare from the Duke anyway.<br/><br/>Finally, the Duke beckoned to one of his retainers, who brought over a piece of parchment and a quill pen.  While Ichabod watched, the Duke wrote something on the parchment.  Then he folded it into quarters and placed it on the center of the table.  “This will serve as my bet for this hand.”<br/><br/>Curious, Ichabod reached for the piece of folded paper.  But another glare from the Duke stopped him.  “You have my word that it exceeds the value of what you’ve already staked.  Or are you doubting my honor?”<br/><br/>Ichabod spread his hands in gesture of apology.  “Never, M’lord.  Let’s finish the game.”<br/><br/>It was probably a note promising ownership of the man’s horse, or the deed to some half-ruined castle.  Ichabod didn’t have any use for either.  But by this point, he’d already won so much money that it no longer mattered.  He was only continuing to beat the Duke as a matter of pride.  Tossing down two of the cards in his hand, Ichabod drew two replacements.  Then he reached up and appeared to scratch the unruly brown curls which spilled down from beneath his hat.  Nimble fingers quickly tucked one of the cards he’d drawn up into the hat, while retrieving the ace he needed.<br/><br/>“Three kings,” the Duke announced, spreading his cards on the table.  Ichabod allowed his opponent a moment of imagined triumph, before displaying his full house.  Several very ignoble swear words exploded from the Duke’s lips.  Then he beckoned to another one of his retainers.  “Bring it inside.”<br/><br/>After sweeping up his winnings, Ichabod unfolded the piece of paper which represented the Duke’s bet.  And both his eyebrows shot upwards as he read the single world written on it.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Ruin.</span>