Hell Is Above Us: The Epic Race to the Top of Fumu, the World's Tallest Mountain by Jonathan Bloom (freenovel24 .TXT) 📕

a number between one and six to the roller quietly. It was essential that the “dice” could not hear one another. The sum of the two numbers, known only to the roller, would now be the roller’s “come out roll.” He would then approach another set of climbers who would each quietly utter a number between one and six, the sum of the two being the roller’s next roll. The roller would keep doing this, moving up and down the line of climbers, until he either hit upon two people whose numbers summed to seven, in which case he lost the bet and owed everyone else a percentage of the money, or he hit his come out number again, in which case he won the bet and everyone else had to pay him a percentage of the money. The only time a roll of seven was a good thing was in the case of the come out roll. That would make you an instant winner (In real craps, eleven acts like seven. Two and twelve also have their own special rules, but Junk wanted to keep the game simple for the uninitiated members of the team).

Junk started as the roller. Pasang Dolma had respectfully declined to play, so Morrow and Fenimore would be Junk’s first pair of dice. Junk announced a bet of twenty dollars, just to start off easily. He hiked next to Morrow and asked Morrow to whisper a number to him. “Three.” Now Junk slowed down and waited for Fenimore to catch up. Fenimore quietly said “two.” Morrow and Fenimore had now provided Junk with a come out roll of five. Junk would continue now down the line, hoping future “rolls” would sum to five before he hit upon a pair that summed to seven.

Junk stopped and rested against a large serac. He waited for Cole. Cole approached after about five minutes with a Sherpa next to him, carrying his equipment. Cole said a number between labored breaths. River Leaf, carrying her own equipment, arrived at the spot where Junk was waiting. She had said before climbing she did not gamble nor did she have any money to wager. She would provide numbers but did not want to put money on the line or be a roller. When she arrived at Junk, she muttered a number as well. Whatever Cole and River Leaf had each said – no record exists at that level of detail – the numbers summed to neither five nor seven. Worthless. Junk had not won or lost.

Junk climbed down to McGee who was huffing over an ice bridge, fearful it would give way. He was trying to tiptoe. Several high altitude Sherpa were behind McGee. They were clearly dedicated to their job, preventing any customer from getting lost behind them. Even though they were moving at half of their normal rate of ascent, they stayed behind McGee and kept a close eye on him. McGee gave Junk a number. Junk was stuck. He needed one more number for a pair, but was out of Americans. He turned to the group of Sherpa behind McGee. He knew very little of the Sherpa language, and most of the Sherpa knew very little English. He did his best. Turning to the closest Sherpa, a man with a cobra inexplicably tattooed on his hand, he said “A number please!” He counted to six while touching fingers to give them an idea of what he wanted, using slow, sing song-y prosody to indicate they were all reasonable choices.

“I speak English, and four” said the closest one of them. The Sherpa seemed almost angry as he spoke to Junk. Junk was surprised by the negative response. Several other Sherpa around this particular Sherpa also seemed to be of unpleasant disposition. “Wait, you’re the asshole I saw spit on Mano’s monastery.”

The Sherpa was now clearly angry. “My name is Kyidug, not asshole.”

It is true the relationship between porters and sahibs on climbing expeditions has always been strained. The exploitation is obvious to all involved. The sahibs do not pay as much as they should and the porters know it. But it is quite unusual for porters to put their distaste on display unless there is a clear case of abuse. Junk could not think of such an abuse at this point. “Thanks for the number, asshole” Junk said to Kyidug. “You made my come out roll.” Junk had won and intended to play once more. Kyidug only paused for a moment before hiking again.

Junk had reached the end of the line. Now he needed to use his impressive climbing skills to race past everyone and return to the top of the line. He hiked at a rapid clip and collected pairs of numbers as he went. His come out roll from McGee and River Leaf (he skipped Kyidug this time) was three. Cole and a more affable Sherpa provided a number having no effect either way. When he returned to the front of the line, Fenimore and Cooper hit him with a one and a six. Craps. He had broken even.

Fenimore was the next roller. He bet twenty dollars. After Junk and Morrow whispered in his ear, Fenimore let out a small, oxygen-deprived laugh. Seven. He had won right away. Junk and Morrow verified they had indeed whispered “two” and “five” respectively. A quick win and a delightful distraction for the young stripling.

Morrow chose to be the next roller. He was not concerned about leaving the front of the line because his navigational skills were in less demand today. The team knew to simply follow their tracks from the day before. Morrow’s only hesitation about being the roller was driven by the fact that once he had worked his way down the line of climbers, he would have to double his regular rate of hiking in order to return to the front. Nonetheless, the distraction was what he needed.

He chose to make the distraction enormous. “One large” he announced,