The Silent Deal: The Card Game, Book 1

by Levi Stack

  Chapter XI

  THE LEGEND OF THE LEOPARD

  The Leopard. The name burned Viktor's mind like a hot poker. He stared down at the cards on the table and watched Yanko win his seventh and final trick by beating Andrei's nine of spades and Arseni's king of diamonds with his seven of clubs, the trump suit.

  The old boxing trainer smirked as he scooped up the boys' coins. "Don't repeat that tale, Zindelo. You know it's cursed."

  Romulus let out a bark of a laugh. "Again with curses. It's no wonder why you teach instead of train. You probably can't even shadowbox—scared as you are by your own shade!"

  "You insolent little braggart! If I didn't want to win your money, I'd beat you to death in your chair," Yanko spat.

  Why, Romulus? Viktor groaned. Why do you have to make enemies with our only friends?

  "Relax, you old punching bag," said Romulus. He turned to Zindelo and smirked. "No one wants to hear you tell the story anyway, oh Mastered by Horses."

  Yes, we do. But go ahead, insult him and see if it helps.

  "And why is that?" Zindelo sneered.

  "Because Viktor and I know it well, and your Gypsy version probably butchers the tale with a cleaver knife!"

  Yanko rose up from the table, but Zindelo's heavy hand pulled the old man back down. He pointed at Romulus. "Against my better judgment, I'll repeat the tale, serf. But only so your friends can see the depths of your stupidity."

  "Yes, show the boy his foolishness!" urged Yanko.

  Viktor blinked. It was the first time he'd seen just how manipulative Romulus could be. He'd played both the men, and they had drunk just enough vodka to take the bait. Now Yanko packed and lit a long, curved tobacco pipe to smoke during the tale. The first cloud he blew in Romulus' uninterested face.

  "The Legend of the Leopard began decades ago," said Zindelo, keeping his voice a grave whisper, "with a double murder—and not just any murder—but the murder of Lord and Lady Luski, the landowners of Aryk at the time. What made it more intriguing was the nature of the crime. Their nephew, Nocktayl, a boy who'd been sent to live with them years ago, was jealous that Lord Luski had treated one of the young house servants like the son he never had. Nocktayl's anger drove him to murder. He was caught in cold blood, standing over the dead lord and lady, knife in hand. He, of course, was tried, found guilty, and sent off to a prison. But here's where things became strange, because all through his trial, and even as he was carted away, the nephew insisted on his innocence. He blamed the crime on someone else. He said it was—"

  "The Leopard," said Romulus matter-of-factly to Andrei and Arseni, who were on the edge of their seats.

  Zindelo slammed his hand on the table. "Don't take the good parts!"

  Viktor flashed Romulus a hot warning. If his guess had been wrong, the tale might have stopped there.

  "Like I was saying," growled Zindelo, "the citizens of Aryk had no idea they had witnessed the origin of a legend. They believed the odd ordeal over. Roman Talanov, a distant cousin, inherited Staryi Castle. Smart and cautious, he replaced all the house servants and set out to reestablish order. Yet soon Lord Talanov began to report bizarre occurrences. Objects changed places. Dead animals turned up in his bedroom. Footsteps followed him down the halls. One morning, he discovered orders on how to run Aryk scribbled in charcoal above his fireplace. Not a superstitious man, Lord Talanov scoffed at the marks. The next day ... he woke up to himself covered in spots of black ink."

  Everyone listening was captivated, including Yanko, who sucked down long puffs of smoke to calm himself.

  "The citizens all thought back to Nocktayl's scapegoat, wondering if the Leopard was ... real. Lord Talanov increased his protection. He changed locks on his chambers and switched rooms. He barricaded himself away. Nothing helped. Each day, he awoke to more spots, which spread to his belongings and surroundings. He became the first owner to go mad, washing his skin raw and drinking infusions that made him ill. Just a month into his rule, it's said he threw himself off Staryi's top tower.

  "That's when people began to believe. Ghost, creature, or whatever he was—the Leopard's legend was growing. Aryk became quiet. Nobles moved away. Distant relatives of Lord Talanov were tempted to turn down their inheritance in fear of what curse they might be inheriting, but Master Vanzin was greedy. He took Staryi Castle and was haunted next, reporting a new set of disturbances. Shortly after, he hanged himself."

  Viktor winced.

  "Aryk was then passed to an old widow, Esfir Grigolyuk, who said a phantom was shadowing her at night. She tried to flee—turned up dead in the snow. The Yemelin family took over and died one by one, afflicted with poisons and malevolent spirits. Finally, the town went up for sale for a minute fraction of its true value."

  "Who bought it?" said Andrei.

  "Only the cruelest lords. And still, the trend of madness and murder continued at an impossibly rapid pace. It was a terrible time for Aryk, and the serfs suffered because each new landlord was stricter than the last, more paranoid. Finally, after yet another death, a relatively unknown, yet ambitious man bought Aryk for a pittance. You know him as—"

  "Master Molotov," guessed Romulus.

  Zindelo glared at him. "Yes, but while all the men before shied away from the Leopard's orders, it's rumored that Molotov follows them blindly. He's made to rule with an iron first, but stays behind an iron curtain. Legend says he stays hidden in the castle because he fears the Leopard's wrath. His keep has become his cage."

  Viktor had often wondered why their landlord was so reclusive, never venturing out of the castle. Now it was beginning to make sense.

  "But who was the Leopard? And why did he kill? And what made him stop?" Andrei asked.

  "Who knows?" murmured Zindelo. "Maybe he was a vengeful spirit who'd satisfied his bloodlust, or maybe he was a ghost or shadow of a man yearning for power, one who could exercise control of Aryk through Master Molotov. Either way, when the cards were being destroying, Kasta Way was raided for the first time, and Yanko and I knew it was time to leave with the rest of the Gypsies."

  After a short silence, Viktor spoke. "I don't get it. If cards were just outlawed to keep criminals away, then why is there so much fear and secrecy surrounding the playing cards? Why is there Brass Art coating the walls of our town?"

  Yanko gasped. "Zindelo, they don't know about the cards!"

  It passed over Viktor once again—the gut feeling that a secret was being kept from him. He'd experienced it at home and in town, whenever adults stopped their conversations at his entrance. Usually the feeling was sly and underhand, but this time Yanko's words incarnated the sensation.

  "No, they must ..." Zindelo tilted his head. "I can't believe it. You really don't know, do you?"

  "Know what?" said Romulus.

  "Do you realize what this means?" Yanko hissed to Zindelo, smoke pouring from his mouth. "This means the Leopard is real! The Silent Deal is real!"

  "You know about the Silent Deal? Where is it?" Viktor begged.

  "It's all around you," murmured Zindelo.

  "Mind your tongue," Yanko snapped. "Molotov wants them kept like this."

  "Kept like what?"

  "Kept in the dark," said Zindelo, realization setting in. "It all makes sense now—Molotov is protecting you."

  Romulus abandoned his calm pretense. "Protecting us from who? The Leopard?"

  "From that which would destroy you," replied Zindelo. "I've always thought Molotov was ingenious—it's said he was the drafter of the Silent Deal. Perhaps he convinced the Leopard to create a truce that could freeze Aryk in place ... which would allow the Leopard to continue with his castle experiments."

  "I've fire-juggled for the castle guards—what've you seen there that I haven't?" Arseni demanded, his olive skin flushing darker.

  "Strange things—genius and inspired, maybe, but strange, indeed. Though I've never met Molotov, he is the reason I return to Kasta Way. His stable master, Fera Kustos, buys my best steeds—Kabardin, Tersks, and
even Turkish Akhal-Tekes with silver coats—no matter the price. Yet over the years, I've caught glimpses of unnatural things within the castle's depths, things I will not soon forget. All the while, Molotov runs Staryi Castle like a ghost behind a ghost, experimenting his life away in darkness, walking the line between following the Leopard's orders and protecting his citizens."

  "What was it you saw?" Romulus demanded.

  "I'll not say."

  "What is Molotov protecting us from?"

  "I'll not say."

  "What secret of the cards is being kept from us?"

  "That, I cannot answer."

  "Fine," declared Romulus. "I'll play you both Preferans for the answers to the first two questions."

  "Any fool could win six tricks," sneered Yanko.

  "I'll bet misère," Romulus said.

  This silenced the old man.

  "It doesn't matter," said Zindelo. "You have nothing of value to bet."

  "A bearskin."

  Yanko cackled at the absurdity of the statement, but Romulus pulled a cloth bag out of his pocket and dumped the contents on the table. A handful of black, stone-like claws clattered across the wood. All of the Gypsies' jaws dropped. Andrei said something in Romani tongue to Yanko and Zindelo, who nodded.

  "Alright," Zindelo growled. "Yanko and I will put you out of your 'misère,' but you're too arrogant for this to be your first time playing. I'll only play your friend."

  Romulus agreed before Viktor had a chance to object.

  Viktor's first card game became one of the most painstaking he would ever play. Not only had Romulus backed him into a dreadful bet, he had placed enormous stakes on the outcome. Five minutes in, Viktor held his cards in an iron grip, knowing that every card he played had the possibility to win a trick, and thus lose the bet. Somehow he'd lost eight tricks in a row; he needed to lose two more to win a misère. He had been incredibly lucky thus far, because his low cards kept falling in between the ranks of Yanko's and Zindelo's, who grew increasingly angrier at their gap in communication. Meanwhile, Romulus watched the table like a hawk, as did Andrei and Arseni, who looked even more nervous than Viktor.

  Viktor checked the two cards he had left for what felt like the hundredth time—ten of clubs and king of diamonds. The problem was the king! How could he lose a trick when playing a king?

  In the next trick, Viktor put down his ten of clubs. When the cards were overturned, Yanko had played a six of clubs, but Zindelo had put down a jack of hearts, winning the trick. The Master of Horses swore furiously.

  Yanko tugged on his beard. "Never seen such luck ... never in all my years."

  In the last trick, Viktor shrugged at Romulus, as if in apology, and placed down his hopeless king of diamond. He knew he could not win. He had already seen the three other kings played.

  Zindelo's eyes burned upon overturning the cards: Next to his six of spades sat two different kings—Yanko's king of hearts and Viktor's king of diamonds! Viktor was stunned. He was almost sure all the kings had been played.

  "Is that a tie?" Romulus asked, his eyes flickering at Andrei and Arseni.

  Yanko shook his head. "Sorry, boys, that's a loss. From high to low, it's hearts, diamonds, clubs, spades ... Wait a minute ... you lost."

  "He lost—therefore he won misère!" said Arseni. "Viktor didn't win any tricks!"

  Zindelo slammed his fist on the table.

  "Hey! We had a deal," Romulus declared. "We want our answers. What is Molotov protecting us from and what did you see in the castle?"

  Zindelo looked at them with disgust and pulled out his flask, draining the bottle. "Yourselves—that's what Molotov is protecting you from."

  "What! That's not a fair—"

  "Don't tell me that's not fair, because it's true!" bellowed Zindelo. Lowering his voice, he continued. "The answer to your second question is beasts—that's what I saw in the castle. Mark my words, there's much more than horses in that stronghold."

  "You mean other animals?" Romulus asked.

  "I mean beasts—creatures from the four corners of the world of such dreadful forms that the Leopard must have twisted their species: Goliath snakes and land dragons and creeping things; shadows that glide like bats through water; fish that can kill their prey without touching them; frogs you can see through. That's what I saw.

  "Go ahead and think I'm mad if you'd like, but remember what Ivan the Terrible called ancient Staryi Castle in its birth: 'Grobnitsa Castle'—meaning 'coffin castle.' We Roma pass down tales and have not forgotten that Aryk's founder knew a strange power was buried there under the earth!"

  Zindelo gathered up his coat and gloves and got up from the table. He gave a final order to Andrei and Arseni in Romani.

  "Ever heard of R.E. Kamdrac?" Romulus asked.

  Both men snorted. They left the snaking gambling den without another word.

  "Well, the rest of them got kicked out," declared Andrei a few minutes later, stumbling out of the Parlor to join Viktor, Romulus, and Arseni. "Cappi and Dukker flipped their table after they lost, and apparently Rover had to drag Belch away after he started a monologue."

  Viktor nodded. "Well, we can't thank you enough."

  "Yeah, we owe you," Romulus said.

  Arseni laughed. "No you don't. But if you wait a second, I can give you Aryk-angels a ride back to Aryk."

  "How's that?"

  Arseni pointed; the blood brothers turned to see a stableman leading three magnificent black horses toward them. "Yeah, when we were talking in Romani, me and Andrei sort of gambled our life savings on your misère bet. Cheers to beginner's luck."

  Viktor was speechless, first thinking about what would have happened had he lost, and next imagining how amazing it would feel to gallop across the Southeastern Steppes. Meanwhile, Andrei and Arseni examined their horses and began speaking to each other in a soft Romani tongue. They seemed to be amused about something, but Romulus cut in on their joke.

  "Call beginner's luck what you will, but not many decks I know of have five king cards."

  The Romani talk dropped off. Andrei hesitated and then his pale face stretched into a grin. "You were right, Arseni, this one is clever."

  Viktor looked back and forth between the two Gypsies youths, realization dawning on him. "Wait ... you cheated?"

  "Can I help it if juggling makes me dexterous?" asked Arseni. "Besides, I had to slip the king of hearts in. From what Andrei told me the other night, you Aryk-angels made it seem like your very lives were tied to the cards."

  "Yeah ... but ... but the horses and the money—"

  "Relax," Arseni told Viktor, "we'll pay Zindelo back. We've got no desire to slip into the old ways."

  Romulus frowned. "Old ways?"

  "Well, looks like now I'll have to win my boxing match—Christmas Day—and I better see you Aryk-enemies there! Until then, Godspeed!" Then Andrei slipped into the crowd, just another Ruska Roma. Arseni saddled up, motioning for the blood brothers to do the same.

  December came, and with it, snow. In the past week, it had taken Viktor long hours to dig up his family's crop of potatoes and complete a list of chores in preparation for winter. But when the work ended, as it must, he was left apprehensive. Too many loose ends pervaded their search; Kasta Way had created more questions. In a cold, white world, the blood brothers felt like frozen targets just waiting for the legendary Leopard to pounce.

  "Let's see if I get this right," Viktor said for what seemed like the hundredth time. Pacing back and forth by the edge of the forest had become a daily lunch routine. "Some fourteen years ago, Molotov destroyed playing cards to get rid of criminals. The Leopard—who is definitely real—forced Molotov's hand, because he wanted to keep control of Aryk."

  "And that's when Molotov drafted the Silent Deal to protect us, a deal he doesn't want us serfs to know about," Romulus said.

  "Meanwhile, your father gave you a card with two clues: The name R.E. Kamdrac and Matthew 6:21, which says where your treasure is, your heart will be also
."

  Romulus stared across the field at a group of girls being pelted by Boris' and Fredek's snowballs. "Just say it."

  "Say what?"

  "All signs point to my father being a criminal. He was one of the gamblers banned from Aryk. The Leopard probably killed him and my mother for keeping illegal cards."

  "I don't believe that and neither do you. Neither did Petya. Remember what he called Maksim—'the Greatest!' He told us to finish our fathers' work. We can bring down the Leopard ... if we can just find the Silent Deal."

  "Which brings us back to the secret of the cards, where we get totally lost! Look, we need to go deeper. We need to get inside Molotov's castle and figure out what's going on there."

  "No! No a hundred times over!" Viktor said. "We should be lying low from the Leopard, not breaking into his experiments. We could talk to your grandmother and try to learn about your parents, but you refuse to see reason!"

  "I have my reasons."

  "Yeah, you've got more secrets than the Leopard himself."

  "Fine, Viktor. I'll lie low—I've had a decade of practice, haven't I? Have a fun afternoon with Dimovna."

  Viktor had no such thing. Instead his afternoon lessons left him disturbed, because while Romulus was away, a knock sounded on the classroom door; an older man Miss Dimovna addressed as Professor Pyotr walked into the room leading a dust-coated boy, a long-lost acquaintance of Viktor's.

  Aleksandr was one of his childhood friends who had been sent to the mines. The boy had always had an interest in rocks and minerals, and originally Viktor had envied him for receiving a manly job, but that was no longer the case. Something had changed Aleksandr. He was older and stronger, yet his shoulders curled in and his head hung in defeat. His once bright eyes were dark, horror-stricken, and stared down as if he were afraid the ground beneath his very feet would crack open and swallow him whole.

  After a whispered conversation with Professor Pyotr, Miss Dimovna made a disgusted face and announced that Aleksandr would join the class for the remainder of the year. Viktor was perplexed. What had happened to his old friend?

  The school bell marked his first chance to find out.

  "Aleksandr."

  The dark-haired boy turned and smiled bleakly. "Oh, hi, Viktor. I forgot you would be here."

  Viktor hid his surprise. How could his friend forget that? "Yeah, Ollyver goes here, too."

  "That's right, Ollyver ..."

  "It's been a long time. I can't believe you got out of the mines."

  Aleksandr looked away.

  Viktor paused. "Is everything alright?"

  "No."

  Viktor's heart started to beat faster. "What happened in the mines?"

  "There's something off about this town," Aleksandr murmured.

  "Alek." Viktor used his old nickname. "What happened in the mines?"

  "Do you remember in childhood, going to Prospekt Street and for the first time seeing the ... Brass Art?"

  Viktor nodded. As if I could forget ...

  "Well, there's something they don't tell you about the mines." Aleksandr's eyes glinted. "Every tunnel, every wall ... it's covered in it."

  A chill crept up Viktor's spine. "Brass Art ... in the mines? How? Do you think the miners did it?"

  "No, they won't even acknowledge it. They act like they can't see it. And if you mention it, the men exclude you and the overseers whip you. I felt like I was going mad down there ... working in the lantern light ... spades, hearts, clubs, and diamonds snatching at me ... and then the music ..."

  "Music?" Viktor croaked.

  "Down there, the work is so repetitive that the sounds fade way," said Aleksandr, "a quiet sets in, and then it echoes—an old, sad tune. For the longest time, I thought I was hearing things, but then moments came when I caught myself humming along—and it was like the mines had claimed me. I snapped."

  "How did you get out?"

  "Dumb luck. Our gunpowder supplies have been vanishing so I showed some men how to make more by mixing sulfur and charcoal and saltpeter. Pyotr, he runs the mines, and when he overheard me talking about minerals' qualities, he said I belonged in school. But all those other boys ... they're stuck down there."

  A few days later, the blood brothers stood behind the schoolhouse discussing Viktor's conversation with Aleksandr when Evenova and Charlotta interrupted them.

  "Well?" said Evenova.

  "Well what?" said Romulus.

  "Out with it! Did you go to Kasta Way?"

  "Yeah."

  "What was it like?" said Charlotta softly, grabbing Viktor's hand. "What are the Roma like?"

  He laughed, allowing himself to be pulled closer. "I don't know. They're ... free."

  "I can dance and sing." Evenova threw her auburn curls over her shoulder and did a spin, looking graceful even in a ragged peasant dress. "Do you think I'd make a good Gypsy?"

  Romulus stared at her wryly, not bothering to respond.

  "Well, I'll go to Kasta Way with you," Charlotta said. "Anything's better than serf life here."

  "Really? I'm sure Dimovna will like hearing that," said a voice behind the group.

  Everyone turned to see Fredek leaning against the schoolhouse, smirking. He disappeared around the corner. Romulus tried to reassure the girls that Fredek's threat was a bluff, but Viktor wasn't so convinced: This was the Spektor brothers' chance for revenge, and Fredek would do anything to impress Boris.

  The first half of Dimovna's lecture went quietly. Viktor sat there frigid and bored with the rest of the class, waiting for the day to end. But just when he thought the danger was over, the door slammed open without a knock, and in strode Captain Ulfrik, his giant dog beside him, his cigar smoke trailing behind him.