The Silent Deal: The Card Game, Book 1

by Levi Stack

  Chapter XVII

  R.E. KAMDRAC

  Romulus leaned up against the door. "I'm Romulus. My friend is Viktor. We'd like to meet you, sir."

  A moment passed in silence. "Why've you come here?"

  "To talk ... We're friends of Lady Nutrix."

  The door burst open to reveal an older man with bushy white hair and a thick mustache. His gaze moved downward, as he had not expected his guests to be youths. For half a second, Kamdrac's eyebrows furrowed on his square face, and then he hurriedly waved the boys inside. His wrinkled eyes swept the hill: Seeing no one else, he shut the door, sighing as if a weight had been lifted off his chest.

  "Are you ... expecting someone?" Viktor asked.

  "Expecting? Ho—no, I haven't had visitors for ages—except if you count window-breaking vandals and the occasional rat." A vacant expression covered his face, as if he'd already forgotten he had guests. He blinked. "But any friend of Saga Nutrix is a friend of mine! Great fortune-teller, that Saga—she used to be good friends with my daughter ..."

  Romulus watched the man's wistful expression in puzzlement. Viktor took the opportunity to scan the cabin, which stank of stale wine and musty parchment. Scrolls, ink, trash, and rotted food made a mess of every surface. The bedsheets nailed over broken windows cast a gloomy mood. Farther away, large wooden and iron apparatuses groaned.

  Kamdrac glanced back, apparent pride written on his face. He rubbed his greasy hands on the front of his old-fashioned suit. "Well, come, come, it's not often I get to show off my printing press!"

  At least we've solved the mystery of the mechanical horror house, Viktor thought, feeling pity for the man who'd been slandered by rumors. Even now, Kamdrac seemed more desperate to keep his company entertained than learn the reason for their visit. At least this will get him talking.

  And talk Kamdrac did. He jabbered on and on about the printing process, showing the boys how to press iron typeface against parchment and, in doing so, print paper with the wet ink of new words.

  "And there you have it—as if Gutenberg himself did the job!"

  "But what language is this?" asked Viktor, staring from the cryptic words to the machine, which he decided was basically a giant stamp.

  "Ah, blind me! It's French, though I have Russian typeface also. Woefully Romani doesn't work so well, seeing as your dialect has no written format."

  Viktor traded a knowing look with Romulus. With their wild appearances and reference to Lady Nutrix, Kamdrac had mistaken them for Gypsies—a mistake that might prove valuable in their attempt to gather knowledge.

  Thus Romulus began his manipulation, the skill he did so well. Questions flew about movable type and printing-press design, and once he'd won Kamdrac over with praise, he asked the question that moved the attack onward.

  "But books aren't all you print. Don't you make cards, too? Lady Nutrix told me in private that R.E. Kamdrac decks are the best she's ever used."

  Kamdrac ran his hand though his wiry white hair, streaking it with grease. "Yes, R.E. Kamdrac—that's what they used to call me. It's been years since I've heard it spoken aloud ... the card-maker—R.E. Kamdrac ..."

  "Is that not your name?" asked Romulus.

  "It is my name, but one self-given."

  "You changed your name?"

  "Indeed, when I fled France."

  Viktor and Romulus both wore a stunned expression.

  Kamdrac beamed at the attention. "See, a decade after the French Revolution, Napoleon had risen to power, and his stifling government oppressed master card-makers like myself. Ho—twisting my creativity into propaganda for the masses! I wouldn't stand for it, so when Napoleon invaded Russia some twenty-five years ago, I fled with my family toward the war front. That's how I met Saga."

  "You met Lady Nutrix in France?" Viktor asked.

  "Just outside of it. Saga was only a girl, but her mother, Mala, was volunteering as a nurse for the Russian Army. See, my dear wife, Violca—bless her soul—grew weak while traveling and caught typhoid. For weeks, Mala aided her in every way she could, but I never forgave myself when the fever took her. And the camp was no place for my maturing daughter, but a kind soldier who fancied her, as well as Mala, convinced me to settle here in the Ural Mountains, which was not so prudent, looking back ..."

  "Did the French government come looking for you?" Romulus said.

  "Ho, yes, but not for the new me. I had a laugh using the English language to reverse the letters of my profession card-maker, to create my pseudonym, R.E. Kamdrac. See, the art of cards required me to master many languages, because my foreign customers all wanted special designs: Italians with their swords, wands, cups, and coins; the Germans with their hearts, bells, leaves, and acorns; and the historical heroes of the English cards—like King David and Alexander the Great."

  "We have one of your Russian cards," said Romulus evenly.

  Kamdrac's bushy eyebrows sunk. "Doubtful. I haven't crafted cards in a decade—Russian cards longer than that."

  "Why can't you make them anymore?" Romulus asked.

  "I can still make them!" he huffed. "People used to come from far and wide to pay for my workmanship until—until I stopped—after the ... the ..." He paused. "Let me see this card."

  Viktor watched as Romulus handed it over.

  Kamdrac stared down in bewilderment. "Dear me ... hum ... the king of spades ... How did this end up in Kasta Way?"

  "So you recognize it?" asked Viktor.

  "Recognize it? It's a masterpiece! It belongs to the most advanced deck I ever made!"

  Romulus shrugged. "It just seems a bit ragged."

  "Ragged?" Kamdrac's nostrils flared: It was clear nothing insulted him like a shot at his artistry. "Sit, both of you. I shall fetch something."

  The boys shifted parchment to find chairs. When Kamdrac strode back in, he had a copper block the size of a card deck in his hand.

  "I keep all my old designs, and this is the most detailed work I've ever done," he said, passing them the block, whose front had been carved into an intricate image of leaves and vines wrapping around a flower. "That block made your card, and if you think card-makers can carve copper better, you're sorely mistaken."

  "It is impressive," Romulus murmured, attempting to revamp the man's pride. "How'd you come up with such a beautiful design?"

  Kamdrac's eyes glazed over. "Many years ago, a fellow came to me with that same image—it was an artist's drawing, and this patron found it so beautiful he hired my expertise to craft cards of that deck design.

  "Sounds expensive," muttered Romulus.

  Too expensive for Maksim, Viktor thought.

  "Ho, but this man wore fine fur," replied Kamdrac, "and he was covetous, too. See, he wanted the deck to be nigh impossible to recreate—hence the painstakingly detailed vines and my watermark. That's why these cards were made from a metal engraving instead of a woodcut, because this matrix here will wear out very quickly if I continue printing the image—the ink builds quickly on the copper."

  "How many decks were you able to print?" Viktor asked.

  "That's what made this order so odd—it was skewed. The man wanted many low cards printed—sixes, sevens, eights—but hardly any face cards made. That's what makes your card so rare. I only made four king cards of this design, this card being the only king of spades." Kamdrac looked at them eerily. "So tell me, how did you come upon it?"

  After a long pause, Romulus spoke honestly. "My father passed it to me. I think you must know him. I think he bought these cards."

  Kamdrac frowned. "I think not. The man who bought these cards had neither wife nor son."

  "What was his name?"

  "Leo."

  Leo Pardus! Viktor's mind screamed.

  "He was a great, strong fellow ... a skilled hunter who claimed to know the map of the forest better than any man. He was called ... the Lion, I believe."

  Not the Lion—the Leopard! Viktor's head pounded. But why is the Leopard chasing after his own cards! They mus
t be valuable to him! They must hold a secret!

  Kamdrac read the intensity written on Viktor's face. Then, slowly, he turned to Romulus. "If your father ... your father passed you the card ..."

  Suddenly Kamdrac's bushy eyebrows shot up and he grabbed hold of Romulus' shirt. His eyes landed on the Saint Benedict medallion and his mouth contorted with pain. "You—you filthy, nasty liars! You're no Gypsies! You're serfs from Aryk!"

  "Get off me!" Romulus shoved the old man away.

  "Fools!" Kamdrac rushed over to the windows, peeking out of the bedsheet blinds before pulling them tighter shut. "You know cards are banned in your town!"

  "Just the cards you made!" spat Viktor. "Why? Why is that?"

  "Who saw you come here?"

  "Nobody," Romulus snapped. "Where are you going?"

  Kamdrac crashed into a bureau on the other side of the room. He whirled around, a flintlock pistol pointed at the boys. "Get out! Out! Never return!"

  Romulus stared down the barrel. "I want my card."

  Kamdrac looked down in horror at the king of spades still clenched in his pistol-free hand. He flicked it at Romulus. "Take your death sentence with you!"

  "I still can't believe the cards belong to the Leopard. Why would he ban the very ones he had made?" Arseni wondered. Night had fallen as the boys traveled through the forest. Throughout the day's ride, they'd had many conversations about Kamdrac and his cards.

  Viktor sighed. "You know my opinion. The cards have to have a hidden meaning. There's a secret to them—I'm sure of it. Kamdrac was holding something back."

  "He was holding everything back," Romulus said. "I buy that he wanted to leave France, but how does a master card-maker get convinced by a random Gypsy to settle in the Urals? How does he end up in the one place where cards can get you killed?"

  Arseni nodded. "It's all too much of a coincidence."

  Viktor breathed into his cupped hands, letting the reins hang. "Are we close to home, Romulus?"

  "Yeah, we're near the Great Fairy Ring—just northwest of town."

  Viktor faintly recalled the dark mass on Romulus' map.

  "Oy, I've heard of that place," said Arseni. "Isn't that the maze that's impossible to chart? The say fairy rings grow inside it."

  "Fairy rings?" Viktor echoed.

  "They're toadstools that grow in circles," Arseni said. "Supposedly they're entrances to the fairy kingdoms—it's dead dangerous to walk through one. You get cursed with an early death."

  Romulus shrugged. "I don't know about fairies, but I've no doubt the maze is the most dangerous place in the forest. I got lost in it once."

  "You did?" Viktor and Arseni asked in tandem.

  "For three days. I nearly died of thirst in those bushes. Everything in there is backward and circular. I only escaped because I got it in my head to start picking the paths I least expected to be right. I'll show you the entrance. It's coming up—"

  CRACK!

  In the cold, a tree's bark split like a gunshot, causing Viktor's horse to spook worse than it had in Kasta Way. It stampeded straightaway, and without a hold on the reins, Viktor flailed in the saddle, a hostage to his steed. His horse was taking him toward a gap in a wall of hedge-like bushes!

  "Stop him, Arseni!" Romulus roared.

  "Te xal tu phuv!"

  The Romani warning reached the beast's ears, and instantly it locked its legs. Viktor flew off the mount through the gap in the bushes and landed in sandy, frigid soil.

  "Viktor, hurry and move!" cried Romulus, sliding off his horse as he and Arseni drew near.

  Viktor didn't understand Romulus' fear, but then he felt it: The sand was softly creeping up his legs, his body resting on what felt like a rippling bed of water. Frantically he tried to crawl toward solid ground, but he had no leverage, and his movements sunk him deeper into what was a pit of cold quicksand. His hand closed around something buried under the surface. He yanked it up and nearly vomited: His fingers were clenched in the eyeholes of a human skull!

  "Don't move!" Romulus ordered.

  Viktor didn't listen. Terror gushed down his spine as he imagined what dying things lay under him in the sinkhole.

  "Stop or you'll sink!" Romulus shouted.

  Against every natural urge, Viktor paused. Sure enough, the sinking slowed, though didn't stop entirely. "Hand me something," he gasped.

  Arseni and Romulus frantically scanned their surrounding, but there were no trees, and hence, no branches in the area.

  "Think of something—I'm sinking here!"

  Romulus' hand flew to his bag. "Do you trust me?"

  For some reason, the question struck Viktor's core. He wanted to say yes, but when he opened his mouth, no words came out. Lady Nutrix's warning echoed in his mind: "The Moon ... it predicts deception, and ultimately ... betrayal!"

  The lack of response made Romulus' face flash with anger and shame. His hand shifted and pulled an Orange Split from the bag. With a scowl, he lit it and rolled the explosive mere feet from where Viktor was sunk.

  "Wh-What are you doing?" Viktor cried.

  Arseni was just a horrified as he watched Romulus seize a large rock.

  "Just get ready to move," Romulus growled.

  Viktor shielded his face as Romulus heaved the rock, yet there was no blast. The weighty stone sunk into the sand, pulling the Orange Split under with it! No sooner had it disappeared that an explosion rippled under the surface. Suddenly amazement ran through Viktor upon understanding the plan. He sprang to life, crawling over the sand—for it had momentarily hardened from the force of the blast. Romulus and Arseni seized his hands and gave him a tremendous tug, pulling him out of the suctioning sand just as it morphed back to its liquid-like state.

  For long minutes, Viktor sat hunched over, breathing hard. Romulus gazed at him bitterly, a stare Viktor avoided by focusing past the sinkhole at the great bushes and their wicked thorns and poisonous-looking leaves. The scene looked like a garden from a haunted fairy tale, where hedges had grown out of control and had taken on nightmarish qualities.

  "Before we go back to Aryk, there's something I have to tell you two," said Arseni seriously, parting the icy silence. "I know you saw that man at the boxing match, the one who looked like the Leshy ... but I've seen him once before—in Molotov's castle. Zindelo was surprised I hadn't seen some of the strange creatures while fire-juggling there, but the truth is, I've seen something stranger, and Zindelo's confession convinced me I hadn't imagined the whole thing. See, far stranger than the green-haired man was the door I saw the man exit from."

  "A door?" Romulus murmured.

  Arseni's olive-skinned face went taut and his eyes flashed through his shaggy dark hair. "I was lost. I wandered into a black hallway. There were many doors like it, but when this door opened, it was like looking at the entrance of a different kingdom. It was like that"—he motioned to the Great Fairy Ring—"except greener. It was more brilliant than any forest I've ever seen. It was a jungle!"

  A week and a half later, Viktor stomped into the Den followed by Romulus. For long days, tension had been building between them, and their lack of direction made matters worse. The bubble was ready to burst.

  "I gave you those knuckle guards for protection—not so you could make a fool of Dimovna at every turn," chided Romulus. "You're embarrassing yourself. Evenova and Charlotta think so, too."

  "Dimovna had it coming!"

  "Yeah and now she suspects we're in league together, doesn't she?"

  "Who cares?" snarled Viktor. "We're no closer to finding the Silent Deal than when the school year began! We know nothing about the hanging or your parents or the cards! And I barely sleep anymore! You don't know what my dreams are like!"

  "Look!" said Romulus. "We know the Leopard banned the cards, and we know something's happening in Staryi Castle. If we could just get in—"

  "You're mad if you think I'm going to break into the castle! Especially when so many people know about the king of spades: Lady Nutrix, Kamdrac, the C
rossbones Clan, the girls—they can turn on us anytime they want!"

  "But they won't!" Romulus argued.

  "I don't care. It's time. We must talk to your grandmother."

  "I told you a hundred times: That's—not—an option."

  Viktor threw his hands up. "Because she doesn't exist! Because you made her up, just like you're making everything up. That card isn't your father's—it's the Leopard's. And you don't really want to know about your parents, because if you did, we'd be talking to your senile grandmother right now!"

  "STOP!" Blizzard began to growl so Romulus switched to a daring whisper: "Alright, Viktor, we'll do it your way. We'll visit my grandmother. We both know you doubt me, so once again, I'll prove myself to finally shut you up about it."

  "Then lead the way—if you can," dared Viktor, trying to hide his surprise.

  Romulus ignored the taunt and exited the Den, motioning for the wolf to stay behind. Neither boy talked as Romulus led the way through the frosty forest toward Aryk, but Viktor's mind was racing at the chance to finally meet one of the evasive characters of Romulus' past.

  Who was his long-hidden grandmother? And why had he been so adamant about keeping her identity a mystery? Was she hateful, or decrepit, or did she have knowledge that Romulus wanted kept secret?

  After a long walk to the southeast, Romulus exited the forest and paused, wiping away their tracks into the woods. Viktor was taken aback as he scanned the surrounding valley: This third district of Aryk held hundreds of serf homes, one of which was his own. Never had he stopped to consider the possibility that Romulus might have grown up so near him.

  After Romulus descended the hill and turned down one of the many lanes dotted with shacks and vegetable plots, Viktor broke the silence. "Row Thirteen? You said we were going to your grandmother's house."

  "Yes."

  "But that's the row my house is on ..."

  Romulus continued forward without answering. Viktor stared from house to house in confusion, as if he'd never properly seen his neighbors before. Who is Romulus' grandmother? There's the Ugluvs' house—is their grandmother alive? Not the Chendevs ... Can't be the Umskys—we had dinner with them. Hmm, the Markov and Yegorov families have living grandmothers—but Romulus already passed their houses ...

  Romulus walked by House 12, Viktor's home. Viktor knew his father and mother were still at work. Grandpap was probably napping. For a moment, Viktor thought Romulus would stop and turn, admitting that his story was a sham, admitting he was raised in the forest by wolves and the Leshy, admitting he had stolen the Leopard's playing card. And then to Viktor's shock, Romulus did stop and turn, but his confession was not the one he expected.

  "This is it."

  "Uh, what do you mean?"

  Romulus nodded his head sideways. "We're here."

  "Don't be stupid. This is my house."

  "Not yours. The next one."

  A chill stole over Viktor as he looked at the neighboring residence. Snow weighed on the roof of the dilapidated shack. Logs hung out of place, and windows were boarded up. Weeds choked a broken fence surrounding a trashed yard. This was the home of his crazy, unstable neighbor, the woman who had lost her sense, the owner of the cries and bangs that woke Viktor every morning!

  "The Blok Widow ..."

  "What was that?"

  Viktor blinked. "Miss Blok—she's your ... your ..."

  "Yes. My grandmother."

  Chapter XVIII

  THE FORGOTTEN TEA