by Laura Powell
“You three: against the wall behind Pentacles,” he rapped out. “And don’t think of trying any tricks.”
The blade stung coldly against Cat’s neck. She swallowed and felt the metal prick into her skin. The warmth and weight and smell of Liam’s body were pressed against her in horrible intimacy.
“Time to lose Tweetie Pie. Set it on the floor—nice and slow now.”
Cat bent her knees, holding the cage with one unsteady hand, and Liam bent down alongside her without loosening his grip. She set the cage a little distance from her feet; when she stood up, the bird beat its wings in agitation against the bars as if to echo the leaping of her heart.
Meanwhile, Flora, Blaine and Toby had lined up along the wall behind the knight. His song over, he appeared to have passed out, and was filling the air with rich bubbling snores.
“You’ve already got your man,” Blaine said tightly, “so fetch your mates and finish the move. We’ve got nothing to do with this, and nothing to do with you.”
Liam sneered. “Typical gutless chancers. You’re an even bigger waste of space than Pentacles here. The boozing idiot gets his hands on an ace, one of the powerfullest cards in the deck, and practically throws it away—didn’t even have the sense to use it to seal off the threshold and make his escape.” He spat on the floor.
“Three hours I kept watch on his little bonfire. Three hours! Soon as it started to die away I could’ve gone for backup. But no, I knew better’n that. I waited. And I watched, just like I’d watched this one”—he leaned in to Cat, so his breath tickled sourly against her cheek—“go all weak-kneed at the threshold. I got a feeling in my gut that her business here weren’t finished, and in this Game, it’s gut instinct what gives you the edge. Course, a whole gang of yous turning up was an unexpected surprise.”
“So what do you want from us?” Flora asked coldly.
“Easy. I want one of you fine ladies and gents to deliver this here Knight of Pentacles to the Knaves of Wands.”
“But—but he’s already your prisoner.”
“Ah, but I wants something more. The main chance. Or in this case—chancer. A chancer what’ll bring the power of Wands down on Pentacles, and win this move for my court. And for me. Get it?”
Nobody answered.
“A knave what catches a chancer meddling gets set free from his forfeit: that’s the rule.” Liam sniggered at his own cunning. “Thanks to the intervention you’ll be so kind to make, I goes back to being a knight, while one of you gets to be the King of Wands’ shiny new knave. Bonus points all round.”
“Wait,” Toby tried. “You don’t need to do this. The four of us are on a quest. We’re going to overthrow the—”
“Shut it.”
“But—”
“I said, shut it. Chat, chat, chat, hoping to distract me … I weren’t born yesterday. No, I’m the one what’s doing the talking, ’cause I’m the one in charge.” His eyes glinted dangerously. “I want a volunteer in the next thirty seconds. Else your friend’s losing streak is gonna turn fatal.”
At this, he pressed the knife tighter so that Cat felt warm blood trickle on clammy skin. She stared out at the concrete cell with unseeing eyes. Was this how her mum and her dad had felt, waiting helplessly as the stranger raised the gun? It wasn’t just her life that was at stake, either. To save her, one of the other three would have to give up their freedom for enslavement to the Court of Wands.
“P’raps,” Liam mused as he drew the blade—lightly, teasingly—toward her ear, “you’re thinking I’m the type for idle threats. P’raps I should start off with a little nibble of the knife, just to show how easy—”
“I’ll do it,” said Flora. She looked at the others’ stricken faces and waved her hand dismissively. “It’s fine: I’m bored of being on the sidelines as it is. Who knows, I might even get a career break like Liam here. And a knave’s one up from a fool, wouldn’t you say?” Then she pushed herself off the wall and stepped over the drooling body of the knight, giving him a contemptuous kick on the way.
Liam tensed and pressed the blade against Cat’s throat again, but Flora barely glanced at them. Instead, she bent down and picked up the birdcage. “I’ll have one advantage, at least,” she said briskly. “There are few knaves who have a real live ace up their sleeve.”
“Ace?” said Liam, frowning. “That card’s been played. And put that thing down, I don’t—”
Too late. Flora flicked open the gilded door, swung the cage through the air and flung the bird at his face.
It might have been a creature of the Arcanum, conjured by a magician, and forged from the raw element of air. But it was also just a bird. A frightened bird, in a squawking, scrabbling fluster of beating wings and beak and claws.
Instinctively, the knave put up one of his arms to protect his face. He didn’t release Cat, but his grip slackened. Even so, he would have recovered from the distraction in seconds if it wasn’t for the knight, who suddenly swung his bound legs up and across the floor, jackknifing into the backs of Liam’s knees.
The next minute or so was all confusion as Cat scrambled out of the way and the knight and knave flailed about on the floor. The knight had somehow managed to work his hands free, but his legs were still tied, and Liam had the knife. However, the knight was neither as old nor as drunk as he had first appeared: there was bulk beneath his tattered layers of clothes and a ruthless gleam in his eyes. Before the others quite knew what had happened, Liam’s head had hit the concrete ground with a crack and his body collapsed limply.
“Little bastard,” said the knight with satisfaction. He took the knife to cut the remainder of his cords, which he used to truss up his former captor. “Still breathing, more’s the pity.” He then produced a battered version of Toby’s hip flask from within his layers and took a hefty swig.
“You all right, Cat?” Blaine asked quietly.
Cat nodded. She had backed into a corner of the room and was holding one hand around her throat.
“Let me see.” He reached to take her hand away, then touched, very gently, the scratch made by Liam’s knife. “There,” he said, as if his touch could rub out the mark, lightly and easily, like an eraser on a pencil. Their eyes met, as they had that first time in Mercury Square. It already felt like a lifetime ago. The bird swooped down from its perch on a hook in the wall and settled on her shoulder, cooing contentedly.
Toby was still gawping. Flora looked similarly stunned.
“Here you go, princess,” said the knight, holding out his hip flask. “This’ll put some color in your cheeks. Pass it round, if you like.”
Flora managed a weak smile. “Not for me, thank you. Though you’re very kind.”
“D’you think Wands could make the case that Fl … our involvement has won this move for you?” Blaine asked the knight, leaving Cat’s side to rummage through Liam’s pockets.
“Hmm.” The man rubbed his bristly chin. “I’m not home and dry yet. Got to get back to the threshold first. As for this little weasel … well, all knaves are cheats and losers. I reckon I could’ve taken him down on my own, but I can’t swear to it. It’s a close call.” He took another swig from the hip flask and belched loudly.
“Too close for comfort,” Toby fretted. “At this stage of the Game, the kings and queens will use any excuse to take one of us out of play.”
“So it’s just as well Liam was carrying this, then.” Blaine held up the thin black lighter that the Magician had conjured from the Ace of Wands.
The other three chancers heaved shaky sighs of relief. “Thank God,” Flora whispered.
“Y’know,” mused the knight, “I never come across one chancer before, let alone four. I never saw a bird like that one, neither. A quest, you said …” He squinted round at them with shrewd wet-rimmed eyes, then gave a hoarse chuckle. “I know: don’t ask, don’t tell. Gotta keep my mind on the job at hand, anyhow, if I’m to get to that threshold with all my bones intact.”
He went to the door
of the room and looked up and down the corridor. “Still, this particular gang can’t be the cream of Wands’ crop, not if they left our rat-faced friend here in charge of surveillance. I reckon I’ve a decent enough chance of pulling through.”
“We should get moving, too,” said Blaine. “We’ve got what we came for—and Temple House is only three buildings to the right of this one.”
“Off to HQ, eh? Then you’ll just need to keep going through the rat run; as far as I can make out, the basements are all joined up on this side of the threshold.”
Taking a final gulp from his flask, the knight tucked it away, stretched enormously and rubbed his hands through his dirty hair. “Time to be up and at ’em. Cheerio, chancers.”
Striking a match from a box in his pocket, he turned left and sauntered into the darkness, singing under his breath. “ ‘Luck be a lady tonight …’ ”
“Come on.” Flora wearily turned in the opposite direction.
“What about him?” said Cat, prodding Liam with her foot. The knave stirred slightly and let out a faint groan.
“Leave him for his crew to find,” Blaine replied. “We’ve got other priorities.”
They nodded, grim-faced. They were so close. But they didn’t dare hope. Not yet.
The knight was right about it being a rat run. Their corridor soon diverged into a jumble of nooks, crannies and crooked passageways; after a while the office clutter changed to household junk but the dust and dilapidation were the same. Some stretches had bulbs that flickered into sallow life; in others, Toby’s flashlight was the only light they had to guide them. The Ace of Wands remained in Blaine’s pocket.
Cat dropped behind to talk to Flora, shifting the birdcage awkwardly in her arms. “Thank you. For what you did back there, and the risk you took.”
“Obviously, none of us would have stood by and watched you get your throat cut. I happened to move first, that’s all,” Flora said calmly. “I’d seen that knight had got his hands loose, so it seemed worth a shot.” She bit her lip. “I’ll just have to hope we get to the Hanged Man before the forfeits get to me.”
“We won’t let that happen—to you or anyone. We’re in this together.”
“We’re in this for ourselves,” the other girl replied. “Don’t get me wrong—I don’t want anything bad to happen to you or Toby or Blaine. Of course I don’t. But at the end of the day, the four of us have to look out for each other because that’s our best chance of survival, and our only chance of success.”
Cat knew Flora was right. She only had to let her guard slip for a moment and she would be flooded with a terrible hunger for the memories awakened by the Six of Cups, and all-consuming grief for what came after. But expert as she was at suppressing her own hopes and fears, Cat was beginning to find that blocking out other people’s was a different matter.
Toby’s voice broke into her thoughts. “This is it, team. Go through there, and we’ll be right under Temple House.”
The next dividing wall had a gate in the middle—a gate with the design of a wheel worked into its rusting bars. An empty cellar lay beyond, its walls plastered in peeling whitewash.
“You say the Hanged Man is imprisoned under this building?” said Blaine.
Toby nodded solemnly. “Far below. But the stairs are hidden behind the ballroom door. You got the key, Flora?”
“All present and correct.” Flora flourished the little silver key that she had carried ever since the Triumph of the Moon.
“And I’ve got the die,” said Cat.
Smiling with relief, she stepped forward to make its final throw. A few seconds later the scars on their palms matched the wheel in the gate, and the die itself had crumbled away into dust. Its task was done, for the last threshold it had created would take them out of this move and back into their own time.
Everyone’s spirits lifted. They had captured the aces and won their round. And once Toby raised the threshold coin, and spun them out of the Five of Wands, they knew they were right where they needed to be: just a few floors below the mirrored doorway that would take them to their prize.
WHEN THE FOUR CHANCERS emerged from the basement and into the entrance hall of Temple House, it was to find that the dust sheets and junk mail of their last visit had disappeared. Luster gleamed from every surface; a drowsy richness warmed the air. The checkered hall was deserted and the golden curtain pulled closed.
Even so, there was something unsettling about the stillness. As they began to climb the stairs to the ballroom, it felt as if the whole house was drawing its breath.
“This place is equal to all players, remember,” Flora said, as if to reassure herself. “We can do what we like.”
“Oh, my dear,” said the Queen of Pentacles, “that’s where you’re wrong.”
Lucrezia had emerged from behind the black-and-gold doors at the head of the stairs. Her expression was amused, and a little indulgent: an adult surveying fractious children. She was dressed in another of her voluptuous evening gowns, and its emerald skirts rustled like paper as she moved. “For as long as the courts hold sway, every one of us must obey the rules. One of which is that all play is suspended while a Lottery takes place.” She smiled dazzlingly. “And since a Lottery is in progress this evening, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”
Her three companions were close behind. Alastor, looking sleepy and rumple-haired, was the last to emerge. As he did so, he took a blank card from within his coat and passed his hand over its face. When he held it up, they saw a leering thief-figure. “Seven of Swords,” he said with his customary nonchalance. “Or, if you prefer, the Reign of Futility.”
Behind him, the doors to the ballroom quivered, then melted into a solid wall. They took the only route to the Hanged Man’s tomb with them.
“You—you can’t do that!” gasped Toby in outrage.
Ahab regarded them dispassionately. “It appears we just did.”
Blaine moved as if to challenge him, but Flora put a restraining hand on his arm. “It’s fine,” she said, tight-lipped. “We’ll just wait until the Lottery’s over. They can’t delay us for much longer.”
None of the kings and queens looked in the least concerned. Alastor swung ahead, whistling under his breath. They continued down to the hall and through the curtain without so much as a backward glance at the four chancers.
The square outside was thronged with people, and the Game Masters’ arrival was greeted with a ripple of applause. The table and wheel from the ballroom had been set on the center of the lawn; the apple tree behind was a cloud of white blossom in a rose-flushed sky. As the kings and queens took their seats, the voice of the doorkeeper raised itself above the murmur of the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, princes and vagabonds, players all …”
The four chancers slumped on the front doorstep. They had no choice but to sit it out.
And in the drowsy atmosphere of Temple House, energy and urgency alike began to ebb. As the bird preened its feathers, and the audience laughed, clapped or sighed as events required, Cat could feel a gentle lull stealing over her. On the far side of the square, just past the lace of spring leaves and twinkling lights, the rosy sky had darkened to black. Flakes of snow were spiraling onto the pavement. A lone pedestrian, muffled up against the cold, didn’t give the interior of the garden a second glance. Their own world: so near and yet so far.
“Maybe we should hit the GMs with our aces,” Toby suggested at last. “They should be super-powerful.”
“Not in the form they’re in now,” Flora replied, rousing herself a little. “What can we do—set fire to the King of Wands’ hair with the lighter? Stick an ice cube down the Queen of Cups’ neck? No, our only hope is to get the aces to the Hanged Man’s tree, like the Magician said.”
“Then what?” Blaine grunted.
“Then … then we’re supposed to plant them in some way,” Cat said sleepily. “Isn’t that right? I s’pose we can ask the—”
The doorkeeper was standing before them, star
ing with pale clouded eyes. His face was stern.
“The courts require your presence,” he announced. “Come.”
The four chancers unsteadily got to their feet. Cat’s birdcage felt unusually heavy, and dragged at her arm. As the crowd parted to let them through, the line of faces was like one long pale snake filled with eyes. It seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to cross the lawn to where the Game Masters were waiting.
Ahab was the first to speak. “It appears,” he said ponderously, “that the courts are due recompense. An unlawful intervention has been made.”
The audience seethed with scandal and delight.
Cat was wide awake now. “No,” she said, her voice sounding childishly high and thin. “No, you’re wrong. That knight would’ve got free of Li—of the Knave of Wands without any of us having to do anything. You can’t know if our being there made a difference as to whether he won his move or not.”
“I entirely agree,” Lucrezia purred. “The whole business is far too complicated to bother disentangling. Both Wands and Pentacles have agreed to put the issue aside.”
“The case in question here,” Odile said in her light, precise voice, “is a petition brought by the Court of Cups.”
The doorkeeper stepped forward. “Let the Knight of Cups bear witness.”
A plump, anxious-looking young man came out from the crowd. It was the first knight from the Triumph of the Star.
He pointed at the four chancers with a trembling hand. “You,” he quavered. “You four released Swords from the ice. He caught me, and attacked me, and the urn broke. Its water spilled before either of us could reach the threshold. You ruined everything.”
There was a stunned pause.
“But you had ages to leave that move!” Toby exploded. “What the hell were you hanging around for?”
“The threshold was far down the valley,” the knight said aggrievedly. “The mist rose, and I lost my way. Besides, I thought I was safe, that I’d won. And I had, too, until you intervened and—”
“The situation is clear,” Alastor interrupted, looking up from swirling the ice in his glass. “These four cost Cups—or possibly Swords—the success of his move. All are liable for forfeit.”
