The Master of Misrule (34 page)

“There is no going back.”

“Of course there is.” Flora scrambled to her feet, looking for the clinic’s rooftops through the trees. “Because you’re coming with me.”

She had abandoned all thoughts of her angel, or Misrule, or the end of the world.

But Grace remained where she was, eyes fixed on the daisies.

Flora seized her sister by the wrists, pulling her up after her.

“What’s
wrong
with you?” she cried, just as she had in the Eight of Swords. “I’m here to take you home, out of this. I’m saving you.”

“I know.” Grace put the card and the line of red silk in
her hand. “That’s why you have to follow this again. One last time.”

“W-will you come with me?”

Grace was dappled with sunshine and shadow; if there was sadness on her face, the giddy light danced it away. She nodded. “I’ll be with you to the end.”

T
OBY HAD ONLY EVER
seen the crypt below Temple House silent and empty. On this occasion, the stone vaults were filled with people. Some were talking discontentedly in huddles; others kept to themselves, staring into space. Many looked exhausted and unkempt, like refugees.

The illustration on his card, of a radiant winged figure blowing a trumpet, cheered him a little. He’d summoned the angel of Fame itself! For a moment, he thought he could hear the echo of an angelic fanfare.

“Toby, is that you?”

“Mia!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“The same as these other knights and knaves: waiting for the Game to be restored.”

“Oh.” Mia looked more solid than the vision in the Eight of Cups, but she was still tense and brittle, and thinner than he remembered. “Have you been here awhile, then?”

“Hard to say. It feels like ages, but you know how oddly time works in the Game. We were all in the Arcanum, trying out our alleged new freedoms—though, as it turns out, it’s not much of a freedom to wander through the cards with no purpose and no end in sight.… Anyway, suddenly there was an almighty crash and everyone got dumped down here.” She smiled humorlessly. “Misrule must be playing at snakes and ladders.”

Toby shifted his feet. So the kings and queens weren’t the only players sent tumbling off the Arcanum’s board. But whatever force had caused the quake, he was pretty sure it wasn’t Misrule who’d triggered it.

“Can’t you get out? There should be stairs up to the main house. Over there, through that arch.”

“I know. Some people have already left that way. Others think that if you leave, you won’t be able to get back into the Game ever again. Not that there’s much of a Game left to gamble on.”

“Oh,” said Toby inadequately. He paused. “Do you mind telling me, now, what you wanted to win?”

“Time.”

This only made Toby more curious. The triumph’s reward was the chance for someone to change an aspect of their past. “To do what?”

“I had a boyfriend who died. It was a car accident in bad weather, late at night.” Her voice was flat. “We quarreled before he left. So I wanted to go back to that night and make things right between us.” She sighed. “I don’t think turning back time would prevent Peter’s accident—that was his fate,
not mine. But I would do anything,
anything
, for another chance to tell him I loved him.”

Toby hung his head. It was his fault Mia hadn’t been given her rightful prize. His fault that all these other people—full of desires and dreams, desperate ambitions—had been cheated of their reward. “Mia … I …”

“It’s all right, Toby. When you crossed paths with Misrule, you were subject to forces beyond your control. I don’t blame you for what’s happened, not anymore.”

He flushed in mingled gratitude and embarrassment. “When it’s played properly,” he said, “the Game can be a force for good. I see that now. I just wish the others—the other, er, chancers—could understand. Obviously, they want to win their prizes; everyone in the Game does. But they still hate it.”

“And you don’t?”

“No. Not entirely.”

She looked at him searchingly. “Then have you found a way to stop Misrule?”

“I think so. The High Priest told me and the other chancers to find the Triumph of Eternity. It’s the triumph that’s supposed to control all the others, even Misrule. We each have to play another move to win it.”

“I hope you’re right. But I’m beginning to fear that in order to destroy Misrule, you will have to destroy everything that’s good about the Game as well as the bad. What if playing Eternity is the end of everything?”

He squared his jaw. “I suppose that’s a risk we have to take.”

Mia pulled him into a swift embrace. “Good luck, Toby. I know you’ll do the right thing. For our Game, for everyone.” She stood back and gestured to the weary figures slumped under the vaults. “We’re all counting on you.”

“So why don’t you come with me? You can help. The two of us.”

She shook her head. “Fortune’s chosen you, not me. This has to be your quest.”

Toby knew she was right. The weight of destiny was upon him, his burden and privilege. He only wished he knew where this final card was leading him and what he must do to release its angel. As he walked away from Mia and the other players, into the flicker of ancient shadows, he felt he had never been so alone.

He had a final look through his deck before he started up the stairs. Each card was so strange, and so beautiful. In addition to the court cards of the Pentacles suit, he still had three triumphs: the Star, the Sun and Time. He wasn’t able to give Mia the latter as a prize, but now he wondered what else such a powerful card could do.

Toby thought back to how he and Flora had won their last move, by playing her Seven of Cups within his Triumph of Strength. They might not have the same control over their decks as the old Game Masters had, but there must be all kinds of wonderful things he could learn to do with the cards—if only he had the chance. He looked back at the card he must play, Fame, and sighed. Victory was almost as hard to imagine as defeat. Everything and everyone before
the Game seemed meaningless, so once the four of them had destroyed it, what would be left?

As Toby climbed the stairs up to the ballroom of Temple House, his feet struck the steps in time to his thoughts. Onward, upward, alone. One thing was certain: he could not go back to being the old Toby, that small, needy person always hovering at the edge of things. He had changed inside the Game; outside of it, this change must be recognized, too.

The Arcanum seemed to agree with him, for when he reached the panel at the top of the stairs, it sprang open to the sound of distant music. Bugles blew triumphantly. At the same time, he had to blink his eyes against the brightness. It appeared all the mirrors had been restored, for the flood of sun through the windows lit up the whole room, so that the blaze of light and music felt like one and the same. Yet when the splendor cleared, he saw he was back in the wrecked ballroom, in evening gloom.

Toby paused uncertainly. He looked at the card in his hands, and then at the window. The square outside was filling with people, and even from inside the building, he could hear their excited hum. Was this on the Arcanum or the home side of the threshold? He wasn’t sure.

“Hello, squirt,” a familiar voice drawled from the doorway.

Toby whirled around. No, he thought. Not here, not now. I can’t bear it. But it wasn’t Seth. It was the Master of Misrule.

“What have you done to the others?” Toby demanded.

The man laughed softly. “Nothing. I haven’t so much as set eyes on them.”

“So why me?”

Misrule gave a wide, sweet smile. “Because you are the only one of the four who understands the true nature of the Game.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere. I’m not an idiot.”

“On the contrary, you are my greatest adversary.” Toby snorted.

“You think I mock you! No, and I will tell you why. For you alone did not fritter away the power of the ace you were dealt, but used your own wits to win the Seven of Swords. When I lured all four Game Masters to the Tower, only you, therefore, could conjure shelter from the inferno there.”

“So Cat was right! You did mean for that card to kill us—”

“The Tower was merely a wager, which the four of you won. That does not mean
I
failed.”

“How d’you mean?”

“I mean that when you raised the stakes, I raised my Game. If I truly wanted to end your run in the Arcanum, I would have done so long ago. But a good gambler can turn any hand to his advantage.… Besides,” he continued, his expression brightening, “your triumph over the Tower was not the only proof of your talents. You displayed your authority when you divined the secret of the Emperor’s orb. You showed the strength of your mind in Cybele’s circus. When your comrades were downcast, you heartened them. When they faltered, you led the way. You—”

“Stop twisting things to make them all about me,” Toby muttered. “Everyone did their bit.”

“Ah, but not for the same reasons. The other three stumbled into the Game through mischance. You found it while in pursuit of another kind of game and another kind of challenge—one of your own creation, which had been stolen from you. Just like the Game was once stolen from me.…

“Shall I tell you why your friends will never understand you? Why you will always be separate to them? Those other three set out to win their prizes because they were desperate, driven by needs and passions beyond their control. But when you gambled on the Chariot, it was not the triumph you wanted but the thrill of its chase. For you, Toby, play only for the joy of playing. And that is why you are the only Game Master worthy of the name.”

Cat’s angry words came back to him.
You don’t understand what it’s like for me, for any of us.…
Toby began to back away. “You’re wrong. I’m not that kind of person. I don’t want to play with people’s lives. I’m not interested in cruelty for kicks.”

“But we both know the best of what the Game bestows. Liberation! Transformation! Hope!” The man’s blue eyes shone ardently. “Think what you will destroy if the Game falls with me. Think what you will deny yourself. Think of a future of drab mornings and dusty corridors, of meaningless conversations and empty gestures, where desperation is measured in inches and escape is called fantasy.”

“That’s … how … that’s—”

“That is life. Yet whatever you do with yours, nothing can ever compare to what you have known in the Arcanum. Do you imagine that if you prevail against me, anything will change? No one will know what you have accomplished. No one will acknowledge your sacrifice. No one will care.”

“I don’t want to be famous.”

I just don’t want to be irrelevant
, said Toby’s inner voice. And that was the voice Misrule answered.

“It doesn’t matter how many ideas you had or have,” he said in Seth’s hateful drawl, “or even how good they are.”

“Shut up.”

Misrule’s smile slanted. “The fact is,” he continued, still speaking in Seth’s voice, “you’re not the kind of person who will ever be able to make anything of them. Because other people won’t be interested, so long as the ideas come from you.”

Then he said, very gently, “You are worth more than that.”

Toby made his fingers into claws, scrunched them up and then opened his fists. “This is pointless. Whatever I might be worth, whatever I might want, you’re not going to stop me. I’ve seen what you plan to do with my city, my world, and all the people in it. There’s no way in hell I’ll let that happen.”

“Brave words. But whether my Lottery stands or falls, Fortune is mistress of us both,” said the Master of Misrule. He spread out his hands invitingly. “Though you may reject Luck, can you escape Destiny?”

A
LEC
C
RAWLEY SHUT THE DOOR
behind him. He was holding a black and blue scratchcard. Misrule’s face laughed from its silver coin.

“Long time no see.” His gaze moved leisurely from Bel to Cat. “Your niece, I gather. Looks a chip off the family b-block.”

Bel sprang in front of Cat. She seemed to gain in height; heat rolled off her body. Her hair flamed and eyes glittered against the deathly white of her skin.