Free The Master of Misrule by Laura Powell Page B

“And I’ve got one, haven’t I? Now that I’mat Alliette’s, me and you are on the up. We play our cards right, and there’s no one and nothing to stop us. Gold pavements all the way!”
    Cat was still frowning.
    “Cheer up,” said Bel. “You look like one of those gamblers who’ve won a tenner and dropped a grand. And speaking of gamblers, you know anything about this triumph card gimmick?”
    Cat’s body tensed. “The scratchcards?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Nope,” she answered, trying to keep her tone light. “You haven’t found one, have you?”
    “Fat chance. Andy in accounts has a friend whose wife did, though. She got her hands on a heads card. Just lying in the back of a taxi, it was. Now, she was on her way to the hospital to have a mole taken off her back. It’d gone cancerous, you see. But when she took her clothing off in the surgery—what do you think happened?” Bel smacked her red lips in relish. “The sodding mole had only gone and vanished! Not so much as a freckle left, never mind a cancer cell.”
    “Impressive,” Cat managed to say. “All the same, if you found one of those scratchcards, you wouldn’t … play it, would you?”
    “Depends how lucky I felt at the time. I’ve still got hopes of winning a head, and seeing the man of my dreams walk through the door.”
    “Don’t joke. What if you got a snake’s tail instead? Something really bad might happen—like a road accident or a mugging. Even a heart attack.”
    Bel came to an abrupt halt. “Hey,” she said. “What’s all this? You don’t actually believe this scratchcard crap, do you?”
    “You’re the one who brought up the miracle mole.”
    “I was only messing with you! You know how these stories get blown out of proportion. Like urban legends.” She took another look at Cat’s face. “All right. Doesn’t matter. If it’ll make you feel any better, I promise to stay away from the scratchcards.”
    “You swear?”
    “Cross my heart and hope to die.” Bel put on her special saintly expression, hands clasped in prayer. “Mind you,” she added, a little regretfully, “luck’s one of those things everyone wants and no one can buy. It’s a good notion for a lottery.”
    Later in the evening, Bel announced she was going out dancing, with instructions to Cat to tell Greg, if he called, that she was working at Alliette’s. As soon as she was alone, Cat fetched the Triumph of Justice from its hiding place. She spent a long time watching how its pearly sheen glowed in the dark. In light of the others’ experiences, she had to tell herself that playing it could end only in disappointment or deceit. She would not risk throwing her die and bringing the card to life across the threshold. But she would carry it with her into the Arcanum tomorrow nonetheless. It was her stake in the Game, and she wasn’t ready to give it up.
    Afterward, she watched a trashy cop show and went to bed early. She left the light on in the hall and the TV still onin the kitchen, so that its babble would numb her mind. She was afraid of what she might dream.
    When Toby returned home, he found his parents writing notes at either end of the dining room table. They could almost have been twins, with their crooked spectacles and short, rumpled hair, their identical frowns of concentration. As the only child of two writers, Toby had always known that his parents led other lives in worlds of their own making. Watching them now, however, he was conscious of his superiority. After all, no imaginary world could compete with the one
he
was a flesh-and-blood hero of.
    And now he wasn’t just a champion of the Arcanum. He was a defender of humankind!
    “I’ll be in my room,” he announced. “I’ve got stuff to do.”
    His father grunted. His mother waved a vague hand.
    They both went back to their footnotes.
    Toby, meanwhile, went to stare once more at the Escher print above his bed. He looked at his wavering reflection and thought of