by Levi Stack
Chapter XXIV
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
Over the next week, Viktor spent his time after school in the Den, eager to see what Romulus had dug up during his daily searches of the House of Cards. So far it was nothing exciting: Weapon orders, lists of food supplies, schematics concerning landowners and serf populations in the surrounding area, and playing cards—though none were the R.E. Kamdrac design. Viktor was itching to get back to the underground hall and search for himself, so come Saturday morning, he followed Romulus into the Great Fairy Ring.
"I thought you said to never go off path in this place," Viktor grunted, burrowing under a gap between bushes. Bear-crawling down a secret shortcut Romulus had found made his whole body frigid.
"Yeah, but with the map, I've got guidelines to go by."
Guidelines. Viktor sniffed. As if Romulus knew the definition of the word ... Between something slimy crawling down his shirt and flinching his back into a knot of thorns, he decided Romulus' shortcut was more like the stuffing of everything painful about the trip into a few terrible minutes.
"Not bad, huh?" Romulus mopped himself off upon reaching the inner clearing in record time. "It gets better. You get used to the rashes."
Viktor frowned. There was no type of rash he wanted to get used to.
Inside the House of Cards, he saw that Romulus' week of hard searching had barely scratched the surface of the hall. But it wasn't as if they could ask for help. Picturing Evenova and Charlotta crawling through the Great Fairy Ring was like seeing Cappi and Dukker pore over a textbook—neither was going to happen. Resigned, Viktor chose an adjacent corner from Romulus, who picked up where he'd left off.
Viktor swung open a heavy chest. Moldy clothes, dusty wine bottles, and tins of tobacco had discolored document after document. Many were governmental policies clipped from newspapers, like the St. Petersburg Weekly. Some leaflets singled out Bible verses as propaganda: "Slaves, in all things obey those who are your masters on earth." "Let every person be in subjection to the governing authorities." Others were Russian proverbs: "Give him a fingernail worth, and he will ask an elbow worth." "Extinguish the spark before the fire, deflect the trouble before the strike." Viktor also read many old letters between friends, but not recognizing names or events, the hours passed slowly.
Sometime later, Romulus kicked open a chest. "Viktor, look."
Viktor glanced sidelong at his blood brother, who had hoisted a white Masqueraider mask to his face. Instantly he felt his nightmares rise up, tearing at his insides. "Take it off!"
"Relax, will you?" Romulus lowered the mask and bent over the chest. "This thing's full of them—fur, feathers, beaded ones ... Some are even cracked and bloodied ... but they're all skillfully made, with some type of plaster, maybe."
"Well, I don't want to see them."
"No? Then what about this?" Romulus held up parchment sheets. "A list of Masqueraiders—and their matching masks."
Viktor hurdled over trunks to get a look at the list. "Hmm ... I don't recognize Lords Firsov, Ekel, Yashkin, and Chemeris ... but Azarov is familiar—it's one of the richest families under Molotov. But I thought the Masqueraiders were common criminals. Why do these men all have noble titles?"
A dark expression crossed Romulus' face. "If the old nobles fled in fear of the Leopard ... then do you think it's possible he replaced them with his Masqueraiders? He could've put his followers in powerful positions."
"That is the point of a rebellion," mused Viktor. "Of course, that would make all the nobles in Aryk ..."
"Criminals."
That was a sobering thought as Viktor walked to school in following weeks, passing the iron-gated manors of Aryk. He constantly checked over his shoulder for signs of Captain Ulfrik. Had the towering man forgotten his promise to kill Dimovna's pests, or was he focusing purely on finding the king of spades? Either path would lead him back to the blood brothers. And even with half the papers in the House of Cards excavated, the Silent Deal remained hidden.
"Here's something," Viktor said one afternoon. "Detailed military profiles of important people—Commander Pavel Pestel, Prince Eugene Obolensky—it says here these men were Imperial Guards for the emperor himself. Some of the others, like Prince Sergei Petrovich Trubetskoy and Nikita Muraviev, were once scholars ... and guess where they went to school?"
Romulus bared his teeth. "Moscow University?"
Viktor nodded grimly.
"So that's how the Leopard met them," Romulus said. "And of course he wanted them in his inner circle. Born of noble families, powerful, rising in merit ..."
"Huh. There's a map of the Winter Palace, too—the home of Tsar Nicholas and the royal family. But why would the Leopard need to know its layout?"
"For the same reason he befriended the guards on the inside, built up an army, and stockpiled an armory."
"You can't be serious." Viktor switched to a whisper: "To assassinate Tsar Nicholas?"
"Or maybe even old Tsar Aleksandr," said Romulus slowly. "But if the Leopard was serious about overthrowing the empire, he would need strong connections all across St. Petersburg and Moscow. Aryk would just be a base far enough away from the powers that he could plot in secrecy—and experiment ... but if all this is true, then I bet I know what the Silent Deal is—a declaration of rebellion."
Everything had escalated so fast. Gone were the days when the blood brothers fretted over local ghost stories. Now they spent sleepless nights in the House of Cards, searching for evidence against the man who was threatening their entire world. On the few days of school Viktor didn't skip, Evenova and Charlotta were at his throat, vying for information. But with Dimovna's burning stare focused on him, he kept quiet. And after school when he retreated into the forest, Aleksandr, Mikhail, and Ollyver would watch him go. Their faces said it all: His old friends thought they had lost him.
It doesn't matter if they think I'm mad, Viktor told himself. They don't know who and what I'm fighting against.
"And do you?" replied a little voice in his head. "How much do you really know about your enemy? How much do you know about your friends?"
April arrived; Viktor and Romulus barely saw rain or shine. They were too busy searching the last quarter of the House of Cards. And more worrisome than the radical Russian and French manifestos they had found was the wealth of information about landlords and serfs in St. Petersburg, Moscow, and even as far south as Tulchin in Ukraine: The Leopard indeed had connections in the west.
On top of tormenting dreams, working in the garden, and poring over papers, Viktor's diet had been cut in half, for all serfs fasted during Lent, the ceremonious weeks that preceded Easter. Now his reflection showed dark hair that needed a cut, and slim muscles that were wasting away from weeks of study and hunger.
Grandpap wheezed into a dirty cloth at dinner. "Ack. The rich would have to eat money if the poor did not provide food!"
Viktor felt hungry enough to eat money, but only asked, "How did you learn all those sayings, Grandpap?"
"Mine are proverbs, not sayings. A saying is a flower, a proverb is a berry: Only one is chewed over."
"Let's talk about something else—like school," Viktor's mother said.
"Horseradish is no sweeter than radish."
While his mother and grandfather eyed each other moodily, the entrance of his father signaled Viktor to prepare himself for another discussion about mines, potatoes, and Lent. During the conversation, the tension that had begun to envelop his daily life threatened to break through his half lies and empty answers.
"This is hopeless!" Viktor roared, throwing aside the very last stack of papers in the House of Cards. "It's over!"
Romulus rolled over on his back. He had spent an hour looking under desks, knocking on floorboards, and ripping down tapestries to no avail. "You're right. I just couldn't bring myself to say it. The Silent Deal isn't here. Let's go. We've wasted away all of our time."
"What about the maps and coded letters? Maybe we could present the plot t
o a court—"
"It isn't evidence!" Romulus said. "Nobody would take us seriously."
Viktor's shoulders slumped, accepting that they'd come to a dead end. Their chance at defeating the Leopard had slipped away. Soon he would find them ... kill them.
They made to leave, but Romulus spotted a faded tapestry hanging about the staircase, a maxim they hadn't noticed before. The weary boys let their eyes wander over the words:
Mighty clubs, clovers, arm and protect us,
Pure hearts, molders, in earnest select us,
Cold diamonds of loot, too long did neglect us,
Spades, our true suit, under Russia collect us.
"What does it mean?" Romulus said.
"Who cares? It belongs to the Masqueraiders."
Yet Romulus stood staring at the tapestry for so long that Viktor became bored and took a seat at the bottom of the stairs, his head in his hands. Between his boots, a glimmer of white caught his eye: He reached under the last step and pulled out an envelope.
"I slipped on the way down the stairs."
Romulus glanced down. "What?"
"The first time we came here, I slipped on the way down the stairs," whispered Viktor. "I slipped on this envelope! Someone must have left it here for the next person to find, but we came down without a lantern, so I never saw it!"
"Well, if you're going to open it, hurry up."
Viktor did so, pulling out an old stained letter with scrawled handwriting. He read aloud:
"'30 December 1826'
"'Comrades, this is my first time surfacing in weeks from deep darkness. If any of you were like me and, in the chaos, found yourself ill informed, then I am sorry to be the one who bears bad news. If you returned to this place in hope, let it die. Our allies in the west have failed. The overthrow of Tsar Nicholas did not come to pass. He yet rules. The leaders of the rebellion are to be hanged, the rest sent to prison camps. Here in the Urals, the Leopard is in hiding and has created the Silent Deal in his anger. I myself cannot stand by and watch it take effect. Therefore this letter will be my last act before I become mere memory.'
"'Farewell, The Last King.'"
Romulus blinked, shocked. "They actually tried it—to overthrow the tsar! And when the Leopard failed, he punished his men and hid! That's why he's been a ghost for the last decade!"
Viktor's nerves were ice cold, the letter shaking in his hand. "There's a postscript. It reads: 'To any heart so daring, I have come to realize the Silent Deal is hidden high in the ancient castle. The Leopard created it to protect himself, but in the wrong hands, it would be his undoing.'"
"The castle? It's been in the castle this whole time?"
"Romulus, it's impossible!" Viktor said, seeing the dangerous look spreading across his friend's face. "The river borders it, the walls surround it! There are countless guards and traps—not forgetting the beasts Zindelo spoke of! Nobody sets foot beyond the gates unless invited."
"And who gets invited?"
"Not us! Only the highest nobles ... or the entertainment."
"Entertainment, huh?" Romulus grinned. "I think it's time we pay another visit to the Crossbones Clan."
Viktor let out a shaky breath. He had a feeling this was all going to end very badly.