by Kevin Sands
“Again,” she said.
Now that he knew what was supposed to happen, Padraig paid closer attention to Gareth’s shuffle and began betting his own money. He lost the first game but won the next four. For his final bet, he upped the stake from one hundred to five, outbidding an older boy who wanted to take a shot, and scooped a full thousand in return. Padraig grinned as widely as when he’d beaten me back at the Cat’s Paw.
“Your eye’s too good, sir, too good,” Gareth said. “I see you’re a W-Weaver—you’re not using magic, are you?”
Padraig was amused. “Of course not.”
“All right, sir, all right. Have to make it harder, then. The fox is a clever girl, a clever girl she is.”
Gareth resumed his shuffling, but now his hands moved more quickly, the cards harder to follow. When he stopped, Padraig made a tentative bet, only fifty crowns this time—and lost.
“Too clever, too clever, too clever’s our girl,” Gareth said. “Anyone clever enough to find the little fox?”
He resumed the game. Padraig watched intently, trying to follow Gareth’s moves.
“I’ve got her,” a young voice said.
And into the front of the crowd squeezed Lachlan.
Like me, he’d worn his finest clothes, but he’d softened his accent to the point that he almost sounded posh. He slapped a thousand crowns on the table.
“Big hunter!” Gareth said. “Make your choice, my young friend!”
Lachlan flipped over the card in front of Padraig. Sure enough, there was the fox.
Gareth paid him off, somewhat flustered. “Fine eye on you.”
The game continued. Meriel whispered in Padraig’s ear. She told me later what she’d said. “How did he get it right? Is he using magic?”
“I detect no enchantment,” Padraig whispered back. Suddenly, he stood up straight, eyes alight. “That’s it!”
“What is?” Meriel said.
“The carny has a tell.” Padraig pulled Meriel back a step. “See how he does the shuffle? Watch his left hand.”
They watched Gareth start the next deal.
“Watch closely now,” Padraig whispered. “See how he picks up two cards at the same time? He makes it look like he drops the card on the bottom. But he’s really throwing the card from the top.”
Meriel’s eyes widened. Sure enough, that was the trick Gareth was using to confuse the crowd. He flicked his wrist as he dropped the card, so it looked like he was laying down the fox, when really he’d put it somewhere else.
For the next few games, Padraig just watched, testing his theory. Each time, he whispered the call in Meriel’s ear: “Left. Right. Left. Center.” And each time he was correct.
“Then let’s bet,” Meriel said, frustrated.
Gareth did another shuffle. Padraig slapped down two thousand crowns. “The fox is on the left.”
He flipped the card over—a winner. Grinning smugly, Padraig collected the bills. Then he stepped back again.
Meriel looked confused. “Why don’t we keep betting?”
“Because if the carny realizes we’ve discovered his trick,” Padraig said, “he’ll change his shuffle. Keep it quiet, pick our spots, and we can fleece him.”
I was surprised when Meriel later told me Padraig had said that. It really was a clever strategy. Unfortunately for him, each time he tried to make another winning bet, Lachlan outbid him, snatching away what should have been Padraig’s pot.
“Little weasel,” Meriel said, and the next time Lachlan bet over Padraig, she threw her entire bankroll down. “Five thousand crowns,” she announced.
“Any other bets?” Gareth said. Lachlan looked like he was ready to outbid her, but he shook his head. “Then take your shot, my lady.”
“She’s on the left,” Meriel said, triumphant.
Gareth flipped the card over, revealing . . . an empty grove.
“What?” Meriel shrieked.
“Bad luck, miss,” Gareth said, and he moved to take her money.
She grabbed his wrist. “You cheated!”
“Now, my lady, that’s not right, not right at all. I deal a fair game.”
“You swapped out the fox!”
“No, I didn’t, miss, take a look. It’s the card in the center.”
Meriel turned over the center card. There was the fox, standing proud.
“You see?” Gareth said. “A f-fair deal every time.”
Meriel wouldn’t be mollified. “Liar!”
Padraig put a hand on her shoulder. “Now, Scarlet, stay calm. I’ll win it back for you—”
Meriel grabbed the card with the empty grove and flicked it in Gareth’s face. Then she swatted her bundle of money, scattering the bills behind the table.
“Hey!” Gareth said. He turned his back, trying to scoop up the bills before they blew away. A few scraped over the dirt toward the crowd. Greedy hands snatched them up and ran.
Padraig looked uncomfortable, troubled by Meriel’s outburst. But while everyone’s back was turned—Gareth bent over to pick up his money, the crowd rushing to steal the same bills—she reached for the card with the fox.
Then, very deliberately, she pressed her thumbnail into its edge, near the corner.
Quick as a cat, she pulled her hand away. But there, on the edge, a tiny nick, barely perceptible, remained.
She’d marked the card.
Padraig’s jaw dropped. Hastily, he looked around to see if anyone had spotted what his girl had done. Everyone was trying to grab the scattered money—except for Lachlan, who stared up at Padraig in amazement.
They locked eyes for a moment; wondering if the other was going to tell. Then, by silent agreement, they turned away, innocent as lambs.
Padraig was sweating. She’d marked the winning card. He waited nervously as Gareth stood. Would he notice?
Gareth looked unhappy. “Right, miss, you have to l-leave. Leave, or I’ll call the Stickmen.”
“Now, now,” Padraig said. “She made a mistake. A moment of haste. Please accept her apology. And take this for your trouble.”
He held out a thousand crowns.
Gareth eyed it uncertainly. “It w-won’t happen again? You vouch for your girl?”
“Absolutely. Please, we’d like to play.”
Gareth hesitated, then nodded. Padraig watched intently as Gareth picked up the cards.
Would he notice the fox had been marked?
He didn’t. Gareth began his shuffle. “All right, now, find the fox, find the fox.”
Padraig kept looking between the cards and Lachlan. Lachlan did the same. Eventually, Gareth stopped the shuffle.
“Who will be a winner?” Gareth said.
Padraig stared down at the card. The one directly in front of him, the one on the left, had the tiny little nick, barely big enough to see. That was the fox.
And he knew it.
“Ten thousand crowns,” Padraig declared.
The crowd gasped. But Lachlan outbid him.
“Twelve,” the boy said, throwing a massive wad of bills on the table.
“Fourteen,” Padraig said. His voice was shaking.
“Fifteen,” Lachlan said.
Padraig rifled through his pockets. He pulled out every bill and coin he could find. “I have . . . fifteen thousand, seven hundred . . . and twenty.”
Now Lachlan made a show of doing the same. He slapped down the last of the stack, then pulled one final bill from inside his boot. “Sixteen thousand!” he said triumphantly.
“Highest bettor!” Gareth said. “Any more?”
Padraig turned to Meriel in desperation. She stared daggers at Lachlan. “I already lost everything,” she said through clenched teeth.
And so Padraig made the only play he could. Trembling, he reached into his left breast po
cket and pulled out a gem.
From my hiding place, I held my breath.
The keystone.
The stone was smooth and polished, roughly the size of a cherry. It looked to be made of opal, a mottled orange and green, though I couldn’t tell if the colors were natural or from the underlying enchantment. Padraig placed the stone on the table.
“You’re offering that?” Gareth said.
Why not? If there was ever a sure thing, this was it. He couldn’t lose. “It’s priceless,” Padraig said.
Gareth looked at it skeptically. “If it’s real, I’d say it’s w-worth a thousand.”
Padraig smiled. The poor fool in front of him couldn’t understand what the apprentice had meant. Still, it didn’t matter. It was enough to put him over Lachlan’s bid.
“Fine,” Padraig said, and his next words had the feel of a ritual to them. “I offer this of my own free will.”
“Very good, sir,” Gareth said. “Take your shot!”
Padraig’s hand shook uncontrollably as he reached out. He’d done it. He was about to take home thirty-three thousand crowns.
He grasped the card with the nick in the corner. With trembling fingers, he turned over . . .
An empty grove.
The crowd groaned. Padraig stared, uncomprehending. His mouth moved, but no sound came out.
“Bad luck, sir,” Gareth said.
Suddenly, Lachlan shouted. “The Stickmen!”
Gareth snatched the money—and the keystone—from the table and fled. Meriel had already begun running. Lachlan sprinted the other way, while the rest of the crowd dispersed.
But there were no Stickmen coming. Only Padraig remained. He stood there, staring at the cards on the table, until his mind started to work again. And then he shook in horror as he finally realized the magnitude of what he’d done.
CHAPTER 25
He looked like he was about to have a heart attack.
Padraig wobbled as he staggered from the table. Chest heaving, he bumped through the crowd, not really seeing where he was going.
We had the keystone, but our work wasn’t finished. I needed to calm Padraig down. The others hadn’t understood when I’d explained to them why I had to stick with him. What if Padraig doesn’t take your reappearance as coincidence? they’d asked. What if he realizes you’re in on it?
But the Old Man had taught me well. So I knew: The most dangerous part of a gaff wasn’t when it was running. It came right afterward.
Padraig’s mind was roiling—and this made him unpredictable. What if he called for the Stickmen? Even worse, what if he went to the High Weaver, confessed what he’d done? They’d be waiting for us at Darragh’s home.
No. We couldn’t leave Padraig alone. The cool out—the final phase of any gaff, where you handle the mark, so he doesn’t squeal—was the most important step of all. And I’d need to handle him very, very delicately.
Because we still needed more from him to succeed.
First, I had to make our meeting look like chance. I took one last bite of the spun sugar cone and replaced it with a bottle of syrup fizz from a nearby vendor. Then I found Padraig as he stumbled through the crowd.
A pair of Stickmen walked the promenade ahead of him. He stared at them, and for the first time since I’d met him, I couldn’t read what he was going to do. Time to move.
I ran ahead, placing myself between him and the Stickmen. As Padraig pushed through the crowd, I found a trio of girls my age playing the ring toss and began to sing to them. Loudly.
“I’ll be seeing youuuuuu—”
They turned in surprise.
“Under the twin moooooooooooooons—”
They giggled.
“Say you’ll be there soooooooooooooooooooooon—”
Padraig stopped right in front of me. He stared at me in a daze. I stared back, annoyed.
“Oh, not you,” I said. “Come to fleece me again, mate? You already left me skint.” I pulled out my pockets, nothing inside but lint. “See? No more for you to snaffle. Now move, I think that redhead likes me.”
A familiar face—even an unfriendly one—gave him someone to talk to. “They took it,” he said.
“Took what?” I frowned. “You all right, boyo? You don’t look so good.”
His voice choked. “I’m a dead man.”
“You don’t look that bad. What’s wrong? Here, take a sip. It’ll cool you off.”
I passed him my syrup fizz. He stared at it blankly for a moment. Then he gulped down half the bottle.
I threw my hands up. “You going to nick everything of mine? Speaking of which, where’s that girl gone?”
“She marked the card . . . he switched it . . .” Padraig buried his head in his hands. “They robbed me.”
“They? Ohhhh.” I nodded sagely. “A sweetie pie.”
“A what?”
“You know, a ‘sweetie pie.’ A girl who charms you so’s she can swipe yer cash.”
“I don’t care about the money!” he shouted.
“Really? Then you’re a better man than I. Seriously, though, mate, what’re you crying about?”
He really did look close to crying. “They took the keystone,” he said, trembling.
“What’s that?”
“It lets me into . . . I’m a dead man.”
“It’s a key?”
“Yes. But it’s enchanted.”
“A magic key. Don’t that beat all. Hard luck, mate. Tell you what, keep the bottle. You need it more than I do.”
I turned to go. Padraig grabbed my sleeve. “Wait! What do I do?”
“What’re you asking me for?”
“You . . . you knew about sweetie pies,” he said desperately. “You come from . . . I mean . . .”
My eyes narrowed. “Me da’s a legitimate businessman.”
“I . . . yes, of course, I didn’t mean . . .”
I regarded him for a moment, as if deciding what to do. “This stone key. Is it worth anything?”
“Keystone. Yes. It’s worth the world to me.”
“You planning on offering the world, then?”
“What?”
“Sometimes magical artifacts get sold, boyo. But you have to pay for them, y’know?”
“But . . . they stole my money! I don’t have anything left!”
I shrugged. “Ain’t no one going to help you for yer pretty face.”
“But . . . wait! Wait! I can . . .” He searched his mind desperately for something to offer. “I can enchant things! That has to be worth something, right?”
“Me da’s already got a pet Weaver. No offense, but ain’t no one need an apprentice.” I paused, as if something had just occurred to me. “Unless . . .”
He looked at me hopefully. “Yes?”
“Were you telling the truth about working for the big boss man?”
“The High Weaver? Yes. I was. I promise!”
“Well, then, boyo,” I said, eyeing him shrewdly. “I may know someone who can help you after all.”
* * *
We took a carriage to the Emperor’s Crown, the grand hotel where I’d met Davey Donnelly. I told Padraig to wait in the lobby and that I’d be back soon.
I pretended to go upstairs, doubling back instead to spy on him from the door to the restaurant. He waited nervously, chewing his fingernails, glancing toward the steps every time someone came down. If I had the time to play it right, I’d have let him sweat awhile longer. But it was already nine o’clock, and this really was cutting it too close. So I returned and beckoned him to follow.
“You’re going to be meeting the, uh . . . envoy . . . of a friend of me da’s. Just answer her questions. And if you want this key of yours back, you’ll agree to whatever she says.”
He nodded, collar slick with sweat. I wat
ched him carefully as we made our way to the room I’d rented. This had to be handled delicately: enough stress to keep him from thinking too much, but not too much to stop him talking.
When we entered the room, Foxtail had her back to us, staring out the window. If Padraig was startled to see the “envoy” was a young girl, he looked absolutely shocked when she turned around.
She moved forward clunkily, like she was some sort of magical construct. Padraig stared, open-mouthed, at the steel plate that covered her face.
Foxtail stopped a few feet from him. Without even realizing it, the apprentice took a step backward. Whatever his experience with weaving, he’d never seen anything like this. It made me wonder once more about the girl.
I let silence fill the air for a moment. Then I nudged him. “Go on,” I said under my breath. “Answer her.”
He stared at me, confused. “But . . . she didn’t say anything.”
“Can’t you hear her?”
He looked from Foxtail to me. “No.”
“He can’t hear,” I said to Foxtail. She turned her head, as if on a swivel. I waited, as if listening, then said, “She wants me to stay and translate. Is that all right?”
Padraig nodded.
“Tell her what happened,” I said, and he did. When he described the thieves, he gave perfect descriptions of Meriel and Gareth. He didn’t mention Lachlan; I guess he never did realize the boy was part of it. When he was done, I pretended to listen for a moment, then spoke.
“She’s never heard of the girl,” I said to Padraig, “but she knows who the boy is. He works with a crew that travels with the carnival. He passes them a few crowns, and the carnies pretend to look the other way.”
“Does that mean she can get the stone back?” Padraig said hopefully.
“Yes,” I said, and he nearly cried in relief. “But it’ll cost you. She wants information.”
“Anything,” he said. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
And we finally had everything we needed.
THE PULL
CHAPTER 26
It was 10:07.