The Master Of Misrule Part 1

Master of Misrule.

Laura Powell.

To Lucy.

"For there is no friend like a sister."

-Christina Rossetti.

Acknowledgments.

Cat was an ordinary London teenager until a chance encounter led her to the Game. After that, nothing would ever be the same.

The Game of Triumphs had existed since ancient times, but it was known only to a select few. Based on the lore of Tarot, the Game took place in an alternate world called the Arcanum. The players were divided among four courts-Swords, Wands, Cups and Pentacles-and each court had its own master. Under the rule of these kings and queens, everyday men and women took on the role of knights, competing for marvelous rewards. Fame, wealth, love, inspiration-no prize was too great. To win, each knight must venture into the Arcanum and complete a series of moves determined by a hand of cards. The Arcanum could be dangerous and unpredictable, but the prizes were worth dying for-and many players did.

Cat needed the Arcanum to solve the mystery of her parents' death. But the Game was invitation-only, and because Cat stumbled into it by accident, she was allowed only to watch-able to see the possibilities, but not to compete for her own prize.

So Cat teamed up with three other watchers who were equally desperate to play: Flora, Blaine and Toby. Together they fought to change the rules, depose the kings and queens, and make the Game open to all.

Their guide was the Hanged Man-a prisoner who could only be freed by their success. And succeed they did. The Game would never be the same. It was time for Cat and her companions to claim their prizes. Or so they thought....

Those s.p.a.cious regions where our fancies roam,

Pain'd by the past, expecting ills to come,

In some dread moment, by the fates a.s.sign'd,

Shall pa.s.s away, nor leave a rack behind;

And Time's revolving wheels shall lose at last

The speed that spins the future and the past;

And, sovereign of an undisputed throne,

Awful eternity shall reign alone.

-Petrarch, Triumph of Eternity.

The Lesser Arcana (Court Cards).

King of Cups.

Queen of Cups.

Knight of Cups Knave of Cups Ace of Cups Root of Water.

Two of Cups Reign of Love Three of Cups Reign of Abundance Four of Cups Reign of Blended Pleasure.

Five of Cups Reign of Lost Pleasure Six of Cups Reign of Past Pleasure Seven of Cups Reign of Illusionary Success Eight of Cups Reign of Abandoned Success.

Nine of Cups Reign of Material Happiness Ten of Cups Reign of Perfected Success King of Pentacles.

Queen of Pentacles Knight of Pentacles Knave of Pentacles Ace of Pentacles Root of Earth.

Two of Pentacles Reign of Change Three of Pentacles Reign of Material Works Four of Pentacles Reign of Possession Five of Pentacles Reign of Material Trouble.

Six of Pentacles Reign of Material Success Seven of Pentacles Reign of Success Unfulfilled Eight of Pentacles Reign of Prudence Nine of Pentacles Reign of Sheltered Luxury Ten of Pentacles Reign of Wealth.

King of Swords Queen of Swords Knight of Swords.

Knave of Swords Ace of Swords Root of Air Two of Swords Reign of Peace Restored Three of Swords Reign of Sorrow.

Four of Swords Reign of Rest from Strife Five of Swords Reign of Defeat Six of Swords Reign of Earned Success Seven of Swords Reign of Futility Eight of Swords Reign of Shortened Force.

Nine of Swords Reign of Despair Ten of Swords Reign of Ruin King of Wands Queen of Wands.

Knight of Wands Knave of Wands Ace of Wands Root of Fire Two of Wands Reign of Dominion.

Three of Wands Reign of Established Strength.

Four of Wands Reign of Perfected Work.

Five of Wands Reign of Strife Six of Wands Reign of Victory Seven of Wands Reign of Valor.

Eight of Wands Reign of Swiftness Nine of Wands Reign of Great Strength.

Ten of Wands Reign of Oppression.

THE POSTCARD OR FLYER was lying trampled on the ground, and the woman wouldn't have noticed it if it wasn't for the silver trim glinting up at her. It was late evening and she was trying to get across town to pick up her children from their father's. Public transport was minimal on Boxing Day, and she had grown cold and tired waiting for the bus. In an otherwise dreary street, the card was an unlikely touch of glamour. There was a picture on the back, of a glittering blue circle or wheel on a black background. On the reverse side was a silver embossed coin, and written in ornate curly script: Some advertising campaign, the woman thought. A new book or computer game. Or else it's for one of those online gambling sites. She stroked the embossed coin and found that the silver flaked off easily, as on a scratchcard. A little icon of a man's face, laughing, was revealed underneath: There was no real information, though-no telephone hotline or website, no PO box to write to with her winning claim.

But she put the card in her bag nonetheless. You never knew, did you?

CAT WAS STANDING UNDER THE STATUE of Eros in Piccadilly Circus. The post-Christmas sales were in full swing, and the damp sidewalks were teeming with bargain hunters. Illuminated billboards s.h.i.+mmered under a leaden sky. HEADS YOU WIN, their flas.h.i.+ng words promised, TAILS YOU LOSE.

Behind her, winged Eros hovered, forever drawing back his bow. His body was slick from rain. The trickling of the fountain below the statue should have been a soothing noise, yet it set Cat's teeth on edge. Her eyes smarted at the neon signs. Every nerve jangled as she clutched the coin in her palm. Her other hand held a card with a picture of a stern-faced woman bearing a sword and scales. It was called the Triumph of Justice.

The card was Cat's next move in an ancient and infinite game of chance. Once she tossed her coin, London would vanish, to be replaced by the landscape of a world just the other side of our own. The Arcanum. It was the Game's board, and those who took their cards onto it would find their ill.u.s.trations brought to strange and dangerous life.

Cat had played many cards and won many moves. Yet the fear that bit into her heart was sharper than ever before. Come on, she cajoled herself. One last time. Clenching her teeth, she tossed the coin into the air and straightened out her right hand. Its palm bore the scar of a four-spoked wheel: the emblem of Lady Fortune. All players in the Game of Triumphs carried her mark. When the coin landed on the wheel, the silvery scar on Cat's palm and the disc of metal merged briefly into one.

She raised her head to see where the coin had taken her.

Nowhere.

London sprawled around her in all its damp, dirty splendor. The same shoppers and tourists thronged the pavements; the same buses and cars thronged the roads. The fountain trickled and adverts flashed just as they always had. The only difference Cat could find was on her playing card. The ill.u.s.tration of the Triumph of Justice had vanished, replaced by a dark horseman.

And then, through the splas.h.i.+ng of the water, the buzzing of the crowd and the grind of the traffic, Cat heard a new sound. A heavy clip-clop.

An armored figure on horseback was approaching from Lower Regent Street, weaving through the traffic with unhurried ease.

The horse was pearly white, with a flowing mane and tail. Its rider was clad in s.h.i.+ning dark armor, and carried a banner of a white flower. Both should have belonged to a scene of romance, of faraway chivalry. As they drew nearer to the junction, they seemed to grow in stature, or else the scene around them began to recede. Clip-clop, clip-clop, rang out the hooves, as steady as the beat of a heart.

The horseman was only twenty paces or so from her now. Stuck fast to where she stood, Cat felt sweat beading clammily at the back of her neck.

Now other people were beginning to turn and look. Some pointed and exclaimed, applauding; others jeered, though their laughter had an uncertain note. Sickness rose in Cat's throat as the knight lifted one gauntleted hand to open his visor. She knew what was coming; she had seen the card....

There was no face: only empty sockets and the pale gleam of bone.

The Triumph of Death.

A woman to Cat's left began to scream. The skeleton knight grinned; the sound of screaming spread. On and on, a high, shrilling note that split the air ...

Cat woke up sweating; her throat felt like sandpaper.

She couldn't find the switch for the blaring alarm, and in the end it only shut up when she knocked it off the table. Bel yelled something indistinguishable from the kitchen.

"Sorry," Cat croaked in reply. She sat hunched over herself, clutching her pillow like a little kid with a teddy bear. It was all she could do not to ask her aunt to come to her and help chase the bad dream away.

It had been like this the whole night long, and the previous night, too. Dream after dream, seething with menace, and though she had woken up after several of them, this had been the only one she could distinctly remember.

Cat stumbled out of bed toward a flap of peeling wallpaper in the corner of her tiny room, behind which a card was hidden. Thank G.o.d. The Triumph of Justice was still there, still safe, its ill.u.s.tration as vivid as it had always been. I've already won the Game, she told herself; it can't hurt me anymore. All I have to do is claim my prize.

It was the lure of fabulous rewards that led players to the Game. The same cards that came to life as ordeals in the Arcanum could also be enjoyed as prizes-"triumphs"-in the ordinary world. Some players joined the Game in search of Strength or Fame; others, Justice; still more, Love. Yet these were only a few of the desires and transformations to be won.

Cat's wish was intimately connected to the Game. Surviving its moves had been hard enough. Far harder, though, was the discovery that her parents had not died in a car accident twelve years before, as she'd been told, but had been murdered by someone in search of an invitation to the Arcanum.

First the Game had orphaned Cat, then it had claimed her as a player. And finally it had seduced her, with the promise of a prize that would give her everything she craved: disclosure, judgment and punishment.

Cat had been given her reward two days ago, on Boxing Day. The Triumph of Justice had all the answers, all her hopes for retribution, yet she still had not gone into the Arcanum to claim it. She could not shake off her nightmares' sense of dread.

But enough was enough. Cat was sure that Toby, Flora and Blaine weren't letting themselves be spooked by a few bad dreams. They were probably already reveling in their success, busy getting on with their new, brighter lives.

I'll make my move today, she decided. No more excuses. I just need to get this over and done with, and then I'll be free of it. I'll be free of everything.

Bel was doing the ironing, singing l.u.s.tily but with little tune. "I hope you're a bit more bright-eyed this morning," she said as Cat came into the kitchen. "You must've had a good twelve hours' nap."

She gave her niece a swift sidelong appraisal. Lately, she'd often shot Cat worried little glances when she thought she wasn't looking. Though neither of them talked about it directly, Bel had been given to understand that Cat was having a hard time dealing with the true circ.u.mstances of her parents' deaths. Bel knew nothing about the Game's involvement, of course, but she blamed herself for making up the car accident story in the first place. It had been her attempt to protect Cat from the official account of the killings: a robbery gone wrong.

Cat tried to grin. "Got to make the most of my lie-ins before school starts."

Her aunt's nervous sympathy made her feel faintly ashamed, as if she was getting it on false pretenses. Cat was three when her parents died, Bel nineteen, and it had been just the two of them ever since. They'd never gone in for the touchy-feely stuff, and they could be tough with each other if needs be, but that's why it worked. Theirs was a partners.h.i.+p against the world.

Bel didn't look entirely convinced by Cat's grin, but she returned to her singing anyway. She was about to start a new job at Alliette's, a posh casino off Trafalgar Square, and was already fizzing with antic.i.p.ation.

"Look," she said, breaking off midchorus to gesture at the window. "It's that boy again."

"What do you mean?" Cat was listlessly pus.h.i.+ng cornflakes round the bowl.

"I first saw him yesterday afternoon. Skulking around outside, watching our door. And now he's back."

Cat got up to stand by the kitchen window, from where she could see a tall figure slouched against the lamppost across the road. In his shapeless, dull-colored clothes, he looked like what he was: a street kid. It was Blaine.

"I pa.s.sed him on my way out earlier. Must be one of our friendly neighborhood thugs." Bel's tone wasn't entirely disapproving, though. Blaine had cut his hair since Cat had last seen him, so its former dishevelment was now a close-cropped brown fuzz. Even from here, she could see how it made the angles in his face more prominent, his eyes more deeply shadowed.

"It's OK," said Cat. "I know him."

Bel was half entertained, half suspicious. "Oho! Do you, now?"

"Yeah. He's, uh, a mate of some girl in school. He lent me a CD the other day. He's probably just here to get it back."