The Magic Trick (The Card Game #2)

Ch 4 - The New Graffiti

CHAPTER IV

THE NEW GRAFFITI

Viktor’s jaw dropped. The ‘Brassard’ graffiti was named after the ‘badge of rank’ playing cards that rebels had carried in the rebellion, and that graffiti was where Viktor’s old search had begun. Half his life he had puzzled over the playing card art, and while he had come to understand many of the drawings and messages, the fact that more were being made was inspiring—and alarming.

There might be rebels in our town yet, Viktor thought. But what could be worth writing considering the penalties of Aryk’s laws? Didn’t I already break the Silent Deal?

Lieutenant Vyrhus smirked. “Fortunately, we were able to catch the offender. He will be punished by Town Hall, where lies the proof of his crime. Come witness the consequences for law-breaking if you please. If not, disperse—with haste!”

People shuffled away in all directions. Viktor spotted the Ringmaster fighting his way toward Vyrhus with his gray beard and cane swinging. A man and a woman were following behind, and Viktor crept within earshot.

“Lieutenant, sir, what of the circus?” said the Frenchman.

Vyrhus’ red eyes glanced at the towering tents. His sword twitched with annoyance. “In the light of these events, all frivolities must be postponed. Yet I assure you, Ringmaster, that my master will wish to do business … in his good time.”

The Ringmaster wrung the head of his cane. Viktor presumed that man had a schedule to keep. He would have to be far south by the time winter struck Russia.

“I think we would do well to stay, Monsieur,” said the man who had shadowed the Ringmaster. “The tents are already constructed and we have traveled far. And it would be unwise to refuse the good Master Molotov’s hospitality.”

“And who are you?” Lieutenant Vyrhus growled.

The man lifted his tall black top hat to reveal a sharp part in his dark hair. His eyes were dark, too, as was his neatly groomed mustache. “Why, Lieutenant, I think you could guess. I am, of course, the Magician.”

 Viktor thought that Vyrhus might literally cut the man in half, but instead the lieutenant glanced at the other figure at the Ringmaster’s side, a woman with freckles and curly brown hair that half-hid her face. “And you are?”

“The Daughter of Druids,” the woman said shrewdly. “I too would advise lingering, Monsieur. I have heard there is a nearby Gypsy camp that might yield our particular interest.”

The Ringmaster scowled and hitched his thumbs on suspenders that were stretched to a bursting point. “Then it is settled.”

Lieutenant Vyrhus turned without speaking, aiming for Town Hall.

Meanwhile, Viktor stole back to his friends, who ate up his words. They debated for a minute over what to do next, but with he, Romulus, and Evenova set on seeing the new Brassard graffiti, Charlotta quickly became the minority vote, and reluctantly followed.

Viktor approached Town Hall with unsteady limbs and a burning curiosity. Already a crowd thick with nobles was forming, and castle guards had been posted to keep the masses a few meters at bay from the building. Many citizens had gone home to avoid trouble, yet other miners and merchants lingered, as well as bone-weary women from the textile factory. The circus leaders were there as well, and a few serf youths whose elders hadn’t pulled them away.

As the masses rounded on Town Hall’s front, sharp intakes of breath ran through the onlookers. Strangled murmurs sputtered out of those who had the ability to read the Brassard message and pass it on. Fingers pointed. Hands went over mouths. Feet scooted away. Sideward glances were thrown at neighbors.