The Master Of Misrule Part 9

"Um ..."

"You can use it to pay me, if you want." She had suddenly become curt and businesslike. "I can't do the prophecy without an offering. And that's what you're here for, right?"

"Right." This person might not look like the woman on the card, but Cat knew that appearance didn't count for much in the Arcanum. As a prize, the High Priestess's triumph represented mysticism, the powers of prophecy. Perhaps she really would learn something useful from the girl-something important about the Game ... or her parents.

"Come on, then, slowpoke!" The High Priestess. .h.i.tched up her skirt, revealing bare feet with chipped red nail polish, and set off in a zigzagging dance through the parking bays.

She brought Cat to a ramp leading to a lower level. Instead of fluorescent tubes, this story was lit by tea lights set in flickering circles around the bases of the concrete pillars. It felt warmer, almost stuffy, and there was a nauseating smell of scented candles and exhaust fumes.

The Priestess let her skirt fall, trailing its ragged hem carelessly behind her, and walked to a pillar wrapped in black-and-yellow hazard tape. A tripod-like iron chair was set in front. She climbed on, adjusted her headdress and sat up very straight. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap.

"You are now in the presence of Sosostris herself," she intoned. "The holiest of holies, Belladonna, Lady of the Rocks. I am Madam Equitone, Queen of the Borrowed Light. I am Persephone and the pomegranate; I am Ariadne and her labyrinth. You have come to my sanctum, but will you dare hear my prophecy?"

Cat nodded.

"I must have the card and my offering."

Cat gave her the triumph card and undid the lucky charm necklace, not without a superst.i.tious twinge. Still, she had got off lightly: a Rolex watch and several wedding rings were among the Priestess's other fripperies.

"The offering is deemed worthy. Let the divination commence."

The girl hung her head and made a low droning sound from deep within her chest. "Ommmmmmm." She began to shake, rocking from side to side, so that the diadem flashed in the candlelight. "I see ... yes ... I see ... ommm ... a tall ... dark stranger...."

"Oh," said Cat, nonplussed.

"He's ever so good-looking. Lovely brown eyes."

"You, er, can see the color of his eyes?"

The High Priestess collapsed into squeals of laughter, so that her flounces tinkled and bangles chimed. "Of course not!" Afterward, she leaned forward confidentially. "But wouldn't it be nice if I could?"

Cat gritted her teeth and counted to ten. She wondered how Alastor would have handled this.

"Maybe I could ask you some questions," she suggested. Her thoughts were already churning with possibilities. How were my parents involved in the Game? If I defeat Misrule, will the Triumph of Justice punish their killer? And will I ever be free of the Arcanum and its crazy cards?

The girl shook her head. She put a strand of hair in her mouth and chewed it broodingly. "It doesn't work like that. The Spirit speaks through me however it likes. Booor-ring."

She sighed and covered her face with her hands, muttering something indistinguishable. Then she leaned down from the tripod and ran her fingers through a slick of spilled petrol. On the ground, it had a rainbow sheen, but the stain it left on her hands was black and sticky. Deliberately, she smeared the oil over her mouth. She then struck a match on the arm of the tripod and tossed it into the puddle.

The gasoline shot into flames. Behind billows of toxic smoke, the High Priestess gripped the arms of her tripod and convulsed all over with a harsh choking sound. Her mouth was black and clotted, and her rolling eyes were a blinded white. As soon as the fire started, Cat backed away in alarm, her hands tensed around the Ace of Cups. But almost as quickly as they had begun, the flames died down to a smolder, and the High Priestess became calm and still.

When she spoke, her voice was high and cold and very clear.

Then the glory of the Lord went up from the cherub, and stood over the threshold of the house; and the house was filled with the cloud, and the court was full of the brightness of the Lord's glory.

As for the wheels, it was cried unto them in my hearing, O wheel.

And every one had four faces: the first face was the face of a bull, and the second face was the face of a man, and the third the face of a lion, and the fourth the face of an eagle.

And when the cherubim went, the wheels went by them: O wheel- O- She sagged limply in her seat, and Cat thought the prophecy was finished. Silence rang in her ears. But then the girl raised her head and began to speak again. This time, her manner was brisk, almost abrupt.

"Hear my prophecy: Eternity awaits you, but only the cherubim can summon it. You must make them offerings so that they rise again. Otherwise, Misrule's wheel shall burn at the turning of the year. For now, the Empress holds the answer to what you seek."

Her head rolled on her neck, her eyelids drooped and her face slackened. Then she opened her eyes and yawned. "Did I say anything interesting?"

"Um ... kind of."

Cat thought the first part of the prophecy might be describing the wheels portrayed in the Triumph of Eternity. She remembered the painting the High Priest had shown them, and how the wheels in its corners had animal faces inside. Then "the glory of the Lord" probably referred to the Master of Misrule. But who were the cherubs, and what kind of offering did they need? And as for the Empress ... Could she have the answer to Cat's more personal quest-the ident.i.ty of her parents' killer?

Sudden hope flared. Cat thought of what Toby had said about Eternity allowing them to control the Game and all of its triumphs. It would give her Justice along with Misrule. But if she became Queen of Swords at the end of this move, she could go where she liked in the Arcanum.... She might even have the Empress among her own cards.... She could go and ask- The High Priestess spat on one of her silk scarves and set about scrubbing the oil off her mouth. "Goody. Don't forget there's a falsehood, though."

"Falsehood?" A car alarm was beeping close by, but Cat was distracted by something else she'd heard-a kind of rasping groan-echoing around the floor below.

"Mmm. There's always one untruth in my prophecies. Trouble is, I never know which one." She peeped at Cat slyly from behind her scarf. "You'll have to ask my brother."

"The High Priest?"

"Don't be daft. No, my brother's Asterion. He's kept down there."

She flapped her hand at the floor. As if in response, there was another groan, this one ending with a bellow.

Cat's heart seemed to jolt.

"It's funny, isn't it? Here I am, telling you lots of important things, things you need to win the Game, and you don't know which of them you can trust!" The High Priestess's giggle sounded particularly strange coming out of her blackened mouth. "Asterion can tell you, though. He's the only one who knows when I'm not speaking the truth. But if you want to ask him, you'll have to be quick-he'll be starting the change soon."

"The change?" Cat asked.

"Yes. From man to ..." The High Priestess patted her horned headdress. "Well, you'll find out soon enough!"

Cat felt another jolt. "How do I find him?"

The girl poked her tongue out at her. "Follow the arrows, silly."

There were, indeed, large yellow arrows painted on the floor to direct the traffic. The one closest to them was indicating a ramp down to the next level-down to where the groaning was coming from. There was nothing Cat wanted less than to go deeper into this place, to where sounds of pain and fury echoed underground. But it was pretty clear that winning this move meant getting a workable prophecy. So she left the High Priestess to play with her lucky charm, and followed the arrow trail.

It was on the next story that she found the King of Swords. Alastor was slumped against a concrete pillar, a gaping wound gored in his side. He was breathing, but only just.

Now Cat truly understood the nature of Misrule's punishment. If Cat didn't find a way to win this card, and break the cycle of failure that Alastor was trapped in, he would survive the move only to suffer something equally terrible in the next one. And the next. And so on, for all eternity ...

She looked at her onetime nemesis, bleeding on the floor. His eyes were closed. She remembered his former power, the steely chill beneath his charm. Alastor had had countless years, centuries even, to rule the Game and manipulate his players. Many of his knights had suffered just as he did now. But Cat could feel no sense of triumph. For both their sakes, she had to get on and finish this move, and defeat whatever monster had defeated him.

The level below was empty, but the groaning was louder, interspersed with bellows and the shrilling of more car alarms. Cat followed the yellow arrows through the pillars and down another ramp, then another. The ceilings were getting lower, with only a few stuttering fluorescent tubes here and there. By now it was very hot and the overpowering smell of oil and exhaust was making her feel sick.

Four levels down from the High Priestess, Cat found her brother. In the center of the floor, a man was strapped down on a concrete slab. He was huge and muscular, wrapped around with metal chains. His naked torso glistened with sweat as he twisted and heaved against his bonds.

The man had a broad, strong face and thick, curly black hair. His nostrils flared and his eyes rolled as Cat approached. She came to a halt by a pillar a little distance from the slab.

"I-please-um-I've had the oracle. Can you tell me, please, which-"

He roared at her. It didn't sound human at all.

"Stay back," he said thickly. "Back." Getting the words out made him grunt with effort, his mouth flecked with foam. Tufts of black hair sprouted on his chin and out of his nostrils and eyebrows, and ran up from his chest to grow over his face, which bulged and broadened. The change the High Priestess spoke of had begun. But the eyes that turned to Cat were wide and hazel, and filled with human anguish.

"P-please tell me. Which is the false prophecy?"

He roared again, and the chains clanked. His body was swelling into even greater strength and bulk. Two dark brown lumps had begun to protrude from the curling hair on his forehead.

Cat prepared to ask for the third time. She could tell his power of speech was fading; his face was nearly all animal. Although she was light-headed with fear, she tried to keep her voice as cool and clear as the High Priestess's voice of prophecy. "Asterion," she commanded. "Tell me the falsehood."

And out of the beast's mouth, a human voice spoke.

"The false ... the falsehood ... is the last. The-the Empress holds the answer to what you seek."

Of course.

Of course that would be the lie. Just another Arcanum cheat, Cat thought savagely. Another false hope, another dead end.

But she didn't have time to dwell on her defeat.

As Asterion gave a last terrible groan, the horns of a bull sprang from his head-long, curving and cruel. A Minotaur was born.

Cat fled. Those chains wouldn't hold him for much longer. She couldn't see the way back through the pillars to an upward ramp and so took the nearest one, which led down again. This next level was even hotter, darker and more cramped, and its yellow arrows pointed in every direction. It's a labyrinth, she thought despairingly. The floor here was stained with something dark and sticky; she didn't think it was oil.

What had been the trick to Flora's maze? Every turn is left.... There were no corners here, though-only a forest of crookedly parked vehicles and concrete posts, and arrows that pointed everywhere and nowhere. She had no clue, let alone a thread, to guide her. But unlike an ordinary player in this move, Cat didn't have to search for the threshold out of here. She could raise her own, and get straight back to Temple House. She must throw her die and- But a clanking, cras.h.i.+ng sound followed by a bellow announced that the Minotaur had broken his chains. His rage seemed to shake the ceiling. He was coming for her. In her panic, she decided that even the few moments she would need to roll the die, raise the wheel and toss the coin would take too long. She had to find some kind of refuge first. Or get into one of the cars, try her hand at joyriding ... But the few doors she checked were all locked.

Cat ran through the pillars in a frenzied imitation of the High Priestess's zigzagging dance from before. The roars of the beast had a disorientating echo: the noise bounced off the walls and ceiling and posts so that she had no real idea of how close the creature was. She was moving so haphazardly, and so fast, that she nearly slammed into a wall before skidding to a stop. But her whimper of terror changed to weak laughter when she realized the dead end was actually a car lift.

Slowly, creakily, the door began to raise itself from the floor. It was separate to the lift itself, which was a hydraulic platform on chained gears. She flung herself onto the platform, repeatedly jabbing the b.u.t.tons to close the door and send the lift up. Slowly, creakily, the door began to close ... and came to a screeching halt a quarter of the way down. The door had jammed. The lift, however, began to rise. "Oh G.o.d," Cat moaned aloud. "Please, please hurry." It was moving up inch by torturous inch.

She could see the Minotaur now. He was perhaps fifteen feet away, and standing beneath one of the few working lights. Under the fizz and flicker of its fluorescent tube, the curve of his horns jutted upward in silhouette, almost high enough to touch the ceiling. From the neck down, his body was still a man's, but the bulk of straining muscle was too grotesquely exaggerated to look human. He pawed his foot on the ground and lowered his head, ready for the final charge.

Cat took out the Ace of Cups and tore it in two.

A jet of water erupted from the floor just outside the lift and surged across the room. The lift continued to inch upward. Cat crouched on its floor, only a couple of feet off the ground, and watched as the water gushed forth in ever greater quant.i.ties-her own personal geyser bursting through the concrete. It was a brown, oily torrent that foamed angrily against the pillars and thrashed all round the beast, who was bawling with shock as well as rage. The water rose with astonis.h.i.+ng speed. Her last view before the lift climbed to the next story was of the Minotaur's horns tilting to one side as he floundered in the flood.

FLORA RECOILED AS THE FIRST snowflake fell on her cheek. Snow had ceased to be picturesque ever since the midwinter's night she had found Grace lying in the park, and after her experiences in the Eight of Swords, even the thought of it made her skin crawl. But if she was going to be the next Queen of Cups, she couldn't allow herself to be put off by a little bad weather.

The card she had taken from Odile was the Five of Pentacles. Its move began outside a church, below a stained-gla.s.s window that glowed with rainbow warmth. A choir was singing inside, very high and sweet. Flora's first impression was that she was in front of an Arcanum version of St. Bernadine's, but the more she gazed at the walls, the higher they seemed to tower, so that their scale increased to that of a great cathedral.

The ill.u.s.tration on the card was almost exactly like the scene in front of her, right down to the two ragged figures who had just appeared from behind a funeral monument. As the beggars approached, Flora backed away, holding the Ace of Wands for rea.s.surance. The die in her pocket was a comfort, too. She reminded herself that she could create a threshold and escape to Temple House whenever she wanted. But the beggars ignored her, limping painfully toward the entrance at the west end of the building.

Flora walked after them. The doors opened onto a cavernous hall-the cathedral's nave-lined on either side with an arcade of cl.u.s.tered columns, built of the same sooty stone as the exterior. They soared up to the roof and branched out into a dizzying tracery of ribbed vaults. The s.p.a.ces in between the columns were full of leaping shadows cast by ranks of candles wavering in the draft.

Despite the fact that the architecture was unmistakably that of a cathedral, she couldn't see any religious apparatus or imagery. The circular window over the west doors was in the design of Fortune's Wheel, while the high arched windows along the aisles were filled with stained-gla.s.s ill.u.s.trations of triumph cards. Both the woodwork and the stone bore intricate carvings of pentacles, swords, cups and wands.

Although Flora had slipped through the open doors quietly enough, the moment she was inside, they slammed shut with a crash. The choir abruptly ceased singing and the entire congregation turned to look at her. All the pews were filled with people as ragged and starved-looking as the pair she had followed in. It was unnerving to be the focus of their silent stares, alone and exposed in that great s.p.a.ce.

Soldiers guarded the ends of the pews. They wore black combat uniforms and balaclavas and carried guns. As Flora began her first faltering steps down the nave, four of the soldiers broke away from their positions to form an escort. Hemmed in from behind and at the sides, she had no choice but to keep going.

They came to a halt when they reached the transept-the aisle that cut across the nave to give the building the shape of a cross. Its mosaic floor was in the design of a pentacle, a five-pointed star within a circle, and hooded figures in scarlet robes were seated on each of the star's points. A bronze reading stand had been set in the middle. Across the transept, the eastern end of the building-where one would expect the choir stalls and altar to be-was cut off by a wooden screen, guarded by more gunmen.

One of the soldiers behind Flora gave her a shove, so that she stumbled forward to stand inside the star. The robed figure opposite raised his head to examine her. His own face remained overshadowed by the hood.

"We are the Five of Pentacles, the Game's High Order of Inquisitors," he announced in a dry, papery voice. "You have been brought before us to prove yourself a True Player, and a champion worthy of the Arcanum."

"And how do I do that?"

"Each of the Five of Pentacles has a question for you," the man replied. "Answer all five correctly, and the Inquisition will be satisfied. One wrong answer, and the Trial by Inquiry will be followed by the Trial by Ordeal. If you prevail there, you may still prove yourself a True Player and win the move. If not ..."

"Yes?"

"Your Game will be over, and with it all your hopes of reward."

Flora decided against asking what the ordeal entailed, and what kind of state she might be in at the end of it. She knew that nothing could be worse than the Eight of Swords and its maze of briars. If she could survive that, she told herself grimly, she could survive anything.

"Very well," she said. She produced the Five of Pentacles playing card, and handed it to the robed figure on her right. "Then I'm ready to take your trial."

As if on cue, the choir began to sing again. They must have been hidden in one of the chapels off the transept, for she never saw them. But their voices rang out angelically, in a cascade of golden notes. "Cursus Fortune," they sang, "variatur in more lune: crescit, decrescit et eodem sistere nescit...."

Flora went to take her place behind the reading stand, so that she was facing the congregation. The lectern was a larger version of the one at St. Bernadine's. She gripped its cool, polished sides and felt a little calmer.

In spite of everything, it seemed she could almost be taking part in some kind of mad game show. The scarlet robes of the Inquisitors were theatrical as well as threatening, and the people in the pews looked as raptly attentive as any studio audience. Flora decided to imagine that the church was filled with people she knew. Tilly, Georgia, Charlie and the rest of her crowd were lined up in the front rows, cheering her on. Her parents were watching proudly from the back. Cat and Blaine and Toby were close by, too, crossing their fingers for her. The thought of them warmed her, a little.

Proceedings began with one of the soldiers striking a gong. Once its s.h.i.+vering ring had died away, the hooded figure immediately to Flora's left began the cross-examination. He spoke in exactly the same parched voice as the first Inquisitor.

"Hear and consider your first question. Who is your ruler in the Game?"

She took a deep, steadying breath. The question wasn't as straightforward as it might appear. She was playing this move on behalf of Odile, the Queen of Cups, but since Misrule had overthrown the reign of the courts, he was the only Game Master with any power. There was also the fact that she was technically still a chancer, and chancers weren't supposed to come under the rule of anybody at all. But then she thought of the choir's song, and felt a new certainty. "Lady Fortune," she replied.

The ragged audience gave a sigh of relief. All five Inquisitors slowly nodded. "Your answer is accepted," p.r.o.nounced the one who had asked the question.

Boiiing! went the gong. Flora supplied imaginary cheers from her imaginary support team.

Now it was the turn of the second man along. "In a Game ruled by Fortune, how do Fate and Luck work upon a player?"

This was something Flora had thought about before, and struggled with. She took her time to prepare her answer.

"Out of all the cards I might have played, Fate dealt me this one. Luck, however, will help determine how difficult or easy I find it to win. And ... um ... there's also the matter of Free Will."

At this, the congregation rustled and murmured, so that the soldiers had to strike their rifle b.u.t.ts on the floor to command silence. The Inquisitors, meanwhile, exchanged looks. "Free Will?" repeated the second of the five.

"Yes," Flora said firmly, although she was quaking inside. "I play the Game out of my own Free Will, just as I choose to answer your questions as I see fit. So Fate imposes necessity on a player, Luck provides her with the opportunity for victory or defeat and Free Will decides if and how that opportunity is taken."

As soon as she'd finished, she began to think that she had made a stupid-and dangerous-mistake. Far better to let her original answer stand by itself than to complicate it with unnecessary philosophizing.... The hooded heads turned to each other, their dry lips moving in silent conferral.

Eventually, the second Inquisitor spoke again. "Your answer is accepted."

The gong was struck, and the third question asked.