The Magic Trick (The Card Game #2)

Prologue - Maksim's Medals

THE MAGIC TRICK

THE CARD GAME: BOOK TWO 

  “You must take your opponent into a deep dark forest where two plus two equals five, and the path leading out is only wide enough for one.”

- Mikhail Tal, Russian Grandmaster

PROLOGUE

MAKSIM’S MEDALS

  

“Good-bye, Miron, Filipp, Kirill,” said Maksim, acknowledging each man as they exited the House of Cards. “Farewell, Vassi—and Starsha? Are you spying in on meetings? I don’t believe we have any women Spades.”

“And here I thought you were a revolutionary,” Starsha teased.

Vassi chuckled and shrugged in his heavy miner’s coat. “I could not keep her away. She insisted that you two be properly introduced.”

“I see,” murmured Maksim, brushing back his dirty blonde hair and breaking into a smile. Even though his face was covered in coal dust, it seemed to shine with happiness as he took the cloth bundle from Starsha’s arms. His calloused finger moved aside a fold of the material with the utmost gentleness, and then his blue eyes grew wide. “And to whom am I speaking?”

“This is Viktor,” said Starsha, a mother’s pride in her voice.

“You have a conqueror’s name, Viktor,” Maksim said to the sleeping babe, touching a calloused thumb to his tiny forehead. “And I hereby deem you a Spade at birth.”

“Adelaida must be due soon,” Vassi said. “Have you two chosen a name?”

Maksim glanced up. “No, but you know Adelaida. I think she will have the final say in both matters.”

“You’re horrible,” said Starsha, laughing as she took the precious bundle back. “But we still have faith in you.”

“And I in you—and little Viktor,” Maksim said. “We will see this time through. Then our freed children will grow up as friends.”

“Agreed,” said Vassi, shaking Maksim’s hand. With a hand around Starsha’s waist, they departed up the stairs.

Maksim turned back to the House of Cards, which was empty save for three other men at a card table. Walking by counters spread with maps and plans, he joined them and took a seat, examining each of his friends at a glance. Leonid was a lion of a man with a gold mane and beard, no one more powerful than the armed King of Clubs. Vitaly, clean-cut and perceptive, was the Kings of Hearts for a reason. His angelic face seemed immune from evil, an impartial judge and wise beyond his short years. Finally there was Feliks—cleverest, slimmest, quickest Feliks. Maksim watched him slouch in his chair, his grimy, dark hair tucked behind an ear where hung a kopek earring. As usual, the King of Diamonds had picked the others apart that night in several friendly games of Preferans.

“I think tonight went well,” Maksim said.

“It did,” Vitaly murmured.

“Well, I tire of these endless meetings,” grunted Leonid, scratching his great torso that was strapped with pistols and blades. “How many years has it been since the war? Give me action.”

“You will have it soon enough. Then, my friend, you will wish you did not,” said Vitaly.

Leonid flared his flat nose and bared his teeth, as if to say otherwise.

“What say you, Feliks?” Maksim said. “You have been awfully quiet tonight.”

Feliks looked up from the coin that he had been rolling over his knuckles. There were dark rings around his eyes and an ill look to his face. “I say there were new people here tonight.”

“And?” Vitaly said defensively.

“They are people that we don’t know,” said Feliks.

“I know them,” said Vitaly. “Keep to your gambling. Let me recruit.”

Feliks shook his head. “Recruit—this close to the rebellion?”

“We’ll need every last man we can muster!” Vitaly said. “Have you not seen the power of the Thieves’ World? Do you not know the Leopard’s capabilities?”  

“Yes,” snapped Feliks, “and have you not heard the rumors spreading among your golden men? Even I, the outcast, can hear that. They seem to think that our foe is becoming suspicious of playing cards. Some speak of a Betrayer of Cards.”

“And I would know if there was one!” said Vitaly.

“And I would cut off his head!” snarled Leonid, stabbing a knife into the table.

“And I,” said Maksim softly, “would tell all of you what I have told you several times: There is no Betrayer of Cards.”

Leonid paused. “Says your source?”

Maksim nodded. “Says my source.”

“Well, forgive me, Maksim,” Feliks said, his lips tight, “if your clandestine man does not have me bowing on my knees—”

“Two weeks!” Maksim cut in. His commanding presence captured his comrades’ attention and held it. “Two weeks. If we can hold our men steady for two weeks, the rebellion will succeed. Our strength is growing daily, but I agree with Feliks—it is too dangerous to sustain this model for long. The men are starting to bring others in, and they are talking, and too much talk will spread fear. If we four Kings lose control of our Suits, the men of Aryk will not rise up together but in disunity, and if that happens, the enemy will never fall.”

Maksim shook his head, his face hard and fierce. “We cannot allow that to happen, not just for Aryk’s sake, but also for our allies in St. Petersburg and Tulchin. It takes three points to control an area, and if they succeed in overthrowing the Tsar, they will need our eastern stronghold to triangulate power. Even our enemy knows this to be true—that is why he is Nocktayl and Molotov and the Leopard.

“I still remember sparring with him as a boy,” Maksim continued, his eyes wide with memory. “Believe me, he does not strike early … He waits to find a weakness, and then he attacks it with all his strength. That is why we cannot show our hand early. He would break us. The men would never again dream of rebellion.”

Vitaly put a fist over his heart. “Two weeks. I can keep the men calm until then.”

Leonid crackled his knuckles. “And I will not arm them until the last moment.”

Three pairs of eyes looked to Feliks, whose mouth was set in a scowl.

“This force is too poor,” Feliks whispered. “I should have run the Gauntlet.”

“Then you would be the biggest fool of all gamblers. Kill those thoughts,” Maksim ordered. He then shifted, reaching into his pocket and pulling out four silver medallion necklaces. “Now I have a gift for each of you, for protection in the final hour. Vitaly, for you, the Virgin Mary, to uphold purity and righteousness when evil surrounds you on all sides.”

Vitaly tilted his bright face. “Catholic medals?”

“And pray they protect your neck,” Maksim growled. “Now for you, Leonid, St. George, the soldier and dragon-slayer, highest of all military saints.”

“Naturally.” Leonid’s colossal fist closed around the silver.

“And for you, Feliks, St. Dismas, the Good Thief, to keep hope even in the darkest of places.”

Feliks accepted the medal silently, staring at it almost in fear.

“As for me,” Maksim said, donning a silver chain, “St. Benedict guards against evil, poison, and temptation. All these forces may assail us, but we are beyond turning back. Our fate is sealed.”

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