CHAPTER XXXVI
THE LAST LETTER
The Xaladikta Roma held true to their word. On the evening of the sendoff, their leaders, Shandor, Emilian, Drina, and Mirela, delivered a stable of steeds to the outskirts of the Great Fairy Ring. Feliks and Romulus were presented with two gray stallions, and each circus hand and newly freed Card had their pick of a silver Arabian, white Tersk, or black Kabardin. With the horses came copious gifts and goods. There were blankets, furs, fresh clothes and colorful cloaks. Some of the saddles were strapped with baskets of fruit, bread, and salted meat; others were loaded with long-lasting staples like jam, honey, grain, and spices. The Gypsy soldiers imparted their finest tobacco and spirits—and last of all, their good-byes.
Viktor watched the proceedings with a lump in his throat. He wasn't ready for this moment, not yet, not ever. Romulus wandered through the oak roots with Blizzard back at his side. Even the wolf seemed to know a long journey was ahead. He came to sit in front of Viktor, staring up at him in an unusual way. Bending down, Viktor held out his hand, which was greeted with a muddy paw and a low whimper.
"So," said Romulus, "I guess this is it."
Viktor stood up. "Yeah."
"You'll be safe. I think we bought some time with the Leopard, and I'll be back before you know it—when the cold winds come." Romulus hesitated, a pained look in his eyes. "Blood brothers, right? Till the end?"
"Till the end," Viktor replied, and for the third time in his life, he shook Romulus' hand—a weak handshake, but a handshake nonetheless. It was a covenant.
With a last awkward glance, Romulus nodded and slipped away to talk with Evenova. In his place, a new figure appeared in the twilight, slim but willful, wounded but proud: The King in rags.
"Hello, Viktor."
"Oh ... Good-bye, Feliks."
"Good-bye?" The King of Diamonds snorted. "Not really. We'll see each other again."
"When?" Viktor said a bit too quickly.
"Well ... I'm not sure, but I have a good feeling, and my gut is rarely wrong."
Viktor wished he could beg Feliks to stay. He wanted to tell him how much this town needed him, how much he needed him. There were so many things Viktor wanted to know, and so much left unsaid. Yet the entire caravan was waiting on its leader.
"I'm afraid I must go," said Feliks. "But take heart, Viktor. Remember, you are the breaker of the Silent Deal, the hope of the Cards, the secret terror to our foes. A man like that is never alone."
"But what if it feels like I am?" Viktor whispered.
Feliks offered up a gnarled, one-eyed smile. "Well, in those moments, use this trick: Look around."
Look around—that was genius advice of Feliks the clever? Viktor's shoulders sunk as he watched Feliks clamber up onto his horse beside Florica. Nearby, Romulus pulled away from Evenova to mount his own horse. It was pointless for Viktor to try and fight the despair that stabbed at his heart. His old and new friends were ready to leave. The moment had come. Feliks tipped his rediscovered black top hat, but strangely did not look at Viktor and Evenova, but past them.
Finally following Feliks' advice, Viktor looked around and felt his heart leap. A new group had gathered under the dark cover of the trees, the ones that Viktor had missed most of all.
"Farewell, Feliks," said the man at the head of the group.
Feliks nodded, still grinning. "Vassi, Starsha, farewell old friends. Do keep an eye on that son of yours."
Viktor turned back to his family in wonder. His mother was already crying as she wrapped him up in a hug, and his father placed a sturdy hand on his shoulder. Grandpap flashed his crooked grin and gave him two stinging pats on the cheek, which Viktor could barely feel he was so joyful. The Crossbones Clan was there too in all its color, waving goodbye to the caravan. Feliks and Romulus raised their hands, several horses reared up, and then the trot began, with dust swirling and a moon glowing and a white wolf howling.
"I can't believe you're here," Viktor said, twisting back again. "How did you know about this? You hadn't met my friends."
"Oh, so these are your friends," Starsha said, wiping her eyes and viewing the Gypsies with blatant maternal concern.
Shirtless once again, Cappi and Dukker snorted. Andrei elbowed them and tried to force a trustworthy smile, which failed miserably considering that he had more than one tooth missing. Roksana stared straight ahead, her face swollen from grief.
"How did you know about this?" Viktor said again to his family.
"With a single songbird a rumor fills the earth," Grandpap answered.
Everyone paused.
"Charlotta told them," said Evenova, far too impatient to watch Viktor work out his grandfather's riddles. The old man cast her a furious glare, and she promptly returned it.
"Charlotta did? Wait, is she—?" Viktor caught sight of the golden-haired girl in the bunch, dressed so colorfully that he had mistaken her for a Gypsy. His mouth went dry. "You're here ... So you've forgiven me?"
Charlotta smiled sadly. "I should ask the same."
Viktor nodded dumbly. He frowned and looked at his father. "And you're here. Does that mean you've forgiven me? That I can come home?"
"You were always forgiven," Vassi said in a pained tone. "I may have been angry with you, but I only made you leave our roof because the Silent Deal had been broken. Officials have been scouring Aryk for Card affiliation, and I would not have you—nor your friends—linked with an old Card like myself ... But that was before we received Molotov's order about the Apprenticeship Trials. Ever since then your mother and grandfather and I wanted to reach you, but we did not dare try. We did not know who was watching you, or what was happening in the castle, or what they would do if we had reached out to you. So we waited endlessly, hoping and praying that if you could return home, you would. Viktor, you are more missed and loved than you know."
Thinking back, Viktor relived that first morning when he had discovered that he had been summoned to Staryi Castle—how he had felt sick at the schoolhouse, and fretted the day away in the forest, and finally, at night, returned to his family's wretched house in the southern slums. He remembered the image of his mother crying through that grimy window, and pain of abandonment that had scorched his heart. But he hadn't been abandoned. That was the furthest thing from the truth. And somehow, in somewhere very deep down, he had always known it. It was what had let him go on.
Vassi wrinkled his coal-smeared brow. "Of course, this doesn't change the fact that you broke nearly every command we gave you. You brought great danger on this family, your friends, and the whole people of Aryk—none more so than yourself."
"I know. I didn't mean for it to happen like that," Viktor murmured, flushing red in front of the Crossbones Clan, who looked remarkably entertained by his scolding.
"Ack!" Grandpap spat. "He who pleased everybody died before he was born."
"True," Vassi said to Viktor. "And for all your trouble, good has come about yet. There is a change. I've seen it myself in the miners' faces. Your mother has seen it in the factories. Every season it has become more obvious, and a few eves ago, Staryi Castle was challenged in a way that every serf in this town thought impossible—and now they believe. I do not know quite how to say this, but there are whispers of a new rebellion."
Viktor's stomach flipped. A thrill passed through the group, though not everyone took the words as good news. Rover, Roksana, and Charlotta wore concerned looks, and it killed Viktor to see his mother so afraid.
"We also know, thanks to Charlotta," Vassi continued, "how dreadful a situation you and your friends have dug yourselves into. So by Grandpap's urging, your mother's insistence, and my surrender, we are here, risking contact with you, to tell you that we will help you survive this in any way we can."
"Survive what?" Viktor said, glancing around to find the whole group watching him with deep concern.
"Haven't you shown him?" Charlotta muttered to Evenova.
Viktor saw Evenova recoil and wince. She looked his way, and with her mouth clamped shut, pulled a letter from her coat, holding it out to him. Viktor unfolded the parchment warily, looking up once more before lending his attention to the page:
'Noble-born, trade-class, serf, and Romani students of Aryk:'
'The Apprenticeship Trials have come to a close. Those of you who have been found unqualified will return: If noble-born—to your homes, if trade-class—to your family's trade, and if Romani—to your own people in Kasta Way. Unqualified male serfs will report to the mines, and female serfs, to the textile factory.
'However, if your name is listed on the attached parchment, you have been selected as an Apprentice, a title that bears great honor and responsibility. Due to this position's permanence, as well as necessary castle renovation, you have been granted a temporary visitation period with your household, with whom you will discreetly notify of your new status as a scholar of Staryi Castle. In two months time, at dawn on the morning of August 1st, you will (under penalty of imprisonment) report with your personal effects to the new mentor of your respective discipline.'
'In loyal service of Master Molotov,
Lieutenant Vyrhus, Head Guard'
Considering the magnitude of recent events, Viktor had almost forgotten the terrors of the Trials. He and his peers had faced the rhinoceros' horn, the bubbling-molten-metal catastrophe, the diamond-framing mess, and even the Latin exam that had led up to the poisonous Infusions final—all for the sake of this miserable letter he held in his hand. Did he dare read it?
The Leopard had wanted only the brightest, most talented minds for his Apprenticeship. Viktor knew without looking down at the list that his enemy had already failed in that regard. Who had been better educated than Modest, the scribe's son? Who had had more savvy than the trader, Sevastian? Who had possessed more charm than Sofiya? But they and several others were dead. In his lust, the Leopard had killed off the very talent he had sought after. Who would be left to fill their places?
A week ago, Viktor would have been terrified to read the list of names. He would have thought it a virtual death sentence, a life imprisonment in the bowels in Staryi Castle. But all that had changed after discovering that the Ghosts were the Leopard's Seven. They were not prisoners. They were scholars. And now the new Ghosts would be real Apprentices under them. Still, that knowledge was only so reassuring. The Leopard knew that every serf and Gypsy in the land would have him overthrown, and yet still he had counted them among his applicants and kept them uncomfortably close. That thought sent a shiver through Viktor's spine as he scanned down the attached list of names:
'Boris Spektor:
Zoology Apprentice to Fera Kustos
Arseni X:
Scientia Apprentice to Ernestus Illuminare
Aleksandr Rokosov:
Mineralogy Apprentice to Pyotr Messor
Evenova Inshova:
Latin Apprentice to Peniculis Pluma
Roksana Yully:
Infusions Apprentice to Proserpina Rose
Mikhail Dudinov:
Magic and Myth Apprentice to Fabula Kustos'
And finally, only one name remained:
'Viktor Vassinov:
Botany Apprentice to Viridis Pollex'
Viktor stared at his name on the Apprenticeship order. It was the third time he had seen it written on one of the Leopard's decrees, the second being on the Trials order, and the first being on the Silent Deal, under the list of the deceased serf children. That he had survived the first decree was miraculous, and the second one had all but killed him, so how could he endure the third? If there was a solution, Viktor decided that it was hidden in the name listed below his own: Viridis Pollex.
The Botany Instructor was an enigma. He claimed to be Ambrosii, the gardener's son who had met Nocktayl at Saint Demetrius and recognized his evilness, joining his ranks to thwart the boy's future plans. Yet the rest of Aryk claimed that he was something of a polar opposite: The embodiment of the Leshy, the mythical lord over the Russian forest. And as much as he wanted to, Viktor couldn't forget Kamdrac's dying words: "Viridis—is not—a man."
So whose side of the story was true? All things considered, did it even matter? Viktor knew that Pollex had guarded him all year. Half a dozen times, the man had saved his life. Now he had chosen Viktor as his Apprentice—not as an aid for the castle, but as an aid against it. Together Viktor couldn't begin to imagine what they could accomplish, a man on the out and a man on the in, he and Maksim's inside man, spurring a rebellion that was sure to come, fighting an enemy who—
"Viktor!"
Viktor was jolted from his thoughts. How long he had stood clutching the parchment he had no idea, but the stars had come out and the moon waned. His family and friends were still staring back at him, and while they were clearly puzzled by his snail-slow reaction, the truth was that Viktor shared in their puzzlement. Because had he been alone, the future would have undoubtedly terrified him, yet with so many people he loved at his side, everything changed. Suddenly he felt a pure, inexplicable hope.
"Yeah," Viktor murmured, giving the parchment a slight shake. "Yeah, this isn't so bad ... It might even be good ... Maybe great."
Everyone, especially the new Apprentices, Evenova, Roksana, and Arseni, looked like they'd been hit with a bag of bricks. Well, everyone except Andrei.
The boxer cast a smug look at Viktor's parents and spoke in growl: "And you Aryk-angels think Gypsies are mad?"