you.” Then he got into the car and drove away.
At the end of the week, there was still no sign of Arthur. Blaine went to see his mother, with Liz there to supervise. Helen’s face was mottled with tears and tiredness, and her nails were gnawed down to the quick. When Blaine came in, she flinched away and sat crouched in the corner of the sofa, thin arms wrapped around her body, as she rocked and wept.
“No, no, I mustn’t see you. He wouldn’t like it. He told me, he
warned
me, he’d leave if we weren’t good enough. You pushed him to the edge and now you’ve driven him away. All he ever wanted to do was take care of us, and what will happen to us now? I can’t
bear
it, oh—”
Liz walked Blaine to the door. “She’ll come round,” she said wearily. “But I’m getting the doctor to visit later. It may be that your mother needs to be looked after … professionally, for a while.”
Blaine nodded dumbly. He wished he had never gone into the study, never found the card.
And yet he carried his torn corner with him at all times, as if for luck. The top of the dancer’s head was visible above the tear, and there was part of the first line of writing on the back:
Following his visit to Helen, however, Blaine wanted to forget about Arthur and everything else. He went to walk on the seafront.
Like most of the town, the promenade’s row of seedy bed-and-breakfasts and discount shops had seen better days. The amusement arcade that lined the rusting Victorian pier was closed at this time on a Sunday. Nonetheless, a group of people were sitting around one of the plastic picnic tables outside the entrance. They looked exotically out of place.
There was a blonde in a sharp white suit and sunglasses, even though it was a dour winter’s afternoon. She was seated opposite an older, darkly glamorous woman in an evening gown. A young man lounged beside her, fashionably disheveled. He had a sleepy smile and tousled hair. The fourth was a black man, dressed as if for a business meeting, grizzled and stern.
As Blaine drew closer, he noticed two things. One, that the group appeared to be playing a card game of some sort, and two, that although they were talking among themselves,the sound was small and blurred, as if he was listening to something far away. The chill wind that had begun to whip off the sea didn’t ruffle their clothes or hair, let alone set them shivering.
Out of some instinct, Blaine felt in his back pocket. As he did so, the black man rose to his feet and put out his hand.
“I believe you have something belonging to our Game.”
His voice was heavy as granite. The other three didn’t even look up. Without quite knowing why, Blaine proffered his bloodstained piece of card.
“I want to find the man who’s got the rest of this card,” he said.
“He has joined the Game as a Knight of Wands, and become lost in the Arcanum.”
“Arc-what?”
“The place where our Game is played.”
“Will he come back?”
“He could. He has everything to play for.”
“Then I’ve got to go find him.”
Below them, the gray sea sucked and mumbled on the gray stones. A seagull cawed. But for Blaine, everything except the man in front of him had faded into the distance.
The man looked at him carefully. “You have brought only a scrap of card. You cannot become a knight of our courts or compete for our prizes.
“However, your actions have altered the State of Play. You are responsible for this Knight of Wands joining the Game, and because your intervention was by accident, wehave no choice but to let you into the Arcanum. Your role in the Game will be that of a chancer. Some call it the Fool.”
He picked up a new card from the table and gave it to Blaine. This one showed a figure dressed in motley-colored rags, poised at the brink of a precipice. The lettering on the back was the same as on Arthur’s.
“Temple House? Where’s that?”
“There are many cities with a quiet square, an ancient
At the end of the week, there was still no sign of Arthur. Blaine went to see his mother, with Liz there to supervise. Helen’s face was mottled with tears and tiredness, and her nails were gnawed down to the quick. When Blaine came in, she flinched away and sat crouched in the corner of the sofa, thin arms wrapped around her body, as she rocked and wept.
“No, no, I mustn’t see you. He wouldn’t like it. He told me, he
warned
me, he’d leave if we weren’t good enough. You pushed him to the edge and now you’ve driven him away. All he ever wanted to do was take care of us, and what will happen to us now? I can’t
bear
it, oh—”
Liz walked Blaine to the door. “She’ll come round,” she said wearily. “But I’m getting the doctor to visit later. It may be that your mother needs to be looked after … professionally, for a while.”
Blaine nodded dumbly. He wished he had never gone into the study, never found the card.
And yet he carried his torn corner with him at all times, as if for luck. The top of the dancer’s head was visible above the tear, and there was part of the first line of writing on the back:
Following his visit to Helen, however, Blaine wanted to forget about Arthur and everything else. He went to walk on the seafront.
Like most of the town, the promenade’s row of seedy bed-and-breakfasts and discount shops had seen better days. The amusement arcade that lined the rusting Victorian pier was closed at this time on a Sunday. Nonetheless, a group of people were sitting around one of the plastic picnic tables outside the entrance. They looked exotically out of place.
There was a blonde in a sharp white suit and sunglasses, even though it was a dour winter’s afternoon. She was seated opposite an older, darkly glamorous woman in an evening gown. A young man lounged beside her, fashionably disheveled. He had a sleepy smile and tousled hair. The fourth was a black man, dressed as if for a business meeting, grizzled and stern.
As Blaine drew closer, he noticed two things. One, that the group appeared to be playing a card game of some sort, and two, that although they were talking among themselves,the sound was small and blurred, as if he was listening to something far away. The chill wind that had begun to whip off the sea didn’t ruffle their clothes or hair, let alone set them shivering.
Out of some instinct, Blaine felt in his back pocket. As he did so, the black man rose to his feet and put out his hand.
“I believe you have something belonging to our Game.”
His voice was heavy as granite. The other three didn’t even look up. Without quite knowing why, Blaine proffered his bloodstained piece of card.
“I want to find the man who’s got the rest of this card,” he said.
“He has joined the Game as a Knight of Wands, and become lost in the Arcanum.”
“Arc-what?”
“The place where our Game is played.”
“Will he come back?”
“He could. He has everything to play for.”
“Then I’ve got to go find him.”
Below them, the gray sea sucked and mumbled on the gray stones. A seagull cawed. But for Blaine, everything except the man in front of him had faded into the distance.
The man looked at him carefully. “You have brought only a scrap of card. You cannot become a knight of our courts or compete for our prizes.
“However, your actions have altered the State of Play. You are responsible for this Knight of Wands joining the Game, and because your intervention was by accident, wehave no choice but to let you into the Arcanum. Your role in the Game will be that of a chancer. Some call it the Fool.”
He picked up a new card from the table and gave it to Blaine. This one showed a figure dressed in motley-colored rags, poised at the brink of a precipice. The lettering on the back was the same as on Arthur’s.
“Temple House? Where’s that?”
“There are many cities with a quiet square, an ancient
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