Or was I allowing personal dislike to cloud my judgment?
Safely ahead of the others, I pulled out the Trump I’d found, turned it over, and studied it without concentrating too hard on the picture. Locke… drawn exactly the same way as Freda’s Trump had been.
In fact, I realized with some dismay, this could be Freda’s Trump. But they couldn’t both be in league with hell-creatures… could they?
I knew one fact that might help: Aber had created this card. I’d ask him who it belonged to as soon as we got back to Jumper. If he could identify it…
I left my horse with the grooms and went looking for Aber. I found Freda standing in the audience hall with Pella, Blaise, and a couple of women I didn’t recognize. The warning bell must have brought everyone out looking for news or rumors.
I joined them.
“Did you find anything?” Freda asked me, once suitable introductions had been made. As I had suspected, the women I didn’t recognize were the wives of two of Dworkin’s chancellors.
“I’m afraid not,” I said. I didn’t mention the Trump I’d found. “It was just a camp site. They had been spying on us for a couple of days.”
“Too bad. Are you all back now? Safe?”
“I’m a little ahead of the others,” I said, glancing toward the door. “Locke wants to clear the brush at the edge of the forest, and I’m sure he’s going to stop and detail those duties before reporting back. He and Davin shouldn’t be too long.”
She nodded thoughtfully, then took my arm and drew me aside. “And how did you find Locke today?” she asked more softly.
“Less…” I searched for the right word. “Less upset by my presence. I think he’s begun to accept me. Who knows, we might even end up friends.”
“Davin gave him a complete report about what Father said about you last night.”
I smiled lightly. “Yes, I got the feeling he knew about it. He has nothing to fear from me now. I cannot take his place without the Logrus.”
“Do not place too much trust in him yet. He may not view you as an enemy, but you are still a rival.”
“I won’t,” I promised. What would she think if she knew he wanted a private chat with me tonight? “Trust must be earned. He certainly hasn’t earned any yet.”
And he won’t earn it as long as there’s a chance he’s our traitor, I added silently.
“Good.” She smiled, the small lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth crinkling, “I hope you both make an effort at it. You can be of great help with the army, I know.”
“I hope so,” I said. Deliberately changing the subject, I asked, “Have you seen Aber?”
“Aber? Not since you left. You might look in his rooms. That’s where he spends most afternoons.”
“Thank you,” I said. I gave her and the chancellors’ wives a polite nod, then headed for the stairs. “Until dinner.”
Today I felt more comfortable navigating the castle’s seemingly endless stairs and corridors, and found my way safely to my rooms. I found Horace in my bedroom. My bed was covered with heaps of clothing.
“What’s all this?” I asked, staring.
“Mattus’s clothing, Lord,” Horace said, folding a shirt deftly and placing it in the wardrobe. “Lord Aber said I should bring it in for you.”
‘Thoughtful of him.”
“Yes, Lord.”
I realized I hadn’t had a chance to change yet from my workout, and now I stank not just of sweat, but of horse.
“Pick out new clothes for me,” I said, heading for the washbasin. “Then get the rest of them put away.” I’d clean up before going to see Aber, I decided.
Five minutes later, I went to Aber’s room and knocked sharply.
He called, “Enter at your own risk!” in cheerful tones.
I went in and found him sitting at a drafting table by the windows. Small bottles of colored pigments sat all around him, and he held a tiny horsehair brush in one hand.
He paused in his work. “What news from the woods, brother?” he asked.
“Nothing more than we already heard,” I said with a shrug. “The hell-creatures were long gone.”
“A pity,” he said.
I came closer, looking at the half-dozen Trumps sitting out on the table. “What are you doing?”
“Making a Trump.”
He picked it up and turned it so I could see… and though only half finished, it clearly showed a man standing with feet spread and sword raised, ready for battle. He was dressed all in deep blues with black trim, and his cloak ruffled faintly as though from a steady breeze. In the white spaces of the unfinished background, ever so faintly, I noticed a lacework pattern of thin black lines… curves and angles that seemed to reach deep into the card, somehow, like a three-dimensional puzzle. A representation of the Logrus? I suspected so.
Aber had just begun coloring the face when I walked in. With some surprise. I realized it was a miniature portrait of me.
“What do you think of this one?” he asked. “I’m making it for Freda. She told me she wanted it last night, after dinner.”
“No more candles?”
He chuckled. “Actually, that one was supposed to be Mattus. I finished it up this morning with your face.” He shrugged apologetically. “I was in a hurry.”
“And a good thing you were. You probably saved my life.”
“Ah, how ironic! The artist saves the warrior.”
I laughed. “It was still a good likeness, even if it started out as a picture of Mattus. And I’m even more flattered by this one.”
“Really?” He seemed honestly delighted. “You know, I think you’re the first person who’s ever said that to me!”
I regarded his new card carefully. “Blue is not really my color, though,” I said. “How about red next time?”
“The colors don’t matter, it’s the person and how the image is drawn.” He set it back in the last of the dying sunlight. “Have to let it dry now, anyway,” he said. “So, what brings you here?”
I hesitated. Trust no one, Freda had said. But this was something I couldn’t do alone. I needed an ally… and of all my family, I liked Aber most of all. If I had to trust someone, it had to be him… for no other reason than he was the one most likely to recognize the Trump I’d found. It wasn’t an easy decision, but once made, I knew it was the right one.
“I want you to look at something.” I pulled out the Locke’s Trump and handed it to him. “I found it. Is it yours?”
“Well, I made it.” He turned it over and pointed to the rampant lion painted in gold on the back. “I put a lion on all of mine. Dad never bothered with such niceties when he made Trumps.”
“Do you know who you made it for?”
He shrugged. “Why not ask at dinner? I’m sure whoever’s lost it wants it back.”
“I… do have a reason.”
“But you’re not going to say.”
“No. Not right now.”
“Hmm.” He studied me thoughtfully, then raised the Trump for a second, studying it more carefully. “Honestly, I’m not sure who I made it for,” he admitted. “I’ve done at least twenty of Locke over the years, and I always copy my original. They all look pretty much the same.”
He opened a drawer in the table and pulled out a small teak box similar to the one he’d given me, but with polished brass corners. He swung back the lid and pulled out a set of perhaps fifty or sixty cards, fanned them open, and pulled one out.
When he set it beside the Trump I had found, they appeared identical. I wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart. No wonder it had looked like Freda’s—he really had been copying his original card over and over. And with twenty of them out there… this Trump could belong to anyone.
“Sorry,” he said. “Like I told you, ask at dinner. That’s your best bet.”