“Chickentown,” he murmured.
“You see it?” said Lupta’s brother.
The Card-Reader nodded. “Being ripped apart.” He closed his eyes more tightly, as though he might blot out with a willed blindness the horrors he saw.
“Have any of you heard any stories concerning the people of the Hereafter?” he asked the children.
As before, there was frantic whispering. But he caught one of his visitors urging Lupta to tell him.
“Tell me what?” the blind man said.
“About people from a place called Chickentown. They’re just stories,” Lupta said. “I don’t know if any of them are true.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Tell him about the girl. She’s the one everyone talks about,” said a third member of Lupta’s gang.
“Candy . . . Quackenbush . . .” the blind man said, half to himself.
“Have you seen her in your cards?” Lupta asked. “Do you know where she is?”
“Why?”
“You have, haven’t you?”
“What would it matter if I had?”
“I need to talk with her! I want to be like her! Everything she does people talk about.”
“Like what?”
Lupta’s voice became a whisper. “Our priest says it’s a sin to talk about her. Is he right?”
“No, Lupta, I don’t believe he is.”
“I’m going to run away one day. I am! I want to find her.”
“You be careful,” the Card-Reader said. “It’s a dangerous time and it’s going to get worse.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, at least come and say good-bye, child,” the Card-Reader said. He dug into his pocket and brought out a few paterzem.
“Here,” he said, handing the coins over to Lupta. “Thank you for bringing the stuff up from the shore. Will you divide this between you? Fairly, now.”
“Of course!” Lupta said. And happy with their reward she and her friends went off down the road to the village, leaving the Card-Reader with his thoughts and the collection of objects the current, the children, and circumstance had brought before him.
The urchin and her gang had arrived at an opportune moment. Perhaps with the remnants they’d brought he could make better sense of the Spread. The cards and the trash had much in common: they were both collections of clues connecting what the world had been like in a better age. He went back into the house and sat at the table again, picking up the un-spread cards. He had only laid down another two when the card representing Candy Quackenbush appeared. It was easily identified. I Am They, the card was called. He could not recall having ever seen it before.
“Well, well . . .” he murmured. “Look at you.” He tapped her with his finger. “What gives you the right to be such a power? And what business have you got with me?” The girl on the card stared at him from his mind’s eye. “Are you here to give me harm or happiness? Because I tell you I’ve had more than my share of sorrow. I can’t take much more.”
I Am They watched him with great compassion.
“Ah,” he said. “It isn’t over. At least now I know. Be kind to me, will you? If it is in your power.”
It took him another six and a half hours from his speaking to Candy Quackenbush to finally deciding he was done with the Spread. He gathered up all of the cards, counting them to be sure he had them all, and then he went outside, taking them with him. The wind had picked up considerably since he’d been out here with Lupta and her little gang. It came speeding around the corner of the house, buffeting him as he walked toward the cliff edge, the pack of cards trembling in his hand.
The farther from his doorstep he ventured the more unreliable the ground became, the solid earth giving way to loose dirt and pebbles. The cards were becoming more excitable with every step he took out there beyond the cliff edge. Events they’d been unable to share until now were imminent.
Suddenly the wind picked up its strength, and threw him forward, as if to cast him into the world. His right foot trod vacant air, and he toppled forward—seeing all too clearly in his mind’s eye the waves of the Izabella below. Two thoughts came into his head at the same instant. One, that he had not seen this (his death) in the cards. And two, that he’d been wrong about Candy Quackenbush. He would not meet her after all, which saddened him.
Then two small yet very strong hands seized his shirt and pulled him back from the brink. Instead of dropping to his death he toppled backward, landing on top of his savior. It was little Lupta.
“I knew,” she said.
“Knew what?”
“You were going to do something stupid.”
“I was not.”
“It looked like you were.”
“The wind caught me is all. Thank you for saving me from losing my—”
“The cards!” Lupta said.
His grip on the cards was too weak. When the wind came gushing again it snatched them from his hand, and with what sounded like a ripple of applause as they slapped against one another, they were carried away, out into the naked air.
“Let them go,” the blind man said.
“But how will you make money without your cards?”
“Heaven will provide. Or else it won’t, and I’ll go hungry.” He got to his feet. “In a way it confirms my decision. My life here is over. It’s time I went to see the Hours one last time before they and I pass.”
“You mean they’re coming to an end?”
“Yes. Many things will end soon. Cities, Princes, things foul and things fine. All will pass away.” He paused, looking up sightlessly at the sky. “Are there a lot of stars tonight?”
“Yes. Lots.”
“Oh good, very good. Will you lead me down to the North Road?”
“Don’t you want to go through the village? Say good-bye?”
“Would you?”
“No.”
“No. Just get me to the North Road. Once I have it beneath my feet, I’ll know where to go from there.”
Oh sweet children, my beloveds, time to go to bed.
Oh sweet children, heavy-lidded,
you are bathed and you are fed.
Time for pillows, time for sleeping,
and fearless dreams to fill your heads.
Oh sweet children, my beloved,
time to go to bed.
—Anon.
CANDY’S GANG OF ABARATIAN friends had plenty of plans laid to celebrate her safe return to the