8. Luck of the Draw

This was her kind of place. Viktoria smiled to herself as the hustle and drive of the New Construction swirled around her, and she let a little more swagger into her walk. Where the Guild Enclave was controlled and patrolled, all rigid stonework and uptight authority, the rough-hewn, fresh-cut edges of this outlying district were much more her style. This felt like a frontier, built on equal parts hope and desperation, gin and ingenuity, sin and sinew. She loosed her sword, because frontiers could be risky, but breathed a little easier nonetheless.

She smelled sap and sawdust on the wind, and sharp lye from the laundries. The clanging of a blacksmith's hammer merged with galloping hooves down the unpaved streets and the shouts and cries of street-traders, corner preachers, havering drunks and the catcalls of red-backed workmen sweating in the sun.

The letter she had received was remarkable for two things. Firstly, the job was like nothing she had ever done before, with payment to match. Secondly, she had received it while admiring the shop window of a gunsmith. The delivery man had handed it to her just after she stopped to inspect a pair of clockwork pistols with mother of pearl handles in a satin-lined case. The envelope read, “Viktoria, Before The Shop Window, Murtaugh's Ironmongery, Fourmyle Street.” The delivery man insisted he had been given it the day before.

The letter itself had rather cryptically been signed “Z”, and concluded with a sketch of a key and a cymbal. Walking around the New Construction, it did not take her long to find a saloon called “The Qi and Gong”, nestled between Sean's Hammer Emporium and a ramshackle lodging house. The establishment was built in the Three Kingdoms style, with a terracotta tiled roof in contrast to the tar roofs of its neighbouring buildings. The sign hanging over the façade was of a key and gong.

Viktoria entered the saloon cautiously, the stale scent of tobacco and spilled alcohol barely masking the bodily odours of the mixed clientele. The barmaids gave her the once over, but her sword made it clear she was no prostitute trawling for custom, and that same sword made the men look back to their drinks without staring too long. Viktoria headed to the back of the room, climbed a set of spiral stairs, and found the room with the number nine scratched in its peeling paint.

As she knocked, the unlatched door swung open on its squeaky hinges. Inside was a small bed, a wardrobe, table, and two chairs. In one of the chairs sat an elderly woman hunched over the table and carving the surface with a rusted knife. The woman lifted her head and beckoned to Viktoria with her knife.

“Come in, have a seat.” The old woman’s voice cracked in a way that suggested she didn’t use it often.

Viktoria bowed silently and did as she was bid, taking a seat across from the woman, sitting just far enough back to be out of reach of that knife. Looking down at the surface of the table, she saw that the old woman had carved up most of the surface. She recognized a cluster of three dots as three stars that hung in the northern Malifaux night sky. She had carved a number of these dots and connected them into a series of unfamiliar constellations.

Viktoria studied the carving for a long moment before glancing up at the old woman. "You’re Z?”

“Zoraida, that’s right, child. And you are my contractor, yes?”

“I am when you pay me. Who’s the job?” It was always 'who'. The 'what' never changed.

The old woman reached into a rough-spun cloak that hung around her shoulders and drew out a deck of worn cards. With surprising agility, she shuffled the deck. Laying the deck in the centre of the table, she flipped over the top card and laid it in front of Viktoria. The card was the Lord of Winter. “This is the creature.”

Viktoria narrowed her eyes, looking at the card. "I don’t understand.”

“He is not a man. He is a creature. He is power, ambition, and pride. He has murdered and worse and lives today without consequence. He is called December.”

“Height? Build? Distinctive scars? You ever done this before, granny?”

“I will tell you what you need to know, and maybe more than you want to know.” Zoraida lifted her eyes and looked across the table. “Or the cards will. These cards, young one, have the ability in them to see fate. In revealing fate, they grant the ability to change it.”

Viktoria shook her head. Another sideshow hustler looking for a gullible mark. Only the strangeness of the letter's delivery kept her in her seat, curiosity still piqued. She would give this old woman a few minutes of her time.

Zoraida turned over another card and placed it above the first. The Seven of Tomes. “This card, child, represents your hopes. This card is what brought you to me. You have traveled and gathered pieces of legends, but you desire above all things to become a legend yourself. Seven is a mystical number. It is the number of creation at the beginning of days, and of destruction at the end of time, and of the ages of man that lie between both these things. The Seven of Tomes represents a tale that lives beyond the power of time. This is the tale you yearn to write. This is what has brought you to me.”

Viktoria was not impressed. She was already certain that her reputation would live for many generations. “There was also mention of payment in stones. That is really what brought me to you.”

“Oh yes, child, we will get to that. Quite the mercenary, you are.” Zoraida turned over another card and placed it below the Lord of Winter. “This card is the Queen of Crows, who represents the Comfort of Death. Her mercy is a quick end to life. She does not shed a tear for those departed, for her heart has grown detached from the living. She has witnessed too much death and possesses no wonder of the magic of life. In seeing her face, the dead no longer sorrow at their fate. This is your experience, the counterpart to your hope.”

There was truth in the old woman’s words, Viktoria knew. Death, for her, was such a casual thing. Her only compassion for the dead was to send them into the next world quickly, without suffering. If she was to be a Queen in this little story, it might be worth hearing. "Go on.”

“Yes, yes. Now the cards will describe the path to your goal, that which empowers you to defeat the Lord of Winter.” Zoraida drew another card, and placed it to the left of the Lord of Winter. “Oh, the Ace of Rams. This card represents your past, something you bring with you that will provide for your victory. The Ace of Rams always represents a weapon.”

Viktoria considered the weight of the sword that lay across her lap. It was the blade known as the Honjo Masamune. Legends described it as the greatest sword ever forged, which was why she had gone to so much effort finding it in the first place. It had never failed her. If this reading was true, and the old woman hadn't stacked the deck, which remained a distinct possibility, Viktoria was certain that the Ace of Rams represented her Masamune.

“The next card will represent your future, something you must still find. Without it, you cannot hope to overcome your obstacle.” The old woman drew another card and laid this to the right of the Lord of Winter so that all five cards now formed a cross. “The Two of Masks is the mirror and represents a confrontation with yourself. The manifestation of this confrontation can take many forms. As with all cards that belong to the Masks, it is mysterious. You will find in this confrontation an ally who will assist you.”

Without giving Viktoria time to contemplate the Two of Masks, Zoraida turned over another card. This was placed on top of the Lord of Winter and perpendicular to it. Zoraida gave a soft and bitter laugh, as if appreciating some irony Viktoria could not see. “And where the Two of Masks will empower you, the Three of Masks stands as your obstacle. The Three of Masks represents a conspiracy. It is the three sisters whose true purpose is unknown. They conspire with you or against you. Ally or foe, their conspiracy hinders you. You must overcome it to defeat the Lord of Winter.”

“An ally and a conspiracy? I work alone, and I trust no-one. No allies and no partners. Conspiracies don't bother me.”

“Perhaps that is so.” Zoraida drew one more card and instead of placing it with the others she reached across the table to hand it to Viktoria. It was the Ace of Tomes. As Viktoria considered the card, Zoraida stood and took a small wooden chest from the bottom of a wardrobe. She shuffled back, and sat down.

“And what does this card represent?” Viktoria asked.

“That card represents the result of your labours. The Ace of Tomes is the locked book. It is the secret that is kept. That secret will be revealed to you. Even I do not know it. The Ace of Tomes is beyond your reach at this time. Let me show you, now, the stones I promised you.”

She opened the chest. In three separate, velvet-lined compartments were three small crystals, each milkywhite in color. To one side was a curled piece of parchment. The old woman spread it out on the table. It was an old map of the City of Malifaux. Far to the east of the city was a black mark that looked like an ink splash, but too angular to be accidental. Zoraida prodded this symbol on the page with one calloused finger.

“Journey to this place, and you will encounter the creature known as December. You will not mistake him. Defeat him, and the secret of the Ace of Tomes will be yours.” She withdrew one of the crystals and handed it to Viktoria. “Take this Soulstone with you. Its sisters will be your payment on your return.”