The Book of Speculation: A Novel

Their language was devised in secret, as it depended on stealing Ryzhkova’s cards. Lessons took place with little warning after evening performances in smaller towns, during lulls that came with travel, and in early mornings or late into night while the menagerie slumbered, save for a restless few. After traveling days Ryzhkova slept heavily. The bumps and kicks of the roads left her so depleted that on occasion Amos placed a hand under her nose to assure himself that she still breathed. If the air was chilled, he pulled an extra shawl around her. This small looking-after dulled the guilt that came each time he stole the cards.

Amos would signal a lesson by leaving a card for Evangeline to find in her bedclothes, nestled in the tub staves, or buried among her hair combs. She would hide it in her sleeve, wearing it by her skin until she found him waiting for her behind the pig wagon, which was set away from camp. Amos’s affinity for animals meant his spending time there aroused no suspicion. From there he took her into the trees, or down to the rivers the menagerie followed, to a branch that formed a perfect seat, or a group of rocks that would shelter them from prying eyes. When they met she wore a sackcloth dress that drew no attention. Amos took no such measures; he remembered how to walk silently and hide with stillness.

Through each bower, knoll, and bended branch, Evangeline grew to know him; things he’d loved while running free, secrets he’d learned—how green moss made a soft cushion, the chatter of river toads at tossed pebbles—each meeting was gilded with knowledge. Through cards and grass blade whistles, she began to love the silent man.

Lessons started in the same manner as readings, by identifying the participants. Evangeline was represented by the Queen of Swords, for her dark hair and fair skin. She understood the card for the woman’s coloring alone and did not know its kinship with sadness and loss. He thought it best not to tell her, and yet he felt a loss weeping from her, one he longed to ease. For himself, he chose the Fool, for its friendly appearance, and because the little dog made Evangeline smile. Together, Queen and Fool named each member of the menagerie.

The Hermit was Peabody, an easy choice, as the card was an aged man with a lantern and flowing white beard. To the untrained eye the card meant a solitary figure or a wizened man, but Amos knew the Hermit was a guide, a protector, one who shares in experience—all things he thought about the man who had become his proxy father. They chose the Two of Pentacles for Melina—a man juggling two golden stars. For Susanna, the contortionist, Evangeline chose the Hanged Man, an upside-down figure dangling by his foot, his free leg bent at the knee. Amos could not tell her that the Hanged Man spoke of the connection between the material and the divine, or that it appeared to those who grieved or questioned faith. Perhaps it was fitting; Susanna was quiet—what did he know of her thoughts? For Benno he chose the Four of Cups. The cross-legged dark-haired man reminded him of his friend and his generosity, a man with drink enough to share with many.

Choosing the card for Ryzhkova was difficult. Evangeline spread the trumps across a dark shale flat, searching for an old woman. Something about Madame Ryzhkova brought her grandmother to mind and set her skin crawling. Though they were safe in a hollow near a riverbank, Evangeline still watched the trees, wondering what would befall Amos should they be discovered. She didn’t fear for herself; the refrain that had followed her since Krommeskill wrapped around her as well as any blanket: I am a killer. She touched the card named the Magician. It was fitting—Ryzhkova practiced what some thought witchcraft.

Amos shook his head in dissent. Ryzhkova had called the Magician the breath of God. His teacher was many things, but the will of the divine wasn’t one of them.

Evangeline studied the pinch around his mouth and the urgency in his hands. Unused to anything but his approval, she said, “Very well, teach me who she is.”

His fingers paced, tips sliding across paper as they’d done thousands of times, waiting for the cards to sing to him, each a bird bearing messages, telling him what they were and who they were meant to be. When his longest finger glanced the right card he snatched it from the shale: the High Priestess.

“Don’t be silly. That’s a young woman, and with a cross as well! Madame Ryzhkova would never wear one. You’d do just as well to choose the Devil.” She frowned and turned thoughtful. “Your teacher does not like me.”

He tried to laugh—an ugly scraping—and blanched at the sound.