Vanish

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished.

It was my job to count the cards. Every day, I took them out of their locked box and counted them out carefully. Exactly fifty-two, except on days when the jokers decided to show up. They never came on the same day, so the count never got beyond fifty-three. If they were ever to show up together and make the count fifty-four, I think the world might end.

Counting the cards was a special job, and I was proud to have it. The cards were His most prized possession, along with Bumby, and they couldn’t be replaced with any amount of money or magic. Our world revolved around those cards and our fluffy treasure.

Long before my usual card-counting, I knew this was a bad day. Ticky was always up before me to fill the moat. That was part of the show: a house that looked like a tiny castle with its own moat and bridge. Only He didn’t call it a moat; He convinced everyone it was a natural river and ran around the house by sheer magic. A good story, yes, but that was one thing His magic couldn’t control.

Ticky must have been working too quickly or had not checked carefully enough in the dark, and I saw right away he’d made a fatal error. He had started the stream from the other side, and our river was running the wrong way. It was no wonder he’d made such a mistake. His vision was getting worse every day, so he could hardly see my face if I were more than five feet away from him. Too many blows to the head, I think.

Gazing out the window at the backward river, I winced. He would pay for that in spades. Poor Ticky; he always got the worst of it. I was the smiling face out in front, the cute assistant in the frilly dress, so I had to stay pretty. No one ever saw my emaciated little brother, so He could knock him around all He wanted. I couldn’t remember a time when Ticky didn’t walk with a limp or have at least the shadow of a bruise on his face.

He didn’t really need me. He could have done it all himself. The only reason He kept either of us was because of Bumby, the fluffy white miracle that came with us. I don’t know where Bumby came from, or where we did, for that matter. I only know what He told me, that we appeared on his doorstep one night, bundled up neatly in a basket made of walnut shells with a deck of cards and a plump white rabbit. That was Bumby, the little magic miracle that had made His fortune.

Within a day or two, He had discovered the magic in the cards and had tried to get rid of us and Bumby together, but the cards disappeared into thin air the moment He set us outside his gate. Just vanished, He said, right in front of His eyes, as though they had suddenly turned invisible. From then on, He decided to keep us and our rabbit. He soon discovered that Bumby had magic gifts of his own, He said, though I never found out what they were.

He told me all this Himself, without my even asking, and I could never figure why. He was oddly transparent sometimes; He said He didn’t want to keep me in the dark about things. Why, I don’t know.

I also don’t know why I was allowed to live like a human being, even given special privileges like counting the cards, while Ticky was treated worse than a dog. I didn’t dare question Him or argue, though. It would only make things worse.

I turned away from the window with a sigh, wondering how long Ticky had until He caught up with him and made him pay for the mistake. It wouldn’t be long; it never was, even with Ticky’s excellent disappearing skills.

The thought had hardly entered my mind when I heard the familiar snap of His leather belt from somewhere downstairs. The fact that I could hear it meant he was showing no mercy this morning. At each thwack my heart skipped a little, like it always did. I could never, ever get used to that sound; not when I knew what made it.

I steeled myself and finished dressing. I would count the cards first and then do my hair. One curl out of place and I’d get a good tongue lashing. That was all I ever got. He had a great deal of self-control and never acted out of anger or passion; every unkind word or violent gesture was delivered with cold, emotionless dispatch.

By the time I was ready, the noise downstairs had stopped. Twenty lashes; Ticky’d gotten lucky today. Carefully, reverently, I mounted the stairs to the tower and unlocked the door. There was the box on its pedestal, illuminated by the beam of morning sunlight streaming through the single round window. The inlaid jewels caught the light and cast rainbow reflections on all the walls. It took my breath away every time I saw it.

Slowly, I walked toward the box. No matter how many times I did this, I always felt intimidated and oddly guilty, as though I was unworthy to touch it and should keep my distance.

“Tara?”

I jumped and whirled around. Ticky stood in the doorway. “Ticky, you frightened me! What are you doing in here?! Get out, quickly! Isn’t one beating today enough?”

He didn’t seem to hear me. He was gazing into the room, spellbound. Even with his poor eyesight, he seemed able to make out the wonder of the place.

“Beautiful…” he sighed. “So beautiful.”

I hurried over to him. “Yes, it is beautiful, Ticky. Now you’ve seen it, so get back downstairs. Please, Ticky!”

“Let me see them, Tara.”

“No, no, Ticky! Please go back down. I’ll come down and be with you as soon as I’m done here. You can watch me do my hair, alright?”

“Please, Tara.”

“Ticky….” He padded a few steps past me, his bare feet silent on the polished wood floor. My breath caught as I saw a few faint blood marks on the back of his shirt. I followed him. “Come on, Ticky. Let’s go and take care of your back.”

“No!” he said suddenly, scuttling away from me. “If He doesn’t see marks, He’ll do it again.” I bit my lip, because I knew it was true. “Please show me, Tara.” I looked into those pleading, slightly unfocused eyes and couldn’t resist.

“Alright, Ticky.” I walked slowly to the box and pulled out the key. He moved closer. “I don’t know how well you’ll be able to see them, Ticky. They’re quite small.”

“I can see well enough,” he said. “Go on.”

So, I did. Anxiously, I unlocked the box and pulled out the precious cards. Ticky’s eyes widened, and he leaned closer to see them.

“Careful, Ticky. Promise you won’t touch them.”

He nodded, and I started the count. All seemed well, no jokers today, so I wouldn’t be chasing one all over the room when the scamp decided to jump out of my hand. Then, I got to the end, and time stopped.

Fifty-one. Fifty-one cards. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

Beside me, I heard Ticky say, “Fifty-one.”

I turned toward him. “You see it, too? I didn’t miscount?”

He shook his head. “Fifty-one.”

My breath started coming faster. It had to, or I couldn’t have breathed at all. This couldn’t be happening. I tried to slow my breathing, gasping a little. Who was missing? Who hadn’t I counted? I began to flip through the deck again, searching desperately for the absent card.

“The Queen,” Ticky said softly.

“What?” I exclaimed, turning to him again. He looked up at me.

“Hearts.”

Of course. How had I not missed her? The Queen of Hearts: the most important card of all. The one that I could hardly keep a grip on for how it beat when I held it in my hand. The one he always pulled to grant the wishes of the countless lovelorn women who came to his door.

He would take them in the next room with the card. They wouldn’t be in there long, and I could never hear a sound from inside the room. Then they would come out, and he would send them off to claim their beloveds. Something always looked different about them when they came out. There was an emptiness in their eyes that hadn’t been there before.

I never dared go in that room. I could hear too many strange noises when He wasn’t inside: laughing, crying, soft humming, murmuring. It sounded like there was a constant party going on inside, growing bigger all the time. I didn’t know what actually made the noises, and I didn’t really want to.

I thumbed through the deck once more. She had to be there… only she wasn’t. I shook my head. The room was going round and round. I just kept shaking my head, sifting through the incomplete deck. This just couldn’t be happening. Not today, of all days. Not on the same day that the river was running backwards. Not with Ticky in the room.

I suddenly snapped out of my trance and turned toward Ticky. “Ticky, Ticky darling, listen to me. You need to get out of here right now! He can’t find you here! Do you hear me, Ticky? Go right now and disappear somewhere the way you like to. Please, Ticky!”

He didn’t answer. He seemed frozen, rooted to the spot with terror. I shook him a little. “Ticky, Ticky, can you hear me? Don’t wait! You need to go right now. Ticky? Ticky? What’s wrong? I –”

“Well, well, well…”

I stilled. That’s why Ticky wouldn’t answer. He never spoke in His presence. I’m almost certain He thought him mute because of it: mute and slow-witted from how still and blank and silent he was around Him.

Slowly, I turned toward the door. “Master…”

He laid a finger on His lips. “What are you doing in here, Ticky?”

Ticky turned his head to look at Him. He still seemed glued to the floor.

“I never said you could be in here, did I?”

Ticky just looked at Him, seeming to shrink a little every second, like he was trying to fold in on himself until he turned invisible.

He walked over to me in those even, smooth strides so characteristic of Him. Before I could think, He had taken the cards out of my hand. In another moment, He had flicked through them. He did it so quickly I hardly saw it happen. Then all was still for a moment.

Slowly, He turned to look at me. His eyes were burning. I’d never seen this look before. His expression was still calm, but those eyes could have made holes right through me. “Where is the Queen?” He hissed. Everything started to spin around me again. I felt sure I would faint. Just as slowly, maybe slower, He turned toward Ticky. “Where… is… the Queen?”

I started to see spots. I wondered if I was going to die, right then and there. Suddenly, vaguely, I thought of a card trick He’d shown me a long time ago. It was something He’d used as an illusionist, before true magic came to him. It was what you call sleight of hand, a trick called vanishing.

This is what we call ‘palming the card,’ He’d explained. I just hold the card in my palm like this and, voila! It looks like it vanished from the top of the deck!

Vanishing. I repeated the word to myself a few times. That was the magic word: vanishing.

Magic had played His own trick on Him. Magic’s sleight of hand was greater than His own. Perhaps He’d gone too far, and the magic was punishing him. Whatever the reason, this was it. The Queen was gone, vanished, but He’d never believe it. He’d kill us both first.

If only I knew the trick. If only the magic were really mine. If only I could do something to save us. If only we could vanish….