“You should not say Petr’s name here, Professor,” he told her once they had warmed up to each other. He spoke under his breath, so that the others would not know that he was discussing the wretch who came to their family by marriage to one of the chief’s daughters.
“Why? Nobody wants to tell me why I cannot get information on the heirloom left to my family that was stolen by the damn Nazi society in Prague and then by this man. What the hell is going on?” she ranted in a hard whisper that barely rose above the notes of the fiddles.
“Listen, the man was evil. He was a warlock, for lack of a better word, Professor,” he told her. “Gypsies, as you call us, are very superstitious because we know secret things are true. Living here, growing up here, I can tell you these things are real and any man or woman who practices sorcery of any kind is not welcome here,” he explained.
“What about the Black Tarot?”, she asked.
“Those were his,” he said, and then added, “well, after he stole it from your brother’s care, of course. But he brought it here and with him followed misery and death, even his own.” The young man paused and looked around to his elders, then turned to see if anyone could see him talking of hidden things. “Professor, what do you want with the evil cards?”
His straight question was sobering, but she deemed him worthy of an explanation, hoping that he could look beyond his family restraints and help her find the cards.
“My brother was killed because someone wanted to corrupt the world’s very existence. I wish to destroy them once and for all…but…”she sighed with much burden in her face, “…that will not end the deck. The woman who had Petr killed — she has a few of the cards and can still wreak havoc with it. I have no idea where to find her.”
“You don’t have to, Professor,” he said nonchalantly, “she will be here soon.”
Petra sat up in her seat, but his hand rested on her arm as a signal to relax.
“How do you know this?” she asked. Her eyes were wide under the pounding of her heart. Finally it felt as if she was getting somewhere with her search.
“The cards Petr discarded that day, the ones that German woman did not get her hands on — they are safe,” he said, and took a drink of Mihail’s concoction as if it was common spring water. Petra winced with him, but kept prying still.
“You are not going to tell me where they are, are you?” she sighed in cynicism and sat back in her chair.
“Why not?’ he asked, sparking life into the Petra’s demeanor.
“Obviously these cards are extremely valuable. Most people would sell them to the highest paying tyrants on the face of the earth,” she replied.
“That would be the most foolish thing to do, don’t you think?” he asked. “Think about it, Professor Kulich. Would you, if you were at all wise, sell this devilish weapon to anyone who would think of altering the fate of the entire world for power, thus putting your very existence and your own life’s path at risk?”
Professor Kulich did think about it. She took quite a long time to anticipate the outcome of such an action in her head, like contemplating the moves of a chess game. It dawned upon her that the young man was correct. No one with even an ounce of wisdom, anyone who was not blind to the guile of money, would think of selling the Black Tarot. Evil men would not think twice about the consequences, nor would they care about the fate of others in their pursuit of power.
“I see. Does that mean you will help me find them?” she dared to ask.
“I do not see why not,” he smiled as he took another ruinous chug of the vile firewater, “I helped your brother, after all.”
Petra felt like a truck slammed headlong into her chest. She frowned at him, confounded at his revelation.
“You are the one who told my brother where they were?” she asked as quietly as she could. He nodded, but she was thinking that perhaps he was just putting up an act.
“My brother’s name?” she asked quietly.
“Dr. Miroslav Kulich of Plzeň, a renowned curator,” he replied charismatically, reveling in her shock. “That man was a huge inspiration to my curiosity, Professor. When I was a little boy he came here on some sabbatical, but I think he was actually looking for the secrets to Hoia Baciu. I met him when I tried to sell him a radio device I made with wire hangers and electrical cords I found in the back of King Iulian’s yard,” he pointed at the old man who was talking to Sam by the fire.
“You met him here?” she said with no real direction.
“Yes, so naturally, when I found Petr’s cards in the crawl space under his house’s floor, I contacted Dr. Kulich immediately to take them out of this place. I was afraid they would wake up whatever devils lived in the forest. Now, of course, I believe in science and leave the paranormal to the tourists,” he told Petra with a chuckle.
She stared at him with a blank expression, but behind her eyes her brain was working on hyper drive to process all the information she had been given. The thin young man grunted from the sting of the last drops in his glass, while she was still nursing the full glass of wine they poured her over an hour ago.
“You said you found the cards under his floor boards?” she asked suddenly. “How did you know to look there?”
“I did not,” he smiled. “I was ransacking his house when I heard others coming, so I escaped through the trapdoor in his kitchen and hid under the floor.” Petra loved how these men spoke of crimes and taboos as if it was a way of life. But it was a way of life everywhere, she reckoned, only the Roma people had no reservations about human nature and thus addressed such things outright. It was quite refreshing.
“And the deck was there?” she urged him to continue.
“The deck was everywhere, Professor!” he replied in exhilaration at the oddity of his discovery that day, relieved that he could finally tell someone about it. Her puzzled expression compelled the young man to carry on eagerly. He lurched over to her and whispered, “The cards were strewn everywhere, just as he threw them before he fell to the Nazi dogs. Professor, they say he threw the cards through a portal he almost disappeared through, right? That son of a bitch knew more than he led on, because that crack in the time-space continuum he ran to — it led to his house!”
“Teleportation,” she marveled. He simply nodded with great satisfaction that she grasped his otherwise ludicrous theory.
He sat back again in his chair while he relished her reaction — stunned to silence. Then Petra looked at him once more; and she cracked a smile he did not expect. It was as if he had just lifted a terrific burden from her shoulders and he could see the relief in her face. Her young ally returned her smile. In her thoughts she came to the conclusion that the young man had been the one laying out the cards, a mildly disturbing thought.
But at the same time she knew that he had probably manipulated several spreads to facilitate the events that brought them all here. The déjà vus they suffered continuously in their own countries and the fact that he sounded so sure that Petr’s killer was on her way there told her that he was secretly using the tarot to foretell what he wanted to happen. His comprehension of the workings of Hoia Baciu was frighteningly accurate and it terrified her to be in the presence of such a man. But still she could not get enough of his company and vowed to get to know him intimately.