The Wizard's Map by Jane Yolen Read Free Book Online Page A

all
mean?
”
    â€œI don’t know. I only know we have to play the games. And in the right order.”
    â€œYou can’t be serious.”
    Jennifer looked at him without flinching. “Deadly serious.”
    â€œYou want to play The Sultan next?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThis is crazy, Jen.”
    She handed him the cards. “Crazy or not, it’s the right thing to do. Somehow it’s the key.” She put her hand over her heart. “I know it here. You shuffle and deal. I’ll read out the rules.”
    He took the packs of cards from her. “Please, Jen, let’s go downstairs.”
    â€œâ€˜Using a single pack ...'" she began.
    â€œI know. I know. I started The Sultan before, remember?” He took out the four kings and the ace of hearts, and set them as shown in the diagram. Then, as if he’d suddenly turned into an expert, he shuffled the rest of the pack with a magician’s flair.
    â€œYou cut them,” he said, handing the cards to Jennifer.
    She cut the cards and handed them back, and then Peter began the game.
    While Peter played, Jennifer looked once more at the map. She was sure the Arab in the right-hand corner of the paper had been wearing only a big flowing robe before. But now—as she watched—he was slowly crowned with a turban as big as his head. The turban appeared as if sketched in by an invisible pen.
    â€œPeter,” Jen said, turning to him, “look!”
    â€œShut up,” he said, “I’m almost done. There. See—the Sultan is surrounded by his wives.” He pointed to the King of Hearts, which was in the middle of the four queens. “What do you think?”
    But Jennifer was no longer looking at the game. Or at the map. Instead she was staring at the play turban. It had fallen from the trunk and was lying on its side. In the middle of the turban shone a deep red stone.

Eleven
Patience
    Peter,” Jennifer said, “that red jewel wasn’t here before.” She set down the booklet and went to pick up the map.
    â€œWasn’t where?”
    â€œIn the turban. It was only a plain turban before. And it wasn’t even on the map. See?”
    â€œWhat
are
you talking about?” Peter asked. His voice seemed lined with resentment. He hardly even sounded like Peter.
    â€œI don’t know,” Jennifer said, but softly, so as not to annoy him any more. “The map, the Patience games, the objects in the attic—they’re all linked somehow. Like tumblers in a lock. Each one opens it a bit more.”
    â€œYou’re not making sense, Jennifer,” Peter said gruffly.
    â€œJust play the next game, Peter.”
    He got ready to deal out Puss in the Corner, with the kind of ferocity he usually reserved for games like soccer, shuffling the cards with quick, angry movements.
    Jennifer picked up the booklet again and found the right page. “‘This game is a derivative from the original Patience,’” she read aloud, stumbling a bit over the words.
    â€œWhatever,” muttered Peter. “Hurry up, Jennifer.”
    â€œâ€˜The first step,’” she read,“‘is to take out the four aces, and to place them face upward, so as to form a square. Having dutifully shuffled the rest of the cards...’” She continued reading till the end of the instructions, but then instead of watching Peter’s cards, she glanced over at the map.
    As the game progressed, card upon card, the cat in the box on the map had taken on color. It went from no color at all to a perfect pearly white, as if the invisible hand now wielded a paintbrush.
    â€œThere!” said Peter after about ten minutes. “Done”
    And done, too, was the white cat on the map, its whiskers a steely grey—like wires—its eyes a shade of amber, and its nails a shimmery sort of black.
    â€œPeter...” Jennifer began, “the map...”
    But he paid no attention to