Three Emperors (9780062194138) by William Dietrich Page B

in midair was a full-size chariot with golden car and scarlet wheels.
    â€œI perform in my own dramas,” Josef said. “I want to sweep down to capture Aphrodite, but my practical wife fears I’ll crush her instead.”
    â€œWe’re too old for this foolery anyway,” said Paulina. “Why can’t you just fall off your horse while hunting, like ordinary men?”
    â€œBecause I am extraordinary, madame. And a good horseman.”
    â€œLet’s see what the cards say.”
    â€œYou want the tarot here in this loft?” I asked Paulina.
    â€œDoes it matter where you spread them?”
    â€œTruth pervades even an attic.” One learns to play the role.
    â€œAnd what is your fee to cast a fortune?” Josef said. “Like so many nobles these days, I have more castle than money.”
    â€œThen you’ll be pleased to learn I want only ten talers. And an answer to a question.”
    â€œHa! Do you know how much value my wife puts on my answers?”
    I smiled. He’s playful. Outside these walls the emperors Francis, Alexander, and Bonaparte upend whole kingdoms. Inside his theater, Josef can pretend. “Then I offer you a bargain.”
    There was a plank nailed to the timbered wall where servants rested beer and bread while working. I brushed their crumbs aside and spread the deck. I’ve learned from my husband how to mark cards by roughing the edges or spotting the back, and so can turn what seems appropriate to the situation. I peeked at the rigging and noticed a cracked drum handle, frayed hemp, and knotted repairs. Like all occupations, the tarot benefits from close observation and critical thinking.
    Josef chuckled as I turn over the Chariot card, and Paulina took a breath at the Lovers. I revealed the Sun, the Hanged Man, and the Fool, which made my own heart lurch. The Fool is my Ethan.
    â€œIt’s not propitious,” I forecast, selling them common sense. “Here’s the Sun, Apollo, and his Chariot, but the Hanged Man suggests a mishap.” He dangled by one foot. “You’d be wise, sire, to refrain from attempting flight.”
    â€œI told you so,” Paulina said. Always enlist the wife.
    But Josef regards this risk as challenge. “I cannot tell if your prophecy is correct unless I fly across my painted sky, no?”
    â€œIt’s a fall that will make it correct. I might not collect my fee if you’re dead.”
    Josef had a knight’s reckless grin, and indeed I turned over a knight as well. “Then ten talers now.” A servant counted it out.
    â€œThis card forecasts boldness,” I admitted, pointing to the knight.
    â€œNow I’ll demonstrate why the tarot is superstition,” Josef said. In great good humor, enjoying his wife’s fret, he donned painted wooden armor, put Apollo’s crested helmet on his brow, and mounted his suspended chariot. I could feel what would happen—I have the Sense, even without the Brazen Head—but judged that the fall would hurt little but his pride. Harry was goggle-eyed at the man’s costume, and in awe of the magic his mother commands. This will diminish as he grows, but it flatters me now. Do we have children to be admired, if only briefly?
    I had prayed to Isis-Mary, and she promised I’d learn something useful in this palace of roses. The duke’s servants swung the chariot free, Josef flew like the gods, and drums and pulleys cranked him down to where an audience could gasp.
    The ropes creaked and twisted.
    Josef swooped, the servants grunted to control his flight, line unreeled . . . and the winch handle snapped off at its base.
    As Paulina shrieked and Harry yelled, the drum spun out of control, hemp particles puffing like a cloud. The golden chariot with its golden god smashed onto the stage, Josef swearing as he bounced off the boards in his pretend armor. We thundered along the footbridge, descended the spiral