STEWART

Stewart had watched all the students get pulled away, two at a time. He had heard that they were going to J. Q. King's office. He knew that he was going to be called on eventually. It was only a matter of time.

First it was Dwain and Kathryn, who had been summoned the night before. Then went Amanda and James, and Lara and Nathan, until he and six others were the only ones left. He wondered when he was going to be summoned, and waited patiently in his room. Gradually, the rest of the students left—Roy and Julia, Rick and Star, and finally Madison and Heather. He was the only one left.

He sat with his legs hanging over the side of his bed. The mansion was quiet. The lack of activity was eerie. Stewart sat anxiously in the stillness. The only thing that prevented the silence and solitude from driving him crazy were his own familiar thoughts that pounded through his head.

He glanced at the clock. It's nine p.m. already, he thought impatiently. What could be taking J. Q. King so long?

Stewart's mind turned to another thought. The other students were called away in pairs. I'm the only one left. Maybe he's forgotten about me, since there's an odd number.

Stewart didn't know why he was disappointed. I don't care about meeting with J. Q. King. So maybe I just really want to tell him what James has been up to. Or I'm just curious to know what this is all about.

Either way, he hated waiting.

At a quarter past nine, he decided to make a list of questions to ask J. Q. King. He wrote them on index cards in big words, so he could hold the question up for J. Q. King to read. I doubt he will, but it won't hurt to try.

The list of questions covered most of Stewart's thoughts about the mansion, the maids, and the teaching system. One of them also asked why the students weren't allowed access to the top floor. Another one that Stewart wrote somewhat vehemently demanded that J. Q. King explain why he had not allowed Stewart to meet with him earlier. He had written a good-sized stack before finally stopping. And it wasn't because he had run out of questions; it was because someone had knocked on his door.

He jumped up and opened the door. Sure enough, it was a maid.

She handed Stewart the small, red note he had been anticipating, then stepped back and folded her hands in front of her.

Stewart read the note impatiently.

Mr. McAffy,

I am sorry to have kept you waiting for so long. With all the students leaving, I suppose you have been growing very curious. If you are reading this, my maid has reached you and--congratulations!--it is your turn. I apologize if you thought that I had forgotten you, but trust me, I did not. Please come now and meet me in my office on the top floor. The maid will show you the way.

Sincerely,
J. Q. King

J. Q. King had written more to him than to anyone else. Stewart wondered if that meant that J. Q. King was open to speak freely to him. He slipped the note into his pants pocket beside his questions. Maybe J. Q. King would answer all of them.

He followed the maid down the same hallway that had almost led him to the top floor before. The brass sculptures sat in their places, glinting in the light of the oil lamps. There was no other lighting in the hallway, and the sun had set hours ago.

They reached the corner. Just as before, a flight of stairs hid beyond the bend. Stewart's heart jumped. After days of holding back, he was finally going to go up. He followed the maid, whose skirts swished gently against the wooden steps.

Before he knew it, they had reached the top. Stewart looked around. The top floor was a bit disappointing. Its design was the same as the other levels.

But something wasn't the same. They didn't walk for long before stopping. In front of them was a pair of doors. The doorknobs were intricately carved gold, and the polished mahogany panels were etched with large clovers. They stood in front of the doorway for a few seconds. Stewart wondered if they were ever going to enter.

A voice came from the other side. "You may come in."

The maid stood back, hinting that Stewart should enter alone. He pushed the door open.

The room he stepped into was wide and clover-shaped, and the ceiling was somewhat low. Shelves that had been specially fitted to the graceful curves of the walls stood on the sides of the room, filled with books and card-related knick-knacks. A globe sat on a pedestal in one corner, and in another corner there was a small wastebasket, with crumpled up balls of paper spilling over the top. Directly across from Stewart was a large oak desk. There, in a high-backed leather armchair, sat J. Q. King.

He looked about the same as Stewart remembered. His hair was a glossy black that matched his neatly-pressed suit. He wore a white tie that was patterned with small, black diamonds. He wore a card in his pocket again—this time a four of spades. There was only one difference: he wasn't smiling. His eyes were out of focus, and his shoulders drooped. He looked exhausted.

"Come closer; pull up a chair," he said.

Stewart did as he was instructed. He walked forward, pulled back the medium-sized chair on the opposite side of the desk, and sat down. His right hand hovered over the pocket with the index cards. He wondered if he should use it.

Before he could pull it out, J. Q. King spoke. "Welcome to my office, Stewart," he said. "What do you think?"

Stewart didn't reply. Even if I wanted to say, I couldn't, he reflected gloomily.

J. Q. King realized his error and tried a different approach. "Do you like it?" he asked.

Stewart nodded his head. It was a small movement. After all, he didn't exactly love it.

J. Q. King managed a tired smile. "I'm sorry if I come across as a bit gloomy. The fact of the matter is that I've been meeting with students all day, and it's been a bit tiring. You're last, so you'll have to endure me as I sit here, about to fall asleep."

Stewart nodded.

J. Q. King continued, his fingers drumming solidly on his desk. "Enough chatting; let's get to the point. I suppose you want to know why I wish to meet with all my students."

Stewart nodded. His hand went automatically to his pocket.

J. Q. King stopping drumming and folded his hands together. "I will spare you the details and simply tell you this...."

Stewart leaned forward, curious.

"I want to play a game with you."

Stewart frowned. What?

"A card game, to be precise," J. Q. King continued.

The clarification only made Stewart more puzzled. A card game? Why would he go to the trouble of meeting with every single student just to play a card game?

J. Q. King pulled a deck of cards from the desk drawer. He shuffled them quickly, then dealt them out. "Have you ever played Boards before, Stewart?"

Stewart was about to shake his head, but then he stopped. The name sounded familiar. He didn't know why. It took a moment for him to realize that it was the same card game that Kathryn had played with him. He nodded.

J. Q. King raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Oh? I see," he said, looking very pleased. He dealt out a pile of cards to Stewart and then to himself. "Are you familiar with the rules, then?"

Stewart shook his head. He had never actually learned them. But I still won, he thought.

J. Q. King shook his head back and forth sadly. "I see. You've forgotten since the last time you played, correct?"

Stewart nodded. It was the only believable explanation.

Without further questioning, J. Q. King explained the rules. Once he was sure that Stewart understood them, he started the game. Since Stewart was aware of his playing this time, he realized that it was a very complex game, involving a lot of thought and strategy, like chess with cards. He also discovered why it had taken him so long to be summoned. The game took a very long time to play.

Stewart could feel himself growing tired as time crept on, but he didn't plan on giving up. The longer he played, the more he wanted to win. He put his entire effort into beating J. Q. King and ending the game. It was obvious that the mansion owner also wanted to win and wouldn't give up easily either.

Minutes after the clock struck twelve, Stewart sensed that he was losing. J. Q. King dealt blow after blow until Stewart was out of options. Then he had a thought. He must have used up all of his good cards by now, he thought as his host took his turn. Though he probably still has one good card just in case, and it's probably an ace. If I put down my second-best card, he'll have to use it, and then I can beat him with what I have left.

When it was Stewart's turn, he smiled. He placed the queen of diamonds on the table.

J. Q. King saw it and smiled as well, his eyebrows raised. "So you're going to do that, then?"

Stewart could barely contain his excitement. He thinks this is my best card. I've got him.

But he was wrong. In a few short turns, J. Q. King won. Stewart couldn't believe it.

J. Q. King noticed the surprise on his face and grinned good-naturedly. "Don't be too disappointed, Mr. McAffy," he said, collecting the cards and stowing them away in his desk. "You held out the longest of all the students by far. I have never met a match like you." His voice seemed detached, as if he were thinking deeply about something as he spoke. "That move you did near the end was very clever, I must admit. If it hadn't been me you were playing against, you would have won. Without a doubt."

Stewart nodded. He wished he had won, but he didn't mind too much. J. Q. King was obviously a master.

"Thank you for the game," the man said, rising in his chair. He held out his hand, and Stewart shook it. "It was most enjoyable. You may go now. My maid will escort you to the waiting room."

Stewart turned to leave, but stopped quickly. He had forgotten all about the questions he had wanted to ask. His hand flew to his pocket.

J. Q. King noticed. "Leave it here," he said. He could guess what it was. "If it's a note, I'll get back to you." He smiled and straightened his tie.

Stewart nodded, returning the smile. He was satisfied with that reply. Looking forward to answers, he walked through the wide doors and was met by a maid who led him to the waiting room where he would spend the rest of the night.

As he fell asleep on the couch, Stewart's thoughts whirled around. Maybe he's not so strange after all, he thought sleepily. Maybe...

But he was already fast asleep.