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played with bottles of claret at their sides, but the old man had had nothing to drink. Unlike his companions, who picked up their cards and tossed them down with fashionable indifference, the winner had paid strict attention to what he held in his hand.
    Artemas had quietly excused himself from the table midway through the game because he could see that, in the end, they would all lose to the unknown gentleman. Eventually the stranger had picked up his winning vouchers and left the club. Artemas had followed him out into the street.
    “What would it cost me to learn to play cards the way you do, sir?” he asked just as the man was about to climb into a waiting carriage.
    The stranger examined Artemas with cool, considering eyes for a full moment.
    “The price would be quite high,” he said. “Not many young men would wish to pay it. But if you are serious in your intentions, you may call on me tomorrow. We will discuss the matter of your future.”
    “I don’t have much money.” Artemas smiled wryly. “In point of fact, I have considerably less now than I did earlier in the evening, thanks to you, sir.”
    “You were the only one who had the sense to quit when you saw the way things were going,” the stranger said. “You might have the makings of an excellent student. I shall look forward to meeting with you in the morning.”
    Artemas had been on the stranger’s doorstep at eleven o’clock the next day. The moment he had been admitted, he had realized that he was in the home of a scholar, not a professional gamester. He soon discovered that George Charters was a mathematician by inclination and training.
    “I was merely experimenting with a notion I came up with a few months ago concerning the probability of certain numbers appearing in a series of card hands,” he’d explained. “I have no great interest in making my living at the tables, however. Much too unpredictable for my taste. What about you, sir? Do you intend to spend your life in the hells? ”
    “Not if I can help it,” Artemas had replied readily. “I would prefer a career that was rather more predictable myself.”
    George Charters had been Vanza. It had suited him to instruct Artemas in some of the basic notions of the philosophy. When he had realized that he had a willing and adept pupil, he had offered to pay Artemas’s passage to the Isle of Vanzagara. Henry Leggett had agreed that he should seize the opportunity.

    Artemas had spent a total of four intense years in the Garden Temples, returning to England every summer to visit with George and Henry, and with his lover, Catherine Jensen.
    On his last visit, Artemas had arrived to discover that George was dying of a heart ailment and Catherine had been killed in a mysterious fall.
    Henry had stood at his side during both funerals. When they were over, Artemas had announced that he would not return to Vanzagara. He intended to stay in England and make his fortune and seek his revenge. Henry had not been keen on the notion of vengeance, but he had approved of the fortune-making scheme. He had accepted his offer of a post.
    Henry had proved quite brilliant, not only at managing investments with great discretion, but also at learning intimate details concerning the financial affairs of others. Henry provided Artemas with the sort of information that Zachary’s Eyes and Ears could not be expected to learn on the streets, the sort that only a respectable man of affairs could hope to discover.
    But this morning, Artemas decided, it was not enough.
    “Is that all you could learn about Mrs. Deveridge, Henry? Rumors, gossip, and secondhand scandal-broth? I already know most of what you have just told me. It’s common knowledge in the clubs.”
    Henry looked up from his notebook. He peered at Artemas over the round gold rims of his spectacles.
    “It is not as though you allowed me a great deal of time for the task, Artemas.” He glanced meaningfully at the tall clock. “I received your