The Ninth Rule: "Magic is misdirection."

As we walked, Knave spoke about nearly everything. Every word out of his mouth was something new, something revelatory. He told me of all of the Fears; from the cunning and brutish Rake to the sadistic Wooden Girl; from the secret-seeking Black Dog to the pestiferous Plague Doctor; from the ever-changing Empty City to the imprisoned Brute and his Burning Bride.

I then asked him how these things could exist, how they could take our freedom away from us, how was there nothing to stop them?

"Stop them?" Knave said. "With what?"

"With magic," I said. "Surely someone knows enough magic to combat them."

"You can't do that," Knave said. "You can't fight with magic. Magic is slippery, even at the best of times. To control it, to channel it...you couldn't. You would have to move along with the magic, to use it in misdirection. That's what magic is good at: misdirection."

He waved one hand and then raised the other to show it held a group of flowers.

"I still don't understand," I said. "You've shown me the real world, you've shown me how to really look at things and use real magic. But you just keep talking about show magic, misdirection, like card tricks."

"Magic is misdirection," Knave said. He moved around behind me. "For example: everything I've said to you tonight has been true and false. I've completely misdirected you."

"I don't believe you," I said.

"Of course not," Knave said. "That's the beauty of a true misdirection - the victim never knows until it's shown to him. Come on, then, turn on your true sight, have another look at things." He covered me eyes again and then uncovered them and I saw the world the way it was, the way it should always look, again. "It's funny, isn't it?" he said.

"What is?" I asked, even as I marveled at the colors around me.

"You seeing the world for what it is," he said, "and yet you never turn and look at me."

I stopped. That was true. I had never seen Knave through this lens before. It hadn't even occurred to me.

"Go on then," I heard Knave said. "Take a good look."

I turned and looked at him.

He looked the same. Same mussed hair, same stubble, same stupid grin. The lines and colors that made up the world disappeared when they met him. He looked the same as before. He grinned.

"Why-" I started to say and then stopped, because he began to glow. A light surrounded him and infused him and then left, like a light bulb lighting up and then going dark. And when the glow surrounded him, something strange happened: his right arm twisted itself, it became blurry and changed shape and color, becoming a deep red. And when the light left him, it changed itself back to a normal hand and a normal arm, but I could still see the red it had exuded.

"What are you?" I asked.

"Oh, you finally figured it out," he said. "Took you long enough." He snapped his fingers and the world around him was drab again. "Enough of that. And as for your question: people have called me many things, but the name I prefer, actually, is Jack."