The Plastic Magician (A Paper Magician Novel)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  “Could I be a chauffeur?”

  Mg. Praff blinked. “I don’t think so. Why ever would you want that?”

  Alvie shrugged. “I know how to work an automobile.”

  “Really? America must be full of opportunity.”

  She smiled. “I wouldn’t mind the hospital, sir.” Once, while trying to construct a motor for a school project, she’d nearly sliced off her finger with a micro saw and had to go to the hospital. The staff there had been awfully friendly, and everything was so . . . tidy.

  Mg. Praff rubbed his hands together. “Excellent. I’ll see about getting you set up. Also, I’d like you to dine with the family tonight at seven; we haven’t seen much of you, and we’re expecting my daughter and her husband. Emma should have a dress prepared for you.”

  “A dress?”

  “Mrs. Praff took the liberty of ordering you a few things.” He chuckled as though embarrassed. “You’ll have to forgive her meddling. She is very curious about you. Perhaps because I’ve never had a female apprentice, and she enjoys feminine company.”

  Alvie nodded slowly. “Uh, all right. Seven it is.”

  Mg. Praff nodded and turned for the door. “I recommend leaving the polymery by five.”

  “So early?”

  He smiled, and left.

  “Well, it’s not the smartest thing,” Alvie said, turning in front of her mirror.

  “I think you look quite smart.” Emma adjusted the gold belt around Alvie’s waist. “You look like a lady.”

  Alvie sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it wasn’t a fine dress.”

  Emma patted her shoulder. “And I didn’t mean to say you weren’t ladylike. Just I’ve never seen someone wear pants the way you do.”

  “Your work would be a lot easier with them. You should try it.”

  Emma laughed. “I doubt Mrs. Connway would approve the change in uniform,” she said, naming the housekeeper.

  Alvie studied her reflection. It was a fine dress, and her figure looked good in it. The gown was a gauzy light maroon over black, with gold embroidery about the hem and collar. Bits of material hung off the sleeves for a more ethereal effect, Alvie supposed. What a bother, to dress up for dinner. What if she spilled food on it?

  “You should wear it when Mr. Lucas Praff comes home from Japan. Maybe you’ll catch his eye,” Emma teased.

  Alvie snorted and adjusted her glasses. “I doubt that’s a possibility.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Alvie just shrugged and stared at the mirror. Took her glasses off and squinted, but without them, she couldn’t make out her face well at all. She slipped the things back on and sat at the desk vanity, tolerating Emma’s handiwork and serums for her hair for about ten minutes.

  The Praffs’ main dining room was large, and they had a considerable table to fill it, though there were only five of them seated at one of its ends. Footmen brought around trays of tarts and fancy vegetables, and Alvie had to watch the others to figure out how she was supposed to serve herself. She did, indeed, drop a piece of pheasant on her skirt, but she thought no one noticed.

  “So, Miss Brechenmacher,” chimed Mrs. Martha Peal, Mg. Praff’s newly married daughter, “tell me about your family.”

  Alvie had food in her mouth and stopped chewing, trying to decide if she was to spit it out, talk over it, or swallow. She chewed very quickly and swallowed with a sip of wine, but felt the silence stretched just a little too long. “It’s just me and my parents. We live in Columbus.”

  “That’s New York?”

  Mr. Peal answered, “Ohio.”

  Alvie nodded. “Yes, Ohio.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Peal laughed, though Alvie wasn’t sure what was funny. “And is your father a magician?”

  “No . . .”

  Mrs. Peal nodded, like that was a splendid place to end the conversation, and returned to her pheasant.

  Alvie turned to Mg. Praff. “I’ve noticed you don’t have any electric lights in your home.” Electric lights were cheaper than magical ones, at least in the States.

  Mrs. Praff answered, “I prefer the luminance of enchanted lights, and Magician Praff humors me.” She touched her lips with a napkin. “Technology is the uneducated man’s magic, and I do mean to do Briar Hall justice.”

  “Oh, I disagree,” Alvie said, and both the Peals ceased their eating. “Technology requires a great deal of education, possibly even more than the magical arts. Or at least a different kind of learning.”

  “Hmm.” Mrs. Praff settled her hands on her lap. “A different kind of learning, certainly. It would take a different kind to develop a technology Gaffers and Pyres have been perfecting for centuries.”

  Alvie’s stomach tightened, as did her shoulders. “Are you familiar with the Jefferson School of Material Mechanics, Mrs. Praff?”

  Mrs. Praff hesitated, perhaps thrown by the change of subject. “I am, though more so with the Praff school.”

  “Then you’re aware the tuition is incredibly expensive. Some twelve thousand dollars a year, or whatever that is in pounds.” In the States, the government subsidized a large percentage of the tuition for immigrants or those willing to move out West. Alvie had not qualified for the subsidies, nor had she been granted any scholarships.

  Mrs. Praff nodded.

  “I was able to attend on the fortune my father made by developing the very technology you seem to think redundant. Not everyone can afford a Gaffer light, and the light bulb can illuminate places where no magician has ever stood. That technology is the very reason I’m here.”

  Mrs. Praff blushed just a little, or perhaps that was a trick of the magical lighting. “I didn’t realize.”

  “You’re very eloquent tonight, Alvie,” Mg. Praff said, and Alvie realized she’d said too much, or perhaps said it the wrong way. She’d never excelled at judging conversation.

  Her gaze dropped to the table. Perhaps she’d been too forward. After all, she barely knew these people.

  She finished her meal in silence.

  Alvie went to the polymery early the next morning, eager to break away from the house and dive into her work. She was to get a new lesson today; best to be prepared. After tucking herself away into her small work space, Alvie vacuum-formed a pencil and turned to the reading Mg. Praff had given her. Chemical Binding of Monomers was a dry book, and one that had not been written specifically for Polymakers, but it certainly had its interesting moments. Alvie turned a page and studied a diagram there. Perhaps she could write an updated book specifically for plastic magicians once she officially became one. The Basics of Polymerization for Polymakers. Volumes 1 and 2. The thought made her smile.

  A soft knock sounded at the door, and Mr. Hemsley opened it. He balanced a breakfast tray in his free hand. “Yet another one.”

  “Thank you.” Alvie offered him a smile before taking the tray and setting it beside her. Mr. Hemsley left with a muted sigh.

  She turned back to her book. Retrieving a piece of paper and melting the plastic from her pencil, she drew the outline of the diagram herself to learn it better. The scents of cinnamon, apples, and eggs, however, drew her attention to the tray. Pushing her work aside, Alvie pulled the tray over and picked up the fork, only to notice a copy of Discovery Today tucked under her plate. She slipped the magazine out and studied its cover. It boasted an image of a skeleton, very much like the one in the polymery’s foyer, only made of paper. Intriguing.

  Alvie flipped through the pages, wondering if Mr. Hemsley had picked up the magazine for her or if Mg. Praff had sent it along. Likely the latter. Alvie read the article about electricity and the one on telephones, as well as an advertisement for the annual Discovery in Material Mechanics Convention. Alvie stared at the print, mesmerized. She knew about the Discovery Convention. While open to all magical disciplines, it was the largest showcase for Polymakers in the world, and next year it was to be held in Oxford. Magician inventors of all backgrounds went to present their creations and share their knowledge.
Scientists could get grants, and magicians could make their names known—just as Mg. Praff had done. Would Mg. Praff let her go? She’d need to watch her tongue more around the family if she wanted that.

  She turned another page to see a black-and-white picture of a familiar dark-haired man with a receding hairline and a mustache. The style of his jacket was a magician’s uniform. The caption beneath read “Magician Roscoe Ezzell, Polymaker.” She racked her brain for a moment before name, photograph, and memory collided into one—he was the man she’d spoken to on the train. The one who had directed her to the wrong station.

  Alvie turned her gaze to the article. Seemed Mg. Ezzell was experimenting with using color-changing plastic for thermometers. Fascinated, Alvie read the article to its end, but it appeared no solid breakthroughs had yet been made. Alvie hummed to herself. She wanted to learn the spells the Polymaker was tinkering with.

  She heard the door to the polymery creak and opened her own door with her foot, spying Mg. Praff in his work clothes. She grabbed the magazine and hurried to meet him.

  “Have you seen this, sir?” she asked, holding up Discovery Today.

  He planted his hands on his hips. “Yes, I have, and I wanted you to see it, too. Find anything interesting?”

  “All of it is interesting! Telephones, thermometers, the Discovery Convention—”

  Mg. Praff snapped his fingers. “That is a wonderful convention. Coming to England next year. Certainly an excellent opportunity for an apprentice.”

  Alvie squeezed the magazine in her hands. “Truly? We’ll go?”

  “I try to go every year,” Mg. Praff said, though the excitement in his voice wavered. He gestured to the lab ahead of them, where Alvie had her lessons, and led the way to its heart.

  “You presented the Imagidome at the 1904 convention,” Alvie said. He had not discussed his most popular invention with her yet, and she was hoping he’d do so now.

  He smiled and nodded. “So you’ve heard of it.”

  “Anyone who reads has heard of it.”

  He chuckled. “Kind of you to say. A lot of work went into it, and it was received well.”

  Received well? It had been the star of the convention! It was said the bundle of spells created a feigned reality and that a person could step into the Imagidome and feel as though they were somewhere else completely. “And this year?”

  “I made some adjustments and presented it again. I impressed a few, but . . .” They reached the large granite-topped island in the lab, and Alvie took a seat on one of three stools tucked against it. “Well, I admit I’ve nothing to present for the convention in the spring. I’m in a bit of a rut. Our craft . . . it’s so new, and there are so many leaves to be overturned, but I’ve been unable to discover anything new, or reinvent anything old. I’m hoping that reviewing the basics with you might lead to an idea or two.”

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something. The convention is still months away.” Today was September 26, and if Alvie remembered the advertisement correctly, the convention would be on March 19. That was . . . 174 days away. How many lessons would Alvie have in 174 days? Right now she averaged two lessons a week, and there were about, oh . . . twenty-five weeks until the Discovery Convention. Fifty lessons. Surely there would be something in there to spur Mg. Praff’s creativity! And she learned two to three spells per lesson, so she would know . . . let’s see, how many spells by March—

  “Alvie? Are you listening?”

  Alvie perked up, noticing the lab around her as if awakening from a slumber. “Oh. Um, no. I’m sorry. I was thinking about the numbers.”

  “What numbers?”

  “Um. Nothing important.” She smiled. Smiling usually helped alleviate any distress caused by her tendency to drift into her thoughts.

  Mg. Praff leaned his elbows on the stone countertop. “As I was saying, I’m sure some more study would be good for both of us. I need to think outside the box, and for now, you need to think within it.” He straightened and moved to one of several drawers arranged beneath his lab equipment—vials and tubes Alvie still hadn’t learned to use—and pulled out several ruler-shaped bits of plastic. He set them before Alvie. “I thought today we could learn some shaping spells. Take one of these—yes, there you are. Now, with shaping spells, you have to use the Soften command first, else the plastic will just shatter. Like so.” He concentrated on the plastic in his hands and said, “Curl.”

  The plastic shuddered and split into three uneven pieces.

  He made a point of looking at Alvie before picking up a new piece. “Soften,” he commanded, followed by, “Cease. We don’t want it too soft, else we’ll just have a mess. Curl.”

  The plastic twisted like a pig’s thickened tail.

  “Harden,” the Polymaker said, and the plastic stiffened under his fingers, cementing its new shape. “And there you have it. You try it, and then I’ll show you how to adjust the tightness of the curl.”

  Alvie did as Mg. Praff instructed, pleased to see her curl resembled his on the first try. The plastic tingled slightly under her fingers, as all plastic did since her bonding.

  “Most excellent. Now, you can make a tighter curl by saying just that. Tight Curl, Tighter Curl, Tightest Curl. That last one hardly allows any space between the loops. You must say the modifier before the command, or the plastic will simply curl into its usual shape and ignore the rest. The softer the plastic, the tighter it will curl. You’ll need to practice to get used to it.”

  Alvie nodded and wrote down his instructions.

  “For straightening—”

  “A quick question?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “When will I learn about color changing? That seems basic enough, doesn’t it? You see, the magazine talked about using color-changing plastic in thermometers . . .”

  Mg. Praff chuckled, but his expression didn’t seem humorous at all. “Ah yes, Mg. Ezzell’s work.”

  Alvie studied his face for a moment, trying to determine if the displeasure was with her or not. “Do you know him?”

  “Oh, Mg. Ezzell and I are well acquainted. We’re, well, sort of rivals, you could say. At least, he would say as much.”

  “Rivals? Really?” Had the mistake on the train been intentional? Hadn’t Mg. Ezzell said Alvie would be disappointed with Mg. Praff?

  Mg. Praff pulled up a stool and sat. He laced his fingers together and rested his chin upon them. “Because Polymaking is so new, it’s not flooded with magicians. Not yet, and most Polymakers are not incredibly experienced, either. It’s easy to view the expansion of the discipline as a sort of race. A contest to see who can discover what first. Who can earn the most merits.”

  Alvie grinned. “Exciting.”

  “Some may think so.”

  “You don’t?”

  The Polymaker’s lip quirked. “Ah. Well. I do try to play the humble scientist, but, yes, I think it’s exciting. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be so concerned about the Discovery Convention.”

  “I don’t know of any Polymaker as renowned as yourself, Mg. Praff.” Alvie pushed her glasses up her nose. “If you don’t mind me saying so.”

  He smiled. “I don’t mind. But problems arise with the competition. Two, three, even four Polymakers could pursue the same theory and end up creating similar inventions, or discovering the same spell. Whoever registers theirs first gets the glory, meaning all the hard work the rest put into reaching the same end is wasted. It can build bitterness between men who were once colleagues.”

  She processed that. “Like Magician Ezzell.”

  A nod. “Like Magician Ezzell. He and I have similar interests, and our paths have crossed on multiple occasions. I think I dropped the coffin into my grave when I presented the Imagidome at the Discovery Convention two years ago.”

  Alvie drew her brows together and waited for him to explain.

  Mg. Praff pressed his palms into his thighs. “Both Magician Ezzell and I—and another fellow named Smith—were pursuing possible app
lications of visual cues for plastic. The year I presented the Imagidome, Magician Ezzell had created a sort of enchanted kaleidoscope—something very similar in theory to the Imagidome, though the visuals were made with a single tile and changed between three pictures when the scope turned. I’m afraid he was . . . overshadowed.”

  Alvie frowned, trying to imagine herself in such a predicament. “That must have been disappointing . . . but yours was the better invention. You transcribed a single image over hundreds of tiles, with movement and everything.”

  A weak smile pulled on his lips. “Yes, and I dedicated enough time to it that Charlotte threatened divorce.” Alvie blanched, but Mg. Praff only chuckled. “We’re all well now. Don’t you worry. But once you become a leader in your field, there’s an enormous amount of pressure to stay that way, and an increasing number of people who want to take the lead from you.” He let a long breath out through his nose. “Let’s just say Magician Ezzell has not yet learned the art of subtlety. I suppose he’s trying to make these thermometers his next great jump, but from what I know of the thermodynamics of polymers, it won’t work. Not the way he wants it to. He hasn’t displayed anything particularly grand for some years now. I wonder if he’s becoming desperate.”

  Alvie straightened in her stool and grabbed a piece of plastic from the stack. “Well, Magician Praff, I am ready to learn. I’ll help you discover something new. That’s the whole reason I chose plastic, you know. The chance to discover.”

  A smile warmed the Polymaker’s face. “Glad to hear it. In that case, let’s cover straightening. Then, if that quick mind of yours has space for it, we’ll go over the steps for color alteration.”

  CHAPTER 5

  WITH THE CHAUFFEUR BUSY taking Mrs. Praff on errands, Alvie hired an automobile—or a “buggy,” though Alvie would always associate that word with a horse and carriage—and had it drop her off at the Woosley Hospital of Special Care a few minutes before nine in the morning. Alvie still hadn’t gotten the hang of English currency, but Mrs. Praff had counted out everything for her beforehand, with the stern warning, “And don’t let him take anything more. This will cover every mile.”