Disappearing Act

by James Moloney

  Joachim was impressed by the wisdom of someone so young. ‘You would make a better ruler than your brother.’

  ‘Don’t let anyone hear you say such a thing,’ Agneta warned, looking anxiously along the hallway. ‘To suggest it is treason.’

  ‘Better a quick death than this living hell your brother has condemned me to.’ A desperate thought came to Joachim. ‘Will you help me escape?’

  ‘But if you flee, the brilliant years ahead of you will be lost to Montilagus.’

  Joachim bowed again. ‘Your praise is more than I deserve, Your –’

  Before he could say her proper title, she took his hands and said, ‘Call me Agneta.’

  Her hands were warm and as soft as a kitten, and the sincerity of all she hoped for him made her even more beautiful.

  ‘But if I stay here,’ he said, ‘doomed to research a foolish dream –’

  She interrupted him. ‘But alchemy is about more than turning lead into gold. That’s all that anyone remembers because men are greedy for riches. It has more noble aims too. I read once about a panacea.’

  ‘A panacea, yes,’ said Joachim. ‘A cure for all diseases. The alchemists searched for that as well.’

  And so a solution was found. Under the guise of Prince Edvord’s obsession, Joachim began to search Augustine’s books, not for clues about silver and gold, but about herbs and potions. Not all alchemists had been charlatans and madmen, he discovered. Amid the silly enchantments and witches’ spells, he found accounts of the careful testing of plants and metals for the healing powers they possessed. Some were experiments no different from his own at the university. Slowly, he began to realise that alchemists had been the first scientists, before that word had even been invented.

  In the weeks that followed, Joachim’s spirits lifted. He worked for ten, twelve, sometimes sixteen hours a day. And at his side for much of this time, assisting him, discussing what they found and suggesting the way ahead, was Princess Agneta.

  Joachim sat on a high stool with his knees tucked under the bench. In front of him, liquid bubbled inside a large glass bowl, its steam rising into a pipe that became a spiral where the steam cooled. Once it was liquid again, it slowly filled a flask further along the bench. Anyone watching Joachim would guess that he was concentrating on the bubbles in front of his nose, but they would be wrong, for Joachim was peeking through the glass to where Princess Agneta stood by the window.

  Sunlight streamed through that window like gold, reminding him of the world beyond the walls of the Palace which he had not seen for many months. He didn’t care. He had spent his first week in the Palace begging to be released from an impossible task; now he would be happy to remain here for the rest of his days.

  Agneta turned a little to catch more of the sunlight through the test tube she was holding. The same rays illuminated her pale brown hair and the outline of her figure. She is not a princess, but an angel, thought Joachim. He was in love with her, and from their many stolen kisses, the little touches between them, her glances across the laboratory bench, he knew she loved him too. Every day their need for each other grew stronger. If she were not a princess he would ask for her hand tomorrow.

  What a fool you are, snapped a voice from within the maelstrom of his mind. Isn’t it enough to chase after one hopeless dream? Why dream of something equally hopeless? He knew that a commoner, a mere scientist at the university, could not marry a princess, yet the thought of a single day without her left him empty and lost.

  He had other troubles too. Augustine Rey was becoming suspicious of how little help Joachim had been in the search for alchemy’s greatest secret. He had already complained to Prince Edvord, who summoned the scientist for an explanation.

  ‘Your Highness, I have done as you asked,’ Joachim said. ‘I have studied Augustine’s books looking for ways that modern science can build on the alchemists’ theories. There has been progress. We have already found a way to cure dysentery in rats.’

  ‘What do I care about rats?’ roared the Prince. ‘Better to kill them, not cure them. Gold, Doctor Tannislaus, gold is what will make Montilagus great.’

  ‘But, Your Highness, don’t you see? A cure for rats might lead to a cure for humans. If we can make medicines to fight malaria and typhoid, the rest of the world will pay you all the gold you can dream of.’

  But Edvord would not listen. There was a fever in his eye, not one that brought a chill and a sweaty forehead, but just as deadly. He was in the grip of gold fever and only when Joachim had turned scraps of the cheapest metal into bars of gold would he let him go back to the university.

  ‘No more dabbling with your panaceas,’ Prince Edvord warned him. ‘Do whatever Augustine tells you. That is how you must serve your country.’

  That had been a week ago and Joachim was disobeying the Prince’s orders just by continuing this experiment. But if he went back to the fruitless search for the alchemists’ secret, Agneta would not spend every spare minute with him. It was a risk he was prepared to take.

  ‘Joachim, look at this,’ Agneta called from across the room. He hurried to join her beside a cage where they kept a family of rats. ‘I gave the male a dose of this only minutes ago and he is up and about already. Just this morning I thought he was too ill to last the day.’

  Joachim inspected the cage and sure enough the largest rat was sniffing about for food. Agneta tossed him a few kernels of corn and he pounced on them before the others had a chance.

  ‘Did you change the formula?’ Joachim asked.

  Agneta pointed to the many books open on the bench. One had tattered pages stained around the edges; the rest were pristine. ‘This old tome talks about a recipe, not a formula, but yes, I took an alchemist’s idea and …’ She went on to explain in jargon that only another scientist would understand.

  Encouraged by Agneta, Joachim read the ancient text. When he was finished, he looked up, smiling. ‘The elixir of life. How many times have we read that claim in Augustine’s old books? A fountain of eternal youth, a potion that will let you live forever. I suppose it’s no more foolish than a recipe for making gold.’

  ‘Foolish, yes,’ said Agneta, ‘but if the discoveries of the old alchemists help us find our panacea, they will have done us all a favour. How long must we test on rats before we can try with people?’

  ‘A long time yet,’ said Joachim. ‘We must be sure the cure doesn’t cause problems worse than the disease. We might have to spend our whole lives together in this laboratory.’

  He wasn’t thinking about science when he said this. He took the test tube from Agneta’s hand and placed it carefully in a rack on the bench. Then he slipped his arms around her waist and tugged her gently to him. ‘Would you like that, my Princess? Would you happily spend your days here with me?’

  ‘Nothing would make me happier,’ she said, rising on her toes to kiss him.

  That tender kiss was the most poorly timed in the history of Montilagus, for at that moment Augustine Rey opened the door to admit Prince Edvord, who had come to inspect their progress. The first thing the Prince saw – in fact, the only thing he saw – was his sister in the arms of Joachim Tannislaus.

  The conversation that followed was brief and heated by royal anger, not all of it the Prince’s. He demanded that their scandalous romance end instantly. ‘You are not to set foot in this laboratory ever again, Agneta. You are not to see Joachim, speak to him nor write him letters.’

  ‘No, Edvord,’ said Agneta defiantly. ‘I love Joachim too much to give him up.’

  The Prince was in no mood to argue. He sent Augustine to fetch the sergeant at arms and then said ominously, ‘You showed great interest in the health of rats, as I recall, Master Scientist. I will let you live like one, and see how healthy my sister’s love remains then. Take him down to the cells.’

  Joachim was thrown into a dank cell far from the only window and the single brazier that kept the gaoler warm during the long, cold nights. It was the cell reserved for special
prisoners who had incurred the anger of the Prince himself. It would still be used for that purpose more than fifty years later, when another unlucky innocent was dragged there for making the same mistake.

  8

  The Maestro

  Sydney, 2011

  Excitement rippled through the beginners’ class at the Sydney School of Magic. They were approaching the end of their course and Mr Crank would soon select the two best performers for a competition that brought together young magicians from all over the country. It was known as The Young Houdinis in honour of the famous magician who had visited Australia a hundred years before. Matt guessed this was why Mr Crank was jumping about without his usual calm that morning. Was he going to announce the lucky pair? Matt leaned forward because he would love to be one of them.

  But Matt was wrong about Mr Crank’s nervousness. He was holding in a different secret altogether, and as soon as the class was assembled he gave it away.

  ‘The Maestro is coming to Australia,’ he announced.

  Blank faces stared back at him.

  ‘Genardi Kallinar,’ he told them. ‘The Maestro, one of the greatest magicians in the world. He’s coming to Sydney on tour. We’ll be able to see his act. It’s special news for me because I studied under him in Europe, years ago. That’s what maestro means – the master. He may even remember me.’

  After the lesson, Mr Crank spoke to Matt while there was no one else around. ‘Of all the students this term, you are the one who should see the Maestro do his show. It will inspire you, it will open your eyes to how wonderful magic can be on stage. I’ll speak to your mother about getting tickets.’

  The Maestro was performing at Star City on the shores of Sydney Harbour. On the night of the show, Matt was surprised to see more adults lining up than kids. Many of the women seemed to think they were actors on the red carpet, their dresses sparkling more brightly than the diamonds in their ears. Matt was wearing jeans.

  Genardi Kallinar turned out to be a small man, slim, with a face like a bird and eyes that saw everything. They were pale blue, the colour of polar ice, and seemed to mesmerise anyone he stared at – a very handy tool for a magician, Matt thought. He wondered whether Genardi had developed that talent in the same way beginners learned to make coins disappear?

  The Maestro’s hands were long-fingered and graceful and seemed to be in more than one place at a time. His show was like no magic act Matt had ever dreamed of. Members of the audience were called up on stage only to disappear in a whirl of smoke. Moments later they would step out of the curtain at the back of the stage, looking dazed and unable to explain how they had got there. Because it was no great trick to saw a woman in half, Genardi sawed himself in half, with a chainsaw! It was all illusion, of course, and as dazzling trick followed dazzling trick Matt tried to work out how the Maestro had done each one.

  ‘Amazing, the best night of my life,’ he told his mother afterwards.

  She was just as impressed as he was. ‘Will you be that good one day?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, Mum, if only.’

  They were shuffling along the rows of seats towards the exit when an announcement was made. ‘Maestro Kallinar will sign autographs on stage, but only for the youngest members of the audience.’

  Matt’s mum knew he wanted an autograph. ‘Go on, you’d better get in line,’ she urged. ‘I’ll wait here.’

  Their seats had been well back in the auditorium so by the time Matt reached the stage there was quite a queue of kids. A small table had been brought onto the stage and once a chair was in place as well, Genardi strode through the curtains to take his seat. A stack of postcard-sized photos of himself lay at his right hand and as each child came forward he asked for a name. His accent reminded Matt of Mattheus’s, especially the way ‘w’ became ‘v’ when a girl gave her name as Wendy.

  The Maestro wasn’t quite rude to any of the autograph hunters, but he was brusque and cool – until the boy two places in front of Matt said his name was Tony.

  ‘Ah,’ cried the magician. His face lit up and, where he had quickly scribbled his name for everyone else, he treated Tony like a lost relative.

  ‘And what is your last name, Tony?’ Genardi asked.

  ‘Brassigello,’ said the boy proudly.

  Immediately, the Maestro’s face lost its smile. ‘Oh, not Matthews?’

  Tony Brassigello shook his head. Already the photo was being pressed into his hands, as though he was no longer of any interest.

  Why the change, thought Matt, just because his name wasn’t Matthews? Matthews was the false name he had given to the reporter on the day Mattheus died. The coincidence got him thinking.

  By this time, the next child in line had her autographed photo and it was Matt’s turn.

  ‘Your name, please?’ Genardi said.

  Matt hesitated. He had lied to the reporter so his mother wouldn’t see his name in the newspaper. Now he stood before a great magician who would surely know the name Mattheus Coperneau. What if he made the connection to Matthew Cooper? Matt decided not to take the chance.

  Almost immediately, he felt silly and wished he hadn’t done it, but the letters were already written in black pen. They were followed by the flourish of a signature and a moment later, autograph in hand, Matt was heading back to his mother.

  ‘Let me see,’ she asked, holding out her hand. ‘But Matt, this isn’t your name.’

  ‘Oh … er, no. I got it for Barry, at the magic school. To him it’ll be better than a football star’s autograph.’

  His mother looked at him, wide-eyed. ‘That was a very generous thing to do, Matt. Well done.’ She led him towards the exit.

  There really was a Barry at the magic school. He, Sarah and Matt were the youngest of the budding magicians. Barry certainly was delighted when Matt gave him the autographed picture of Genardi Kallinar.

  That Saturday was a special day in any case, as Barry quickly reminded Matt when he stepped back from a table and asked, ‘What do you think?’

  He was wearing a black cape, but that wasn’t what he was asking about. A homemade sign hung down from the table, saying Barry the Beguiler.

  ‘I love it. It suits you,’ said Matt. ‘Sometimes your tricks beguile you as well.’

  Barry laughed. ‘Yeah, all right, I’m not as good as you. But it’s a great stage name, don’t you think? What are you going to call yourself?’

  ‘Haven’t decided yet,’ said Matt.

  But he had decided, weeks ago; he just wanted it to be a surprise.

  Mr Crank had his own surprise that morning. ‘I have decided who will represent us at the Young Houdinis next month.’

  He named a guy who was university age and not one of Matt’s friends among the class. Then in the dramatic way of all good performers, he hesitated, so they were all hanging on his next words.

  ‘And congratulations also … to … Matt Cooper.’

  Phew! He’d made it. Almost immediately, Matt felt the stomach-stirring terror that came with such an opportunity.

  Matt used every spare minute to practise – as if he wasn’t performing tricks in his sleep already. His act had to stand out. Mattheus Coperneau deserved something special, even if he wouldn’t be in the audience.

  ‘Anyone can learn to do card tricks and draw a rabbit out of a hat,’ Mr Crank told him. ‘To grab the imagination of an audience, you need to understand the deeper principles of magic. Tricks and illusions must seem impossible, so you must take away all the possible explanations. Then the only thing left is the impossible and the audience is forced to believe it. When you understand that, then you are ready to invent your own tricks.’

  Matt was lucky – he had Mattheus’s notebook. Although he couldn’t read the words any better than the first day he’d opened it, the diagrams made more sense now. He soon realised he would need an assistant.

  ‘You’re not serious?’ said Hayden, when Matt asked him to be part of his act.

  ‘You’re always wanting to know how magi
c works,’ said Matt. ‘Well, here’s your chance.’

  ‘Will you saw me in half?’

  ‘Maybe, but that trick’s been done a thousand times before. I need something special to impress the judges.’

  ‘I won’t have to wear a fancy waistcoat with coloured sequins and stuff, will I?’

  ‘No, no, just a skirt or maybe a leotard to make you look like a girl.’

  Hayden couldn’t have looked more horrified if Matt had sawn him in half! His expression was better than all the magic in the world, but Matt didn’t laugh too hard in case his mate thumped him.

  ‘Very funny,’ said Hayden when he realised he’d been scammed.

  ‘Relax,’ said Matt. ‘You’ll be fine in pants and a T-shirt. But there’s a reason magicians have pretty girls on stage with them, and it’s not just so they can be sawn in half. They attract the audience’s eye, you see, and while the audience is looking at his assistant, the magician can switch things or press secret buttons. We’ll have to find ways for you to distract the audience.’

  Hayden was smiling now. He was in.

  Through the weeks leading up to the competition, Matt felt himself drawn back time and again to Mattheus’s notebook. ‘Only the heart knows magic is real,’ he whispered each time he opened it. He felt his own heart growing closer to magic with every new trick he taught himself. None of it was real magic, of course, but he hoped his great-grandfather would have been proud of his skills.

  On the Saturday before the big night, Mr Crank organised for Matt and the other guy chosen for the competition to run through their acts in front of everyone else in the magic class. The rehearsal meant dressing up in the kind of waistcoat that Hayden had complained about, although there wasn’t a sequin in sight, thank God. It made Matt look like a Year Twelve student going off to a formal, in fact, and he quite liked seeming older. In the props wardrobe at the school, he came across an impressive cape that flowed out from his shoulders. It was the perfect finishing touch to his costume.