‘I don’t think he should practise on anything living,’ said May. ‘They might not stay living for long.’
‘And then of course the Immortal Mysterioso turned out not to be immortal after all. Bowel cancer. So I put away my spangly tights and came to work here.’ Daphne held up the gold canister to prove that nothing had actually penetrated the rabbit. ‘It works on cats, too. Especially if you don’t like them. Could I interest you in X-ray goggles?’ She pulled out what appeared to be a diving helmet with rotating spirals over the eye-holes. ‘Very popular for mind-reading acts.’
‘You always accuse me of being a bad judge of character,’ said Bryant, poking May in the ribs, ‘but Theo Fontvieille bothered me from the moment I met him. He was too gaunt, too energetic. He made light of everything, acting as if nothing in the world ever touched him, but behind the banter there was a terrified child, screaming in the dark.’
‘That’s true, the first time I laid eyes on him he left me feeling uneasy,’ May agreed. ‘But he kept his nerve, bluffed his way through and almost got away with it.’
Bryant shook his head sadly. ‘I thought I’d finished my learning, but apparently not. Human nature is like an iceberg, mostly hidden from view. Imagine the terror of waking up every morning and remembering who you are, wondering how on earth you’re going to get through the day.’
‘You could say that of Mr Fox,’ added May. ‘Or even of Mac. All of them were haunted.’
‘Well, those two were damaged by irreversible childhood traumas. Mr Fox couldn’t resist sending me a note, even though he knew it might bring us a step closer. Theo, though—he’s the most interesting. I honestly think he suffers more than any of them. Every time he wakes, he realises afresh that he has no soul, nothing inside that really cares for anyone or anything. You meet people like him all the time, the desperate players trying to cut one final deal that will make them rich and allow them to keep their kids in private schools.’
‘Perhaps I could just intervene?’ said Daphne, trying to break up what sounded to her like a very depressing conversation. ‘We’ve got something new in involving a blowtorch and half a dozen squirrels that will make your eyes stand out like chapel hat-pegs.’ She ran its instructions seductively up her arm.
‘Self-preservation is a very strong instinct,’ May told Bryant. ‘Theo was quite happy to murder his friends if it meant he would survive. It’s almost as if he thought they wouldn’t mind giving up their lives for his.’
‘That’s just arrogance,’ Bryant replied. ‘He genuinely thinks he’s worth more than the others. But at night the truth must surely rise to the surface and terrify him.’
‘Put your finger in here,’ urged Daphne with a faint air of desperation. It had been a slow morning. Bryant did so distractedly, and she slammed down the guillotine on two carrots and the detective’s digit.
‘I’m not so sure Theo has quite that level of self-realisation. He’s the kind of man who’ll go to jail and write endless newspaper articles about the experience afterwards. I wonder if that’s better—choosing never to wake from the dream.’
‘Life is all a dream,’ said Bryant, smiling gently. ‘A wonderful, wonderful dream. The object is to make everyone else who shares it with you as happy as possible.’ He slowly opened his hand. In his palm was the sparkling diamond ring.
‘An admirable sentiment,’ May agreed, smiling back at his old friend. ‘Make sure you drop that into the evidence room. Come on, the weather’s supposed to clear up this afternoon. Let’s get out into the sunshine while we can.’ He turned back to the disappointed magic assistant. ‘Thanks for the demonstration, Daphne. I think my colleague is going to try a different act. Perhaps he’ll take up tap dancing.’
They left the magic shop arm in arm, laughing.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHRISTOPHER FOWLER is the acclaimed author of eight novels in the Peculiar Crimes Unit series, including The Victoria Vanishes and Bryant & May on the Loose. He has been nominated by the Independent Mystery Booksellers Association for the Dilys Winn Award, given to the book that booksellers most enjoyed selling. The Victoria Vanishes was also nominated for best novel by the British Fantasy Society and won Crimefest’s Last Laugh award for funniest mystery novel. Fowler lives and writes in London.
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