Order of the Majestic

by Matt Myklusch

  Down onstage, the fire burned itself out, and the swords clattered to the floorboards, their blades crumbling into dust. Leanora and Shazad helped each other up, and together they staggered to the edge of the stage, moving away from Manchester.

  “There,” Manchester said, very much relieved. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He removed his top hat, pressed it to his chest, and bowed his head in false reverence. “A moment of silence for the dearly departed. Redondo the Magnificent is magnificent no more.”

  You wish, Joey thought.

  “The king is dead!” Manchester laughed, kicking through the ashes of the crate, looking for Houdini’s wand. “Long live the…” His voice trailed off as the object of his search eluded him. “Long live…” He looked harder. Ashes and blackened wood flew away to expose the floorboards beneath. Nothing. The wand wasn’t there.

  That’s right, Joey thought, enjoying the confused look on Manchester’s face. You think you’re the only one who can fake your death in that box? He stood up in the window, eager to see Manchester get his comeuppance. Here it comes.…

  Manchester went through every inch of the crate’s charred remains, growing increasingly frustrated in his fruitless search for the wand.

  Any second now, Joey thought, eager for Redondo’s triumphant return.

  But Redondo didn’t show. And then Manchester found the wand among the ashes.

  What?

  “Finally!” Manchester rejoiced, holding up the wand as if he were King Arthur hoisting up Excalibur, having just drawn the fabled sword from its stone. Joey was mortified by the sight of Manchester with the wand.

  “Where is he?” Joey whispered to himself, clinging to the hope that things couldn’t end this way. He held his breath, staring at the stage, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Where was the magical twist ending? Redondo’s master stroke? It didn’t make sense. Unless…

  The realization hit Joey like a bucket of ice water: Redondo wasn’t coming back. Joey felt hollow and cold inside. Redondo was dead, and he had done nothing to stop it. As a famous Sith Lord had once said on-screen, his failure was now complete. But Shazad didn’t share Joey’s dejected outlook. Joey heard him onstage, reassuring Leanora. “It’s all right,” he told her. “It doesn’t matter. He can’t do a thing with it.”

  “Is that so?” Manchester said, turning toward Shazad, galled by his nerve. “What say we test your theory with a killing curse? It just so happens I know quite a few. I’ve always wanted to try them out but never had the means to do so… until now.”

  “You told Redondo you’d let us go!” Leanora shouted.

  “And he was right not to trust me.” He waved the wand in their direction, taking aim.…

  “NO!” Joey shouted, and all eyes turned up to Redondo’s office window, where Joey now stood in plain view.

  “Look who’s here,” Manchester said, a Cheshire cat grin on his face. “Don’t move, Joey. I’ll be with you in just a moment.” He returned his focus to Leanora and Shazad. “First things first.” With a graceful angling of the wrist, he spoke a chilling word: “Morté.”

  Nothing happened. Manchester waited a moment, then tried again.

  “Silentes!” he said, waving the wand, raising his voice just a touch.

  Once again there was no magic to be found.

  “Leto!” Manchester shouted, getting agitated.

  He might as well have been waving a drumstick. Manchester looked at the useless wand as if it had betrayed him, and in his mind it probably had. A satisfied, know-it-all expression emerged on Shazad’s face. Leanora gave a short laugh of relief, and Joey did the same.

  “I don’t believe this,” Manchester said, still staring at the wand. “It chose him?” As he looked up at Joey, his disbelief morphed into murderous resentment. “I can deal with that.”

  “Deal with this,” Leanora said, striding across the stage in big, sweeping steps. She had the firestone pendant clutched in her left hand, and her right hand was lit up like a torch. Leanora took a swing at Manchester, leaving a trail of fire like a comet. The impact was explosive. As she drove her fist into Manchester’s stomach, there was a flash of light. The next thing Joey knew, Manchester was flying across the stage. He hit the backstage wall and the wand tumbled from his hand.

  As soon as Joey saw that, he grabbed the cane that was still hooked through the ring of the attic door in the ceiling. He pulled down hard, and the door swung open freely. There wasn’t any room in Joey’s mind for doubt, because there wasn’t any time for it. Had he stopped to think about what he could and could not do, maybe nothing would have happened. Instead, what happened was he scurried up the ladder as fast as he could, and a half second later, the trapdoor opened in the center of the stage. Charred debris from the crate and ashes from the fire fell away as Joey pushed it open and rushed toward the wand.

  18 The Magician’s Duel

  Manchester went for the wand at the same time as Joey, but Joey was ready for him. He tossed out the Gordian rope. Manchester caught it instinctively.

  Gotcha.

  Manchester tried to toss the rope away, but it was too late. He gasped as it wrapped around his wrists and slithered up his arms. Rapidly growing longer from both ends, it looped around his body, squeezing him like the tentacles of a giant squid. Within seconds, he was completely enveloped, and Joey had the wand in his hand.

  He felt no burst of energy when he picked it up this time. No hulking superpower growing inside him. Instead, Joey felt a terrible weight on his shoulders. An incredible burden and responsibility. The spotlight was on him now.

  Manchester looked up at Joey with a sneer. “I hope you’re not expecting this to hold me. Do you have any idea how many times I escaped these ropes when I was your age? Right here on this very stage?”

  “That’s all right. They just need to restrain you long enough for me to get this,” Joey said, holding up the wand.

  “What do you think you’re going to do with that?” Manchester asked, working to free himself. The ropes were already loosening up. “Nice punch, by the way,” he told Leanora. “But you should have come at me harder. It’ll take more than you’ve got to keep me down. More than any of you have got. I’ll be out of this in no time. Do the sensible thing and give me the wand, Joey. I promise I’ll kill you quickly.”

  Joey held the wand down by his side, keeping his distance from Manchester and the enchanted rope. “For some reason that doesn’t sound like a great deal to me.”

  “That’s true enough, but you won’t get a better offer from me.”

  “I’m the one with the wand,” Joey said, pointing it at Manchester.

  “Redondo had the wand a few minutes ago,” Manchester said, unfazed. “You might want to take a few steps back. Brush whatever’s left of him off your shoes.”

  Joey looked down. He was standing in the remnants of the crate. The fires had burned hot enough to turn everything into dust and cinders. He backed away from the trapdoor, struck by a profound sense of loss. Joey had always known they were going to lose Redondo, but not like this. He turned to Leanora and Shazad, keeping one eye on Manchester and the wand at the ready. “Are you guys okay?”

  “They’re fine,” Manchester said, answering for them. “For now,” he added. “I asked you a question, Joey. What are you going to do?” As he spoke, he disentangled one of his arms from the massive knot he was bound in. He’d be free soon.

  Joey’s eyes swept the backstage area, looking for something specific. Redondo had cleaned up here, too, save for the crowbar and the shattered aquarium.

  “Your part in this is over, boy. Redondo’s gone. There’s no one coming to rescue you this time.”

  “I rescued him last time, remember?”

  “I hope you’re not planning to make me float away again. That’s not going to get the job done. I’ll keep coming back. I’ll never stop. You’re going to have to kill me. Tell me, have you ever killed someone before? Don’t bother answering; it’s a rhetorical question.
Of course you haven’t. That’s why I’ve got nothing to fear from you and that wand. You don’t want this responsibility. You know you don’t. As long as I’m alive, you’ll never know peace, and that’s no way to live. Do yourself a favor. End this now. Tonight. While I’m still in the mood to be merciful.”

  Joey was trembling, but he did his best to project confidence. He needed to be brave, and if he couldn’t do that, he decided that pretending to be brave was the next best thing. At the moment it was the only thing.

  “Is that what you told my father?”

  Manchester squinted at Joey. “Your father?”

  “When he was my age. He passed Redondo’s test too.” Joey took out the coin he used to access the theater. “Turns out I’m not such a norm after all. Magic runs in the family.”

  Manchester recognized the coin. A light bulb went on in his mind. “That’s the bit of magic you carried with you into the testing center. I thought it felt familiar. I take it that’s how you got back in here without a key.”

  “My father’s lucky coin,” Joey said. He gripped it tightly, as if channeling its strength. “He thought it was luck, but it was magic. He should have had more of it. He would have if not for you. I wonder how different the world would be right now if Redondo had my dad for an assistant instead of you.”

  Manchester gave a tiny shrug, unapologetic. “We’ll never know,” he said as he got his other arm free.

  “Because you got rid of him. Even then you were scared of the competition.”

  “Sounds to me like your father was the one who was scared. I wish I could tell you I remember him, but I don’t. He wasn’t the only child to find Redondo’s sad little sideshow back in those days. Far from it. But if I was able to convince your father he wasn’t a magician and send him on his way, then he wasn’t a magician, now, was he? It all comes down to what you believe. Be grateful he folded so easily. Other children required permanent convincing.” He was pushing down on the ropes now, sliding them down his chest.

  Shazad’s face contorted in revulsion. “What are you saying? You killed them?”

  “I never did like to share.” Manchester smiled, flashing his crooked teeth.

  Joey felt queasy. He didn’t know why that surprised him so much. He’d known Manchester was a killer—he was responsible for the death of Redondo, after all. But to think he had started at such a young age and with other children… for what? Just to keep magic to himself? That was a whole other level of evil.

  “Joey, what are you waiting for?” Leanora asked as Manchester stepped out of the ropes and kicked them away. “Use the wand. Finish him!”

  Joey said nothing. He stood motionless, like a mannequin in a store window. Manchester spread his arms wide in a taunting gesture, boldly inviting the death blow. Joey’s fingers tightened on the wand. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he contemplated cold-blooded murder. There was no getting around it. It would be murder, however much Manchester deserved it. He had killed Redondo, and Joey had heard him attempt three different killing spells on Leanora and Shazad. It would be easy enough to repeat those words, but Joey doubted they would work for him. His heart wasn’t in that kind of magic. It was no use pretending. Manchester was right. He wasn’t a killer.

  Manchester laughed as Joey lowered the wand. “I told you he can’t do it. He’s too scared.”

  Joey swallowed hard. There wasn’t any doubt about it. Manchester did scare him. The idea of facing him alone—without Redondo there to protect him—terrified Joey, but he had to do it. He was the only one who could. He had to learn his father’s lesson and do the thing that scared him. The question was, what scared Manchester? Joey put the wand in his pocket and felt Redondo’s deck of cards. He had an idea.

  “Give me the wand,” Manchester said, holding out a stiff hand. “I won’t ask again.”

  Joey shook his head. “Redondo had a competition for the wand. If you want in, that’s one thing, but I’m not just going to hand it over. You’ve got to earn it.”

  Manchester’s eyebrows went up. He paused a moment, then leaned forward, tapping a finger to his ear. “I’m sorry. My hearing must be off. It sounds like you’re saying you want to duel. Against me?”

  Joey nodded. “May the best magician win.”

  Manchester burst out laughing as if that were the funniest thing he had ever heard.

  Joey let Manchester have his fun, grateful for the extra time to psych himself up. He wants me scared, Joey thought. He’s trying to get inside my head so I can’t do this. But I can do it. Joey told himself he had to get out of his own head. This was just another test. He had to cut away the distractions and solve the problem. Nothing killed magic dead like doubt and fear, but he wasn’t the only one who could feel those feelings.

  “We’ll keep it simple. I’ll do one trick. Something to make you disappear for good. If it doesn’t work, I lose. You get the wand. But if I pull this off, you leave us alone—all of us. And you agree to never set foot inside the Majestic Theatre again.”

  Manchester’s eyes narrowed. He appeared both baffled and insulted by Joey’s suggestion. “You’re delusional.”

  “Do we have a deal or not?”

  “Oh yes,” Manchester said facetiously. “Why not?” He raised his right hand and swore an oath in front of everyone: “On my honor, if you can best me, may the magic drain from my body and strike me dead if I ever return to this place.”

  “All right,” Joey said, taking Manchester’s pledge with a grain of salt. He didn’t think Manchester had any honor, but it didn’t really matter. If Joey played his cards right, Manchester wouldn’t be in a position to come back to the Majestic anyway. He reached into his pocket, but not for the wand. “This is Redondo’s magic deck. The one he told you about. Let’s see what’s in the cards for you.” Joey fanned the deck and offered it to Manchester.

  “This is the best you can do?”

  “Pick a card. Any card.”

  “Just one?”

  “I only need one.”

  Manchester selected a card from the middle of the pack. When he turned it over, it was not one of Redondo’s strange fortune-telling cards, but rather the card Joey had pulled from the deck the previous morning—the one with the symbol of the Invisible Hand.

  Manchester smiled. “My own card. What does that signify?”

  “It’s not your card. Not exactly. Look again.”

  Holding the card close to his face, Manchester inspected the card, noting a red dot on the palm of the hand. “I see. What’s this red dot supposed to be? Blood on my hands? If you think that’s going to make me feel bad, you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  “I know who I’m dealing with. Do you?” Backing away, Joey took the wand out of his pocket and pointed it at Manchester. “Apis Melifera.”

  Manchester crooked an eyebrow. “What was that?”

  “You’ll see. They sound like magic words, don’t they? It’s actually binary nomenclature. That’s a scientific naming system for animals. First you list the genus, then the species. Don’t ask me why I remember that. I learned it in biology class.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the western honeybee. You’re allergic to bees, right? Me too. I don’t like them, but we do need them. They’re important to the environment, now more than ever.”

  Manchester shut his mouth. His eyes darted left and right. A faint buzzing noise was clearly audible. Where was it coming from? Joey nodded toward the card in his hand. Manchester looked down at it. A live bee was sitting on the upper-left corner of the card. Startled, Manchester shook his hand immediately, casting the bee off. It was an involuntary, spastic reaction. There was no doubt about it—Manchester was afraid.

  “That’s not blood on the hand in that card.” Joey smiled. “It’s a sting.”

  Soon more bees were there, orbiting Manchester’s hand in slow, looping circles. He dropped the card and waved the bees off. It didn’t help. For every bee he chased awa
y, two more appeared, and the more he tried to get rid of them, the more aggressive they became. “What is this?” he asked, swinging his arms wildly. “Where are they coming from?”

  “Sorry. A magician never reveals his secrets.” Joey tapped his forearm. “I think they like your coat.”

  Confused, Manchester twisted his arm around for a look. What he saw made the little color he had in his already pale face drain completely away. The underside of his arm, from the elbow to the wrist, was positively crawling with bees. There had to be a hundred or more, packed in tight, as if his sleeve were the interior wall of a hive.

  “GAH!” he blurted out in utter terror. Desperate to get away from his own arm, he lost all sense of where he was and backpedaled until he tripped on the twisted lines of rope that were strewn about the stage. Manchester landed in the ash heap and flailed around in an agitated frenzy. He tore his coat off and threw it away, but that did nothing to get rid of the bees. Angry now, they swarmed him like a sentient cloud. With Manchester otherwise occupied, Joey returned to Leanora and Shazad.

  “Come on. We’ve got to get out of here,” he said.

  “We can’t leave,” Leanora said. “Those bees aren’t going to stop him.”

  “They might,” Joey said. “Bee stings are no joke when you’ve got allergies. Believe me, I know.”

  “But if you’re allergic too, aren’t you in danger as well?” Shazad asked.

  “Not if I stay focused,” Joey said, holding up the wand and silently willing the bees to stay away from him. “Can you guys swim?”

  “Can we swim?” Leanora repeated, baffled.

  “What are you talking about?” Shazad asked, echoing her sentiments.

  “Never mind,” Joey said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “We’ve got to take care of him!” Leanora said, pointing at Manchester. “Even if your bees run him out of here, you can’t honestly believe he’s going to honor the deal you made.”

  “That’s what this is for.” Joey took the tiny blue bottle he had found in Redondo’s office and set it on the ground. Leaving Shazad and Leanora for a moment, he ran backstage to grab the crowbar he spotted earlier.