Much to her surprise, Carmer looked delighted. “Actually,” he said, “I think we can work with that.”
The second round of the Seminal Symposium of Magickal Arts was an even grander and more ostentatious affair than the first. Gone were the amateur conjurers and half-baked mentalists, the inexperienced and the unlucky. (Madame Mystique, for her part, sat sulking in the audience, hair artfully arranged to cover a decidedly singed patch of scalp.) Ticket prices had gone up; even in the so-called nosebleed seats in the third tier, much fewer of the common folk were to be seen. For all of the well-to-do Skemantians’ insistence that magic was a pastime of the poor and uneducated masses, this was quite the affair.
Conan Mesmer, outfitted this evening in a ghastly green sequined suit that sparkled from head to toe under the stage lights, was clearly enjoying himself.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the second round of the greatest magical competition, the most impressive demonstration of the strange, the mystical, and the impossible in all the land! Many have dazzled us with fine feats already, but tonight we separate the kings and queens from the jokers, the maestros from the novices! Tonight, we take one step closer to finding the greatest magician in the world!”
Backstage, Carmer squeezed Kitty Delphine’s hand.
“At least these folks don’t have tomatoes,” Kitty joked, taking a deep breath. She cast him a sideways glance. “Do I even want to know what’s in that hat of yours?”
Carmer’s trademark hat had in fact undergone a transformation. Unbeknownst to everyone else, the inside rim was now lined with a small wooden balcony on which stood a nervous faerie, waiting to whisper instructions to Carmer. It also had the added bonus of making the hat now fit quite comfortably on his head. Grit had insisted on an easy exit in case of emergency, and so the hat looked more odd than ever, with a tiny door that opened outward onto the brim.
“Probably not,” was all Carmer answered.
Kitty sniffed. Her own costume was altered as well; her usual glitter, lace, and frills had been replaced with a simpler but striking bright red gown and smart leather bodice with feather trim. The open sides laced up with gold wire and gears as fasteners. Even Grit had eyed Kitty’s workmanship approvingly.
“All ready below, boy?” the Amazifier whispered, coming up behind them. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders.
Carmer nodded. The trap room was prepped and ready to go, though the real source of their magic would be under Carmer’s hat. It hadn’t been easy convincing Kitty and the Amazifier to try out any of his new ideas, especially considering his abysmal performance in the first round. He’d dragged them to the theater at the crack of dawn to practice, having gotten only an hour or so of sleep himself, insisting that secrecy was paramount.
“Trust me, Master Antoine,” pressed Carmer. “We don’t want anyone to see this before we go onstage tonight.”
“Or be witness to our untimely demises, should one of your inventions malfunction?” asked the Amazifier with a wink. Kitty had only groaned.
Now Carmer could only hope Kitty and the Amazifier would still trust him after this round of the competition, though for completely different reasons from before. With enough tinkering, he and Grit had managed to spruce up the Amazifier’s Cremation Illusion while keeping Grit’s involvement a secret. Though Carmer knew better than to surprise a magician in the middle of his own act, he had to take his chances and hope he could pass it off as a last-minute addition. Grit refused to reveal herself to more humans, and so for better or for worse, her magical boost to their illusion would be making its premier in front of the live audience.
“Whatever happens tonight,” said the Amazifier, “I will always be proud of the wonders, big and small, that we have accomplished together.” He gave their shoulders a comforting squeeze.
“Spirits and zits, Master Antoine,” mumbled Kitty, dabbing at her eyes. “You’re gonna turn this mascara into runaway train tracks right down my face.”
Antoine offered her his handkerchief, which Kitty blew into noisily.
“If all goes well, they won’t be the only ones on the stage tonight,” joked the Amazifier.
Kitty kissed him on his weathered cheek and even gave Carmer a quick peck that left bright red lipstick—and a substantial blush—on his face. “Break a leg, everyone!” she said.
“Let’s make some magic,” agreed the Amazifier, the familiar gleam of excitement in his eye.
With one last look at his mentor, Carmer slipped away and down the rickety staircase that lead under the Orbicle’s stage. “I hope so,” he whispered to himself, then winced as a spurred boot poked him in the scalp.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, human,” she hissed.
“Anytime, Grit. Anytime.”
Out onstage, Conan Mesmer announced the Amazifier’s entrance, and the show began.
Gideon Sharpe watched Antoine the Amazifier toddle out onto the Orbicle’s stage with amused derision. He and his assistant had changed their look a bit, but there was nothing special about them—no grand entrance to grab the audience’s attention, not even a trail of smoke to suggest an air of mystery. They’d barely made it into the second round after their first “performance,” and Gideon was sure this one would be memorable only in its mediocrity.
“ . . . and my lovely assistant, Miss Kitty Delphine!” the Amazifier was saying.
The dark young woman with the shockingly blonde hair appeared carrying an unlit candelabra and curtsied to polite applause. Her red outfit with feather trim made her look like an oversized exotic bird. She held the candelabra out to the Amazifier. He leaned over and blew on each candle; they lit up one by one as he did so.
The polite applause surfaced again—Gideon did not join in—and the assistant placed the candelabra on what Gideon knew to be a trapdoor on the stage floor. A rope swung down from the catwalk and something that looked like the top of a giant birdcage lowered from above. A curtain was strung up around its rim, ready to be lowered at a pull from the rope. Gideon recognized the trick at once: the Cremation Illusion. Shortly, either Miss Delphine or the Amazifier would appear to go up in flames underneath the curtain, only to reemerge without a scratch. Gideon stifled a yawn.
“The fine people of Skemantis are well accustomed to technology and innovation,” said the Amazifier. “No doubt many of you have even come to view steam power as old hat.”
The magician shrugged and doffed his own hat, and a small tendril of steam poured out with a whistle like a teakettle. He clapped the hat down again, feigning a sheepish look, and the audience laughed. He was really buttering them up for this one.
“But what I am about to show you has never been attempted before, not even in Skemantis.”
Kitty Delphine wheeled out the bottom part of the illusion, a tall three-legged stool with a winding track suspended all around it that climbed up in a widening spiral several feet high. At the bottom of the track rested a model railroad train, complete with a bright red caboose. Gideon began to doubt his earlier prediction. What was the old fool up to?
“You have all seen a steam engine powered by a boiler,” said the Amazifier, “but have you ever seen a steam engine powered by a girl?”
A ripple of interest ran through the crowd. Miss Delphine centered the stool over the candelabra, but the handful of gasps this earned from the audience was unwarranted; the tiny candle flames were at least half a foot away from it. The Amazifier helped the girl up onto the stool, and the model railroad tracks wound around her lower body like metal snakes. She really did look like an exotic bird in a cage.
“Please note that this train is no mere windup toy,” explained the Amazifier. “Neither myself nor my assistant have touched it, as you have seen.” He stood back with arms wide.
The Amazifier snapped his fingers and a hush fell over the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, prepare to be amazed.”
In a fluid motion, the Amazifier yanked on the rope and the velvet curtain drop
ped over Kitty Delphine. The candelabra’s flames shot skyward, engulfing the curtain in flames on all sides. Only the model train remained untouched. The flames licking the curtain and the edges of the tracks shifted in all shades of red, orange, yellow, and even pink and purple. No one could have survived a real inferno like it.
A long whistle cut through the air, impossibly loud to come from such a small train (and a fake one at that). The flames retreated. Another yank of the rope and the curtain ascended.
Kitty Delphine was gone. All that remained on the stool was a pile of glittering ash—but that wasn’t what made everyone gasp.
“May I present to you . . . the Phoenix Engine!” cried the Amazifier.
The model train was climbing up the spiral train tracks, gaining speed with every blow of its whistle. Real smoke billowed from the chimney as it moved up and around. Gold sparks flared around its wheels with each chug forward.
The train sped faster and faster until it was a metal blur spinning up and down and around the loops of tiny tracks, much faster than any real model could ever move.
Another yank on the curtain, another shower of rainbow sparks and flame, and, just when it seemed the train would sail right off its tracks—BAM! Golden sparks rained outward in a blinding cloud. The train disappeared, tracks and all. The echo of its last whistle reverberated throughout the theater.
The flames receded, the curtain lifted, and Kitty Delphine emerged whole and unharmed, not a single blonde hair singed on her pretty little head. The Amazifier escorted her down off the stool to take their bows amidst enthusiastic cheers. Shouts of “Amazing!” and “Bravo!” rent the air, and quite a few sections of the audience stood up. Gideon Sharpe, however, stayed firmly in his seat, and told himself that what he was seeing was impossible.
Gideon had only ever seen lights like those golden sparks once before. It was impossible that the Amazifier, the blundering old fool, could have access to the same kind of power as Gideon’s master! It was preposterous! And yet . . .
He knew, though he dreaded the conversation, that he had no choice but to tell the Mechanist. How would they keep their edge over the competition—their edge over the entire city—if someone else had access to their secret weapon?
Somehow, some way, the Amazifier and his fool of an apprentice were using faerie magic. And now it was Gideon Sharpe’s job to stop them.
11.
THE HOLLOW VALLEYS
The celebration in honor of the Moto-Manse’s occupants seemed likely to last well into the night. The top five finalists who would go on to the last round of the Seminal Symposium of Magickal Arts were throwing their own parties all over the city, but the Amazifier was the only one from the circus camp to achieve such an honor. The alchemists, animal tamers, acrobats, and all manner of entertainers A through Z were delighted that one of their own had gotten so far, and they all jumped on the chance to eat, drink, be merry, and, of course, show off.
Chili, stews, and fried dough of every kind from every region of the world simmered and bubbled over dozens of crackling fires. Music, laughter, and the ringing of bells on dancing feet filled the air. It was almost hard to see through all the smoke, but here and there one could catch glimpses of the unusual and amazing—a fire-eater spitting blue flame, a contortionist doing back flips with her ankles under her armpits, step dancers with feet moving so fast they seemed to blur.
Carmer leaned back against a log, comfortable in his seat by the fire and feeling pleased for the first time in days. He watched Kitty, a few yards away, being entertained by the identical acrobats from next door. That someone had managed to find four sets of identical twins who could all stand on their heads was quite a feat. A fiddler was playing a merry tune, and Kitty clapped along with the music, laughing as the men tumbled and flipped over one another.
“Of course, there were still dragons in the west, then, you know . . .”
The Amazifier was surrounded by admirers, regaling them with stories of his adventures all over the world. Each telling of a tale grew progressively more outlandish as he was supplied with “just one more” cup of wine. Carmer shook his head but couldn’t help smiling. He’d gotten the chewing out of his lifetime on the way back to the camp for his unauthorized changes to the Phoenix Engine—“You could have roasted me alive!” Kitty had shrieked—and the Amazifier had just started to press him for more details about the model train when the party engulfed them all. Carmer was grateful for the stalling time, and besides, everyone deserved a night off.
“You did it, Grit,” he said quietly. Though she was several feet away, Carmer knew she could hear him. He looked around to make sure no one was watching him, but their attentions were elsewhere.
Grit sat cross-legged in the fire, just near the edge. It was like the fire never touched her; her hair, skin, and clothes all remained intact, none singed in the slightest.
She looked tired, but less so than before. The fire seemed to be energizing her. Every once in a while she would sink her fingers into the embers beneath her, reigniting them as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She looked more beautiful and more inhuman than Carmer had ever seen her. It was true he’d just witnessed magic—real magic—but this was different. There was much more to the fae than parlor tricks and flying around on ravens. He wondered how much, if anything, he would learn about them in the future.
“Yes, I did,” said Grit with satisfaction, opening her eyes. “You helped a bit, too, I suppose.”
Carmer smiled.
“But we need to find those faeries,” she added seriously.
While their own performance had gone better than they’d hoped, the other magicians were nothing to sneeze at, and the Mechanist blew the audience away yet again. He had turned half the stage into an ice rink from a single spilled glass of water.
Carmer shivered, despite the heat of the fire, and nodded. “I made a promise, Grit,” he said. “I mean to keep it.”
Grit raised an eyebrow. “Want to start now?”
“Now?” asked Carmer. “As in tonight?”
“It seems to me that your ‘magical’ community is more than a little distracted this evening,” she said with an amused look at the Amazifier. “What better time to do some poking around?”
Carmer had to admit that Grit was probably right. The Mechanist was probably at a party in one of the fine hotels in downtown Skemantis, surrounded by wealthy patrons. He was unlikely to be keeping too close of an eye out for his competitors tonight. “And where should we start poking, exactly?”
“I think we should go to the factory in the Vallows where Echolaken and her sister were taken. There might be some traces there that can tell us something about the Autocats’ attack. It might even be the Mechanist’s secret base! That’s where I would put it, if I were an evil human mastermind,” said Grit.
Tramping across the city in the dark of night to snoop around an abandoned factory while under constant threat of ambush from ferocious metal beasts did not sound like a particularly enjoyable evening, nor one that boded well for their chances of survival before the third and final round of the competition. And yet, Grit had a point.
“Let’s get on with it, then,” said Carmer, relinquishing his seat by the fire. He pretended to be warming his hands while surreptitiously lifting Grit onto her now habitual seat on the brim of his hat. Carmer straightened up and looked at the merriment around them. He hoped Kitty would remember to make the Amazifier drink plenty of water before bed. His own misgivings aside, it was easy for Carmer to slip unnoticed away from the crowd.
Carmer untied Eduardo from the other side of the Moto-Manse, where the horse was munching on the grass, utterly indifferent to the revelry around him. Grit scurried down Carmer’s arm and sat between Eduardo’s ears.
“Make haste, great steed!” teased Grit, affectionately scratching his head. She’d taken an inexplicable liking to the old horse since their first meeting. “Well, a decent trot would be nice.”
“Going somewher
e?”
Eduardo whinnied, rearing up, and Grit had to cling on to his mane for dear life. Carmer calmed the horse as best he could, looking around wildly until his eyes fell on two figures making their way from behind the tree line.
Two of Madame Euphemia’s wooden puppets soon stood before them. Nearly identical, they were outfitted like butlers of fine estates.
“My bones had a feeling you two whippersnappers might try something foolish soon enough.” The old crone’s gravelly voice echoed strangely out of one of the puppet’s mouths.
“You mean you’ve been spying on us again,” corrected Grit.
“This is Manymostly and Merelymuchly,” added Madame Euphemia. “They are at your service for as long as needed.” The puppets bowed.
“Th-thank you,” stammered Carmer, still caught off guard. “But I don’t think—”
“Oh, I know they don’t look like much, especially Merelymuchly here,” interrupted the one on the right.
Carmer assumed this was Manymostly.
“But they can look after themselves, and you, too.” Manymostly and Merelymuchly grinned in unison, exposing rows of frighteningly sharp wooden teeth whittled down to points. Their mouths clapped shut once more with a clack.
Grit gulped, and Eduardo shied away.
“We can use all the help we can get,” Carmer agreed before Grit could protest. “We don’t know what will be waiting for us in the Vallows. Thank you, Madame Euphemia.”
And so with much coaxing and bribery with apples, Eduardo was convinced to let the puppets ride on his back with Carmer. The boy imagined they must be quite a sight: a magician’s apprentice, two puppets, and a faerie princess riding a horse that was about a decade past due for the glue factory.
The Wingsnatchers Page 10
