The Magician's Tower

by Shawn Thomas Odyssey

  But then came the gypsy’s prediction, and she’d found tremendous hope in the idea that the punchbowl might show her the truth; let her see what happened with her own eyes.

  Now that possibility was gone.

  The carriage creaked to a stop. Samuligan hopped down from the driver’s seat and opened the compartment door. Oona stepped down to find that, regardless of the heavy downpour, she remained perfectly dry, as if an invisible umbrella were protecting her and Deacon. The Wizard stepped from the compartment and glanced at the magical canopy, nodding approvingly.

  “Excellent idea,” he told Samuligan. “No sense getting drenched.”

  “I thought you would approve,” said Samuligan, and the four of them made their way to the center of the park, where the rain pounded against the tower’s uneven sides, making it look more unsteady than ever. Toward the top, the tower swayed in the high wind like a living thing.

  At the front of the stage stood a scattering of spectators, though nowhere as many as on the first or even second day of the contest. The rain had kept them all home, though there were a few familiar faces at the foot of the stage. Madame Iree and Headmistress Duvet stood together, huddled beneath their enormous umbrellas.

  Several feet away, Adler Iree stood, hands in pockets, no umbrella to speak of, looking highly amused. Why he would wish to stand in the soaking rain like that was beyond Oona. Boys could be so strange sometimes. Yet he gave her a thumbs-up gesture as she took to the stage, and she felt her heart skip a beat. It was the first positive feeling she’d felt all morning. But that burst of delight was quickly smashed when she caught sight of Roderick Rutherford and his father.

  Oona forced herself to look away, fearing that she might march straight across the stage and slap Sir Baltimore in the face. But she appeased herself with the thought that Roderick had not made it to the final challenge. It was now down to just Oona and Isadora—Isadora, who was presently holding an umbrella and standing beside a large hand-painted sign. The architect was nowhere to be seen.

  Oona moved to Isadora’s side, reading the sign:

  BOTH CONTESTANTS ARE TO TAKE THE ELEVATOR

  TO THE TOP FLOOR FOR THE FINAL CLUE.

  Oona and Isadora looked at the rickety elevator and then at each other.

  “Ready to lose?” Isadora asked.

  “Easy,” Deacon whispered in Oona’s ear.

  Oona cracked a smile. “I will see you when I return, Deacon.”

  Deacon dipped his head before flying from her shoulder to wait beside the Wizard and Samuligan. Oona and Isadora stepped into the elevator cage and were immediately hoisted into the air. As they rose, Samuligan’s invisible umbrella disappeared, leaving Oona open to the rain.

  Isadora let out a sharp laugh, but a moment later, a strong wind gusted, tearing Isadora’s umbrella from her hand. The umbrella folded itself and fell earthbound through the bars of the elevator cage. A bark of laughter could be heard coming from below, and Oona recognized it instantly to be Samuligan’s sharp chortle.

  “You did that!” Isadora snapped.

  “I did nothing of the sort!” Oona snapped back.

  Isadora shook her head, disbelieving. “I know you can do all kinds of magic. And still you can’t beat me in this contest.”

  “The reason I haven’t beat you is because you’ve been cheating,” Oona said.

  The two of them were getting plenty soaked, and the higher they went, the harder the wind began to blow.

  Isadora clung to the metal cage of the elevator, her wet hair slapping against her forehead. “Like I said before … prove it!”

  “I will prove it, Isadora,” Oona said, driblets of water rolling down her cheeks. “Just as soon as I beat you in this competition.”

  “No chance,” said Isadora.

  “We’ll see,” said Oona, and the two of them were quiet for what seemed a long time.

  The elevator continued to climb, rocking from side to side in the increasingly strong winds. The rain pelted them, soaking their dresses through to the skin, and by the time they reached the top, the two of them were shivering, hands clinging to the bars of the elevator cage for support.

  Oona glanced down. She could barely make out the stage through the rain as the tower rocked several feet from one side to the other, like a ship adrift in unsteady waters.

  Feeling slightly dizzy, not to mention queasy in the stomach, Oona looked away from the ground and up toward the top of the pyramid. The point disappeared in the thick soup of clouds overhead.

  A metal landing with a rail along one side jutted six feet out of the side of the pyramid like a wobbly dock. Water poured off the metal in a smooth torrent. It looked quite slick.

  “We should go one at a time,” Oona suggested.

  Isadora nodded, though, from the look on her face, Oona could see that the fine young lady had lost much of her confidence.

  “Would you like me to go first?” Oona asked.

  Isadora shook her head. “No. I was the first to finish yesterday. I should be the first to enter the pyramid.”

  Oona raised an eyebrow and shrugged. She looked at the slippery walkway and then down to the blurry outline of the park hundreds of feet below.

  “Be my guest,” she said.

  But Isadora did not move, only continued to stare at the metal walkway as if it were a vicious creature waiting for her to step into its lair.

  Finally, Oona moved forward.

  “One of us has to go first,” she said, and stepped gingerly from the elevator to the landing, grabbing hold of the railing along the left side.

  The landing dipped and creaked, but held. So long as she kept hold of the railing, she thought she would be okay. Slowly, she began sliding her feet across the metal walkway. The landing creaked and squeaked like a wounded animal in the rain, but the closer she came to the pyramid, the more confident she began to feel.

  Without warning, the walkway suddenly pitched back, and Oona’s feet slid out from beneath her. Her scream cut through the rain like a knife as she clung desperately to the railing. For one terrifying instant it seemed like the entire landing was going to tear away from the building, but the movement stopped and Oona quickly pulled herself back to her feet. A second scream pierced the storm. Whipping her head around, Oona saw why the landing had pitched back.

  Isadora Iree was hanging off the end of the landing, feet dangling over the edge. She clung to the bottom of the railing, wailing in terror.

  “Help! Help! I’m going to fall!”

  Unthinking, Oona darted back. She thrust her hand out and clasped Isadora’s fingers. Isadora clamped down on Oona’s hand, and Oona heaved back with all of her strength. Isadora’s soaked dress did not help. She was terribly heavy.

  Oona’s feet started to slip, and for one heart-stopping instant she was quite certain that the two of them were going to tumble over the edge together. Isadora kicked her legs, as if trying to swim through the rain back onto the landing. It seemed to work.

  One hand on the railing and the other clamped to both of Isadora’s, Oona let loose a low grunt and tugged with everything she had. Isadora slid across the lip of the landing just as Oona’s hand slipped. Oona toppled backward and caught hold of the railing. Her breath stopped. She righted herself and looked around, fully expecting to see Isadora gone.

  But Isadora was there, coughing and pulling herself up on the railing. Oona breathed a sigh of relief before gingerly making her way to the door in the side of the pyramid. Several seconds later Isadora joined her, the two of them shivering like skeletons in an earthquake.

  “Th-th-thank you,” said Isadora, the words sounding genuine, yet foreign upon her lips.

  “Of course,” Oona said, feeling relieved that she had saved Isadora’s life, and yet another part of her—the competitive part—felt nervous and uneasy about what they were about to face.

  This was the final stage of the competition, after all—the part that no one had ever completed—and it was with both excitem
ent and trepidation that she swallowed a heavy lump in her throat, and said: “Let’s get this thing started.”

  She opened the door, and the two of them entered the final stage of the Magician’s Tower Contest.

  The architect was waiting for them at the center of the empty pyramid.

  A fire crackled within a large brick fireplace, and the room was quite warm. Aside from the fireplace, the only other adornment was that of a metal chain that hung down from the center point of the pyramid. The chain stopped approximately ten feet above the floor, at the end of which hung a black box. About the size of a bread box, the mysterious object dangled directly above a large red X painted on the floor.

  The two girls approached the tiny man in the top hat, and Oona eyed the box wondrously. This was it, she knew: the infamous black puzzle box, the one she had read about and which no contestant had ever managed to solve. She was eager to get her hands on it.

  Static electricity suddenly filled the room, and a heartbeat later, thunder boomed outside as if a giant fist had pounded the top of the tower.

  Oona and Isadora jumped.

  “Congratulations,” said the architect. “You are the final two contestants. You have made it through many trials to get here, and you both deserve a hearty round of applause.”

  The architect began to clap loudly as Oona and Isadora stopped several feet from the center of the room. They looked at each other, no doubt sharing the same sense of embarrassment at being applauded by a single person, and yet the rain on the walls created a kind of auditory illusion, as if thousands of invisible people filled the room, applauding in a raucous standing ovation.

  This went on for far too long, in Oona’s opinion, but finally the odd little man stopped clapping and steepled his hands at his chest. His expression became quite serious.

  “I have only one question for you now,” he said. “One final, mental feat. Answer correctly and you will move on to the final physical challenge, a task that no one has conquered in over five hundred years. Answer incorrectly and you will be out of the competition.” He smiled, spreading his hands in a grand gesture like a circus ringleader. “We will flip a coin to see which of you will attempt to answer first.”

  Oona’s eyebrows pulled closer together. “But if the first person answers correctly, then won’t the second person have the advantage of giving the same answer?”

  The architect touched the side of his nose and nodded. “That is precisely the case. If that happens, we will then flip another coin to see which of you will have the first hour with the final challenge.” His eyes flicked toward the hanging box. “Now, Miss Iree, since you won the challenge yesterday, I will allow you to call the toss. If your side lands faceup, then you will go first.”

  The architect removed a coin from his pocket and tossed it keenly into the air.

  “Heads,” Isadora called. The coin flipped end over end, arching high, nearly hitting the hanging black box. It landed in the middle of the red X on the floor.

  “Heads it is!” declared the architect.

  Oona breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that any advantage Isadora might have had—like knowing the answer ahead of time—was about to become Oona’s own advantage.

  “Please step forward, Miss Iree,” said the architect, indicating that she should stand in the center of the red X.

  Isadora took her place, facing the architect, looking calm and collected. Oona noticed a slight smirk on Isadora’s face. The girl was so infuriatingly sure of herself!

  “Are you ready?” the architect asked.

  “As ever,” said Isadora.

  “Very good then. My question is this: What time do the Iron Gates open upon New York City?”

  Oona’s mouth dropped open and she shook her head, unsure if she should believe her own ears. This was the final mental challenge? After all they had been through? Could it possibly be that easy? She forced herself to hold back a laugh. It was ridiculous, and yet … and yet to look at Isadora Iree, one might have thought the architect had asked her to calculate the distance between the earth and the moon using only a hand ruler.

  At first, Oona mistook Isadora’s dismay for that of surprise at the simplicity of the question, but it did not take long to realize that Isadora, for whatever reason, was simply stumped. Her eyes rounded, shifting nervously in their sockets.

  Finally, Isadora took in a deep breath and uttered the word: “Rutabaga.”

  Oona took in a sharp breath, unable to believe her ears. Had Isadora Iree just said rutabaga?

  Even more peculiar, the architect was presently nodding his head, as if, yes indeed, the answer to his question was the name of a root vegetable. Oona had never felt more confused in her life.

  “I thought you might say that,” the architect said. “But I’m sorry, Miss Iree, your answer is incorrect.”

  “Oh, I know,” Isadora said quickly. “I know it is, but … well … the real answer is—”

  But what the real answer was, Isadora did not get the chance to say. She let out a sudden yelp as a trapdoor gave way beneath her feet, and the fine young lady disappeared through the hole below. A moment later, the door closed, once again displaying the large red X on the floor, and leaving Oona and the architect alone.

  “Oh, dear,” said the architect. “I forgot to get my coin back.”

  “Is she going to be okay?” Oona asked.

  “She’ll be fine,” said the architect. “In fact, she’ll most likely be coming out at the bottom of the tower”—he glanced at his pocket watch—“right about … now. It is the longest slide I have ever designed … quite fun.”

  Oona had an idea that Isadora Iree would not be having fun on her way down, but she kept this thought to herself as the architect motioned for her to step forward onto the X, and Oona’s nerves all at once began to tingle.

  “Your turn, Miss Crate,” the architect said. “My question to you is: What time do the Iron Gates open upon New York City?”

  Oona hesitated, running the question over in her mind, making sure there were no tricks. The architect’s eyebrows rose, as if surprised at her hesitation, and Oona felt quite silly. What had Isadora been thinking—rutabaga?—when the real answer was without any doubt …

  “Midnight?” She said it questioningly, as if she were unsure, and then closed her eyes, half expecting the floor to fall out from beneath her. The floor, however, did not move. Several seconds later, Oona opened her eyes to find the architect looking rather amused.

  “Of course midnight is correct,” he said. “When has it ever been different?”

  Oona felt her breath leave her lungs, suddenly aware that she had been holding it.

  “Congratulations,” the architect said. “You have made it to the final challenge, and you have done it honestly.” The short man burst out laughing, shaking his head back and forth. “Rutabaga! I can’t believe she actually said it.”

  Oona laughed as well, though she suspected they were not laughing at the same thing. Finally, she asked: “How did you know she would say rutabaga?”

  The architect composed himself, clearing his throat and straightening his hat. “It was in the plans,” he said. “Rutabaga was the answer to the final question, but it was a false answer, meant to expose anyone who might have gotten their hands on the plans and used them to cheat.”

  Oona placed her finger to her lips, thinking. So that was it. Isadora had gotten her hands on the plans, and that was how she had been winning all the tasks—not from some all-knowing punchbowl after all.

  “But how did Isadora get hold of the plans?” Oona asked.

  “That, I don’t know,” the architect said. “The only time I was ever separated from the plans was the night of the party. But the plans were missing for only a minute or two before they were found on the ground.”

  Oona nodded. “Then how did she get hold of them?”

  The architect once again shrugged. “It does not matter now. And you have one final test to complete.” He gestured tow
ard the hanging box overhead. “I submit to you: the box.”

  He pulled at what appeared to be some kind of hidden lever along the wall, and the box dropped from the chain. Oona took in a sharp breath, catching it in her open arms. It was very light and extremely smooth. The black color seemed to come from the wood itself, rather than from paint or a stain. Rolling it over in her hands, she could find nowhere to open it. No lock. No seam. No hinge. Nothing but solid box. It was a perfect mystery, and Oona was fascinated.

  The architect tapped the box with a short, stubby finger. “In over five hundred years of these contests, the best and the brightest of minds have come to this very place and held that box. None of them have managed to open it. Perhaps you will be the one.” He looked at his watch. “You have one hour.”

  As usual, when Oona had a problem before her, she barely heard the words spoken to her. She moved to the fireplace, where the light was best and the warmth might begin to dry her soaking dress and wet hair. She sat on the floor before the hearth, the box cradled in her lap.

  At first she only looked at it, as if her gaze might penetrate the box, discovering its contents by willpower alone, but after a minute of heavy concentration she began to run the tips of her fingers along the sides of the smooth surface.

  She found no flaw. No cracks. Nothing to indicate that it could be opened at all. She shook it beside her ear, like a child attempting to discover the contents of a birthday present.

  She reached into her pocket for her magnifying glass, only to discover that it was not there. She checked all of her pockets, but they were empty. To her dismay, she all at once remembered changing out of her wet dress the day before. She had placed the contents of her pockets—including the magnifying glass—on her dressing table and then gone straight to bed, evidently failing to place them in the fresh dress she put on when she awoke.

  She sighed. It might have been helpful to have had the glass, even if it had been just the comfort of having a bit of her father with her … to help her see clearly.