Zigzag Effect

by Lili Wilkinson

  ‘So nice you could come out here and join us,’ said Herb. ‘What a picture of domesticity.’

  She delivered a flat look at Herb. ‘The light isn’t strong enough in my room.’

  He rolled his eyes, and disappeared backstage with the garbage bag.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Sage. ‘With the splinter?’

  Bianca looked up, seemingly surprised that Sage was there. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, and went back to her sewing.

  Sage grabbed a broom and began to sweep the stage. She wasn’t sure what she’d done, but it was clear that Bianca didn’t like her. Apart from giggling at Sage’s name, she had barely acknowledged her presence, except to occasionally tell her how to correctly set a prop. She reminded Sage of the Snow Queen, fragile and brittle and unimaginably beautiful. Sage wondered what it would take to melt her frozen heart.

  She heard footsteps and turned, expecting Herb, but saw The Great Armand instead. He didn’t look nearly as grand up close. He was older, for one thing, with yellowed teeth, and grey pouches under his eyes. A stale mustiness emanated from his clothes.

  ‘Armand,’ said Bianca, ‘this is Sage. Remember how Herb asked if he could hire someone to look after the books and tickets and stuff? Well, here she is. Apparently she’s a genius with computers.’ Bianca didn’t sound particularly impressed.

  ‘It’s not that complex,’ said Sage. ‘It’s just a basic booking system.’

  Armand’s eyes slid over Sage, as if she weren’t quite interesting enough to focus on. ‘Welcome,’ he said vaguely, all trace of his mysterious and theatric European accent gone.

  ‘Er,’ said Sage. ‘Thank you. I’m very happy to be here.’

  Armand clearly wasn’t listening – he was staring at Bianca. She was wearing a loose velvet dress, and with her head bent over her sewing, she looked like a princess from a fairytale. Sage noticed that Armand’s eyes were not on Bianca’s face, or her shining golden hair, or even on her sewing. They were firmly focused – with all the focus that he had failed to achieve with Sage – on Bianca’s cleavage.

  Sage’s skin crawled. Didn’t Armand get to stare at Bianca’s boobs enough? She was practically naked through the whole show.

  ‘Actually,’ said Sage, ‘there was something I wanted to talk to you about.’

  ‘Hmm?’ Armand’s eyes didn’t move.

  ‘Um,’ said Sage. ‘I’ve just been going over the accounts, tidying up the financial records and things. I learnt how to do basic book-balancing at school. And there seem to be some discrepancies.’

  Armand wrenched his gaze away from Bianca’s boobs. ‘Discrepancies?’

  ‘I’m sure it’s just an accounting error,’ said Sage, ‘but there seems to be some money missing. Not a lot, around nine hundred dollars. I was just wondering if there’s some extra paperwork that I don’t know about.’

  Armand’s face clouded over. ‘It isn’t really your job to be poking through my financial records,’ he said shortly. ‘When I want financial advice, I’ll consult a professional.’

  Sage felt her face go red. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Okay. It’s just that I thought—’

  ‘You were slow in the sub-trunk routine yesterday,’ said Armand, turning back to Bianca, who was sucking on her finger and glaring at her sewing needle.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Bianca, taking her finger from her mouth. ‘The hinge on the box sticks. I’ll get Herb to look at it.’

  ‘The routine isn’t working.’

  Bianca put down her needle. ‘Have you thought about my suggestion?’ she asked. ‘Of me performing the switch from inside the box, instead of you doing it once I’m gone? I think the misdirection would be much cleaner.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Armand in a weary voice. ‘If you’re already in the box, there’s nowhere to slide the dummy.’

  Bianca shrugged, and nodded her head prettily. ‘I guess it was a little optimistic.’

  ‘When will you learn to think before you speak?’ said Armand. ‘I know we make it seem easy, but these effects are the results of years of planning and design, even before we get to rehearsals. It’s all very easy to dream up a new solution, but translating it into something that’s actually usable onstage is another matter entirely.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Bianca said with a placatory smile. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’m adding a new routine at the midpoint,’ said Armand. ‘The Zigzag Effect.’

  Sage saw Bianca’s shoulders stiffen. ‘Really?’ she said, after a moment’s pause. ‘You don’t think it’s a bit close to the sword cabinet in the finale?’

  ‘I do not,’ said Armand. ‘You know the routine. We’ll run through it once before the show tomorrow. Make sure you’re on time.’

  He nodded sharply, then dragged his eyes away from Bianca’s chest and wandered back in the direction of his dressing-room.

  ‘I will,’ Bianca said brightly. She waited until they heard Armand’s dressing-room door close. ‘As if I’m not always here three hours before he is,’ she muttered.

  ‘He seems … kind of mean,’ said Sage. ‘And more than a little sleazy.’

  Bianca shrugged. ‘He’s not that bad,’ she said. ‘You’ll get used to him ogling you.’

  Sage didn’t bother to point out that Armand had barely noticed her, and that Bianca had been his sole ogling target. ‘How long have you worked for him?’ she asked instead.

  Bianca counted on her fingers. ‘Five years,’ she said. ‘Since I was seventeen.’

  ‘Is he always this … grumpy?’

  Bianca snipped a thread with a little pair of scissors. ‘He’s especially grumpy today because he’s just found out that Jason Jones, a rival magician, has booked a show at the Arts Centre in the city while we’re still mouldering away here in this dump.’

  This was by far the longest conversation Sage had ever had with Bianca. She felt like she was making progress, so she pressed on with a question she’d been dying to ask.

  ‘You said the theatre was haunted?’

  Bianca looked up from her sewing. Sage had finally got her attention. ‘There are lots of stories about this place,’ she said. ‘And I’ve definitely felt things.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  Bianca leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. ‘Occasionally when I’m onstage, I walk into a really cold spot, even though the lighting coverage is totally even. Just one little spot is icy cold. And sometimes when I’m here late at night, I see little movements out of the corner of my eye, as if someone’s there. But when I turn around, they’re gone.’

  Sage shivered.

  ‘I’ve also heard weird noises,’ said Bianca. ‘Like someone muttering. And sometimes I come in and find the props have been moved around, or some of my makeup has been knocked over. That sort of thing.’

  ‘Is there anywhere in particular where it happens?’ asked Sage, wondering where she could centre her investigation.

  ‘On the stage,’ said Bianca. ‘And in my dressing-room.’

  Sage told Bianca about her mission to capture a photo of the ghost. ‘I’d love to take some photos of you, too,’ she said shyly. ‘In your dressing-room or onstage. It’s for a photography class I’m about to start.’

  Bianca shrugged. ‘Sure,’ she said, and Sage thought she’d seen a hint of warmth beneath her emotionless exterior.

  ‘What’s the new trick?’ asked Sage, not wanting their conversation to end. ‘The Zigzag Effect?’

  Bianca’s cool expression faltered slightly. ‘It’s a classic,’ she said. ‘I get into a cabinet and then Armand splits it into four boxes and moves them around so it looks as if I’ve been cut into thirds, but I can still wiggle my toes and wave a handkerchief.’

  Sage remembered her sick feeling when Bianca had been inside the box and Armand had pushed in the first sword.

  ‘It sounds creepy,’ said Sage. ‘But it’s safe, right? I mean, they’re all just tricks. You’re not really getting cut up.’

  ‘Of course it’s sa
fe.’

  ‘You’ve never been injured during a show?’

  Bianca hesitated, then lifted the blonde hair from her forehead to reveal a two-inch scar. ‘That was from the sword cabinet,’ she said. ‘And I have a burn on my stomach from the flaming torch effect. And I’ve always got bruises on my shins from the sub-trunk, and various other scrapes and bumps and splinters and things.’ She took one of her bare feet in her hands and rubbed the sole. ‘Not to mention how much my feet hurt after every show.’

  Sage swallowed. ‘What happened? With the swords.’

  Bianca shrugged. ‘That effect is all about timing. If Armand breaks his rhythm for some reason …’ She put her hand to her forehead. ‘It bled all over the place. Luckily it was the last effect in the show, so we didn’t have to stop halfway through. I went backstage and called myself an ambulance while Armand took his curtain call.’

  ‘You called yourself an ambulance?’

  ‘Who else would have done it?’ Bianca asked. ‘It was before Herb worked here. It was just me and Armand.’

  She didn’t say anything else, but there was a sad, lonely look on her face that made Sage itch to photograph her. How did she start working for a magician? And why did she stay? Bianca was beautiful and talented – why didn’t she become an actor or a model or something that would pay better, without putting her in danger of being stabbed or burnt every night?

  ‘You still do it,’ she said. ‘The swords in the box. Even though you got hurt.’

  Bianca smiled. ‘I was too scared to for a while,’ she said. ‘But then Herb came along and totally redesigned the effect. It’s completely safe now – there’s no way I could get hurt.’

  ‘When was that?’ Sage felt nosy asking so many questions, but she wanted to know how the strange group fitted together. Plus, Bianca seemed to be opening up a little.

  ‘Two years ago,’ said Bianca. ‘He’s a pain in the butt, but I guess he’s useful for some things.’

  ‘My ears are burning,’ said Herb as he joined them, his arms full of lollies and chips from the vending machine. ‘Say more nice things about me.’

  Bianca raised an eyebrow. ‘Sorry. That was all I had.’

  Herb dumped the junk food on the table. ‘I was hungry. Help yourselves.’

  Bianca wrinkled her nose, but Sage opened a packet of jelly snakes and took out three green ones.

  ‘Green?’ said Herb. ‘Really?’

  ‘I like green. What’s wrong with green?’

  Herb shook his head. ‘If you have to ask the question, then you don’t deserve to know the answer.’

  Sage hid a smile. Herb was definitely flirting with her.

  ‘You realise this is all for your benefit, right?’ said Bianca drily, turning to Sage. ‘He’s usually Mr Sourpuss Grumpypants after a show, can’t wait to get out of here.’

  ‘Bianca.’ It was Armand again, his face blank and empty. ‘Can I see you for a moment? In my dressing-room?’

  Bianca nodded, and put away her needle and scissors.

  ‘Wonder what that’s about,’ Herb said, chewing on his purple snake.

  ‘Probably about the new trick Armand wants to add.’

  Herb frowned. ‘What new trick?’

  ‘I think it’s called the Zigzag?’

  ‘Armand wants to add Zigzag?’ Herb made a face. ‘Isn’t it too similar to the sword cabinet?’

  ‘Apparently not.’

  ‘I bet Bianca’s thrilled.’

  ‘It sounds awful,’ said Sage. ‘I hate those creepy lady-cutting-up tricks.’

  She put her broom away, and she and Herb started to set the props and effects for the next performance. Sage was learning where everything went, and realising how much preparation was involved in Armand’s show. Certain objects had to be hidden in the black velvet bag behind the card table. Two wooden chairs needed to be positioned in a certain place in the wings. A backstage table held paper, black markers, a spare top hat, silk scarves, metal rings and other assorted items.

  Sage picked up Armand’s white-tipped black magic wand. ‘It looks just like my brother’s one,’ she said.

  ‘Ah,’ said Herb, taking the wand from her. ‘But can your brother do this?’

  Herb’s post-show sugar high was in full swing. He juggled the turnip, egg and orange from the cups-and-balls routine, and then caught the egg on the tip of Armand’s magic wand and let it balance there. He leaned backwards as he tried and failed to balance the magic wand on the end of his nose. The wand clattered to the stage floor, and Sage lunged across the space between them to catch the egg before it splattered on the ground. To her surprise, she caught it, but her mad dash had thrown her off balance, and she stumbled backwards, stepping on the magic wand and snapping it in half.

  Sage stared at the egg in her hand. It wasn’t cool enough, and the weight was all wrong. ‘It isn’t real,’ she said, disappointed.

  ‘This is magic,’ said Herb, taking the egg, bouncing it off the floor and catching it. ‘None of it’s real.’

  ‘What have you done?’ It was Bianca, standing in the wings, a strange expression on her face.

  ‘Oops,’ said Sage. ‘Sorry.’ She bent to pick up the broken wand.

  ‘Don’t touch it.’ Bianca took a step forward. ‘A broken wand on a magician’s stage is a terrible omen.’ She looked as if she was about to burst into tears.

  ‘Oh brother,’ said Herb. ‘Bianca, cut the theatrics. Sage, it’s not as if it’s Harry Potter’s wand. It’s a piece of wooden dowel painted black and white. The reason it looks the same as your brother’s is because it is the same. The only difference is that your brother or, I assume, one of your parents, had to pay a ridiculous eleven dollars for it, whereas we buy them in bulk for fifty cents each. They break all the time because they’re cheap and nasty.’

  ‘Not on the stage,’ said Bianca. ‘They never break on the stage.’

  ‘What does it mean?’ Sage asked. ‘The omen?’

  Bianca slowly turned her head to look at her. ‘Death,’ she said, after a moment’s pause. ‘It means death. Whenever a magician dies, fellow magicians hold a ritual, where they break his or her wand. It lets their magic escape. Except … if the wand is broken before the magician dies, in the place where his or her magic is strongest …’ She waved a hand to indicate the theatre. ‘Then the magician will be cursed, and death will follow soon thereafter.’

  Sage shivered, and suddenly wished she was at home. She blinked as she realised that, for the first time, she had pictured home as the crumbling Victorian terrace, instead of her old house near the beach.

  ‘Do you really believe that?’ she asked.

  Bianca shook her head and tried to smile. ‘Not really,’ she said, a little tremor still in her voice. ‘I’m sure it’s bad luck, though.’

  Herb rolled his eyes. ‘Bianca, the wand-breaking ritual is all very cute and everything, but there is no actual magic in a magic wand. Magicians don’t do real magic. We do effects. Using all sorts of misdirection and sleight of hand. But there is no real magic. Therefore breaking a fake magic wand cannot possibly create bad luck. Because there is no such thing as real magic.’

  Bianca scowled at Herb. ‘Even if you don’t believe in the supernatural, you can’t deny that many superstitions are rooted in common sense. Like walking under ladders and breaking mirrors – they can both be genuinely dangerous.’

  ‘And just as many are total nonsense,’ said Herb. ‘Like black cats, or spilt salt, or the number thirteen. And painted pieces of wood breaking in half.’

  ‘I still say it’s bad luck.’

  ‘Are there lots of theatrical superstitions?’ asked Sage. ‘I mean, apart from the obvious one.’

  Bianca ticked them off her fingers. ‘Don’t use real money, real Bibles, real jewellery, real flowers or real peacock feathers onstage. Don’t wear yellow clothes or new makeup. Don’t knit, clap or whistle onstage or backstage. A cat in the theatre is good luck, but not if it runs across the stage. Never reh
earse the final line of a performance, or the curtain call.’

  ‘And the other one,’ said Sage. ‘The famous one.’

  Herb’s face arranged itself into an expression of crafty innocence. ‘What famous one?’

  Bianca looked at him suspiciously. ‘Don’t you dare.’

  ‘Everyone knows it,’ said Sage.

  Bianca swung round and glared at her. ‘Shh. Don’t encourage him.’

  ‘Encourage me?’ Herb spread his hands wide. ‘What would she be encouraging me to do?’ He sauntered onto the middle of the stage. ‘What?’ he said, turning back to them. ‘Do you think I’m going to stand here and do this?’

  He whistled a short tune, and then applauded himself, laughing.

  ‘Stop it,’ hissed Bianca, glancing around nervously.

  ‘Or I could count the change in my pocket,’ he said, pulling out a twenty-dollar note, and holding it between his right thumb and forefinger. ‘Damn.’ He frowned at the note. ‘Looks like I don’t have any change.’

  He waved his left hand over the note, making it vanish. He showed both his empty hands to Sage and Bianca, and then shook his wrist. A handful of ten- and twenty-cent pieces clattered out from his sleeve, rolling and bouncing on the floor.

  ‘Okay,’ Bianca said. ‘I get it. You’re very clever, and you’re enjoying showing off to your pretty new friend. Now cut it out.’

  Sage started. Was she the pretty new friend? And what was going on? Why had Bianca’s tone suddenly turned so cold?

  Herb grinned and held out both hands to Bianca, as if offering a peace treaty. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said, chuckling. ‘Lucky for you I don’t have a Bible, peacock feathers, or any candles. And I left my knitting at home. But tell me, does the cat running across the stage thing still work if it’s a bunny? Because I could go and wake up Warren …’

  He went to walk offstage, but stopped and grabbed both of Sage’s hands, and dragged her into the centre of the stage. ‘I’m curious, though,’ he said. ‘What was the superstition you were thinking of?’

  Sage opened her mouth to inform him that while she didn’t really believe in the supernatural, she didn’t see the point in taking any chances, but Herb stopped her by laying a finger on her lips. Sage felt her heart start to beat faster.