After the evening’s performance, Half Horse once again conferred with Voice Like A Drum and explained his theory.
“I believe that the black one’s power is derived from his hat,” Half Horse said.
Voice Like A Drum sighed deeply.
“Hear me out, please! We all saw how like a devil he looked and that his hat never left his head except to work wonders. From this hat, he produced birds, cloths, a rabbit fit for eating, and a flour cake. Doesn’t it stand to reason that the source of his power would sit close to the brain, ready to receive its commands?”
Voice Like A Drum took a pull on his pipe. “I agree with you that this white man looks odd, and that his hat is unique—but I do not believe that our chief would bring a demon into our midst. Standing Bear tells us that these are mere tricks achieved by patience, another gift of the Unknown—like the penis we talked about.”
“I tire of hearing about the penis!” Half Horse said. “A big penis and the ability to make a boy float in air are not the same thing.”
“Perhaps this is not something we were meant to know,” Voice Like A Drum said. “Perhaps Half Horse should simply be content to be amazed like the rest of us.”
All that day Half Horse thought about the hat. How it had brought forth animals, how cards had gone into it and emerged from behind ears. The only way to know if the hat was the source of One Tongue’s power was to see if that power could transfer to him.
For this it would be necessary to have the hat.
When the camp was asleep, Half Horse put his knife between his teeth and crept inside One Tongue’s lodge. The bright moon shone through the smoke opening and he could see the two men asleep on their palettes. At first, it was hard to determine which man was which: both were white with black mustaches and both slept on their sides, hiding half their faces.
Then in the shadows, Half Horse saw the hat.
It stood like a trophy upon a pile of neatly folded clothes. Without a sound, he made his way toward the center of the Lodge and transferred the knife to his hand. Two swift cuts to each neck and a second to grab the hat would be all that was needed. Yes, Standing Bear would be angry at first, but once the hat’s powers were transported to him, he would have proof that the magician was a demon and the egg eater his familiar; and he would be installed once again as Speaker.
The first blow to his head knocked him sideways; the second caused the knife to drop from his hand. As Half Horse attempted to rise, a blunt object caught him in the chest. In the near-darkness, he could see the outline of a man, naked and crouched low to fight. Half Horse threw himself upon the figure, his hands reaching for his neck; but the shadow dissolved and caught him with a fist to the kidney, knocking the wind from his lungs. Coughing and spitting, Half Horse reached toward the spot where the knife had fallen, seized it, and aimed its blade at the pale blue eye of the devil who had cost him so much.
16
AS ADELAIDE SCARCEZ MADE HER WAY DOWN KENSINGTON High Street, small aches tortured every part of her body.
She had underestimated just how difficult this new dance would be. The cancan it was called—and it had only recently been imported from France. When she had first seen the dance mistress’ demonstration, it looked easy enough—a lot of bouncing on one foot and ruffling of frilly skirts. But Adelaide soon learned that this cancan utilized an entirely different set of muscles than Coppelia or Giselle; and the yelping and screaming required of the performer left the throat sore and the head aching. The rehearsal had lasted three hours and Adelaide had been released just as most of proper London was beginning its afternoon tea.
At Wright’s Lane, she stopped before a French café called Le Patisserie Moliere. The window was filled with cream cakes and tiny sandwiches of salmon mousse and cucumber. Farther back in the room, she could see tables of ladies laughing into their steaming cups and taking delicate bites of watercress and butter. How she would have loved to stop and enjoy the four o’clock ritual; but she was already late for her appointment, and the lone tuppence she carried in her beaded bag was hardly enough for some Earl Grey and milk.
Adelaide turned left onto Kensington Church Street and left again into Bedford Gardens. The small street was lined with linden trees and tall blocks of homes and flats, their façades a beautiful pastiche: here classical Greek, there Romanesque or Georgian, a gorgeous jumble of terra-cotta and brick that nevertheless formed a pleasing whole. She found number twelve and walked through its double doors. She gave her card to the concierge and, as he guided her through the corridor and up the stairs, she hoped he wouldn’t hear the growling below her waist.
At the top of the steps, they were met by a maid; she was young and pretty and dressed in a uniform so spotless that Adelaide couldn’t imagine that she had ever held so much as a clothing whisk.
“You’d be Miss Scarcez, then?
“Yes.”
“Welcome, ma’am. My name is Glynis. The master will be with you in half a mo.”
The maid walked Adelaide into a reception hall off the main sitting room and gestured toward a large upholstered chair.
“If you’d sit here for just a few seconds, he’ll come greet you personally.”
The maid left the room. Adelaide sat down and surveyed the large apartment.
It was designed in the style currently a la mode, French Second Empire throughout. The large mantel was carved from white marble, Corinthian columns adorning each side. Soaring above it was a black onyx mirror some ten feet tall and inlaid with gold. The chairs and settees were fashioned from dark ebony and upholstered in a deep scarlet. They sat on a room-sized Persian carpet custom-designed to match their bamboo and rose flower patterns. The windows were hung with red floor-to-ceiling curtains trimmed in black brocade and topped with ebony capitals.
“Ah, Miss Scarcez!”
Adelaide jumped from the chair, her purse dropping from her hands.
“Oh! Professor Herrmann! Forgive me, but you gave me quite a start.”
The Great Herrmann smiled and took her hand. “It is I who should ask forgiveness. We magicians are a sneaky lot—and sometimes we appear when we should simply arrive. But please. Sit down.”
Adelaide smiled weakly and picked up her purse from the floor. From deeper in the flat came the smell of something cooking. It is after four, she thought. Perhaps he will offer me some tea and a biscuit? Or invite me to stay to dinner?
She reached into the purse and removed a small envelope.
“I have my references, Professor …”
“Please, dear young lady. I would ask that you address me as Herr Docktor or Herr Docktor Herrmann. A silly affectation, but there it is.”
“Oh. Oh, of course. As I said, here are my references …”
“Thank you, but that will be quite unnecessary.”
Adelaide gave the magician a puzzled look. “But the note you sent round to the theatre this morning. I believe it said something about an offer of employment.”
“Indeed it, did, Miss Scarcez—but had I not known all I needed to know about you already, I would not have sent the message.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, for instance, I know that you were born to Belgian parents here in London and that their untimely demise has left you an orphan nearly bereft of means. I know also that you are a fine dancer, a favorite among the aficionados of the smaller ballet companies, and that you are especially renowned for your Sylphide. I sent my letter to the theatre at which you are currently rehearsing, which should make it obvious that I am aware of your current incarnation as an exemplar of that avant garde art form—the cancan, is it not? Up until now, I had only heard of your titian hair, your fair skin and green eyes—in short, your beauty. But upon meeting you, I see that my source, so correct about all else, was a victim of the usual English understatement.”
Adelaide was chilled by the compliment. Her stomach turned over, its hunger replaced by unease. His grin put her in mind of the villains in Le Corsaire.
“Sir, you surprise me, and that is no easy task—a girl alone who has been through what I have does not shock readily. Even so, I must please ask who is this ‘source’ of yours who spies on me as if I were a Whitechapel cutpurse.”
“Miss Scarcez, this too is unnecessary. I am by trade a conjurer, and I ask that you simply accept that I have obtained these details by magic. Please know that I mean you no harm and that by listening to my proposition you will benefit greatly. The position that I offer will pay full ten and six a week from the employer and an additional guinea from me. As you shall live in the home of your master, there will be full meals included and no more rent to pay on that hovel in the Edgeware Road. The job will likely end by next year and if you are prudent and frugal, you will return to the stage a woman of some means, able to pick and choose your roles and avoid the sordid entanglements that sometimes victimize a young woman of the theatre.”
Adelaide’s fear turned to anger at his arrogance. She rose from her seat.
“Sir, your ‘magic’ does not work on me. As you have seen fit to spy on me and degrade me in a most cruel manner, I bid you good day with the admonition that you are not a gentleman.”
Adelaide turned and began to walk toward the door. Compars called after her without raising his voice.
“In that case, I shall need to report my failure to the Baronet Sir Godfrey de Morgan. He shall be most disappointed.”
Adelaide froze in place. She could feel the chill move from her stomach to her shoulders and arms and turn to heat on her face. She whirled and faced Compars with burning eyes.
“Oh, come, come, Miss Scarcez! Such righteous anger bores me. Sir Godfrey needs relief from his gambling debts and I need a smart girl to do a job. I say we get on with the transaction and let everyone involved be better off.”
Adelaide gripped her purse in both hands. She could hear the paper of the envelope crackle inside.
“I do not believe that Godfrey would have betrayed me to such a heartless man as you. Even if our association no longer exists, we were once in love.”
“That’s as may be, Miss Scarcez, but apparently the noble Godfrey prefers your betrayal—and his wife’s money—to his own ruin. The upper classes are used to a certain amount of scandal as long as their correspondents are from their own ranks—but a cancan dancer? I am afraid his reputation would be unrecoverable. As for yourself, the Lord Mayor and his sheriff assure me that there are already several reasons to lock you away in Holloway Castle: adultery, debt, even prostitution if it comes to that. Of course, you will get daily meals there—and it is not inconceivable that your Godfrey might even visit you from time to time. But I believe the plan I propose will bring a far better resolution all around.”
“Sir, I am at a loss; I have many times been accosted by men who merely sought the pleasure of my person. They have cajoled, they have flattered and even threatened. I have taken them as they came and even on occasion, submitted if I deemed it in my interest. But for a world-famous man to use a past love to blackmail a poor woman—can it be that such cruelty exists?”
Compars grinned. “I assure you, Miss Scarcez, it does.”
Adelaide’s shoulders sagged. She was accustomed to self-serving schemes and ulterior motives, but such honest and cheerful admission of wrongdoing was new to her and increased the horror of her defeat.
“Herr Docktor Herrmann, I am in your power for now. But that power does not prevent my saying that you are a foul and soulless bastard, due for a fine comeuppance—a blackguard whose resemblance to the devil is well earned. And all the magic in the world cannot change that.”
Compars smiled in appreciation. “Dry eyes. Straight back. You are all I was told of and more. A girl of guile and courage—exactly what is needed for this mission.”
The magician rose and opened the top drawer of an elaborate highboy. Inside was a stiff cardboard pouch emblazoned with his initials. He handed it to Adelaide.
“The information you will need is contained in this envelope—the nature of your assignment, the date of the interview with your ‘employer,’ and complete dossiers on both him and the woman he has brought with him from America. Study these well—and never forget that from this moment, you are working for me. I hope that our association will be mutually fruitful. Glynis will see you out.”
Compars bowed, turned on his heel and left the sitting room.
The pouch was heavy in her hands. Steadying herself on the balustrade, Adelaide edged down the stairs. She bade the maid good evening at the door and then crossed the street into Bedford Gardens park. She found an iron bench and sat down, trembling slightly and wondering what kind of deeds would be necessary to save her from disgrace and prison.
Adelaide unsealed the envelope. The first thing she saw inside was a ten-pound note.
Five minutes later, she was inside Le Patisserie Moliere. Afternoon tea was over and she sat alone in the café. She feared that she had embarrassed the waiter with the sheer amount she had ordered: four finger sandwiches, a beef pasty, and both a tart fine au pommes and two napoleons.
As she drained her second cup of tea, Adelaide reached into the pouch and pulled out two documents. They were written on cream-yellow paper in the finest of calligraphic hands.
She looked at the name on the top of the first one—and realized that whatever deviltry the great magician had in store was reserved for someone close to him.
HERRMANN, it read. ALEXANDER.
17
BEFORE ALEXANDER’S ARRIVAL, STANDING BEAR HAD SPENT an hour before the tribe explaining that what they would see that night was not hell’s medicine, but a mere exhibition, achieved through worldly means.
“Replace fear with amazement,” he had told them, “and above all, do not attack the cousin of One Tongue as a sorcerer.” To his relief, this preparation was successful. No one had fainted at the sight of a boy in midair; no brave had sought the magician’s death for turning milk from white to red. Instead, the Ponca had laughed and applauded, and the feast that followed the performance had lasted long into the night.
Then a jealous fool had committed the ultimate crime against hospitality. The sun had not yet risen when Standing Bear faced Alexander in his lodge.
“It is a bad thing that has occurred here. One Tongue’s kin came to us in peace, hoping only to delight us as he has delighted the world. Now I fear he will go forth and repeat to that world what the whites have always said of us—that we are savages, unfit to share the same land with civilized people. I only hope the Herrmann will see that among the many Ponca, there was only one whose heart was blackened by evil. His life is yours for the asking.”
Julius translated for his cousin.
“I thank Standing Bear,” Alexander said. “I am also grateful to One Tongue for the bravery that saved my life. It is only because he has become one of you, an Indian skilled in battle, that I am still alive. Apparently, a kick to the kidney works in all cultures. As far as thinking ill of your people, I was asleep through much of the attempt on my life—and so, my memories of the Ponca are not of this man who attacked me, but of the fine evening I spent among a welcoming people.”
Standing Bear nodded and passed his pipe to the magician. Alexander took a long draw, then turned his gaze toward Half Horse, who sat in a far corner, filthy and bleeding.
“As to the life of this man, as is One Tongue, I am an egg eater. Like your own people, we are an old and proud race, often persecuted by larger tribes. Even so, our holy book, which our god gave us on a mountain, tells us not to kill—so I do not demand the life of this Half Horse. But there is something I would ask of the Ponca.”
“We would be honored to grant any wish,” Standing Bear said.
“The girl who aided me tonight—may I please ask her name?”
Standing Bear passed the pipe to Voice Like A Drum. “That one? She is called Little Feather. She is much trouble.”
Alexander nodded and smiled. “And this Little Feather. She is married?”
Several of the tribe began to laugh. Standing Bear held his hand high for silence.
“No, she is not married, nor is she anyone’s daughter. We can tell you no more, except that she is Ponca.”
Alexander opened his palm and produced a Queen of Hearts. He idly tore it in four pieces and then crushed it between his palms. He opened his hands to reveal it fully restored and its colors reversed.
“If this Little Feather is amenable, I would ask that Standing Bear allow me to take her from the Ponca to become my helper. I promise that she will be well cared for and never want for meat nor drink. Everywhere she goes, she will be feted and celebrated as the partner of the Great Herrmann; and as a woman in a man’s profession, I daresay, she will make history.”
Julius was almost too astounded to translate his cousin’s words.
“I am not refusing the Herrmann’s request. This night, Little Feather performed in your presentation as she has never performed at anything else. But I think the Herrmann should know what he is getting. The women here report that she is shiftless, and that her primary work is avoiding work. She is often defiant and ill tempered, although this could be put this down to her being deprived of the calming effects of the marriage bed. It is even said that she murdered a man in Omaha city. A bad man, yes, but murder is still murder. We would not be good hosts if we did not inform you of these things.”
Alexander picked up a stone from the ground and tossed it in the air three times. On the third toss, it disappeared.
“Standing Bear’s concern is much appreciated; but these are small things when considering the assets she would bring to my presentation. Her English is good. Obviously, she is intelligent and learns quickly and she is small of stature and slight of build, exactly the right size for my apparatus. She also possesses a special quality that I believe will increase the attendance of my audience—especially the men.”
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