Throughout the recitation, she made constant but subtle comparisons between Alexander and Compars, always placing the elder brother in the brighter light. In the show business, she had encountered enough egotists to know when to use flattery against vanity; and it seemed to work on no one so well as the Great Herrmann.
When she closed her notebook, Compars smiled and slapped his palms together in polite applause.
“Excellent. Really, Miss Scarcez, I congratulate myself for choosing you for this mission. There are any number of girls who have pasts that they would wish to hide; but you are the one in all the world for this job. And since I have taken you so very much into my confidence, I feel that now you should know the next phase of my plan.”
Compars snapped his fingers and from behind one of the tarpaulins, two assistants emerged. One was short and swarthy and wore a blue turban wrapped in the manner of the Sufi. The other was taller, Aryan by look, and bore the kind of facial scar obtained during duels at Heidelberg. Without a word, the two men removed the large cloth from its position, revealing an oversized but otherwise ordinary steamer trunk.
Compars motioned to his men. “Proceed.”
Swiftly, the shorter man opened the trunk and stepped inside as the taller pulled a gigantic Royal Mail bag up and over him. The scarred man closed the bag with a leather strap, secured it with a thick padlock, and snapped the top of the trunk closed. Compars stepped forward and handed the Aryan a series of smaller padlocks. He placed them in slots around the lid and keyed each one closed; then he leaped atop the trunk. Compars rolled a large silk screen in front of both man and trunk, concealing all from view.
“It is inventions like this that are the reason I say you should seriously consider matrimony with young Maskelyne. Though I now own it, it is his creation and a tribute to his genius. I had originally bought the trick to hide it—to conceal it so that my brother would never know that such an apparatus was possible.”
Compars strode from one side of the silk to the other, flaring his arms in his best theatrical manner. He ran his hand down the screen’s surface as if caressing a longed-for lover with whom he had finally been reunited.
“But I have changed my mind! In a few weeks’ time, the good Lord willing, Mr. Maskelyne’s invention shall become the centerpiece of a great new act: the primary attraction in the triumphant return to the stage of the true Great Herrmann. As you will soon see, it is everything my little Sasha ever dreamed of.”
Adelaide’s eyes grew wide as the realization of what she was witnessing crept over her. Behind the curtain, she could hear bangs and rustles.
“Are you ready back there?” Compars called out.
“Jawohl, Herr Docktor.”
“Sehr gut,” Compars cried. “Eins. Zwei. DREI!”
The magician lunged forward and pulled the big silk away. Standing atop the trunk, his turban slightly askew, was the little man who had been locked in the bag. He leaped to the floor, unkeyed the locks, and sprang the trunk’s top. From inside, the big bag rose like a comically animated prop. The little man jumped onto a short stool behind the trunk and opened the mailbag’s lock. As the bag dropped down, Adelaide could see a figure emerge.
It was the man with the scar.
Compars applauded again. “Ausgezeichnet, meine Herren. Obviously, we need to make it quicker, and I admit that Samir and Gerhardt have less than optimal stage presence; but when it is ready and my old assistant comes from the States to perform it with me, it shall be perfection. The original Substitution Trunk of the original Great Herrmann.”
Compars gestured to the two assistants to cover the trunk.
“It will likely be less than a month until my first performance and only a few weeks before the handbills appear on every post and wall in London. Tell me, did the illusion amaze you?”
Adelaide’s head was on fire. Her mouth was dry and her eyes began to tear with hatred; but she knew that if ever there was a moment to flatter a bastard, this was the one.
“It was the kind of thrill that one expects from the Herr Doctor.”
Smiling, Compars bowed and then walked to the door. He picked up a wrench from a workbench and banged on the jamb. In moments, John Maskelyne and three of his men rushed through the laboratory door. One of them clutched a hammer.
“My dear Jack, my business with Miss Scarcez is concluded. I ask that you now escort her back through that rat’s maze you call your headquarters, as I am sure it would take a better magician than I to find the way. But before you leave, allow me to comment upon what a handsome couple you make. I have already informed Miss Adelaide that you should propose to her. But alas—who can tell young people anything these days?”
John Nevil flushed bright red. Adelaide bowed stiffly to Compars and together, she and Maskelyne turned and walked back to the clamorous shop, through the twisting corridors and into the sun of early June.
“Miss Scarcez,” said Maskelyne, “did he show you my illusion?”
“Yes, Mr. Maskelyne, he did.”
“I had always hoped that I would make a great success of it. But now, it seems that success will be enjoyed by another man.”
Adelaide smiled into his troubled face. “If my humble opinion soothes you at all, Mr. Maskelyne, I found your creation most astounding—the finest piece of magic I have ever seen. But now I must urge you to take heart. We may yet find a way to foil the plans of this parasite that has eaten into our lives.”
“I fear that is impossible. As one does to the Devil, I owe my soul to Compars Herrmann—and I imagine that he holds you in his grasp as well—and God only knows how many others.”
Adelaide took Maskelyne’s hands in hers. “Still, there may be hope,” she said. “I plan to reach into my arsenal and retrieve an old weapon. I just hope that I’ll recognize it, as it has been a long time since I’ve used it.”
The young magician looked into her green eyes. Regardless of being the suggestion of a villain, the idea of a marriage proposal suddenly began to make sense to him.
“I beg you to take no rash action, Miss Adelaide. He has told me time and again that if he should so much as suffer the sting of a bumblebee, his solicitors will ruin me and anyone else who crosses him.”
Adelaide held his hand tighter. “Please don’t worry, my new friend. I only fantasize about murder, I do not contemplate it. Still this weapon lies at my disposal; and if I am to aid the one I love as well as a man as fine as yourself, then use it I shall.”
“But what is this amazing weapon?” Maskelyne asked.
Adelaide let his hands go and hailed a passing hansom.
“The truth, John Nevil,” she said, waving good-bye. “The truth.”
33
BY THE TIME HE HAD BOARDED THE Berengaria FOR England, Prophet John McGarrigle was convinced that joining Julius Meyer on his trip across the sea was a mistake.
It was of course, his own fault. He had argued with the boy for hours to be allowed to go. I deserve this, you little bastard. I’ve spent the past year strangled in a collar and tie makin’ money for you and that whoremaster brother of yours. Anybody else’d been in charge, they’d have robbed you blind as a mole. Besides, you need a top hand, a man to see things through, so to speak. Listen, if I can’t make this little visit, guess I’ll quit—take my earnings and retire to the Cheese.
The voyage had been a nightmare, and the prediction of disaster that visited him mid-ocean made it worse. The prophet was tasked with little to do besides ride herd on the seasick and homesick Indians. The food was inedible, they complained—too spicy or too bland; the beds were too soft; the whole country smelled of spoiled fruit and horse excrement; they couldn’t see the sky through all the fog. McGarrigle spoke enough Ponca to tell them to shut up and act like men and that they would soon be back on the big boat bound for home. This only caused them to weep and wail at the prospect of another twelve days of nausea. To mollify them, he stated that while one could get sick on the way to England, it was impossible to become il
l on the way back. The Indians were incredulous. They may have respected the gray man as a shaman, but such status did not diminish his reputation as a liar.
London’s crippling expense was another bother. Yes, the whiskey was better here, especially what they called “malts” from Scotland and Ireland; but each shot cost the American equivalent of a half-dollar. At such prices, the prophet soon came to realize why so many Britishers drank beer. He found the women pricey, too. Any prostitute without visible sores cost anywhere from two crowns to a pound: prices that would have kept him in bed three days with Polly Ranstead or No Nipple Nancy.
Deprived of honest work and recreation, he begged Alexander for work.
“I’ll sweep up,” he said. “I’ll clean the toilets with my tongue. Just give me something to do.” With Julius vouching for his honesty, Alexander had the prophet sign the usual confidentiality agreement making him “a member of the Great Herrmann Company (U.S.) subject to all confidences required under copyright law of the United States, United Kingdom and any such jurisdictions in which the EMPLOYER might find employment for said company.”
“How’s your hearing?” Alex asked.
“Wait a second,” John said, “what’s that sound?”
“Sound? I don’t hear anything,” Alex said.
“Well, I do. Guess it’s better than yours.”
Amused, Alexander informed the gray man that he was now the troupe’s designated “acoustician,” a job that consisted of roaming the house, searching for aural dead spots. If he couldn’t hear the stage patter clearly, the prophet would yell “louder, young Alex!” After the first day, the job was essentially completed; but as the week went on, McGarrigle continued to wend his way through the seats in search of any location that might be a problem, eventually finding some obscure portion of the theatre in which to fall asleep.
A week before opening, John had actually found one problem area near the top of the first balcony. Duly informing Alexander of the difficulty, he settled into a seat and nodded off. By the time the scream awakened him, the theatre lights had dimmed and the rehearsal was over. He stood up and hurried down the aisle. From the balcony’s edge, he could see two figures on the stage. Rubbing his eyes, he ascertained that they were both female: one was dark, the other lighter. They seemed evenly matched in height and weight.
The dark woman took the redhead by the bodice and hurled her hard into the side of the proscenium. Prophet John tried hard to make sense of the shouting, but soon remembered that he was in one of the dead spots he had found days before. He moved to the balcony’s left, hoping to catch the words being said. Just before he gained the end of the row, he heard the dull thud of a body hurled to the floor. The dark one’s words became clear as day.
“Fucking slut!”
The dark one straddled her enemy, grabbing her by the linen of her shirtwaist. Then she leaned in, placing her face close enough to the redhead to kiss her.
“I should bash you—scar you with these nails—but then Alex would know who messed up his whore and it would go hard with me. But know this. He’s made me dance like a puppet and shut up like a mute. He’s told the world I’m a wog and heathen—the enemy of every decent woman alive. I’ve lived with it, taken it all. Do you think that after all that, I would let a little fire cunt take him from me?”
Princess Noor let go of Adelaide’s shirt and moved both hands up to either side of her face. She seized her hair and raising her head, bashed her head into the boards.
“You like that, little whore? Eh? Bruise to the back of the head don’t show, eh? What Alex can’t see won’t hurt him, eh?”
Noor crashed Adelaide to the floor once again.
“I should kill you right now; but I’ll give you one chance. Never see him again. Leave here now and never come back and I’ll let you live. But show your face here to so much as catch the show, and you are a dead woman. Understand me?”
Adelaide could only moan. Furious, Noor again yanked the pale face toward her own.
“Do you understand me?”
Adelaide murmured something McGarrigle couldn’t make out. Breathing heavily, the Princess released her, rose, and stomped from the stage. Prophet John made to cry for help but thought better of it. From what he knew of Lady-Jane Little Feather, a witness could enrage her toward a move that might end her rival’s life. The gray man ran through the balcony and down a flight of back steps. When he reached the stage, he wondered if he shouldn’t have sought help after all. Adelaide Scarcez couldn’t have looked more dead if he had called out the Marines.
Julius Meyer looked down at the beautiful face crossed with pain. The pillow of the chaise-longue was stained with blood.
“I found her this way,” John said. “Dressing room was closest, so I carried her in here. She’s out, but breathin.”
“And you say Lady-Jane did this?”
“Sure as you’re a Jew. I tell you, I’m a man full-growed, and I wouldn’t want to tangle up with that lynx.”
For nearly an hour, Julius patted Adelaide’s face with water. When at last her green eyes opened, she began to scream, struggling against Julius’s hands as if her enemy still sat atop her chest.
“I’ll go! I’ll leave and never return!”
Julius held her arms and tried to calm her. “Please don’t be afraid, Miss Adelaide. Princess Noor is gone. I am strong and here to help. No harm will come to you, I promise.”
Adelaide appeared not to hear him. She pounded on his chest and arms and bellowed into his ear. It took all of his strength and help from the prophet to hold her fast. Then, with a sound like all air being drained from her lungs, she went limp against his shoulder. When she could breathe again, she burst into long, shaking sobs.
“Oh, Mr. Meyer,” she cried, “I must go away. If I stay here even one more hour, the princess.…”
Julius held her tight. “Please, Miss Adelaide. You must trust me. You must tell me why she attacked you.”
“Kill me. She says she will kill me.”
“We have sent for the doctor,” Julius said. “You must allow him to examine you when he arrives. You seem to have retained your faculties, but a concussion must be avoided at all costs.”
Adelaide looked stricken. “My head throbs, Mr. Meyer, but I need no treatment. What I need is a way out. A way back to my former life—to that squalid but safe existence where I wasn’t threatened by my love’s paramour or his even more deranged brother.”
“His brother? Compars? What has that devil said to you?”
It took some coaxing, even some threats, but soon the entire mad tale poured from Adelaide: the summons to meet with the old magician; the bullying and blackmail; her bogus employment; and the unexpected loss of her heart to Alexander, which had brought her to the terror of this time and place.
Absorbing her anguish, Julius wished he were more of an Indian—or at least as much of an Indian as “Princess Noor.” If he gave Lady-Jane what she deserved, she would now be the one weeping in terror; if he paid Compars what he had earned for his cruelty, the world would soon wonder how such a famous man could vanish so suddenly and permanently.
“Miss Adelaide, I know you are frightened. And if your good woman’s instincts say you have reason to be, they are likely correct. I beg you to listen to those instincts. The princess has killed before and, if she feels sufficiently wronged, will kill again.”
Adelaide’s eyes filled again with pain.
“Then what hope can there be for me?”
“There is an old saying. Knowledge is power. Now that we know what we fight, Mr. McGarrigle and I will protect you. You may have no fear of that.”
“But even if you succeed at saving my life, Compars Herrmann says he will have me put me in jail; that I will be outcast, disgraced.”
“We will defeat both the princess and the conjurer. But you must put yourself entirely in my hands.”
Adelaide nodded and broke down again.
The doctor arrived, cleaned and dressed Adel
aide’s wound, and declared her injured but fit. He admonished her to rest and immediately report to him any incidence of double vision. Julius placed a ten-pound note in his hand, and he bade them both a good afternoon.
“Can we trust him?” Adelaide asked.
Julius smiled. “The good Doctor Ware is a physician, but also a creature of the theatre. He sees men’s faces scratched by women not their wives, women’s bellies swelled by men not their husbands, and wounds made by actors unanxious to be revealed as sodomites. No, even more than surgery or analgesic, the doctor’s stock in trade is discretion; a single violation of that, and he is, as we Hebrews say, michulah: out of business.”
Adelaide’s hands were shaking. “You must understand that I had planned on confessing everything to Alex after next week’s debut. He has been so busy and nervous that I didn’t want to burden him until the opening was past. The princess says that if I so much as appear in the building, I will be destroyed. But how can I simply vanish without telling him of the deceit into which I was forced—not tell him that amid the lies, my love was the one truth?”
Julius took the trembling hands in his. “I cannot predict what my cousin’s reaction will be—but tonight you shall go to Alexander and do as you planned—tell him all you have told me. Then you will vanish, but only from the sight of Princess Noor. And I guarantee you that the moment Alexander’s show begins, you will not only be alive but indispensible.”
34
NELSON A. MILES GRIPPED THE REINS AND HELD THE WHITE flag above his head. Bridge had always been his game; but with the bluff he would need today, he wished it had been poker.
He knew he was outnumbered. His scouts had returned late that morning to report the grim numbers; the renegades could easily overwhelm him. Miles thanked God Chased By Owls had not discovered this weakness; otherwise the tall brave would never have accepted his offer of a parley. Riding across the flat plain, the colonel rehearsed his words. This enemy was no fool. If he betrayed even the slightest sign of compromise, the smallest hint of fear, he would be annihilated.
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