by Kara LaReau
“I hope so,” said the magician. “It’s taken me a long time to regain my confidence. When I was set to debut at the Dullsville Music Hall, six months ago, I was nervous as all get-out. But Albertine was there for me. She said, ‘Mom, you were always meant to be a great magician. Let’s really show ’em.’”
“And did you?” asked Kale.
“I did,” said Magique. “I levitated Albertine and sawed her in half. I did card tricks, rope tricks, and rabbit tricks. The audience seemed to enjoy it, until my mind-reading act.”
“You read minds?” Jaundice said.
“Well, I tried,” said Magique. “Just as I was in the middle of my reading, people in the audience started walking out. Once that happened, everyone else turned on me. They started booing. They even started throwing things. I still have a tomato stain on my robe, right here.”
She extended her robe sleeve to Kale, who scrutinized it, then referred to Tillie’s Tips. “We can get that out with a little laundry detergent and white vinegar,” she said.
“When the tomatoes started flying, I took it as my cue to leave the stage,” Magique continued. “But I didn’t stop there—I started running. I ran all the way back to my house, up to my room, where I shut the door and threw myself on my bed and started crying. I cried for three days. And then, I stopped.”
“Did you run out of tissues?” Jaundice asked.
“No,” said Magique. “I ran out of figs.”
The Bland Sisters looked at each other.
“Albertine was bringing me a fresh box of tissues when she said, ‘Mom, you always taught me not to give a fig what other people think. You shouldn’t give a fig, either.’ From that moment on, I ran out of figs to give. I blew my nose, dried my eyes, and started making a plan.”
“We love plans,” said Kale.
“Well, this is the mother of all plans,” said Magique. “This time, my act is even bigger, even more astonishing than it was before! And it all starts with the very thing the audience hated so much the last time: mind reading. Would you like to see a little bit of it?”
“As long as we can keep eating,” Jaundice said, taking another bite of her croque madame. Once she scraped off the fried egg on top and removed the ham inside, it almost tasted like a cheese sandwich from home.
“First, empty your pockets,” said Magique.
Jaundice did as she was told. It took some time, as she had many pockets in her smock, and she was always filling them with this and that. Today, she was carrying:
• Two long pieces of string, not yet knotted
• A plastic bag, which had at one time contained the bread for the Bland Sisters’ cheese sandwiches
• A pen and a little notebook, in which Jaundice kept track of the accounting for their sock-darning business
• A paperweight in the shape of a beetle
Magique put her fingers on either side of her head and began rubbing her temples. “I am looking through the Mind’s Eye—the mind is our most powerful tool. If we use it often and well, it will tell us many things and show us many secrets.”
The magician picked up Jaundice's pieces of string. She held them between her palms.
“You’ve been in a real bind before,” Magique said.
“That’s . . . true,” Jaundice said, looking at her sister. When they were kidnapped by pirates, Jaundice and Kale were once tied with ropes . . . around their big toes. This was especially traumatic for Jaundice, whose toes had always been sensitive. Since then, she’d become fixated on learning how to tie and untie knots.
Magique held the plastic bag. “You prefer when things are contained.”
“Right again,” said Jaundice.
Magique flipped through the accounting notebook. “You run a tight ship,” she noted.
“When it comes to our finances and/or pirates,” said Jaundice.
“And this,” said Magique, holding the paperweight and looking at Jaundice intently. “This possesses a singular weight. Something about it speaks to you.”
“Our parents brought it back from one of their travels,” Jaundice explained.
“How do you do that?” Kale asked. “Did you really read Jaundice’s mind?”
“I could tell you,” Magique said, leaning in. “But first, you’d have to take the Magician’s Oath. Raise your left hands.”
The Bland Sisters did as they were told. They repeated the following words after Magique.
Magician's Oath
I promise to uphold the tradition of illusion.
I will never perform any effect without first practicing until I can perform it well enough to maintain the illusion of magic.
I will never divulge magical secrets to a non-magician, unless that person swears to uphold the oath in turn.
I will extend nothing but respect and goodwill to my fellow magicians, for as long as I might wave my wand.
“Can I interest you ladies in anything?” Mr. Harold asked, wheeling over a little courtesy cart. “Newspaper, candy, gum, breath mints?”
“Do you have any hand sanitizer?” asked Kale. If she’d known she’d be traveling, she would have brought her own bottle from home, per Tillie’s Tips.
“I’m afraid not,” said Mr. Harold.
Magique studied the selections and chose a box of Good & Plenty. The purple candy box matched her robes perfectly. “One of my favorites,” she said, handing Mr. Harold some money. After he was on his way to the next table, she opened the box and held it out to Jaundice.
“Thanks, but we don’t really like candy,” she said.
“It’s just so . . . sweet,” Kale said, wincing at the thought of the one time their parents made them try it.
“Suit yourself,” said the magician, tucking the box into her robe sleeve.
The Bland Sisters leaned in. “So, what’s the secret of mind reading?” Jaundice asked.
“Well,” said Magique, taking a long drink of lemonade. “The secret is that it’s not really ‘mind reading’ at all. It’s really all about guesswork and deduction and knowing how to read people. In my debut act six months ago, I assessed my audience, then I said general things, like, ‘a man with a limp is hiding something,’ and ‘two young people in love are deceiving each other,’ and ‘a woman has committed a grave crime against her husband.’ Then I waited to see if my readings registered with anyone.”
“And had they?” asked Jaundice.
“Well, that’s when people started getting up and leaving,” noted Magique. “And then the tomatoes started flying.”
“I’m sorry your ‘mind reading’ was a failure,” Kale said.
“Oh, I have learned quite a bit from my mistakes,” the magician said. She stood up and raised her arms and wiggled her fingers. “In fact, my mind now reaches out—to seek further connection!”
“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” said the old woman at the next table. Her little dog growled in agreement.
“There is so much angry energy here . . .” Magique said, putting her hands on either side of her head. “In fact, I sense a crime will soon be committed, on this very train!”
The pretty blond woman with the green eyes stood up. “I sense a headache coming on,” she said. Her handsome companion led her out of the dining car.
“Um,” said Kale. “Maybe we should do this back in your compartment, where it’s quieter.”
“And safer,” said Jaundice. “If you’re right about that crime thing.”
“But there are many more minds to read here,” said Magique, gesturing around the room. “I sense many interesting stories—and many juicy secrets!”
The man with the walking stick called Mr. Harold over and grumbled something to him. They both glared in Magique’s direction.
“Excuse me,” said Mr. Harold, approaching the table. “I’ve been asked to tell you to quiet down. People would like to eat without distraction.”
“If you continue with these shenanigans, there will be consequences,” the man with the walking stic
k warned, his face redder than ever.
“My magic will not be silenced!” shouted Magique. “Now that the Mind’s Eye has opened, its secrets will be heard!”
“Well, they won’t be heard on this train,” Mr. Harold said, taking Magique by the arm. “Let’s get you back to your compartment, madam.”
Magique did not go quietly. She shouted on about her magic and the Mind’s Eye and its secrets waiting to be revealed all the way back to her compartment. Jaundice and Kale followed until the man with the bow tie stopped them.
“Are you a part of Magique’s ‘act’?” he asked.
“We’re just . . . passing through,” Kale said.
“He’s the one Magique talked to earlier,” Jaundice whispered to her sister.
Kale nodded. “He didn’t seem to like her very much,” she said.
“How do you know Magique?” Jaundice asked the man.
“I’m Kirk Hatchett,” he explained, twirling his pen around his fingers. “Entertainment reporter for the Dullsville Mentioner.”
“We almost always have the Mentioner in our house,” Jaundice said.
“It’s come in handy on more than a few occasions,” Kale added.
The Dullsville Mentioner was the local paper. Though Jaundice and Kale were not keen on actually reading the news, the grocer sometimes used old issues to wrap items in their weekly sundries basket, and per Tillie’s Tips, Kale recycled the paper and used it to wash the windows. It really did help to minimize streaking.
“I’ll be writing about Magique’s comeback performance,” Mr. Hatchett continued. “Though ‘comeback disaster’ is more like it, considering what her performance was like last year.”
“You were there?” Jaundice asked.
“I was,” said Mr. Hatchett, wrinkling his nose. “I’ll give you girls a bit of advice: Stay away from that woman. She has no business being onstage. The only ‘hit’ she’s going to have is the sound of the audience’s tomatoes when they make contact. Actually, that’s a pretty good line. I’m going to use it for my review.”
The journalist scribbled something in his reporter’s notebook.
“But you haven’t even seen her new act,” Kale reminded him.
“I’ve been in this business longer than you two have been alive,” Mr. Hackett said. “Nothing surprises me anymore.” He twirled his pen again and was on his way.
“Do you think he’s right?” Kale asked her sister.
“I hope not,” said Jaundice. “For Magique’s sake.”
Back in her compartment, the Queen of Magic looked royally exhausted. Yet, she was smiling.
“Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” she said.
“Was it?” asked Kale. Fun for her was cleaning, or removing a set-in stain, or finding new uses for steel wool, according to Tillie’s Tips.
“It didn’t seem like it went very well,” noted Jaundice. “With Mr. Harold throwing you out and all.”
“Oh, I think it went perfectly well. Sometimes the goal isn’t applause. It’s attention,” Magique noted. She opened her satchel and took out her playing cards, along with several scarves of various colors, a stack of three brass cups, three red balls, and a birdcage. “Now, I must prepare for my performance. Just come get me when it’s teatime, would you?”
With that, the magician closed her eyes and started shuffling again. The Bland Sisters looked at each other.
“I think this is her way of telling us to shuffle off,” said Jaundice.
The Bland Sisters surveyed their own compartment. It seemed bare, without any luggage or magical paraphernalia like Magique’s. Of course, they liked it that way.
“What shall we do to pass the time, then?” asked Jaundice.
“We can look out the window,” suggested Kale. “And take in the countryside.”
The Bland Sisters tried this for several long minutes.
“The sun is, as ever, very bright,” noted Jaundice, shading her eyes.
“I’ve never seen so many trees,” said Kale. “They’re so leafy, and green, aren’t they?”
“Too green, I’d say,” said Jaundice.
“With the train moving so fast, it’s hard to watch the grass grow,” Kale said.
Both sisters sighed and pulled the curtains. Kale leaned back in her seat and remembered she was still wearing her backpack.
“I can read to us from Tillie’s Tips!” she suggested.
“And I can get back to my knots,” said Jaundice. She pulled out one of her strings and started practicing.
Eagerly, Kale pulled out her book. “Oh, wait.”
Instead of Tillie’s Tips, she was holding Professor Magic’s Rules of Illusion.
“Somehow, our books got mixed up,” Kale said.
“Well, you’ll have to wait until later to switch them back. We don’t want to disturb Magique,” Jaundice said.
“I’ll need Tillie back right away. She’s due on Monday, and I want to renew her again,” Kale said. “Plus, I was just getting to the chapter on dust. It covers a lot of ground.”
“Do you still want to read?” Jaundice asked.
“I guess I could try,” said Kale. She opened up the book and began.
Though it wasn’t as practical a read as Tillie’s Tips, Professor Magic’s Rules of Illusion really was very informative; each chapter began with a bit of advice for young magicians, and it was beautifully illustrated to show how each illusion was achieved. Unfortunately, this was not enough to maintain the Bland Sisters’ interest, as Jaundice was soon snoring, and Kale was asleep with the open book resting on her face.
Again, Kale dreamed that she was clearing away the clutter. Only this time, it was clear that someone was buried underneath it all and crying for help.
“Hold on, I’m doing my best!” she kept shouting, though there was now a thick layer of dust over everything.
Again, Jaunice dreamed that a phone was ringing, and that it seemed to be right under her nose.
Ring-ring! Ring-ring!
“Wait. Maybe I have the phone,” she thought. She checked all her smock pockets.
No phone.
Ring-ring! Ring-ring!
It seemed more urgent than ever. And it seemed as if it would never stop.
Professor Magic’s Rules of Illusion
The closest thing to feeling real magic
is performing for people and helping them
to experience the impossible.
DING! DING! DING! DING!
A bell rang at exactly four o’clock, waking Jaundice and Kale.
Jaundice groaned. “Will that phone ever stop ringing?” she said.
“I don’t think that was a phone. It was some kind of bell,” Kale said wearily. She felt exhausted from all the dream cleaning. And just who was buried beneath all that clutter and dust? she wondered.
“Do you think that bell means it’s teatime?” Jaundice asked. She stood up, relieved that the dream ringing had stopped. At least, for now.
“It’s a bit late for tea,” Kale noted. “It seems so dark.”
“That’s because you have a book on your face,” Jaundice noted.
Kale removed Professor Magic and looked around.
“Ah, that’s better,” she said. “Shall we get Magique?”
It turned out the magician was nowhere to be found. Her compartment was empty, and it was a mess; playing cards and scarves and cups and balls were scattered everywhere.
“I can’t find my book,” Kale said, sifting through the clutter. “And this is when I’d really need Tillie’s Tips.”
Jaundice sniffed the air. “Do you smell something . . . burning?”
They looked around. On the little table against the window was the box of Good & Plenty, next to one of the luncheon plates from the dining car. On the luncheon plate was a red envelope and a partially burned piece of newspaper. The paper was still smoking.
“Fire! Fire!” Kale yelled. She ran from one end of the compartment to the other, waving her arms.
> Jaundice took the carnation out of the bud vase and poured the water from the vase over the smoking paper. It fizzled out immediately.
“Whew,” Kale said, wiping her brow. Between this and the dash through the Dullsville train station, she’d had enough exercise for a while.
“Why do you think Magique was burning that newspaper?” Jaundice asked. “And why do you think she left so quickly?”
“Maybe she heard the bell and got excited about teatime,” Kale suggested. “I bet she’s already in there, waiting for us.”
The Bland Sisters stepped over the clutter and made their way to the dining car. Some of the other travelers were already in there, enjoying their tea.
Mr. Harold approached. “I’m afraid children aren’t allowed in here without a chaperone,” he explained.
“But that’s just it,” said Kale. “We can’t find our chaperone.”
“I’m sure she just stepped out, to the restroom, perhaps,” Mr. Harold suggested. “Why don’t you go back to her compartment and wait for her?”
“But, her compartment is a mess, and she left something burning—” Jaundice began to explain. But Mr. Harold was being called over by the gentleman with the walking stick, who demanded extra raspberry jam for his toast.
“What do we do now?” asked Kale.
“Excusez-moi, mademoiselles. Perhaps I can be of service?” a man asked in a thick accent. He was small and round and bald, with a very shiny black mustache, an impeccable suit, and a gray homburg hat. He observed Jaundice and Kale through funny wire spectacles without earpieces that were perched on his beaky nose.
“We’re not ordering anything,” Jaundice explained, waving him away. “We’re looking for our friend.”
“And I am not a waiter,” the man said. “I am HUGO FROMAGE, THE GREAT DETECTIVE!”
“Great detective?” Kale said.
“At your service,” the man said, executing a dramatic bow. “No doubt you have heard of me and the crimes I have solved. The Mysterious Affair at Kyle’s? Thirteen at Brunch? The Murder of Roger Adenoid?”
The Bland Sisters could only shake their heads.
“No matter,” said the detective, with a flourish of his gloved hand. “I am willing to serve any client, no matter how uneducated or uninformed.”
