The Uncanny Express

by Kara LaReau

  Mr. Hatchett turned red. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

  “I think you do. I think you have sought revenge against Professor Magic for many years and have finally found an outlet for your anger in the ruining of his daughter’s career. Perhaps that frustration went just a bit too far this afternoon?”

  Mr. Hatchett looked around at everyone else, who were all looking at him.

  “Please, I—I didn’t do anything, other than write that bad review last year,” Mr. Hatchett said. “You can’t blame me, after how the old man treated me. He said I’d never be a magician, that my fingers weren’t quick enough. He destroyed my confidence. And then his daughter thinks she can make a name for herself? A female magician, of all things? Anyone can tell you that women don’t have the flair necessary for the magical arts. They do not possess the authority to arrest the audience.”

  “Those are intriguing theories,” said the great detective. “Perhaps you will enjoy developing them further from the inside of a jail cell, once you tell me what you have done with Mademoiselle Magique!”

  At this, Mr. Hatchett started crying.

  “Wait,” said Kale, reviewing her notes. Then she looked at the passenger manifest and the compartment diagram. “I’m having a Feeling.”

  Jaundice peered over her shoulder. “What?” she asked.

  “Hugo Fromage said that everyone in this room is a passenger on this train. But there are ten people in the room now and ten names listed as passengers, including Magique,” Kale said. Fortunately, doing the math didn’t give Kale a headache, as it so often did. “That means one person here isn’t on the manifest or the compartment diagram.”

  “Who?” asked Vera Dreary.

  Kale looked up. “Hugo Fromage.”

  “Hold on,” Harry Frank said, taking the clipboard from Kale and looking it over. “She’s right. Your name isn’t here, sir.”

  “That’s because I boarded the train when it stopped,” explained the great detective.

  “But it’s an express train. It has no stops,” said Jaundice. “Unless you boarded the train after it ran into the Fluff-O.”

  “He was already here when the accident happened,” Kale remembered. “He was offering to help us find Magique when we felt the crash.”

  Everyone turned to look at the great detective. He smiled. He removed his pince-nez. He removed his homburg hat.

  Then he removed his mustache.

  Professor Magic’s Rules of Illusion

  Magic effects demonstrate the impossible.

  Escapes, on the other hand, are real.

  “Voilà!”

  For a good few seconds, no one in the dining car spoke. It was Kale who finally broke the shocked silence.

  “Magique . . . is that . . . you?” she asked.

  “Of course,” said the magician. She pulled off the bald cap, revealing her silver hair, and stepped out of a well-padded suit. “I told you I had a plan.”

  “But, why?” asked Jaundice.

  “At my last performance, I was humiliated when the audience turned on me, after some people began to walk out during my mind-reading act. I vowed to find out why. So I spent the past six months tracking everyone down and looking into their lives, their stories, and most important, their secrets. And, of course, I wanted to thumb my nose at certain reviewers who said ‘women don’t have the flair necessary for the magical arts,’ and that we don’t have ‘the authority to arrest the audience.’ Well, I certainly convinced you that I had the ‘authority’ to ‘arrest’ you a few moments ago, Mr. Hatchett. And I did it with more than a little ‘flair.’”

  “You violated the Magician’s Oath,” Kale reminded the reporter. She tried to remember the exact words. “It says, ‘I will extend nothing but respect and goodwill to my fellow magicians . . .’”

  “‘For as long as I might wave my wand,’” Jaundice added.

  “You two have been paying attention,” Magique said proudly.

  Mr. Hatchett set his pen on the table in front of him. He hung his head.

  “It was an astonishing performance,” said Hortense Frank. “How did you manage to pull it off?”

  “After Jaundice and Kale left my compartment, I made sure it would look suspicious, so I burned the threatening note from Countess Goudenoff, tossed my belongings everywhere, and tore a bit of my robe and smeared it with raspberry jam from the dining car,” Magique explained. “Then I ducked into the luggage car and hid inside my disappearing cabinet while I transformed myself. All I had to do was turn my satchel inside out to look like just another piece of luggage, and . . .”

  “Voilà,” repeated Jaundice. “So, is there really a great detective named Hugo Fromage?”

  The magician laughed. “No,” she admitted. “He is a work of fiction. As a certain military man once said, ‘People will believe anything, if you tell them with enough authority.’”

  She turned to the other passengers. “For the innocent among you, I am sorry for the inconvenience. But it was all in the name of justice—both criminal and poetic. I promised you all an ‘astonishing performance’ today. I hope I succeeded.”

  And then she turned to the Bland Sisters. “I told you that the mind is our most powerful tool. And that if we use it often and well, it will tell us many things and show us many secrets. Perhaps my greatest feat was getting you two to put your minds to work—in doing so, you solved the ultimate mystery!”

  At this point, everyone in the room who wasn’t on the verge of being arrested stood up and started clapping for Magique, and for Jaundice and Kale. Even Mr. McRobb rose to his feet and applauded, however begrudgingly. The magician began to cry as she took a well-deserved bow. Hortense Frank lent Magique her infamous handkerchief. The Bland Sisters tried to smile at the crowd as they covered their ears. They had never heard applause before; it sounded more than a bit like thunder.

  “So if this was the ‘astonishing performance’ you promised, does that mean there won’t be a show at the Hippodrome today?” asked Kale.

  “Oh, you bet there will,” said Magique. “Where else do you think I’d kick off my world tour?”

  It was at this moment, amid all the excitement, that Clayton Plenty quietly slid under a table, crawled through the applauding crowd, and was about to sprint for the nearest exit. Unfortunately for him, it was at the very next moment that he was noticed.

  “Stop! Thief!” cried Vera Dreary.

  Mr. Plenty thought he still had a chance, so he made a break for it . . . until something tripped him up, and he landed flat on his back. That something was a handful of Good & Plenty candies, scattered across the floor by Jaundice.

  “Oof,” the thief groaned.

  Jaundice reached into one of her smock pockets and pulled out a length of string.

  “Now you’re bound to stay put,” she said, binding Clayton Plenty’s hands in what she would later learn was a modified “handcuff knot.” She really was a natural at this knot-tying thing.

  “Just make sure the Mentioner gives my capture a good headline,” the thief begged. “Might I suggest POP GOES THE WEASEL?”

  Professor Magic’s Rules of Illusion

  Done well, magic provides its audience

  with a dazzling, indelible memory.

  When the train finally reached the station, the Uncanny Valley Police were waiting to arrest both the thief Clayton Plenty and Ima Nutt, the murderess formerly known as Countess Goudenoff.

  “I can’t believe I was foiled by a magician,” Ima said, as she was led off in handcuffs.

  “If things don’t work out with your husband, you know where to find me,” said Clayton, blowing kisses to Hortense.

  “Talk about criminally insane,” said Hortense. She turned to her husband. “Shall we go have a nice dinner, darling?”

  “Yes, lovey,” said Harry, kissing her cheek. “We have a brand-new case to discuss, after all.”

  “So, what do I call you, now that we know you’re not a colonel?
” Kirk Hatchett asked McRobb.

  “My first name is Donald,” McRobb confessed.

  “Well, unfortunately, Donald, we’re going to have to scrap your profile in the Mentioner,” Mr. Hatchett told him. “I want to make up for my previous scathing review of Magique by writing all about her astounding comeback. And then, I’m afraid, I’ll be writing an exposé of your fraud.”

  “Well, my career is finished, no thanks to that . . . woman,” grumbled Mr. McRobb. He tossed his walking stick into a nearby trash can. “At least this means I can go back to taking ballroom dancing lessons. I was never much of a soldier, but I was deadly on the dance floor.”

  “Not so fast,” said Kirk Hatchett. “Even if True Hero turned out to be completely false, you are a cracking good writer. Have you ever thought of trying your hand at fiction?”

  Donald McRobb’s face brightened. “A murder mystery, perhaps? With dancing? Ooh, I could call it Tango of Terror!” he suggested. The two men walked off, discussing the possibilities.

  “I think I’ll stay for the performance,” said Vera Dreary, who was now wearing her former employer’s pearls and mink stole. “For the first time in a long time, I have nuffin’ to do for anyone.”

  “Woof!” said Chrysanthemum. She seemed much happier in her new owner’s arms.

  “Enjoy,” said Jaundice.

  “Aren’t you staying on?” said Magique. “I’ll need help on my tour—especially a couple of assistants as observant and quick-thinking as you two.”

  The Bland Sisters couldn’t help smiling. Observant and quick-thinking were not words they would use to describe themselves. Not before today, anyway.

  “We should really get home,” said Jaundice.

  Kale nodded. “We have a sock-darning business to get back to, after all,” she said.

  “Well, at least stay for the performance. The train back to Dullsville doesn’t leave for another few hours,” said Magique. “In the meantime, let me introduce you girls to someone.”

  A young woman dressed all in black was wheeling the disappearing cabinet off the train at that very moment. The magician waved her over.

  “Hey,” Albertine said. She was a few years older than the Bland Sisters, and she looked a lot like Magique, except her hair was dark, and she seemed to like wearing a lot of eyeliner.

  “Jaundice, Kale, this is my daughter,” Magique said, giving Albertine a wink. “And my partner in crime.”

  “Wait,” said Jaundice. “I thought you said you fired Albertine?”

  “That was all part of the performance,” the magician explained. “I needed you two on board to act as my assistants.”

  “And besides, I was, ahem, busy,” Albertine said. She brought out a paper bag. “I figured you’d all be hungry before the show, so I brought dinner. Sorry it’s just sandwiches.”

  “We love sandwiches, actually,” said Jaundice.

  “Well, bring them along. Albertine and I don’t have much time to get ready,” said Magique. “I’ve saved you two seats in the front row!”

  The Hippodrome was the hugest building the Bland Sisters had ever seen.

  “Look at all those bricks and windows,” said Kale.

  “Look at all those lights,” said Jaundice, squinting.

  Inside was no less astounding. Hundreds and hundreds of seats filled the room, each one upholstered in red velvet. The walls and the columns on either side of the stage were trimmed in gold. The ceiling featured a fresco of cherubs singing and frolicking and playing musical instruments.

  “Those babies are certainly talented,” noted Jaundice.

  The Bland Sisters craned their necks to take it all in as they unwrapped their sandwiches. Tentatively, each of them took a bite.

  “It tastes like . . . peanut butter,” Kale decided. She had only ever had peanut butter before their parents left, and that was a long time ago.

  “And something else,” noted Jaundice. She lifted the top of the sandwich. “Something sweet. And white. And sticky.”

  The Bland Sisters looked at each other.

  “Marshmallow crème,” they said.

  “Wait,” said Kale. “Albertine made us these sandwiches. She said she had another job to do today. That’s why she couldn’t assist Magique on the train. Do you think . . .”

  “I do,” said Jaundice. “I do think. She’s the one who parked that Fluff-O truck near the train tracks and overturned those barrels, to give Magique more time for her ‘performance.’”

  The Bland Sisters blinked at each other.

  “Whoa,” said Kale.

  “I know,” said Jaundice. “There we go, acting like detectives again.”

  “It’s funny. The more we use our brains, the less painful it seems,” said Kale.

  Jaundice nodded. “This doesn’t taste anything like a cheese sandwich,” she noted.

  “You’re right,” said Kale. “It’s different in just about every way.”

  “I don’t think I like it,” said Jaundice.

  “Me, neither,” said Kale. “One bite is enough.”

  “Though that’s one bite more than we would have taken before this trip,” noted Jaundice.

  “True,” said Kale. “That’s something.”

  The Bland Sisters rewrapped their fluffernutters and placed them underneath their seats. Suddenly, all around them, the lights started flickering.

  “Uh-oh,” said Kale.

  The lights began to dim.

  “What’s happening?” said Jaundice.

  The audience applauded, so Jaundice and Kale clapped, too. Then the orchestra started playing, and a spotlight fell on the back of the auditorium. Everyone in the audience turned around.

  “Whoa,” said Kale.

  Albertine appeared in a tuxedo, wheeling out a large purple cannon painted with silver and gold stars. As she lit the cannon’s fuse, the orchestra played a drumroll. Then . . .

  BANG!

  Magique shot from the cannon in a shower of glitter, soared over the audience, her purple and silver robes billowing, and landed gracefully onstage. The orchestra played a triumphant fanfare.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” she said. “Are you ready to witness the impossible?”

  Amid the applause, she strode over to a black table, on which a single pack of cards was placed. As the orchestra played a waltz, the Queen of Magic shuffled, the cards cascading from one hand to the other. She cut the cards, then asked someone from the audience to pick one from the deck. Many people raised their hands, and Magique chose her volunteer: Vera Dreary.

  “This is my lucky day!” she exclaimed. She climbed onstage with Chrysanthemum still in her arms. Vera chose the three of clubs and showed it to the audience, careful not to let the magician see. Magique shuffled the deck, cut the cards, and shuffled them again. Then she lifted a card off the top. She showed Vera and the audience.

  “Is THIS your card?” Magique asked. It was the eight of diamonds.

  “I’m sorry to say, it isn’t,” said Vera.

  Magique seemed shaken.

  “Oh no!” whispered Jaundice. Kale covered her eyes.

  “Wait,” said Magique. “What’s this?”

  She reached into Chrysanthemum’s ear, and pulled something out.

  “That’s it!” cried Vera. “That’s my card!”

  “Woof!” exclaimed Chrysanthemum.

  The audience erupted into applause again. The Bland Sisters breathed sighs of relief.

  Magique performed one astonishing card trick after another. Then the lighting onstage changed, and the orchestra began playing a sinister tune. The magician brought Albertine onstage and levitated her, then sawed her in half. After Albertine emerged unscathed and the clapping died down, Magique addressed the audience.

  “I owe those last two illusions to my father, Albertus Magnus, rest his soul,” she explained. She bowed her head for a moment, then showed the audience a handbill from one of her father’s performances. “He never thought I’d make a good magician.
Or that any woman would.”

  Magique began folding up the handbill.

  “But by discouraging me, he gave me an even greater gift—” she continued.

  Smaller, and smaller, and smaller, she folded the handbill, until it seemed to disappear altogether.

  “—the determination to prove him wrong.”

  She opened her hands. In a flash of color, dozens of butterflies flew out. The audience went wild.

  “Thank you,” said Magique, bowing. “Thank you. That illusion is all my own, as is this next one, where I will be assisted again by my daughter, Albertine, a talented magician in her own right.”

  Albertine appeared, wheeling the disappearing cabinet onstage.

  “Now, I will need two volunteers from the audience,” the magician announced.

  Again, many people raised their hands. Magique looked around. Then she looked down at Jaundice and Kale.

  “I think these two girls will do nicely,” she said.

  “But—we didn’t even raise our hands,” Jaundice said, as Magique and Albertine pulled them onstage.

  Magique opened the cabinet and showed the audience its interior. She coughed dramatically.

  “Oh, this cabinet is so dusty! If only I knew the best way to clean it . . .” she said.

  She snapped her fingers, and Tillie’s Tips appeared.

  “My book!” exclaimed Kale.

  “Sorry about the switcheroo on the train,” Magique whispered. “I wanted you to have a fully magical experience today.”

  “That’s okay,” said Kale, remembering all her dreams with another shudder. “I’ve had enough of cleaning, anyway. For a little while, at least.”

  “All right, then,” said Magique. She snapped her fingers again, and the book was gone. “It’s now in the book drop at the Port Innastorm Library.”