Magical Mechanications

by Pip Ballantine

  “And he wasn’t?”

  “No.” Aladdin felt a sudden pang well inside of him. He refused to think of it as a longing or regret; he instead dismissed it as hunger.

  “The cad,” Giles spat.

  A growl from his stomach cut through the silence. Aladdin felt a heat rise in his cheeks, and he knew that it had nothing to do with the warmth coming from Giles.

  “Oh dear, sir,” the creature said, “I have been most derelict in my duties to you.”

  “What?” Aladdin asked. He suddenly grew aware that his hand was on his stomach. “What duties?”

  “Forgive me, sir, but need I to look after you since you have freed me from my imprisonment.”

  “I don’t think that is so great a service.” Aladdin motioned around them. “How is this freedom?”

  Giles raised a metallic finger and spoke in a calm, even tone. “I was imprisoned in my dormant form. I couldn’t do much apart from keeping the shrine lit. Considering what talents my creator bestowed upon me, such a menial task is disappointing.”

  The valet’s words seem to hang in the air around Aladdin. “What other things can you do?”

  Giles stared at him with his green-fire eyes, and the flame that was his mouth curled into the most mischievous of grins. “Follow me, Sir.”

  Aladdin followed in the Giles’ wake; the heavy, pearlescent fog lingering around his own ankles and eventually disappearing off into the treasures around him. He followed one of the wisps, the æther slinking across the ground serpent-like and then finding passage between a collection of goblets, bracelets, and other…

  “Sir?” came the voice of Giles.

  It sounded far off in the distance, but Aladdin nearly fell over as he was within an arm’s reach of his automaton.

  “You might want to walk to either my left or my right. Standing directly in my wake has a rather tranquilizing effect on organic matter.”

  Aladdin furrowed his brow. “Organic matter?”

  Giles nodded and gave a light shrug of his massive brass shoulders. “My apologies. Bodies of flesh and muscle.”

  “Ah,” Aladdin said, stepping clear of the mist and walking to Giles’ right. He suddenly became aware of where they were walking. They were heading back to the sealed opening of the cave. He looked up at Giles now with new-found hope. His valet was tall. At least twenty feet tall. Perhaps thirty. This, along with the promise of talents yet seen, unsettled Aladdin as he felt the question tickling the tip of his tongue. “Giles, as you are such an amazing machine, why are you still here?”

  The automaton chuckled lightly at the query. “Sir, did you not see? When I was left here in this vault, I had been left in a dormant state. My maker explained to me that her original intent faced corruption by those who would care to use me for ill ends.”

  “What sort of ill ends?”

  “Think of what would happen if I fell into the hands of another tinker, or a band of tinkers charged with the shared goal of understanding how I worked. I would have been taken apart and then others would have been created. Soon, instead of being a creation of unique and original make, I would be part of a larger, formidable force.”

  That made Aladdin pause. He looked over Giles. “But you’re a valet. A servant. What would you do—serve tea until the enemy submits?”

  “Not quite.” Giles brought up one of his arms and pointed it upward to the overhead hatch. “You will want to stay close to me.”

  The automaton thrust his arm forward, and Aladdin watched as his fingers and wrist slid backward. The digits that made up of his fingers locked into a forward position while braces rotated and locked into place. His arm went still and then his hand, which was now a ring of large, long barrels, began to spin. Faster and faster, until the hand and wrist were nothing more than a blur; and then jets of fire sprang from it, causing the vault ceiling to explode in rock and sand. Aladdin crouched, but knew he was safe at Giles’ side as he continued to assault the area around a hatch. Even by plugging his ears with his fingers, the cannons’ roar overwhelmed him, their thunder rattling his chest.

  There was a moment’s silence, and Aladdin finally dared to look up. He did this just at the moment when the desert surrendered to Giles’ assault and the ceiling surrounding the hatch fell away, crashing into a large collection of gold coins, statues, and assorted gemstones.

  “Now could you imagine the havoc an army of monsters such as I would wreck?” Giles asked.

  Aladdin could only gape at the valet that apparently doubled as a war machine. His imagination easily pictured five such leviathans descending on Baghdad. He tried to conjure a Giles-model automaton army, and a shudder passed through him.

  “Yes, my mistress wanted me to serve upon her, but defend myself as well. Then, as my skills sharpened, my ability to fend for myself evolved as well. She noted this, and therefore brought me here. She deactivated me, and put me to rest within the shrine, hidden amongst her husband’s riches.”

  “You were hidden in plain sight?”

  Giles nodded. “Like great illusionists, many disappearing acts are done with the object never leaving your sight. After her death, I watched as her husband searched the vault to his final day.” He shook his head. “A cruel man who fell to his own infernal devices.” The pensive look swirled and crackled, and then he looked at Aladdin with a pleasant smile. “Now, Sir, shall we tend to your hunger?”

  Above them, sunlight poured into their cave. The exit, however, still remained a good ten feet out of their reach; and there appeared to be no real leverage for them to manage escape.

  “But, how?” Aladdin finally asked.

  Giles looked up, then back to Aladdin and chuckled. “Oh, do forgive me, Sir. I lost my reason for a moment.” He extended an arm—an arm that Aladdin recognized as one of the cannons Giles had used against the vault ceiling—and motioned with his other arm to a hatch that curved around his inside forearm. “If you please, Sir?”

  The hatch opened of its own accord, revealing a small cage, just big enough for—

  “You want me to get inside your arm?” Aladdin asked.

  “Only for a small time,” Giles assured him. “The space should accommodate you, perhaps not comfortably but adequately.”

  Aladdin looked into the compartment again and then back at Giles.

  When his stomach growled, Aladdin knew there were no other options apart from staying in the vault and starving to death.

  The cage groaned a bit as Aladdin pulled the door shut. “Pardon the squeaks. I will have that tended to, Sir.” Giles then stepped under the open hole above them both. “Do hold on to the straps provided. This will be a bit bumpy, but a short flight nonetheless.”

  A short flight?

  Aladdin’s hands immediately shot for a pair of canvas loops as the cage around him began to shudder. Something was shaking Giles, or that was his first thought when he felt the metal clang and clatter against each other. He pressed his face against the cage’s bans and watched wide-eyed as from underneath Giles’ base a flower of flame blossomed and spread itself in every direction. His grip tightened on the straps overhead as he felt Giles’ body shift upward. The treasure slipped out of view, the endless riches supplanted by curtains of sand and then finally the Persian desert in all directions. Aladdin could see through the bars the morning rays now touching the dunes, the endless black above his head now surrendering to hues of purple and blue.

  Then he felt himself tip and Aladdin gave a cry of wonder and, perhaps, a touch of fear as Giles was now flying level with the ground. He was a massive creation and yet, somehow, the valet managed to stay in the air. Aladdin was high enough to tell they were moving at a great pace, far faster than he and Jaha did in their evening’s long trek.

  Giles began to tip upward, and from underneath them Aladdin heard the engine’s roar angrily. Aladdin could see very little through the smoke and fire, but it was apparent that Giles was descending back to the desert. The odd sensation of flying, of floating above the
earth ended abruptly, and Aladdin would have been knocked off his feet had he still not kept a strong grasp on the loop above his head. The engines underneath grew softer, and softer. There was only the sound of wind in his ears as Giles’ arm lowered.

  “There you are, Sir,” Giles the Genie spoke cheerily as he undid the latch to his forearm. “I told you it would be a short flight.”

  Aladdin pulled himself free of the cage and looked around him. He was within a ten-minute walk of his home city. “Amazing.”

  His servant tipped his bowler. “Thank you, Sir. I hope you don’t mind my saying, but yes, quite impressive considering how dormant I’ve been of late.”

  Aladdin let out a delighted laugh, but it faded into the growing sunlight of morning. “Giles, I do not think it would benefit either one of us if I walk into the city with you, being in the—” He motioned up and down the massive automation. “—form you are in now.”

  “Oh dear, Sir,” Giles said, looking over himself. “I would wholeheartedly agree with you.” The twin fires in his face winked out and then Aladdin heard the grinding of metal and gears again. Pipes and pistons were retracting, collapsing on themselves. Aladdin stepped back from the clatter and suddenly found himself in sunlight. That was when he noticed Giles’ shadow.

  Giles was getting…shorter?

  The clamor began to settle and emerging from the steam and smoke was Giles, now eye-to-eye and in every proportion the same size as he.

  With one noticeable difference, “How is this, Sir?” he squeaked.

  Aladdin furrowed his brow, “What happened to your voice?”

  “Well, Sir, with a larger body there are larger pipes and more voluminous spaces, giving my voice a deeper resonance and output. Reduce my size, passages are constricted, and there is very little for the sound to resonate from.” He gave a shrug and smiled. “The science of acoustics, Sir.”

  And this marvel was his to command? “Giles, exactly what can you do?”

  “Actually, Sir, I have yet to test my limitations in this form.” He gave a bow and said, “Once I refill my boilers, perhaps we can discover them together?”

  He nodded. A plan was forming in Aladdin’s mind. “Yes, I believe we can. Tonight, perchance.”

  Six

  Jaha was taking a deep bow at the ovation his illusion earned. He had, effectively, parted one of the Sultan’s harem in half. Impressive, as it was one of his ladies and not someone directly under the influence of power of the All Powerful. Aladdin had to admit that.

  What had he told him? You hardly believe in such nonsense as magic, séances, and the like? A Frenchman named Robert-Houdin that opened my eyes at what many perceived as ‘magic.’

  The boy took a deep breath. He would have one chance, one moment. He had to make certain it was the right moment. An eye-opening moment.

  “And now, for my final trick of the evening,” Jaha announced, raising his arms at the soft protestations—only an illusionist of his caliber could hush a Sultan. He then motioned to the ruler. “Tonight, though, I turn to you, Your Majesty, to assist me.”

  The Sultan clapped his hands. “Excellent. What is my part in your grand magic, All Powerful Jaha?”

  He raised his hands and slowly pulled from his cabinet a pistol, one of the more modern ones no doubt brought from his European travels. The Sultan’s guards immediately stepped forward, their hands working the bolts on their own antiquated rifles.

  “Oh please, you believe the All Powerful Jaha would dare to assassinate me in a theatre full of people?” Aladdin watched as the Sultan parted the guards and slapped them both in turn. “If you did not kill him where he stood, I believe my people love me enough that they would tear him apart.” Hefting his belly, the Sultan proceeded from where his harem and guards watched the performance and joined the magician on the stage, motioning for his subjects to rise. “Arise, my subjects, lest you miss the magic.”

  Over an uneasy laughter Jaha began, taking a step back while opening the chamber and presenting the weapon. “Your Majesty, I will ask of you to take aim at my heart and fire the pistol.”

  Another gasp and a few screams rose from the audience while the Sultan looked at the weapon with horror.

  “Do not fear, Your Majesty. Do not fear,” Jaha assured him. “I promise you the bullet will not reach me. Instead, I will catch it in mid-air, much like you have seen with Masters of the Far East.”

  “But…” the Sultan stammered, still looking at the pistol. Aladdin had never saw the Sultan sweat; an amazing feat from Jaha. “But the bullet…”

  “Yes, I know,” Jaha said with a charming smile, “but you must trust me and my skill.”

  Aladdin bit his bottom lip. A Frenchman named Robert-Houdin that opened my eyes at what many perceived as ‘magic.’ It was a matter of perception. He watched as Jaha loaded the weapon in front of the Sultan, his words explaining exactly what he needed the Sultan to do.

  Somewhere in the midst of instruction, Aladdin took notice of Jaha’s hands. It was a simple sleight of hand from the streets, the streets he knew all too well, but an eye such as his caught it. Jaha was palming something. Something small.

  His eyes narrowed on the pistol, then went back to Jaha’s hand. Could this magic truly be just as simple as a sleight of hand?

  The Sultan nodded, swallowed and stepped to one side of the stage.

  “And…” Jaha took in a deep breath and smiled. “Ready.”

  The pistol came up. It shook, and Aladdin was convinced the bullet was going to miss Jaha completely.

  The pistol fired, causing some of the harem and a few ladies in the audience to faint. Jaha was frozen in a rather dramatic pose, and the expression on his face was not one of agony or fading strength. He opens his hand—the one Aladdin saw him palming a small object—and reveals to the Sultan and to the audience a bullet.

  “Sir,” the voice whispered from behind him. “I noted the Sultan’s rather poor steadiness as well as the caliber of bullet that cad is presenting. Neither of them—”

  “That is why it is an illusion, Giles,” Aladdin whispered back. “And sadly, I think...”

  “Brilliant!” the Sultan exploded. He then motioned to the people in the audience and to his own harem. “Arouse those who fainted. We must have an encore?”

  Jaha gave a slight start. “Your Majesty?”

  “There were those of my court and of my regime that missed this sorcery of yours, and I insist on an encore!”

  Jaha spread his arms wide. “Indeed, Your Majesty, I am honored, but I should have time to rest.”

  The Sultan’s jubilance abated, and a darker expression passed across his face. “You will deny my wish, at this command performance?”

  Aladdin now switched his gaze to Jaha, and the All Powerful magician was growing slightly pale.

  It was only for a moment as he turned to the audience and asked in a broad, booming voice, “Shall you see this wonder again?” The theatre erupted into applause. “Very well then,” he called over it. With a flourish of his robes, he turned back to the Sultan. “If you give me a moment, Your Majesty, I will prepare my pistol for you once more—”

  “No need, All Powerful Jaha,” the Sultan said, motioning to one of his guards. “My loyal guard are known across the empire for their accuracy. He will await on your command.”

  This was the moment. Aladdin gripped the backstage curtain. Timing would be crucial.

  “Giles, the time has come.”

  His valet, the glow from his face cleverly shielded by extensions from his shoulders, looked over to Jaha, then back to Aladdin. “What shall I do?”

  “We will enact what we have discussed, but to do so, we must protect Jaha?”

  “Protect that cad, you mean?” he asked, his voice rising slightly.

  Aladdin shushed him and glanced back over his shoulder. Jaha was busy building up the suspense. Either that, or he was stalling. Only seconds to go before the Sultan grew impatient.

  “Without Jaha, thi
s whole plot will be meaningless,” Aladdin insisted.

  From the stage, he heard the Sultan say, “Forgive me, All Powerful Jaha, but we are waiting.”

  Aladdin turned back to Giles. “Protect Jaha. Just for this moment.”

  His servant shook his head and then straightened up. “Very well, sir.”

  The click-clack of a rifle bolt turned his attention back to the stage. Jaha was standing there before the guard, his stance now very different from the earlier illusion. Aladdin, knowing Jaha as he did, had no doubt that the clever magician would have some sort of plan to fool or foil such a wrinkle as he found himself in. The life that my false uncle wanted to show me, he thought as the guard shouldered his weapon, was not much different from his present life in the street.

  Jaha waited, his own gaze steely and focused, apparently focused on the guardsman’s hand. He was watching for tells. He was looking for the precise moment to move.

  The rifle fired. Jaha landed on one knee, his arms raised in some manner to block his chest; but on doing so, the magician appeared to slip. His arms inexplicably remained suspended above him.

  “Well now,” Giles comment. “Most intriguing.”

  “Now, it’s our turn,” Aladdin said, motioning for Giles to follow.

  Aladdin and Giles walked out of concealment, on to the stage. There were murmurs of concern and confusion as he walked up to the struggling Jaha. The magician went still on seeing him, and Aladdin smiled and pulled back the loose fabric of the man’s robes, revealing to the shock and disapproval of the audience metal gauntlets covering his forearm. He flicked his finger against one of them, allowing the light ring to echo in the near-quiet theatre. He then motioned to the space between Jaha and the rifleman, giving a light flourish with his hand.

  There, suspended in the air, spinning like a child’s toy, was the bullet. It was much larger than the one Jaha had “caught” with the Sultan, and it remained suspended in its flight, and Aladdin slowly waved his hands around it, showing no strings or any sort of restraints holding it back. He blew on the slug gently, and then wrapped his hand around it.