Nutall glared back. “Ten.”
“Nine and that’s it.” Manfred added money to the heap of coins, then locked the cashbox away. “Take it or leave it.”
Nothing in Nutall’s outward appearance changed, but Thalia felt certain he would have settled for eight. She assumed holding out for nine had been what Nutall sometimes referred to as an experiment in Solitaire behavior.
Nutall’s martyred sigh was a masterpiece. “Oh, very well. We accept your terms. But we shall take all our props with us tonight, so we’ll need a drayman.”
“So get a drayman.”
Nutall wasn’t the only one who could experiment with Solitaire behavior, Thalia decided. She gazed sadly at Manfred while Nutall pocketed their kill fee.
After an uncomfortable pause, Manfred extricated himself from his chair and crossed to the door. “Oh, all right. I’ll tell Andy to find you somebody.”
* * *
Nutall asked nicely, so the drayman let him and Thalia ride alongside him for the journey west from the Majestic Theater’s stage door to their boardinghouse. Although the April night was chilly, the ride was short and easy, for the street sloped gently downhill. Professionally speaking, however, Thalia could not help but reflect that their journey might as well have been a hundred miles straight down.
That morning, Thalia had been at the top of the tree, a professional stage magician with a two-week contract at one of the most popular theaters in New York City, and therefore in the entire country. Now, in the wan hours after midnight, she was out of work, with no immediate prospect of another job. No work meant no money. No money meant she and Nutall should watch every penny until they had their next engagement booked.
Thalia caught herself. She might be down, but she wasn’t down and out. Far from it. She was simply between engagements. She was simply on the road again, even if their road at the moment was a few blocks down Forty-Ninth Street, just as far as Ninth Avenue.
Nutall tipped the drayman generously, so they had his help unloading the trunks that held the props. Mrs. Morris, their landlady, came down, cheeks pink and eyes shining with curiosity, to see what all the fuss was about. Nutall used his charm to good effect. Mrs. Morris, a buxom white Solitaire well into her sixties, hovered about shushing the drayman as the trunks were hauled upstairs.
While Thalia and Nutall waited for the drayman to finish, Thalia whispered, “A noncompete clause? Is that crazy or can they really do that?”
“I’m sure they think they can really do that.” Nutall looked tired. “We will find out for certain tomorrow. Stage magicians may not steal tricks from each other outright, but one-upping each other is a fine old tradition.”
“Even if we drop the Bullet Catch, the syndicate bars us, Manfred said. How are we going to find work outside the syndicate?”
“Just because Manfred said it doesn’t mean it’s true,” Nutall reminded her. “First we shall confirm the facts of the matter and then we will investigate all of our options—tomorrow.”
The drayman finished up. He touched the brim of his hat and sketched a bow to Thalia and Mrs. Morris as he left.
“It is late,” Mrs. Morris said pointedly.
“To be continued, then.” Nutall gave Mrs. Morris more than just a sketch of a bow. It was the full exhibit. “I will see you ladies in the morning.”
* * *
Thalia’s boardinghouse room was small, but she didn’t have to share it with anyone. The cages for twelve doves and a corn snake made it smaller. Thalia settled them all for the night. Once Thalia had cleaned up at the washstand, she put out the light and lay in bed wondering what they were going to do next.
Could they even find a gig at a theater that wasn’t part of the Cadwallader Syndicate? Should they hire lawyers to fight the noncompete clause instead? Lawyers were expensive.
No contract. No gig. It felt strange not to know when her next performance would be. Unpleasant. She would talk it over with Nutall in the morning.
Nutall would have ideas about all this. Nutall knew all sorts of people and all sorts of things. He knew things about her mother and father that even Thalia didn’t know. How many more secrets had her father told him?
Thalia thought about her father. If he had been a Trader instead of a Solitaire, Thalia would have been a Trader too. The very idea now seemed ridiculous.
Even if Jack Cutler had been a Trader instead of a Solitaire, her mother’s family would have objected to him. Marrying a stage magician probably wasn’t something a well-brought-up Trader girl was supposed to do. Even a well-brought-up Solitaire girl would think twice about it.
But Thalia could not imagine her father in any other life. Nor could she imagine herself as anything but a stage magician. But she didn’t have a gig. So was she still a stage magician?
Vaudeville performers who were between gigs said they were resting. Thalia decided she was resting. All this could wait until morning. In the morning, she would talk to Nutall. Nutall was sure to have a good idea.
* * *
Thalia’s next clear thought, though it came to her slowly, was that her crowded little room was full of cold gray daylight. She took a look out the window and saw a slice of cloudy sky that promised rain later. The sounds she heard were the other boarders stirring as Mrs. Morris’s lodgers woke up for the day. The smells she smelled were not yet the pleasant odors of breakfast, but a reminder that the doves and the snake needed to be taken care of evening and morning both. Gig or no gig, Thalia had responsibilities.
The chill unpleasant fact that Thalia didn’t have a job drove her from her warm bed. Something had to be done about that, and sooner rather than later. Meanwhile, once she had taken care of the doves and the snake, she had to do her finger exercises and practice her daily routine of card and coin passes.
Nutall was waiting for her when Thalia came downstairs, and they went into the dining room together.
Mrs. Morris had eight boarders at the moment, counting Thalia and Nutall. Her dining room table was long and narrow, with plenty of room for four places set at either side. Mrs. Morris and Esther, her white Solitaire kitchen girl, managed the steady supply of eggs, oatmeal, toast, and coffee.
Everyone in the room, including Mrs. Morris, either had something to do or had somewhere to be or both, so table talk was minimal. Thalia confined herself to smiles and nods as she complied with requests to pass butter, salt, and pepper. The moment it was decent to do so, Thalia excused herself from the table and went to get her hat and gloves. As an afterthought, she added her umbrella.
When she came down, Nutall, likewise equipped with his best going-out gear, met her at the foot of the stairs. “There you are. Going somewhere, are we?”
Thalia met his cheerful expression with narrowed eyes. “Aren’t we? We need a lawyer, don’t we? Let’s go find one.”
“Ah.” Nutall looked pleased with himself. “We can do that if you wish, but first, I would like to pay a visit to the Ostrovas.”
“Ostrovas!” Thalia was delighted. “Will we order a new trick? Can we afford that?”
“Possibly. We must certainly look through the inventory of props your father left in storage there. Something might be suitable. It has occurred to me to wonder how Faber’s Bullet Catch came to be. I know Faber of old, and he’s much more likely to steal than to invent.”
Ten minutes after Thalia and Nutall set out from the boardinghouse, it began to rain. Thalia did not let the damp impair her spirits. She felt the rain carried smells better. Today the wind was right, so she could smell the Hudson River close at hand. Thalia liked rivers.
Thalia and Nutall put up their umbrellas and walked through the crowds along Broadway as far as Greeley Square, then another six blocks down Sixth Avenue, doing their best to ignore the sporadic din of trains passing overhead on the elevated railway.
Thalia reveled in the crowds and traffic. Other cities were crowded. Other cities had streets filled with traffic. But nowhere Thalia had ever been could match New York Ci
ty for that particular sense of purposeful importance. Maybe the people jostling her on the pavement were going nowhere in particular, but everyone had an air of great urgency and immense determination. Thalia loved it.
Despite the rain, it was a pleasant day, no chill in the air anymore. The damp April breeze carried a vivid mix of scent. Over the ordinary traffic smells of horse manure and engine exhaust, Thalia picked out the more enticing aromas of roasting coffee beans and grilling sausages.
Thalia could have found the way blindfolded. The Ostrova Magic Company was the finest purveyor of magical illusions in North America, possibly in the world. To stage magicians everywhere, the name Ostrova meant excellence and discretion. Thalia had grown up playing with the Ostrova children while her father commissioned the Ostrovas to build complex props for the Great Cutler’s magic tricks.
Nutall held the door as Thalia preceded him through the professional entrance. This door, completely unmarked, was one down from the entrance of the magic shop, a cluttered emporium of simple magic tricks the Ostrovas made to satisfy the general audience. In contrast to the glass display cases and tall wooden shelves of the magic shop, the reception room at the professional entrance was austere.
To Thalia, the familiarity of the place was delightful. The bell that jangled to alert those within that a visitor had arrived sounded just as she remembered it. Across the room, running the width of the space, there was a wooden counter, like a highly polished bar, upon which gimmicks could be displayed or diagrams could be unrolled for inspection. Thalia recalled being too short to see over the counter even if she stood on the brass footrail and stretched upward. A brass spittoon was still kept nearby, almost as shiny as she remembered.
A pair of wing chairs, upholstered in dark leather edged with brass nailhead trim, still loomed to the left, backs turned to the outer door. In the corner farthest from the outside door was a doorway hung with a bead curtain. Thalia knew the passage beyond led to Madame Ostrova’s private office. There was no one to keep the door, no sign warning the caller to stay in the front room. No need for signs. Anyone who ventured this far knew that Madame Ostrova and her family were not to be trifled with.
Thalia drew in an appreciative breath. The place smelled wonderful, just as she remembered, a blend of fresh-cut lumber and pipe tobacco. That was the scent of possibility. That was the scent of wonderful new magic tricks under construction. “Oh, it’s good to be back.”
Thalia and Nutall moved toward the wing chairs. “I should have wired ahead,” Nutall said.
Thalia beamed. “I don’t mind waiting.”
A step or two toward the wing chairs and Thalia discovered one was taken. The well-dressed white gentleman who sat there sprang gallantly to his feet. “Miss Thalia Cutler, isn’t it? The Lady of the Lake? I’m Nathaniel Ryker. Please, take my chair.”
The well-dressed gentleman, Thalia realized slowly, had to be a Trader. His clothing was tailored perfectly for his frame, but also for the place and time of day. He was only an inch or two taller than Thalia herself, but his frame suggested strength and endurance. He was in his mid-twenties. He wore wire-rimmed spectacles and had a brilliant smile that flickered on and off. It hit Thalia full force but faded out as he waited for her reply.
Thalia felt herself blushing. “I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t see you there.”
“I was at the Majestic Theater last night, Miss Cutler. Your performance was strangely compelling.”
“Indeed?” Thalia frowned. “What does that mean?”
The bead curtain rattled, and a vaguely familiar young man with ears like a sugar bowl emerged. “Mr. Ryker, Madame Ostrova will see you now.”
“Thank you, Anton.” Mr. Ryker gave Thalia another flicker of that brilliant smile, and threw Nutall a friendly nod of farewell as he followed the young man through the bead curtain.
The last time Thalia had seen Anton Ostrova, they’d played jacks together. He had been a stately ten years of age. She’d have been about eight. It was difficult to reconcile the memory of the boy with the man she’d just seen. Only the ears were the same.
“Mr. Ryker, eh?” Nutall looked thoughtful. “One of the Riverside Rykers, perhaps? Traders. Made their fortune in fishing, then shipping. Now they have a modest assortment of passenger liners. Well, they’d hardly have dealt in furs. They Trade into seals and otters.”
The bead curtain was still swinging after Ryker’s passage when a bull-necked white Solitaire man in expensively flashy clothes emerged wreathed in smiles. “I’ll fetch your things, sir,” said the younger man—a different Ostrova, although the ears were the same—escorting him.
Thalia felt Nutall tense beside her. “Faber,” he said, as if the name tasted bad.
“Granny Nutall.” The flashy man accepted his hat and walking stick from the younger Ostrova. “Haven’t you seen my posters? The name is Von Faber.”
“It never used to be.” Nutall spoke mildly. “Plain Johan Faber, that’s who you were when you left the Great Cutler’s act in Burlington. Skipped in the middle of the night.”
“You must be thinking of someone else,” said Von Faber. “I’ve never been to Burlington.”
“You ducked out on your share of the boardinghouse rent there. You also helped yourself to some props and my pocket watch.”
“You’re getting old. Memory’s going bad.” Von Faber buttoned his cashmere overcoat as he gave Thalia an assessing look, up and down fast, then up and down much more slowly. “Well, well. Who’s this? A fraulein your age here with Granny Nutall? That makes you Jack Cutler’s little girl. Last time I spoke with you, you sat on my knee. Shall we try that again?”
Nutall caught Thalia’s eye and tapped his nose. That little gesture sent a message Thalia had no trouble interpreting. Don’t let him provoke you. Thalia’s distaste kept her silent.
“Oh, ho. Stuck up, are we?” To Nutall, Von Faber said, “She’s grown up to be just like her mother, then. Little Margaret thought she was better than all the rest of us put together, didn’t she?”
“I never met her, but from what Jack told me, she was better,” Nutall said flatly. “What brings you here, Johan? You’re the headliner at the Imperial. Surely you’ve stolen all the tricks you need by this time? What’s left for you here?”
“I pack them in at the Imperial,” Von Faber agreed, “but it’s going to be a long run. I’ll need to freshen the act sometime. I’ve ordered a new trick, a real beauty.”
Thalia could not help the tiny pang of envy she felt at the thought of being successful enough to commission a completely new trick from the Ostrova Magic Company. Firmly she told herself she was not the least bit curious about what sort of trick it was.
Von Faber gave Thalia another admiring look. “An artist like me, I see possibility everywhere. Don’t you feel left out either, Thallie. I can always use another pretty assistant.”
Thalia stiffened and drew herself up to her full height. Von Faber’s disrespectful admiration made her skin crawl. The man was old enough to be her father. If he talked like that to her, how did he treat his actual assistant? The man was a bully. Thalia despised bullies. “Don’t call me Thallie.”
Nutall said, “Stop this impertinence.”
Von Faber ignored them both. “I saw a matinee of yours in Trenton. I don’t think much of the Lady of the Lake bit. It’s old-fashioned. But the chains are good, Thallie. I liked you in chains.”
Deep inside, Thalia’s disgust stirred her anger. Before she could respond, Nutall’s hands closed around Von Faber’s throat. Before he could protest, Von Faber was off balance, pressed back against the wooden counter, eye to glaring eye with the Englishman.
Nutall’s voice was ice and velvet. “Can I possibly have heard you correctly?” He tightened his grip. “Do you dare to offer Miss Cutler an insult?”
Von Faber’s heavy jaw worked for a moment before he got words out. “Unhand me, sir.”
Nutall’s grip didn’t change. Neither did his cold, soft tone. “Th
alia, please go find Madame Ostrova. You don’t need to see this.”
Von Faber had gone beefy red. “Let me go, you sod. Don’t touch me.” He shoved Nutall back. Grappling and swearing, they fell to the floor, struggling for advantage in their wrestling match. Von Faber, growling, tried to bite Nutall. They rolled this way and that, knocking the spittoon into the far corner.
Thalia stepped away from the wall, judging the angles as the fight continued. If the opportunity came, she would take a swing at Von Faber herself.
A gunshot froze them, and all eyes turned to the inner door. Madame Sophia Ostrova stood scowling at them, with what closely resembled a Colt .45 in her hand. Thalia glanced at the tin ceiling. It was unmarred. Behind Madame Ostrova, the elegant Mr. Ryker looked on, obviously fascinated.
“Was a blank,” Madame Ostrova informed them. Her thickened voice betrayed the fact that she was suffering from a head cold. “Next one is not.”
Nutall released Von Faber, got to his feet, and gave Madame Ostrova a courtly bow. “Good morning, Madame Ostrova. So sorry we disturbed you. I think you remember Miss Thalia Cutler.”
Von Faber struggled to his feet. “You are my witness, Madame Ostrova. This man attacked me. I think he is crazy.”
Madame Ostrova glared at all of them. “Whatever this is about, you’re all wrong. This is my place. No call to settle things here.”
Nutall inclined his head. “My apologies for the disturbance. I assure you it was not unprovoked.”
Madame Ostrova’s grimness eased. She gave Nutall a nod. His apology had been accepted. She turned her glare to Von Faber.
Unwillingly, Von Faber muttered the apology Madame Ostrova was so obviously waiting for. She gave him a nod of his own.
Calmed by this, Von Faber put his silk top hat back on, straightened the diamond stickpin in his cravat, and gave Thalia a crooked half smile. “My offer stands, girl. I’ll pay top dollar for your father’s old-fashioned tricks. You’ll have steady work as my assistant. I can promise you good working conditions as long as you … cooperate.”
The Glass Magician Page 4
