His dirty little smile made Thalia want to kick him in the face, throw her shoe away, and scrub her foot raw. She did her best not to let any of that show. She could tell she wasn’t fooling Nutall. With great difficulty she limited herself to a curled lip and the words “Go to hell.”
Mr. Ryker, still watching from the doorway, gave Thalia a bit of applause. “Miss Cutler, I admire a woman of spirit.”
Thalia ignored him.
Von Faber said to Nutall, “Some lady you’ve got there. I see you’ve made a silk purse into a sow’s ear.”
Madame Ostrova cocked her gun. She was still pointing it at the ceiling, not at Von Faber, but her scowl had returned. “Go.”
“Gladly.” When Von Faber left, he slammed the door so hard the bell almost jangled off its chain.
When the chime of the bell had died away entirely Madame Ostrova said, “An ugly man. Trouble is coming to him. He knows it. What does he do? He runs to meet it.”
Madame Ostrova raised her voice. “Anton! Freddie! Cleanup duty. Bring a mop!”
Anton came bearing a mop and Freddie a bucket. Madame Ostrova pointed to the mess made by the overturned spittoon, and they set to work.
To Mr. Ryker, Madame Ostrova said, “Good day, young man. Sorry I cannot help you.”
Mr. Ryker took his leave of her, but paused on his way out the door to give Nutall and Thalia a sweet smile and a farewell bow of their very own. Thalia, although she tried hard, could not think of a single farewell remark for him.
When the outer door had shut, Madame Ostrova shook her head sadly. “How I hate to pass up easy money.” After a pause in which she sneezed twice into her crisp white handkerchief, she held the bead curtain aside. “Come to my office. Do you have time for tea and cake?”
“We do.” Nutall added, “Perhaps you’d care to do something about your weapon now?”
Madame Ostrova tucked her handkerchief into her cuff and devoted both hands to disarming and unloading the Colt revolver. “There. No weaponry. You feel safe enough to take tea with me now?”
Nutall offered her his arm. “You are graciousness itself, Madame Ostrova. We will take tea with you happily. But I fear we have come at a bad time. Surely you are indisposed.”
“A sniffle. It’s nothing.” Madame Ostrova patted Nutall’s sleeve as she drew him onward. To Thalia, she added, “It’s a good cake. Dried cherries in it.”
In the years since Thalia had last been here, Madame Ostrova had changed very little. She was a plump Romani Solitaire lady who always wore black with a touch of scarlet somewhere. She had olive skin and long braids, now gray, worn in a coronet.
As Thalia brought up the rear of their little procession, she glanced back. Anton and Freddie had made short work of the spittoon and its spill. They were now standing behind the counter with a deck of cards, taking turns to show off their card passes.
The whole place smelled right, Thalia reflected. With the other visitors gone, it felt right. Stage magic was hard work. The Ostrova clan took it seriously. In this place, Thalia didn’t have to explain anything to anybody. She didn’t have to fool anyone. She only had to take care of business.
Madame Ostrova led the way to her office. From either side of the corridor opened workrooms. The very air smelled exciting. Wet shellac, fresh-cut lumber, and the tang of turpentine hinted at the industry all around them. It smelled like backstage at a theater. Thalia wondered if that was why she felt so much at home.
Once they were in her office, Madame Ostrova seated them and went to arrange for tea and cake. Nutall checked the view from the window, intent on the weather. “It’s stopped raining. Looks as if it is clearing off.”
Thalia appreciated the chance to inspect the array of framed photographs, letters, and news clippings that lined the office walls. The names were legion: Ivan Sandusky; Thalia’s favorite, Adelaide Herrmann; Mikhail the Magnificent; and more. In short, every stage magician Thalia had ever heard of, and dozens she hadn’t, had done business with the Ostrova Magic Company. Not magicians themselves, the Ostrovas helped make elaborate illusions, but only for those they deemed worthy of their help. It was a source of great pride to Thalia that Madame Ostrova had respected her father. She hoped one day that she would be as respected herself.
Nutall continued his survey from the window. “If it is sunny later, once we’ve made a plan of action, we ought to take advantage of it. Do what ordinary people do on their days off.”
Almost any other Wednesday of her life, Thalia would have been preparing for her afternoon matinee. She’d never given a thought to what the audience did outside the theater. “What do ordinary people do?”
“Walk in the park?” Nutall sounded dubious. “Go to the zoo?”
Thalia couldn’t help laughing. “You don’t know either.”
“I’m not going to someone else’s matinee, I can promise you that.”
Madame Ostrova rejoined them. Nutall and Thalia took their seats as Madame Ostrova directed a girl about Freddie’s age as she brought in a well-furnished tea tray. The small talk grew smaller and smaller as the refreshments were distributed.
The cake plate held only crumbs by the time Madame Ostrova sat back and eyed Nutall and Thalia keenly. “This is all very nice, a pleasant interlude. You came for a reason. What is it?”
“Von Faber does the Bullet Catch.” Nutall put his cup and saucer down. “Jack Cutler did the Bullet Catch. Now Thalia does it too.”
Madame Ostrova considered her guests. “What would stage magic be if magicians did not learn tricks from one another?”
“As well try to stop the spread of a popular song as the interpretation of a good trick, I agree.” Nutall leaned forward as he lowered his voice. “The Cadwallader Syndicate, for some reason, has chosen to grant our friend a noncompete clause. His contract keeps our Bullet Catch out of any syndicate theater.”
Madame Ostrova gave a minute shrug of her narrow shoulders. “Lawyers ruin this world. May they all eat each other. I’m sorry for your misfortune, very sorry. Understand. Von Faber is a client here, just like you. We’re building a new trick for him, a mirror box. I won’t take your side against his.”
“Nor would we expect it of you,” Nutall said smoothly. “I’ve brought the inventory of tricks we have in storage here. We’ve been told that Von Faber’s Bullet Catch is identical to ours. I wonder how that came to happen. I know from firsthand experience that Von Faber has stolen props before.”
“Stop.” Madame Ostrova held up one many-ringed hand. “Do you suggest that tricks and props you pay to store here are less than safe and secure?”
“Certainly not.” Nutall’s air of injured innocence was perfect. “I do, however, suggest that we compare this inventory to the tricks in storage here.”
“Another reason to check the inventory,” Thalia offered, “is to see what other tricks we might use in the act. There must be something that doesn’t duplicate Von Faber’s routine.”
Madame Ostrova opened a drawer of her desk and produced a massive ring of keys. “We go look.”
Again, Thalia trailed after Madame Ostrova and Nutall, this time through the tidy bustle of the shipping area, where mail orders were packed. The corridor turned again, taking them past the door to the Palace of Mystery, the Ostrova Magic Company’s private theater, used for demonstrations and rehearsals. Beyond that, they came to a locked door. Madame Ostrova opened it to reveal a flight of steps that led down to the cellar.
“Down there?” Nutall looked surprised. “When this inventory was made, all the Cutler tricks were stored on this floor.”
“Down there is the safest storage we have.” Madame Ostrova coughed a little as she punched the button of the electric-light switch and led them down the steep steps. “This is most secure.”
“A bit damp, isn’t it?” Nutall ventured.
“Perhaps.” Madame Ostrova turned to fix him with a pointed stare. “Cheaper, though. How far behind on storage fees are you now? Fifteen dollars?”
“Two years ago. When account was ninety days overdue, we moved your stuff down here. We keep a copy of the inventory too. I checked. It is all here.”
“Has it truly been that long?” Nutall murmured. “Oh, so it has.”
Even with both the electric lights on, the cellar was full of shadows. The space had been divided into two rows of storage units divided with rough-cut boards and wire fencing material.
Three cages along, Madame Ostrova paused to open the lock on the door marked “C.” “We conduct inventory, then you pay us so your account is up to date.”
“Naturally we will pay,” agreed Nutall. “Plus a little something on account, hm?”
“Twenty percent,” Madame Ostrova stated.
Nutall was the picture of wounded surprise. “That’s a bit stiff, isn’t it?”
Madame Ostrova smiled at him. “Punishment. Next time, no waiting two years before you come back here for tea and cake.”
Nutall smiled back. “Agreed.”
Chapter Five
The inventory nearly checked out. Only one item was missing. The original Bullet Catch, as Thalia’s father had performed it, had used a “volunteer” firing squad. In its fullest form, the trick involved catching bullets from six specially adapted muzzle-loading rifles. One had been sold to a collector. Soon enough the difficulty of finding and discreetly paying five suitable volunteers had brought the number of muzzle-loaders used onstage down to three. Then two. Finally, one bullet was all the magician caught.
When Thalia had performed the trick, she’d done it with the weapon her father had favored. The other four rifles had remained in storage, safely locked away. Both the inventories verified that fact.
Now there were only three. Since the last inventory had been taken, one of the Cutler muzzle-loaders was missing.
“Isn’t that interesting?” Nutall stroked his pencil-thin mustache thoughtfully.
It was a grimy business, taking inventory of every prop and trick in storage cage C. Although everything the Great Cutler had in storage was still functional, none of it inspired any brilliant ideas for a new routine. By the time they had finished, both Thalia and Nutall needed soap and hot water.
“You think Von Faber got the rifle from us?” Even as Madame Ostrova blazed with indignation, she took them back upstairs to scrub off their accumulated grime in the washroom. Once they were back in her office, she told them, “The Ostrova Magic Company does not make this kind of mistake. I will find out who is responsible. I will find out how this happened.”
“We know you will,” Thalia assured her. “We trust you.”
“I need to talk to the children.”
“You missed a spot.” As Madame Ostrova left the office, Nutall took out his handkerchief and rubbed at Thalia’s chin, leaning close to murmur, “I think I can persuade her to compensate us with a new trick. Make yourself scarce so I can work on her alone.”
Thalia thought about the inventory’s complete list of distinguishing marks on the guns. If they could prove Von Faber’s muzzle-loader had come from the Cutler inventory, they could bring charges against him for theft. What use would his noncompete clause be then? “I’ll go around to the Imperial Theater and find out who handles his props for him. I’ll ask a few questions.”
“Not without me, you won’t,” muttered Nutall. “I’ll tell Madame Ostrova that you have an appointment for a costume fitting. I’ll meet you back at the boardinghouse.”
“Oh, very well.” Thalia looked around for her outdoor things. “If the sun is really out, it’s a good day for a stroll. I’ll shop a bit.”
“Perfect. Just don’t talk to any strangers.” Smiling, Nutall tapped his nose and waved Thalia off as Madame Ostrova returned. “Now, about that rifle.”
* * *
Thalia emerged into brilliant daylight. While she had been indoors, the weather had well and truly cleared. The streets were still busy, but the morning press of activity had passed. As she set out, she minutely adjusted the brim of her hat to account for the sun. Time to study the finer points of the coming season’s fashions. The windows at Stern Brothers were on her way. She could see what people were really wearing while she walked there, considering the next move.
Deploying lawyers against Von Faber would be expensive. Deploying a charge of theft might actually get them somewhere. Thalia trusted Nutall to speak with Madame Ostrova. Once he’d finished, they would discuss what to do next.
“Ah, Miss Cutler. Forgive the intrusion.” Thalia turned to discover Mr. Nathaniel Ryker at her side, spectacles glinting in the sun. “I know your time is valuable, but I beg you will spare me a few minutes.” He gave her his flicker of a smile. “As I said, I was lucky enough to see you perform last night. A friend insisted I accompany him to the Majestic. I am so glad I did. You were, um, spellbinding.”
“Thank you.” Thalia was acutely aware that for someone to tell her she had been, um, spellbinding was not quite the same as telling her she’d been good. At Madame Ostrova’s, the man had been in unfamiliar territory. His diffidence had been charming. Now, he seemed to own the street. Diffidence was gone, replaced by the smug self-assurance of a Trader. “You are too kind.”
“I hope you and your associate Mr. Nutall will accept my escort home.” Ryker pushed his spectacles firmly in place as he gestured toward a waiting carriage, complete with liveried coachman. “Permit me to share my resources.”
Nutall’s words came back to Thalia. Don’t talk to any strangers. She was wary, but she could not resist the chance to really look at the man. So this was what a polite Trader looked like. Had her mother’s parents been like this? Had her mother? Thalia scolded herself. How had she ever wasted a moment believing she was a Trader?
Ryker’s wealth was written in not only the quality of his clothing but the care with which it was kept. His boots were glossy. His hat was glossy. Thalia decided his glossy wire-rimmed spectacles made his brown eyes seem larger than they actually were.
Ryker had taken note of Thalia’s scrutiny. He gave her another flickering smile. “I wouldn’t have offered to wait for your chaperone to join us if my intentions weren’t of the purest. They are, though. I have a proposal to make.”
“A proposal?” Thalia was proud of her deadpan. “Mr. Ryker, this is so sudden.”
Ryker chuckled, a delightful burst of amusement that made him look as young as Thalia. “That’s funny. You’re funny, Miss Cutler.”
This observation did nothing to endear him to her, so she said nothing. In Thalia’s experience, people who said things like “You’re funny” were seldom good judges of what was actually amusing.
“I have a business proposal,” Ryker continued.
“I will do my utmost to conceal my disappointment,” Thalia assured him.
“You aren’t disappointed at all.”
“Well spotted.” Thalia took another look at the carriage and its coachman. “You’ve been waiting all this time.”
“I have, yes. Would you care to wait for your companion inside the carriage?”
“How thoughtful of you, sir. That’s not necessary. I won’t accept your kind offer. I prefer to walk.” Thalia gripped her furled umbrella like a walking stick and set off toward Sixth Avenue. Window-shopping would just have to wait.
“Excellent. I’ll walk with you.” Ryker matched her pace exactly.
“Oh? What about Mr. Nutall?” Thalia stopped for a meaningful look back at the elegant carriage. “I’m sure he will appreciate your resources more than I do. He’s much older than he looks, you know.”
Ryker grew serious. “But I prefer your company.”
“What a shame, for I prefer solitude.” Thalia turned her back on him to cross the street.
“That is a pity.” Ryker, impervious to the snub, came with her. “You’ve come to quite the wrong place. New York is a city
full of possibility, but solitude is not easy to come by.” He took her arm, but only to hurry them both out of the path of an oncoming horse-drawn bus.
“So it seems.” Safe on the far side of the intersection, Thalia gave Ryker a meaningful look but his grip on her arm remained. She turned the meaningful look into a cold stare. “Let me go.”
Begging her pardon, Ryker released her and took a step back. As he did so, Thalia sidestepped to use a passing pushcart as cover and left him behind, lost in the crowd. She doubled back a block before she crossed the street, taking care to keep as many shoeshine boys, street vendors, and pedestrians between them as possible.
Thalia turned down Sixth Avenue and made for Twenty-Third Street, the nearest El stop. The train would cost a whole nickel, but the speed would be worth it. Briefly she toyed with the notion of cutting across Madison Square to Fourth Avenue. The Rapid Transit subway was new since her last stay in the city. She had wondered what it would be like to travel underground, but her curiosity would have to wait. For the moment, Thalia focused on eluding Ryker.
Traders were more fun to talk to than Thalia had expected, but distressingly slow to take a hint. Such a pity. Ryker was the best-looking man she’d seen in ages, and she was running away from him. Still, it was hardly the first time a personable young man had believed that expressing his admiration for her earned him the right to impose on Thalia’s time and person.
Ryker had waited outside the Ostrova Magic Company while Thalia and Nutall had inventoried the Cutler storage unit. That had not been a short period of time. Thalia found that level of interest from him alarming. Ryker was too rich for the likes of Thalia, rich in every sense of the word. Ryker was like an elaborate dessert. Tempting to risk a taste, but how much would it take to make her sick? Not much.
At Twenty-Third Street, Thalia crossed into the chilly shade cast by the tracks on the east side of Sixth Avenue. She climbed the iron staircase to the uptown ticket booth. The harried-looking white Solitaire woman in front of her had four children in tow. Once Thalia paid for her ticket and dropped it into the platform chopper box, she pretended to be part of the little group. She carried it off well enough to earn a tired smile from the woman to acknowledge Thalia’s help in herding the children.
The Glass Magician Page 5
