The Glass Magician

by Caroline Stevermer

  * * *

  As before, Ryker’s Pierce-Arrow arrived punctually. It collected Thalia promptly at three o’clock. The Ryker servants were already used to her. Thalia was sent upstairs on her own once Rogers informed her that Miss Ryker was in her study.

  Thalia knocked gently at the door and entered when Nell called permission. To her dismay, she found that the Trader girl had obviously been crying. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  Nell gestured to the Trader newspapers spread across the worktable. “Another manticore sighting. Even though his family had hired a bodyguard, a fifteen-year-old boy was attacked on his way to the theater last night. The bodyguard drove it off before he was seriously hurt.”

  “Well, that’s lucky, isn’t it?” Thalia ventured.

  “It is, of course it is.” Nell produced an embroidered handkerchief and blew her nose. “Only now Nat is going to keep me locked up here forever. Even if the Skinner gets the manticore today—he’s on patrol right now, of course—Nat will say two sightings means two manticores. Nat takes no chances. It’s terrible. It’s his excuse to keep me locked up here until I’m old and gray.”

  “Your brother won’t keep you locked up here forever, I promise. It’s impossible.” Thalia investigated a lump beneath the layer of newspapers and found that it was a deck of cards. She began to shuffle them absently. “He wants to make sure you’re safe, that’s all.”

  Nell made a noise of barely suppressed anger. “Thank you for these blinding truths. Next you will remind me that I’m lucky to have a brother.”

  Thalia flinched a little. Once she’d had a brother. He’d died as an infant, when Thalia had been only three years old, and their mother had died the very next day. Thalia couldn’t remember any of it happening, and her father had never willingly spoken of it. She only knew that her mother had gone. Grief had been with her ever since, a remote injury, aching like a broken bone that never quite healed. “I would never tell you that.”

  “You don’t have to say it. I know I’m lucky to have Nat. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m practically a prisoner here. I know it’s for my own good, but I hate it.”

  “You really don’t need me to have this conversation, do you? You’re doing both sides of it all by yourself.” Thalia handed Nell the deck of cards. “Show me what you did with the ace of spades when we met, only this time make it look a little more clumsy. Sometimes your trick will be more effective if you look like you’re trying hard on the easy part. Your mark won’t expect it when you fool them with the hard part.”

  Nell began to shuffle the cards herself. “It’s supposed to look effortless, isn’t it?”

  “It’s supposed to be effortless,” Thalia agreed, “but you need to have complete control over what your mark sees. For now, make me think you’re new at this.”

  Thalia watched carefully as Nell cut the cards and began to manipulate them. She had to suppress a smile when she saw Nell steal the ace of spades and ditch it in her sleeve, ready to be called back into play at the right moment.

  As Thalia had hoped, giving Nell permission to be a bit clumsy prompted her to move more fluidly. The faint stiffness she’d displayed, common to beginners, melted away. Nell fanned the cards and folded them, cut and shuffled and cut again. She finished with a flourish as she set the deck down and flipped the top card faceup: the ace of spades.

  “That was all right,” said Thalia. “Now make it look easy.”

  Nell worked through the trick again, still not quite as smoothly as Thalia would have liked, but better than before.

  “Good,” said Thalia. “Now roll up your sleeves. Let me see your wrists.”

  Nell straightened indignantly. “That’s not fair.”

  Thalia congratulated herself on distracting Nell entirely from her manticore sightings. She pushed her own cuffs back. “I’ll show you.”

  Thalia ran through the trick again. As she produced the ace of spades on cue, Nell exclaimed, “I wish I had a kinetoscope. You go so fast, I can’t see it properly. If I could watch moving pictures of you, I could learn to do it better.”

  “I don’t know what a kinny-whatsit is, but if you practice enough, you won’t need one,” Thalia advised.

  Nell chuckled to herself. “A kinetoscope records pictures of things moving. When the film is developed, it’s projected on a white surface. You get moving pictures.”

  “Sounds expensive,” said Thalia. “Show me again.”

  “My birthday is coming soon.” Nell shuffled the cards dreamily. “Maybe I’ll ask Nat to get me one.”

  Thalia was firm. “Just keep practicing.”

  * * *

  When the lesson was over for the day, Thalia left Nell still practicing. She let herself out of the workroom and walked alone through the magnificent house. In the courtyard, the chauffeur retrieved the Pierce-Arrow and brought it near the front steps.

  The odd feeling Thalia had experienced the night before, that utter certainty that she was being watched, returned in full force. Thalia stood poised on the mansion’s wide stone steps, scanning her surroundings warily, while the car idled gently below. There was the courtyard. There were the servants. There was the street, just visible beyond the gates. Thalia’s surroundings were not deserted by any means, but she could see no threat, nothing to explain the pins and needles she felt at the back of her neck.

  “Coming, ma’am?” called the chauffeur.

  Thalia entered the backseat and settled herself comfortably as they moved slowly across the courtyard. Two servants opened the wrought-iron gates, and the car moved through them into the street.

  The chauffeur was shifting gears when a man threw himself at the Pierce-Arrow and struck at the window nearest Thalia. She gave a squawk of surprise and shrank back in her seat. The window glass held, but the attacker’s intention was unmistakable to Thalia. He was after her. He meant to attack her. Not the chauffeur. Not a random passerby. Her.

  The pallid face pressed to the glass was wild-eyed, the mouth agape. He smelled terrible. Even with the windows shut, the attacker’s breath was a stomach-turning mix of rotten meat and stale urine. Thalia gagged. The smell of him clogged her nostrils. Thalia remembered how she had felt that night in Philadelphia when everything had gone wrong. There was something she must do. She didn’t know what it was, but a strange urgency seized her.

  The chauffeur, startled by the attack, ground the Pierce-Arrow’s gearbox. The car was just outside the wrought-iron gates, and still moving forward slowly.

  The attacker, balancing on the running board and clinging to the roof, raised his hand to strike again. Thalia saw that he was holding a stone, clearly intent upon shattering the glass of the rear passenger window. When he came through the glass, he would try to kill her.

  Thalia, her deftness turned clumsy, fumbled with the elaborate fittings designed for a passenger’s convenience. She managed to unlatch the panel that dropped to reveal the writing desk. She seized the penknife. In her other hand, she clutched her reticule. The soft cloth of the purse held a handful of coins. It might serve as a makeshift blackjack. Thalia’s icy fingers had gone pins and needles.

  A second man threw himself at the Pierce-Arrow, this one younger, taller, and much, much cleaner. He grappled with the first. The attacker kicked him, but rather than renew his attack when the cleaner man doubled up in pain, he scrambled beneath the car and emerged on the other side, running away as fast as he could.

  Thalia lost sight of her attacker when he rounded the corner of a nearby brownstone mansion. That strange urgency, that drive to do something although she didn’t understand what, faded abruptly. Thalia, light-headed with relief, turned her focus back to the clean man. By now, he was back on his feet, wincing as he leaned against the Pierce-Arrow.

  Thalia opened the passenger door. The pins and needles were gone. Her hands were her own again. “Are you all right, sir?”

  “Yes, I am.” To the chauffeur, he called, “Run this beauty back home, will yo
u?” Limping, he moved clear of the car and followed it into the courtyard.

  The driver obeyed swiftly. Servants rushed to shut the gates once the car was safely back on the premises.

  Thalia’s rescuer, whom she now realized was barely her own age, regarded Thalia with disapproval. He was the black Solitaire she’d seen at Delmonico’s. His wide-set eyes held a thin layer of brittle courtesy, but mockery still lay beneath. There was no recognition there. Thalia knew him, but he’d not remembered her. He dusted himself off, straightened his black slouch hat, and limped over to lean against the car again. With no ceremony, he opened the rear passenger door and pulled Thalia out. When she was standing, he moved so close his nose nearly touched hers and drew in a deep breath. “I can’t smell it but that manticore sure could. Miss, you need to stay in where it’s safe until you can control yourself.”

  Manticore. Thalia stepped back and bumped into the car door. Every fear she’d had about being a Trader came rushing back. That had been a manticore. She’d just been attacked by a manticore. Her knees were trembling.

  Summoned by the uproar, Nathaniel and Nell Ryker emerged from the house and ran to Thalia. Thalia’s rescuer turned to them. “You’ll be the Traders who live here, I expect. I’m Tycho Aristides. I’m the Skinner of New York. You’ll want to keep this young Trader lady of yours safe. She’s drawing the manticore. You’ve no doubt heard there was an attack yesterday.”

  Ryker and his sister looked at each other with identical expressions of amazement. As one, they turned to Thalia. Ryker said, “But you’re a Solitaire.”

  Nell asked hopefully, “You’re a Trader?”

  “She’s a Trader.” Aristides shook his head as if he pitied them. “Can’t you smell her?”

  Both Rykers leaned close and inhaled. This was by no means as rude as the sniff the Skinner had given her, but Thalia bristled anyway.

  Ryker sounded accusing. “You’re a Trader.”

  Nell swatted Thalia on the shoulder. “You should have told me!” To the rescuer, she said, “Why didn’t you just shoot the monster dead?”

  Aristides narrowed his eyes. “That manticore wasn’t six inches away from her. I couldn’t risk the shot.”

  Thalia did her best to stay calm. Professor Philander Evans had been wrong. This was no more than she deserved for trusting a professor of literature. Thalia, still trying to absorb this new truth, said the first thing that came into her head. “What do I smell like?”

  “You smell normal,” Nell assured her kindly.

  “It’s very faint,” said Ryker, but he blushed.

  “Going by the manticore, miss, you smell nice and ripe,” said Aristides. “You smell the way all you people smell right before a manticore takes your magic and leaves you to die. Which is exactly what would have happened here if I hadn’t been tracking the manticore, doing my job.” To Ryker, Aristides added dryly, “Any time now, sir, you can say ‘Thank you for rescuing my beloved family member.’ Any currency will be gratefully accepted, but gold coin is preferred.”

  Ryker looked like he’d swallowed a frog. “She’s not a family member.”

  Nell gave her brother a most unladylike punch on the shoulder. “Thank you very much for rescuing our friend for us, Mr. Aristides.” Nell beamed up at the Skinner. “My brother will gladly reward you for your valor.”

  Aristides smiled back.

  Ryker asked, “Aren’t you going to track that manticore?”

  “Oh, I will. But there’s a protocol to be observed.” Aristides indicated Thalia. “First I have to be sure she’s safe. Get her back indoors, will you?” To Thalia, he added, “You really need to get your Trades under control, miss. If you draw a manticore, it may end up attacking someone else.”

  “Miss Cutler is quite safe with us,” Ryker stated stiffly. “She is not a member of our family, but as she is Trader enough to draw a manticore to our very doorstep, it is our responsibility to ensure her safety—and everyone else’s.”

  “We’ll keep her with us,” Nell added. “Don’t worry.”

  “Wait a minute.” No one paid any attention to Thalia.

  “Thank you, Mr. Aristides.” Ryker brought out his pocketbook and gave Aristides a fifty-dollar bill. “Every Trader in Manhattan will owe you thanks when you’ve disposed of this manticore.”

  “Thank you kindly, sir.” Aristides pocketed the reward. When he was satisfied with Ryker’s assurances, he touched the brim of his black slouch hat as he gave Thalia a small bow. Then the Skinner left, no longer limping.

  “My goodness,” said Nell. “Wasn’t that exciting?”

  “Indoors, both of you,” said Ryker.

  Chapter Nine

  “What do you mean by keep her with us, exactly?” Thalia had followed Nell and her brother back indoors to the music room. Nell settled Thalia in the most comfortable chair and sent Rogers to organize refreshments.

  “Hush.” Nell put a comforting hand on Thalia’s sleeve. “I know I am only your student, but if our situations were reversed, I’m sure you would keep me safe and show exactly the same concern for my welfare that we’re obliged to show any Trader in your situation.”

  Thalia thought Nell was being optimistic, but she’d let it slide since it seemed to be working in her favor. “Okay.”

  Nell continued. “Nowhere safer for you to learn to control your Trades than right here with us. Our house has sheltered the young Traders of the Ryker family for generations.”

  “You want me to stay here? Indefinitely?” Thalia remembered her manners. “That is very kind of you, and I thank you. But I can’t do that. I have responsibilities.”

  “No responsibility outweighs your safety and the safety of those around you,” Ryker said. His stiffness had been replaced by concern.

  “No, really. I can’t stay here.”

  “It isn’t up to you,” Ryker said.

  “And why can’t you stay here, I’d like to know,” asked Nell.

  “I have doves,” Thalia admitted.

  “Doves!” Nell clapped her hands with delight. “Wonderful.”

  Thalia played her last bad-houseguest card. “I have a snake.”

  “Poisonous, no doubt,” Ryker muttered. “Some sort of rattlesnake.”

  With great difficulty, Thalia resisted the urge to lie and agree. “No. It’s only a corn snake. It eats mice.”

  Nell dismissed the snake and its mice with an airy wave of her hand. “You shall be our welcome houseguest, and so shall your doves and your corn snake. I can hardly wait.”

  “Send for your luggage and your pets and anything else you please, Miss Cutler.” Ryker sounded tired. “Nell, when we’ve had a chance to calm down a bit, put her in the nursery. That room is most convenient for the Changing room.”

  The tray of refreshments arrived. There were a cut-crystal decanter of brandy and suitable glasses, a plate of sandwiches, and a teapot flanked by cups and saucers. Ryker poured them each a measure of brandy. Nell distributed sandwiches. Thalia, still slightly light-headed, managed a cup of tea. She declined both the brandy and the sandwich. She didn’t trust her stomach yet.

  When the refreshments had been cleared away, Nell led Thalia along a ground-floor passage papered in an elaborate wallpaper pattern that made Thalia feel as if she were walking underwater.

  “This is the nursery.” Nell opened a white-painted door and led Thalia into a whitewashed room with simple furniture and no windows.

  Thalia looked around. There was a drab rag rug on the floor beside the iron bedstead. Otherwise the floor was bare wood. There was a wardrobe with no clothing in it. There was a dressing table with a mirror. There was a small writing desk with a simple chair. Counting the door they had come through, there were three doors in the room, all painted glossy white.

  Nell opened the door to the left. “Here’s the bathroom. You’ll love it. This was one of the first houses in Manhattan to have full indoor plumbing. Our grandmother got the idea from her friends in London.”

  Th
alia praised the bathroom plumbing sincerely, but she was distracted by the door to the right. “Is that a closet?”

  Nell opened the door to reveal a flight of steps running downward into darkness. “This goes to the Changing room.”

  “There’s plenty of room to change clothes here,” Thalia pointed out, then caught herself. “Wait. That’s where you Trade?”

  Nell regarded Thalia with approval. “We learn to Trade here in the nursery, so that’s why there’s nothing fancy or breakable in here. But sometimes it turns out a member of the family Trades to something wet. Or something large. That’s what the Changing room is for. Anyway, it’s fun.”

  Thalia took another look around. “Why aren’t there any windows?”

  “Manticores, of course.” Nell sat on the narrow bed and gestured to the writing desk. “I expect you’ll want to tell someone that you’re moving your things here to stay. Write a letter. We’ll send a messenger with it. It’s not something you can explain in a telegram, is it?”

  In the drawer of the writing desk, Thalia found writing paper with the Ryker address printed on it. Riverside, the house was called. What would it be like to live in a house so big it needed its own name?

  Thalia wrote hastily to Nutall, explaining her situation in brief. She did not outright ask Nutall to come to her, but she hoped he would accompany her things. Putting it down on paper for Nutall made it all seem, if anything, less likely. As she sealed the envelope with wax, Thalia silently scolded herself for taking Professor Evans at his ill-informed word.

  Nell showed Thalia the bell rope to ring for a servant to collect the letter and find a messenger to deliver it to Mrs. Morris’s boardinghouse. “If you get hungry or need anything else, just ring. Any time, day or night. We have an excellent staff.”

  A maid answered the summons with a neat curtsy and took the letter Thalia offered her.

  “Come to think of it, you never ate your sandwich.” Nell told the maid, “Have Cook send a dinner tray.” The maid curtsied again and left. To Thalia, Nell said, “I’m happy to help you with anything I can. Do you have any questions?”