The Glass Magician

by Caroline Stevermer

  Thalia did not permit herself to wonder whom he had lost. She suspected she was in one of those rare situations when ignorance was as close to bliss as one ever came. “If I fail, if I am doomed to be a swan for the rest of my life, will I know it?” Thalia suspected the swan inside her, that fleeting awareness she was slowly coming to know, might have a very different view of such a fate.

  “For a while.” Ryker looked tired and sad. “In time, you are filled by the form you Trade to. There is no more room for the human half of your soul.”

  “So I would know and I would not know.” Thalia considered the situation. “The worst of both worlds.”

  “The greatest waste,” Ryker agreed. “There are never so many of us Traders in this world that we can afford to let anyone go needlessly.” To Thalia’s profound astonishment, Ryker kissed the back of her hand. “Take care with yourself, Miss Cutler.”

  Ryker left her there, alone in the parlor. Thalia stood there thinking, gradually becoming aware of the physical residue of her encounter with the manticore days ago. Her muscles twinged. Her bones felt heavy. Her heart ached. She found herself rubbing the back of her hand, just at the spot where Ryker had kissed it.

  Nutall was in trouble, but Thalia couldn’t help him.

  Thalia was in trouble herself, but she couldn’t help it.

  Meanwhile Professor Evans sailed blithely on, Thalia reflected bitterly, telling Traders they were really Solitaires. In all fairness, Thalia had to admit it wouldn’t have helped to learn she was a Trader back in Philadelphia. She’d been extremely fortunate to meet the Ryker siblings. Did the Ryker standard of ethics hold for other Traders? Had circumstances been different, would Thalia have found herself a permanent houseguest anywhere else? She doubted it.

  Had circumstances not been precisely what they were, Thalia might well have been dead days ago, her belated magic consumed by the first manticore.

  Until that night in Philadelphia, all Thalia had ever wanted out of life was to be a famous stage magician. Now that lost ambition seemed more remote to her than the possibility of finishing her life as a hissing, angry swan.

  This time when Thalia returned to the Changing room, it felt like she was returning to a sanctuary. She locked all the doors and sat on the walkway beside the pool with a blanket from her bed in the nursery wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She was safe, Thalia told herself. It was all right to hide for a while. She could put the interactions she’d had, first with Aristides, then with Ryker, out of her mind. She made herself put it all out of her mind, even the burning necessity of learning to Trade. For a long time, she let herself sit there in the chill of the Changing room and think of nothing.

  Thinking of nothing did not help Thalia learn to Trade. Thinking of nothing, safe in the silence, did, by slow degrees, restore Thalia’s calmness. When she was ready, she let herself think about the fact that her undisciplined state was endangering young Traders because she could be drawing another manticore to her. To Thalia, being responsible for endangering others felt much more terrible than endangering herself. After long analysis, Thalia decided that what she was feeling was shame. She let that emotion drive her back to the business of learning how to Trade.

  Trial and error, Thalia reminded herself. That was the only way she’d ever learned anything. There had once been a time, though she couldn’t quite remember it, when she didn’t even know how to shuffle a deck of cards. Trial and error was the only way.

  Chapter Twelve

  Thalia’s ongoing effort to master her Trades was broken only by occasional evening meals with the Ryker siblings, the ongoing chores involved in looking after her doves and the snake, and one domestic upheaval, caused by Nell arguing with her brother over a substantial wooden crate, delivered early one morning.

  After yet another morning spent fruitlessly trying to Trade, Thalia was introduced to Nell’s delivery. After lunch, Nell took her through a passage Thalia hadn’t seen before, which led them out a pair of French windows into an enclosed garden with carefully trimmed shrubs and a gravel path underfoot. It was a quiet space tucked behind high stone walls. This pocket garden lay on the south side of the house, and even so early in the afternoon, it was warm in the April sunlight.

  In one corner of the garden rested a metal tripod topped by an expensive-looking device bristling with knobs and dials, with a lens like a snout pointing toward the center of the garden.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” Nell caressed the top of the device as if she were petting a sleeping cat. “It’s a kinetoscope. I ordered it through the mail. It’s from New Jersey.”

  “What’s it for?”

  “We’ve talked about this before. It makes moving pictures.” Nell steered Thalia into the center of the garden and stood behind her device, by turns consulting a small meter in her hand and then peering through the lens. “Yes. There should be plenty of light if we start right now.”

  “Plenty of light for what?” Thalia let Nell adjust her position.

  “I’m going to make a moving picture of you doing your card tricks so that I can watch and learn even when you’re busy learning how to Trade.”

  Nell’s evident satisfaction with her own ingenuity silenced Thalia. She handed Thalia a deck of cards. Thalia shuffled them in patient silence while Nell fussed with knobs and dials.

  “Now!” Nell began to turn the crank that operated the device. “Action!”

  Performing for an audience was one thing. Performing for a machine was something else. Mindful of the stage magicians’ oath she had sworn, meant to keep her professional secrets from laymen, Thalia confined herself to the simplest card pass she knew. Despite Thalia’s restraint, Nell exclaimed with delight as her device clicked away.

  Feeling embarrassed, Thalia went through the pass again and again until Nell’s supply of film finally ran out. Afterward, Nell thanked Thalia so profusely for her help that Thalia actually blushed. Could it be this simple to repay her debt for the Ryker family’s hospitality?

  “When will you watch the moving pictures? Today?” asked Thalia. Not now, I hope, she did not say aloud.

  “Oh, no. I need to have the film sent out to be processed first,” said Nell. “I need to send it back to New Jersey to have it done.”

  “That will take quite a time, I expect.” Thalia tried to phrase her concern as delicately as she could. “You won’t show it to just anyone, will you? You are my pupil. I have no problem showing you, but I don’t feel right about letting just anyone see the trick, in case they learn it themselves.”

  Nell paused in the process of taking her contraption down for storage inside the house. She frowned thoughtfully. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. No, I promise I will limit the viewings as much as I can. But I do think other people would like to see the moving pictures. You look quite pretty.”

  * * *

  In another two days, Nell’s supply of film had been replenished. The first attempt at making her own moving pictures had come back with the fresh film stock and was ready to be viewed. Nell set up the kinetoscope’s special experimental projector to point at a sheet hung in a darkened room and ran the short film over and over again.

  Thalia watched the flickering images through once and then refused to look at it again. Was that how she really looked to the audience, devoid of grace and charm, shuffling cards mechanically?

  Nell went delightedly through it again and again. Her enthusiasm for the project would have resulted in another trip to the garden if it hadn’t been raining. The next sunny afternoon, Nell wheedled another session. Thalia tried to put a bit more life into her performance.

  Shuffle, cut, shuffle, fan, Thalia worked through the tricks without taking her eyes off the gleaming black disc of the kinetoscope lens. She made the machine her audience. She made each flick of her wrist a scientific exhibition. If Nell was going to learn from her moving pictures, this time Thalia wanted her to learn the right technique.

  While Thalia watched the lens of the kinetoscope and made
sure her wrists and hands and fingers were all moving perfectly, Thalia’s mind wandered back to that night in the Imperial Theater, when Von Faber and his assistant had prepared the rifle for the Bullet Catch.

  Thalia had to admit the assistant had been good. She had the kind of grace found in ballet dancers. Her focus on each stage of loading the weapon had made it easy for the audience to think they knew what was going on. Shuffle cut, shuffle fan.

  Thalia and Nutall had been in good seats. Thalia had seen the effortless pass in which the silver musket ball with the initials had been switched for the dummy lead one that would have stayed in the rifle had the trick gone properly. The one with the initials had gone with Von Faber, ready for him to produce it when he mimed the catch.

  Shuffle cut, shuffle fan.

  Thalia had seen that pass, but there was something else, something that she had noticed at the time. Something had been pushed out of her thoughts by the events that followed.

  Nell had stopped cranking and begun talking. Was she addressing Thalia? Absorbed in thought, Thalia went on working the cards. Her entire focus was on her recollection of that night.

  There was something that had troubled Thalia. If there had been a kinetoscope that night, if she could watch it all again, it might come to her. But there was no film to watch. There was only Thalia’s recollection of the night.

  Shuffle cut. Shuffle fan.

  Frowning to herself, Thalia kept the cards going. She went back in her thoughts, slowly working through her memory of the evening from the moment they had taken their seats to the moment Von Faber had announced he would perform the Bullet Catch.

  The volunteer (a plant, no question) was chosen from the audience. The weapon was inspected.

  The initials were scratched into the silver ball.

  Von Faber took his place while his pretty stage assistant loaded the rifle under the volunteer’s eagle eye. The gunpowder, the cartridge paper, the leaden ball—not the one with the initials—and the rod that plunged it all into position in the rifle barrel.

  Shuffle cut, shuffle fan.

  The gunpowder, the cartridge paper, the leaden ball, the rod.

  Thalia stopped shuffling the cards. The gunpowder.

  Nell was standing right in front of Thalia. “Are you all right?”

  The world leaked in a little at a time.

  “Yes,” Thalia answered absently. “I am quite all right. I’ve just remembered something, that’s all.”

  That graceful stage assistant had used a generous amount of gunpowder, much more than either Nutall or her father would have permitted. Since what the audience actually heard was the charge from the smaller cylinder, it was unwise to use more in the pantomime of loading, lest some observant audience member shout out that the crack of the weapon firing had been too small for the amount of powder used in loading. To prevent such misfortune, Nutall had insisted that the powder horn her act used must contain only the precise amount of gunpowder he measured out for each Bullet Catch.

  Von Faber’s powder horn had held far more gunpowder than even the lavish amount the stage assistant had poured.

  No wonder there had been a louder report that night than Thalia was used to hearing. At the time, she had put the disparity down to her place in the audience compared with her usual position onstage, holding the chalice in which she would pretend to catch the bullet. Now Thalia was sure that the increased amount of gunpowder had been the cause.

  Thalia remembered that sharp report. She remembered what a performance the pretty, graceful stage assistant had given. Every gesture, every tear had been convincing.

  “Nutall didn’t kill Von Faber.” Thalia handed Nell the deck of cards. “I always knew it, but now I know how to clear his name. Von Faber’s stage assistant killed him.” Thalia explained her theory to Nell. “All I need to do is prove it.”

  Nell was intrigued, her kinetoscope forgotten for the moment. “How will you do that?”

  Thalia took stock of her situation. No one involved with Von Faber’s murder had any reason to listen to Thalia or to answer her questions. Her friend David Nutall was out on bail, taking shelter with his Sylvestri family. He couldn’t provide any help whatsoever. The police already viewed Thalia with suspicion. Nothing would suit them better than to arrest her as an accessory to the murder. Thalia had little money, no influence, few friends, and a pressing need to learn how to Trade to a swan. “I don’t know yet.”

  Nell frowned. “When do you think you will know?”

  First things first. Nutall was with his family, the lawyers had said, safe with the relatives who had bailed him out. Nutall was at the Sylvestri embassy. Thalia would tell Nutall what she had remembered. A telegram would be far too short for a proper explanation. “I need to write another letter.”

  Nell led the way to the nursery, where the writing desk held paper, ink, and a pen with a working nib. She gazed at Thalia expectantly.

  Thalia frowned back. “I can’t write a letter if you’re watching me.”

  “Can’t you?” Nell dropped into a nearby chair and picked up the instructions that had come with her kinetoscope. “Go ahead. Try. I promise I won’t read over your shoulder.”

  Dear Nutall,

  If you have already answered my letter, your reply has gone astray. I haven’t heard anything from you. I’m worried about that, but my chief reason for this letter is to tell you that Von Faber’s stage assistant was responsible for his death. I am sure of it. For all I know, you’ve come to the same conclusion. If we can somehow find evidence to prove she did it, your name will be cleared.

  I will do all I can, but I’m afraid I can’t be of much help until I can safely leave this house, which won’t happen until I pass my ordeal. The Rykers have been wonderfully generous. They claim it is their duty to keep me safe from the manticores. I am very grateful to them, but I hate incurring debts I can’t repay. Still, it means I can give you a return address where a message from you will reliably reach me. In case my first letter never reached you, I am still at Riverside House.

  I know you are out on bail, which your family posted. I hear you are staying at the Sylvestri embassy. May this letter find you there in excellent health and spirits. It’s wonderful that your relatives are helping you. I find it curiously difficult to picture what your family must be like. I always thought Dad and I were all the family you had. Of course, I always thought you were a Solitaire like me. Now it turns out neither of us is a Solitaire. That is curious too. I still can’t quite believe it.

  Professor Evans was wrong about me. I am a Trader. More than once, I have Traded to the form of a swan. It is pleasant in a way, but strange. That was what happened that night in Philadelphia, although I didn’t understand it at the time. I Trade when I’m frightened. I was frightened that night.

  How do you find being Sylvestri? I suppose it isn’t as strange for you, given that you’ve always known what you were. Why have you kept it secret from me? You’ve never behaved in the least as if you were anything but Solitaire. I’m sure your family missed you and are glad to have you back.

  I miss you. I miss working. Miss Ryker is still practicing the tricks I’ve taught her, but she has used a kinetoscope to record me so she can watch that instead. That way she can keep learning card and coin magic even while I’m busy learning to Trade.

  Write to me if you can.

  Your friend,

  Thalia

  * * *

  Three hours later a messenger brought a thick envelope containing her unopened letter and a sheet of stationery from the Sylvestri embassy. Thalia opened it in the music room.

  Dear Miss Cutler, said the missive. The man you know as Mr. Nutall has no wish to communicate with you. Desist.

  It was signed by Peter Viridian, the Sylvestri ambassador to the entire eastern seaboard.

  “How annoying,” said Thalia. “For all the ambassador knows, that could have been my suicide note.”

  Nell looked up from the Shakespeare play she was re
ading. “Bit of a crushing disappointment, Mr. Nutall not even opening it.”

  “I don’t think Nutall ever knew of its existence.” Thalia resisted the urge to crumple the ambassador’s letter and throw it in the fire. Instead, she set it carefully aside. It was time to think again.

  Thalia could ask for help from a third party. Madame Ostrova had always been fond of Nutall. She would be a good place to start.

  Thalia cursed softly to herself. If she were a true Trader, as almost any other Trader her age would be, she would not need to beg for help from Madame Ostrova or anyone else. If she were a true Trader, she wouldn’t be endangering every young Trader in the city.

  That bitter thought reminded her of Aristides and his business proposal. If Thalia let the Skinner accompany her to Nutall’s sanctuary, he could deal with any manticore that she attracted. If she did not attract a manticore, Thalia would know one of two things. Either she was in control of her Trades enough that she wasn’t drawing manticores to her anymore, or Aristides had killed the last local manticore.

  How far did manticores travel, Thalia wondered. How long would it take for a different manticore to come hunt an empty territory? Thalia began to draft a telegram. She had a counteroffer to make.

  * * *

  The next morning brought Tycho Aristides to the Ryker house in time for breakfast. With some reserve, the Rykers welcomed him and invited him to join them at the table.

  “You summoned me, Miss Cutler?” The Skinner was looking particularly spruce. His hair was clean and looked freshly trimmed. His buckskin trousers were spotless, and he smelled of boot polish and good tobacco.

  “Very much against my advice,” said Nathaniel Ryker. “We should give our legal representatives time to sort this out.”