“Is it?” Victoria asked, her irritation drowned by another chorus of applause. She glanced away from the children and the grime of their clothes and the bitter stench of their poverty. How she detested their eagerness and wretched energy. Didn’t they realize what life had in store for them? Were they really so easily distracted from their impoverished lives?
It was all her father’s fault. He was the one who had invited the little beggars into their home, insisting they share in her birthday celebration. But the invitations weren’t sent out of goodwill or his paper-thin sense of charity. No, they were simply given to raise his standing in the community, the benevolent patrician bestowing an act of kindness upon the local paupers.
Had her parents given Victoria the birthday present she’d truly desired, they would have gone away for an extended period of time and left her alone.
“Please, finish soon,” Victoria begged as the magician reached for another prop. She glanced towards the windows, but the thick velvet curtains were drawn, sealing her inside the room.
But boredom wasn’t the only reason Victoria wanted the magician to leave.
No, there was something else that set her teeth on edge about the man. He was like a carrion crow swirling around the room, his long black cape like wings hanging from his tall, wiry frame. Above the cape, his bald head gleamed like a pale pink ball, with only his thin, pointed beard lending his face definition.
His red-rimmed eyes kept roving across the audience, as if searching for something to feast on. They rarely settled on any one child and constantly darted from here to there.
Occasionally his gaze would fix on Victoria, and she’d be forced to look away. For while his voice was full of cheer and bluster, there was another tone below its surface—haunted, needling, and desperate. How could her parents have allowed him into the house?
But the young girl who accompanied him was, perhaps, worse than the magician.
Victoria had never seen such a morose-looking child. Her ash-grey hair, which was surely more fitting for a woman two score years her senior, hung limply across her slumped shoulders. Her pale, emotionless face appeared carved like a statue’s. Heavy black circles lay beneath her watery blue eyes, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept for weeks.
She should be in bed, thought Victoria. And he should fetch a doctor for her, because clearly she’s not long for the world. And then it occurred to Victoria that the girl looked even more miserable than she was, and she almost felt pity for her.
The girl handed the magician two large silver hoops, which he held up. “These rings are made of solid metal, and I shall use them to show you a sight which is so miraculous that it may still the beating of your heart!” An excited gasp came from his audience. “Now, I shall need a clever little lad or lady to come here and test the strength of the rings. Who shall step forward?”
A forest of grimy hands reached into the air with such force that they seemed intent on pulling the ceiling down.
Victoria rolled her eyes. Her uncle, who fancied himself something of a showman, had performed the very same feat at Christmas.
“So many eager young ladies and gentlemen!” the magician said to the sickly girl, who gazed back with dead eyes. “It’s almost impossible to choose. But wait, I know!” He fixed Victoria with a smile. “We should let the birthday girl come and take part. She’s remained in the shadows for the whole show, so let’s bring her into the light and shine a beam upon her pretty little face.”
“No, thank you.” Victoria forced a tight smile, trying to break the pull of his insistent eyes.
“Oh, come now,” the magician protested. “You’re only thirteen once in a lifetime! Why squander the chance of fun and excitement on such an auspicious day?”
“Thank you for the offer,” Victoria replied, “but no. Ask one of them.” She pointed at the village children as each tried to raise their hand higher than the one beside them. “They look like they’re enjoying themselves.”
The smile faded from the magician’s face, and he flashed Victoria a furious look. And then the anger was gone, and he offered a brief, insincere smile, pointing to a boy who got up in such a hurry that he tripped.
The room was instantly filled with raucous giggles, but Victoria ignored the spectacle. Instead, she watched the magician’s assistant. The girl stared back at her and, with the slightest movement, shook her head.
What was that? A warning? Victoria continued to gaze at the girl, hoping to provoke a further response, but instead, the girl stared lifelessly into the distance.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, the show ended and Victoria guided the children from the room, herding them into the large hall outside. They stood around on the black-and-white tiles, scuffing them with their hobnailed boots until she ordered them to fetch their coats. The children ran to the cloakroom, grabbing at their rags and tatters of cloth, yanking them on with an eagerness to leave now that the show had ended.
Victoria didn’t blame them. They had no interest in her or her birthday, and why should they? It was not as if she’d ever attempted to hide her contempt for them.
Outside, snowflakes fell. She wondered how long it had been snowing. As one of the children spotted the weather, another excited chorus rose, and soon the front door was thrown wide as they pushed and shoved their way outside. Victoria stood beneath the doorway.
The countryside was covered in a thick layer of white, its glare harsh and bright below a spotty gray cover of clouds. The children scooped up the snow, forming it into balls, shrieking as they hurled them, their excitement turning to occasional yelps of pain.
“It’s called snow,” Victoria shouted, “and it comes every winter. You may have seen it before!” She slammed the door, shivering as she went in search of her shawl. As soon as she found it, she would have the magician paid and escorted from the house, and finally she might find some peace.
Victoria returned to the room where the show had taken place, grabbing her shawl from the back of her chair. As she turned, she noticed the magician standing on his makeshift stage, his assistant beside him.
He gave Victoria a cold smile. “Well, well, it’s the birthday girl.”
“I came back for my shawl,” Victoria replied. “Don’t let me keep you and your assistant from packing. I’m sure you’re both keen to be on your way with the snowfall. The path to the village is already covered.”
“We shall be on our way soon,” the magician said. “And this is not my assistant, at least not in an official capacity. She is my dear daughter, Sophia.” He placed a hand on the sickly girl’s shoulder. She didn’t respond. “So, Victoria, were my obligations fulfilled today? Did I entertain the birthday girl?”
Victoria flinched. He spoke her name warmly, as if they were old friends. “No. I was thoroughly bored. But the village children seemed to find your show passable.”
“Ah, the children. Of course, you wouldn’t count yourself a child, would you, Victoria? Not at the grand old age of thirteen. I rather doubt you’ve ever considered yourself a child though, have you? For someone so young, you seem so tired.” He raised his hand to the chandelier hanging above him. “Such an affluent, opulent life, and yet you appear to carry the weight of the world.”
“I am tired,” Victoria responded. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”
The magician stepped towards her and Victoria fought the urge to back away. “Oh, but Victoria, it is my concern. I came to entertain, to baffle and bewitch you with my magic. And yet, I found the most important member of my audience the least entertained. I’ve failed to give the service I was paid so handsomely to provide.”
“Don’t let it concern you. You freed myself and my parents from the burden of each other’s company for a few hours. I’d call that a success. And now you may go on your way.”
“But I wonder,” the magician replied, gazing into her eyes. “What would excite you? Let us say, for the sake of argument, that I were able to perform any feat of magic. What would you choose?
”
From the corner of her eyes Victoria saw the girl, Sophia, glance towards her.
“Well?” he asked.
“Magic doesn’t interest me. It’s just tricks and sham,” Victoria said, trying to ignore Sophia’s steady gaze.
“You’re right,” the magician agreed. “Most magic is trickery and diversion. But what if I were to tell you I could summon real magic? Ancient magic? And what if I had the power to grant you any wish? Tell me, what would you choose?”
Victoria sneered, determined to call his bluff and make him look just as stupid as he was. “I’d choose to be invisible so village fools would leave me alone.”
“Really?” he gazed even further into her eyes. “But I don’t think you’re telling the truth, Victoria. I can see something else…a long-held dream that has nothing to do with invisibility. You’re keeping it from me because you believe talking about it will make you seem foolish. But there’s nothing foolish about dreams and desires.”
Victoria was about to command him to leave the house and take his sickly daughter with him when her words failed her and her mind turned instead to her dream. The dream that haunted her both in sleep and during her waking hours. The dream of flight, and of flying far, far away. “I…I’ve always wanted to fly. Like a bird. But without wings. To go into the clouds or wherever my will takes me.”
The magician smiled. “Interesting. Helping you fulfill that dream is not beyond the scope of my ability. But I warn you—you will only have a short time. Stolen moments in the grand scheme of things. But how many other people have the opportunity to say they’ve soared through the clouds?”
“I don’t believe you,” Victoria said. “You’re just a showman. And not a very good one.”
If her insult had an effect, the magician hid it well. “But let’s say,” he continued, “just for the sake of argument, that I could lend you the ability to fly. What would you give me in return for such a gift?”
With a growing sense of hope and unease, Victoria realized he was perfectly serious. Delusional, perhaps, but serious. “I have no money, if that’s what you want. My parents only give me a meager allowance.”
“Money is something I used to covet,” he responded, an air of melancholy creeping into his voice. “But nowadays I find coins weigh so heavily in my pockets. And the more I accumulate, the greater the burden. But there’s something else you have that would serve as payment. Something it appears you have little use for.”
“What?” Victoria found herself genuinely curious. Was he really going to give her the gift of flight? Of course it was quite impossible, and yet strangely, she found herself immersed in the conversation.
“Well, I could take your name. Or perhaps a precious memory, if you have any. Or maybe that beauty spot on your cheek. And yet I don’t think any of those things are worth the gift of flight.”
“So, what is?”
“Well…” The magician shrugged. “How about your soul?”
“My soul?” Victoria shivered as the candlelight flickered.
“Well, soul sounds so grandiose, really, but that, in essence, is what I’m asking for. I may be wrong, but I suspect you have very little use for yours. Tell me, has your soul ever brought you a modicum of comfort or joy?”
Victoria shook her head. “Not as far as I’m aware. I’m not even convinced I believe in souls, much less own one.”
“We do,” the magician assured her, glancing at his daughter. “But some of us, and in this case I mean you, have very little connection with them. Your life, if you don’t mind me saying, appears to be one of bile, spite, and boredom. I hardly think you’ll miss the loss of your soul.”
“But what about…about when I die?”
“You don’t need a soul for dying, Victoria; death will come calling on its own. What would change is that, without your soul to take you any further along the road, there would be nothing more. You’ll simply wink out of existence as if you were never here. Does the idea of nothingness bother you?”
Victoria thought for a moment. Would oblivion be such a bad thing? And how would she know, anyway? One minute she would be, the next she wouldn’t. “I don’t care about oblivion. But what about damnation? And Hell?”
“Do you believe in damnation and Hell?” the magician asked.
“Not really. I don’t really believe in anything.”
“There you have it, then. But you do believe I can give you the gift of flight, now, don’t you?”
“Maybe. We shall see, shan’t we?”
“We shall.”
“You say I have no need for my soul. So why do you need it?”
He glanced at his daughter. “Sophia made a similar deal to the one I’m proposing. She made hers with a lady she met in the city. I was in more troubled circumstances at the time and languishing in debt and prison. The lady gave Sophia enough money to free me from my captivity, in return for her soul.”
Victoria glanced at the magician’s daughter. “Is that what’s wrong with her?”
“In a sense. But she had a passion for life, Victoria, whereas you have none. I’ve been looking for someone like you for what seems like an age. So, what do you think? You give up your soul, and I bestow the prize of your wildest dream. The gift of flight.”
“Are you the Devil?”
The magician laughed. “If I were, I think I’d have grander plans than trading magic with a bored little girl, don’t you? No, I’m merely offering a deal on behalf of my daughter. But the day grows old, and the snow is falling, and we must be on our way. So quickly, before we leave, I shall ask you once again. Will you trade, Victoria? Something you shall barely miss in return to be able to take to the skies, to glide and soar wherever your will takes you?”
As the magician turned away, Victoria wiped her tears with her sleeve. She’d always told herself she’d give anything to be able to fly, and here was her opportunity. Of course, it hadn’t happened the way she’d dreamt, she wouldn’t just be able to take wing and fly from the house. To glide away from her parents and her cold, detached life.
Or would she? Perhaps…perhaps she would.
But what was she offering in return?
Nothing, as far as she could see. She had long come to understand her future was bleak. Her hatred and boredom were so ingrained that she knew little else, and if she’d ever had a passion for life, she’d long forgotten it.
She knew her spite had turned her into a loathsome creature and that no one wanted to be around her. And she couldn’t blame them. Which was why she was resigned to spending the rest of her days in the house. She’d wait for her parents to die, inherit the place, and sack the servants so she could be alone. That was how she would end her days, haunting the rooms and halls, a ghost waiting for its end.
A clatter broke her thoughts as the magician packed the last of his props. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“We must be on our way. I have no more time to wait on your answer. There will be someone else to accept my offer.”
“I’ll do it,” Victoria blurted. Her heart thumped as she realized what she’d agreed to. “As long as it won’t hurt.”
“You won’t feel physical pain.” The magician reached into his battered trunk and produced an old ledger and a black pouch. “But before I grant you your gift, you shall need to sign this book. Then, once your wish is fulfilled, I will collect your soul and place it within this pouch. From thereon you shall take the pouch and ledger and our dealings will be done.”
“What will I do with it?” Victoria asked, gazing at the pouch. Something seemed to move within its soft black lining.
“Keep it safe, in case the Collector calls.”
“What’s inside it?”
“Souls. And the book carries the signatures of those who have forsaken them.”
“Who is the Collector?” Victoria asked. “Is he the Devil?”
“I doubt it.” The magician gave her an insincere smile. “We’ve never met the Collector, so I couldn
’t tell you for sure. All you need to know is that, while you carry the book and the bag, the Collector may call to claim his debt. You can be released from this burden at any time, however, by finding another.”
“Another what?”
“Another person to trade with. Just as we are. And if you do, then you shall be rewarded.”
“What with?”
“Oblivion.”
“Is that what she seeks?” Victoria glanced at Sophia’s dead eyes.
“More than anything. Her body and mind hanker for her soul, but then, Sophia loved life. You, on the other hand…”
“Hate mine,” Victoria finished. And it was true. She despised it all—the house, her parents, and the bleak stretch of countryside beyond the windows. It was an emptiness she could no longer bear. “Where do I sign?”
The magician opened the book, smoothing it and pointing to a space below a long line of names. He took a pen from his pocket, dipped it into a small bottle of ink, and passed it to Victoria.
Above the list of names were lines of thick black writing in a language she’d never seen before, the letters a series of looping accents and hacks and slashes. She wondered if it was a variation of Latin. “What does this writing say?”
“I cannot read it. But the gist of its meaning was explained by the lady my daughter traded her soul with. She told Sophia everything I have told you—in essence, that you shall forsake your soul in exchange for a gift of your choosing, and that you will keep the book safe until either you’ve passed it to another, or its owner collects it. Sophia was told the agreement is binding in the most ancient of courts.”
“What court?”
“I don’t know, and I do not care to find out.” The magician glanced at Victoria’s hand as it hesitated over the page. “Sign now, or we shall be on our way and you will never hear from us again.”
Victoria glanced at the other names in the ledger and wondered where the people who had signed were now. Dead, most likely. Gone from the world and into oblivion. She glanced at the magician’s daughter. Victoria was stronger than she was, she wouldn’t miss her soul. How could she miss something she’d never known? It was impossible.
The Book of Kindly Deaths Page 6