by Gigi Pandian
“Isaac?” Lydia whispered.
“It explains how someone got out of the room,” Jaya said. “You didn’t get out of the room. Not until we came in. All you had to do was blend in.”
“Have you gone mad?” Isaac was no longer so calm. “Why would I want to hurt Omar? You were the one who said a thief wanted the Sangam map. Why would I want to steal my own map, for Christ’s sake?”
“Tarek already explained that,” Jaya said. “Without knowing he’d done so.”
“This is ridiculous,” Isaac said and turned away from us.
Bradley put his hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “I want to hear what she has to say.”
Isaac looked up at Bradley. Or rather, at Bradley’s girth.
Jaya’s hands were shaking, but she continued in a measured voice. I could imagine the gears turning in her mind, putting the pieces together as she spoke.
“You didn’t want to show the map to Omar,” Jaya said. “Tarek said Omar happened by when you were unloading a shipment for the museum. He wasn’t supposed to be there.”
Isaac opened his mouth and drew breath, but didn’t speak.
“It’s not like our little university museum is the Met,” Jaya said. “There’s not too much to keep track of. Omar would have known ahead of time if we were receiving something so amazing. Did Omar find it unbelievably strange that this amazing piece was included with no advanced notice? Is that why he took it? To look into it further?”
“Is it true, Isaac?” Lydia asked. She hadn’t managed to regain more of her voice than a whisper. “Why were you keeping it a secret? Why would you—” She broke off in a stifled sob.
“You never meant the map to be part of our collection,” Jaya said. “A reputable university would serve as a great cover to bring valuable antiquities into the country without strict scrutiny. Only you didn’t have time to remove anything from this shipment before Omar saw it.”
“What have you got under your jacket?” Bradley asked Isaac, flexing his arm muscle as he did so.
Isaac swallowed hard.
“Oh, lord,” he said. He closed his eyes as he pulled out the broken piece of palm leaf from inside his jacket.
The intricate markings of the three rivers seemed to curl around his fingertips. The map was intact except for the missing edge, small enough to be mistaken for a shadow.
Jaya squeezed my shoulder. I gently lifted the palm leaf map into my own hands, wondering if the shadow of this day would one day pass.
Fool’s Gold
* BONUS NOVELLA *
This Jaya Jones and Sanjay Rai novella originally appeared in Other People’s Baggage: Three Interconnected Novellas, along with novellas by Diane Vallere and Kendel Lynn, published by Henery Press in 2012. Each of the novellas stands alone, but if you’d like to learn more about the lost luggage in the story below, and where Jaya’s lost luggage ended up, you can seek out “Midnight Ice” by Diane Vallere and “Switch Back” by Kendel Lynn.
ONE
I stepped onto the stage of the theater. The spotlight blinded me, but after a few seconds my eyes began to adjust. The stage was nearly empty. To my left, a wooden wardrobe cabinet. To my right, a weathered whisky barrel that had seen better days. Rows of plush red seats stretched out in the dark theater, all of them vacant.
“You look awful, Jaya.” The voice filled the air, but I remained alone.
I whipped around, looking from the seats to the rafters to the wings, only to be confronted with emptiness. The backstage area had been empty as well, which is why I was now standing here in search of Sanjay.
A moment later, he appeared on the stage a few feet away from me. From where, exactly, I couldn’t be sure. Sanjay was a magician. The Hindi Houdini. A bowler hat sat on his head as usual, but today his outfit was a black t-shirt and jeans instead of the tuxedo he usually wore when performing.
“Nice to see you, too,” I said.
“I thought you were a good traveler.”
“You try being delayed at the Dallas airport for eight hours, then arriving in Edinburgh to find you ended up with someone else’s suitcase.”
“That explains your ridiculous clothing,” Sanjay said. “I thought this magic cabinet had transported me back to 1980.”
“Very funny.” I smoothed out the florescent pink Edinburgh Fringe Festival t-shirt I was wearing, wondering whether I should have borrowed some of the vintage 1960s clothing I’d found in the suitcase that wasn’t mine. It was definitely much more stylish. “At least the night clerk at the hotel was nice enough to open the hotel gift shop at three a.m. so I could grab a t-shirt and leggings. This t-shirt was the only thing that came remotely close to fitting. I left my clothes from the flight with the hotel’s laundry service.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t go shopping this morning.”
“I chose sleep.” I yawned.
“Now that I’m getting used to it,” Sanjay said, looking me up and down, “it’s not so bad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in pink before. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen you in anything besides black or gray.”
“What about you? No tuxedo? I thought you liked to practice your show in full attire.”
“It’s not even noon.”
“I know,” I said. “I should still be sleeping.”
Sanjay grinned. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sanjay!” A voice with a thick Scottish accent called out from under the stage. “What’s the hold up?”
“My friend Jaya’s here,” Sanjay called back.
A stagehand materialized on the stage next to Sanjay. As had been the case with Sanjay, I wasn’t sure exactly how he’d gotten there.
Auburn curls stuck out around the edges of an orange ski cap. “So you’re Jaya Jones,” the stagehand said. “Sanjay was all broken up that your flight didn’t make it in time for you to have dinner with him last night. Can’t say I blame him. I’m Ewan.”
Sanjay’s face flushed as I shook Ewan’s hand. I don’t know why. Of course it was too bad I couldn’t make it on time as planned and was instead relegated to a twenty-four-hour journey from San Francisco to Edinburgh.
I’d only met Sanjay two months before, but he was one of those people who immediately felt like family. He was the best friend I’d made in San Francisco since moving there for my first university teaching job. I finished my PhD in history earlier in the year, after completing the research for my dissertation at the British Library in London.
When Sanjay told me he was performing a magic show at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, the largest performing arts festival in the world that takes place each August, I knew it was fate—or at least an excellent opportunity. A friend from when I lived in London was also going to be at the festival.
This was going to be a perfect vacation. Flight delays and switched luggage aside, I was ready to enjoy my first real vacation in ages. I’d spent the summer preparing for the four undergraduate history courses I’d be teaching that fall, and I desperately needed a break. I had two weeks before the semester started. I was going to spend this week in Edinburgh relaxing, doing a little sightseeing, and enjoying the festival.
I might have had an ulterior motive as well. I was getting over a breakup. I deserved this treat before diving into real life.
Sanjay narrowed his eyes at the stagehand and cleared his throat. “The show opens tonight,” he said, his face slowly returning to normal color. “I’m still working out the kinks of my biggest illusion, so I don’t have time to take a break right now. We need to do a full run-through with light and sound as soon as the other member of the crew arrives.”
“Do you need any help?” I asked.
“You’d be up for helping?”
“Why not? I’ve got a little time.”
“There’s one thing,” Sanjay said hesitantly. He pointed to a section of seats clo
se to the stage. “Take a seat in the front on the left, and watch the stage carefully. That’s my weak spot. I think I’ve got it fixed, but I haven’t done an audience test yet. Ewan is helping from backstage—”
“Below-stage,” Ewan said, “if you want to be accurate.” He winked at me.
“The point being that you can’t see the illusion from the proper vantage point,” Sanjay said.
“Fair enough,” Ewan said. “You sure you want her to help?”
“Why wouldn’t I help?” I asked.
Ewan shrugged before walking off stage.
“What did he mean by that?” I asked Sanjay.
He gave a non-committal shrug suspiciously similar to Ewan’s, and didn’t meet my gaze when he spoke. “Who knows?”
“I’m ready whenever you are,” Ewan called out, his voice below us.
I jumped down from the stage and sat in the first row.
“Who among our revered audience members,” Sanjay began in a booming theatrical voice, “would like to help me ensure the integrity of this illusion? If the lovely lady in the first row with shoulder-length black hair and dangerous heels would assist me?”
I rolled my eyes and hopped back on stage.
“Have we ever met before?” Sanjay asked.
“You can skip the banter,” I said. “There’s nobody in the audience.”
Sanjay sighed. Even the sigh was an overdone theatrical sigh. “Don’t you know anything about rehearsing?” he asked.
“Fine.” I said. “I don’t know you, and am not your confederate.”
“Thank you. Now, please select one of the following implements to tie my wrists behind my back.”
He lifted a black cloth from the top of the whisky barrel, revealing two types of handcuffs and three kinds of rope. He moved the objects of restraint from the lid, handed them to me, and placed the lid of the barrel on the stage floor. While I inspected the rope and handcuffs, Sanjay took his bowler hat in his hands and rolled his neck back and forth before returning the hat to his head.
“I’ll take these two,” I said, holding up the more menacing-looking pair of handcuffs and a piece of thick rope.
“Two,” Sanjay murmured. “Very nice.”
He turned away from me and placed his wrists together behind his back.
“Make them as tight as you’d like,” he said.
So I did.
I wouldn’t have thought a person could fit into the barrel, especially a man who was five foot ten with his hands tied behind his back, but Sanjay eased inside with little effort.
“If you’ll place the lid securely on the barrel before returning to your seat,” he said from within his confines.
As I secured the lid, I noticed the barrel rested on a stand that raised it several inches off the floor, so Sanjay wouldn’t be able to go through a trap door in the stage.
For a few moments after I returned to my seat, nothing happened. Then the barrel began to rattle. Slowly, at first, for over a minute. As I began to wonder what on earth Sanjay was doing in there, the rattling grew more violent. Just as it was shaking so hard I was sure the lid would burst open, the movement ceased.
The stage was dead silent.
In the silence, a wisp of smoke escaped from the lid of the barrel, followed by a burst of yellow flames through a single hole cut out of the barrel. That couldn’t be right.
“Sanjay?”
Silence.
“Sanjay, are you all right?”
More silence.
The flames grew brighter.
“Ewan!” I yelled. “Is this supposed to happen?”
“He’s an expert,” he called back from below the stage. “I’m sure he’ll escape in time.” He paused. “Uh…pretty sure.”
“You mean he’s still in there?”
With my heart thudding in my chest, I jumped onto the stage and ran toward the flaming whisky barrel.
TWO
As I ran toward the flaming barrel, the doors of the cabinet flew open. A hand reached out and grabbed my wrist.
Sanjay whirled me around, stopping me before I reached the fire. We watched from a few yards away as the flames exploded through the top of the whisky barrel. The planks fell flat, revealing only emptiness. The fire was gone too.
“How could you not be inside there?” I asked, shaking free of Sanjay’s grip. “I saw the space between the barrel and the stage. There’s no way for you to have gotten out.”
“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Sanjay said. A look of self-satisfaction spread across his face.
“You didn’t do that escape in your show at home.” I felt my voice shaking as I spoke. I’d been so sure he was burning alive inside that barrel, and he was happy about it. Men.
“It’s new,” Sanjay said. “I thought a whisky barrel would be a good escape for a performance in Scotland. I’ve performed in England before, but not here.”
“That wasn’t funny,” I grumbled.
“It’s Ewan’s fault!” Sanjay insisted. “He knew I wasn’t still inside. It’s supposed to be even more dramatic, with the effect drawn out. Just like Houdini did. But I had to cut it short since you ran onto the stage. What were you planning to do? Throw yourself on the flames?”
I glared at Sanjay. He took a step back.
“You could have told me what you were doing,” I said. My voice was close to a growl.
“I had to make sure you wouldn’t know what was supposed to happen,” he said, his eyes pleading. “That’s the whole point of having you watch, to see if you saw what you weren’t supposed to see. I know you like to throw yourself into things, but I didn’t think you’d do it so literally here.”
“You were right,” I said. “I shouldn’t have volunteered to help. This is supposed to be a relaxing vacation.”
“Why don’t you throw yourself into having a relaxing day today. Do some sightseeing and I’ll meet up with you later before my show.”
“I have other things on my mind.”
“Right.” Sanjay pursed his lips and a dark expression came over his face. “What with you getting over that breakup and all.”
I hadn’t actually been thinking about my breakup. Thanks, Sanjay. I’d been thinking about whether I had time to buy myself some new clothes before meeting Daniella for the picnic lunch she was having to celebrate the start of her festival show, Fool’s Gold.
Sanjay shook his head. “Anyway,” he said, “the flames in this illusion weren’t strong. But it was still very sweet of you to try to save me.”
I know I should have left the theater right then, but curiosity about Sanjay’s illusion made me decide to watch the trick again. Just one more time.
After I watched Sanjay escape from the empty whisky barrel a fourth time, I still hadn’t figured out how it was done.
Each time, Sanjay took the whisky barrel backstage and reconstructed it within minutes, which gave me my first—and only—clue to the illusion. It had been specially constructed to come apart and reassemble easily, and to withstand flames without catching fire. It didn’t tell me much. Only that Sanjay was a cruel friend for refusing to tell me how it was done.
The second member of Sanjay’s crew arrived as Sanjay stepped out of the cabinet a fourth time and took a bow with his bowler hat in one hand and opened handcuffs and two pieces of rope in his other hand. Though I was tempted to stay even longer, I’d already stuck around longer than I intended. Glancing at the clock on my phone, I knew I was going to be unfashionably late to meet Daniella.
I replayed Sanjay’s act in my mind as I left the theater. I had yet to figure out a single one of Sanjay’s illusions. Even after I knew that Sanjay would materialize in the cabinet on the other side of the stage after squeezing himself into the whisky barrel with his wrists bound, I had no idea how he pulled off the switch.
I paused outside the theater to listen to a new voicemail message and give my eyes a moment to adjust. Dark storm clouds hung low in the distance, but the sun shone brightly above me. It had been darker in the theater than I’d realized. Perhaps that was related to how Sanjay had pulled off his illusion.
My focus shifted when I heard the contents of the voicemail.
“I’m so sorry, Jaya.” It was Daniella. “Late to my own party…a problem has come up…I’ll be there as soon as I—” She broke off and swore before the message cut off abruptly.
I frowned at the phone. It wasn’t the words she’d spoken that worried me. If anything, it was a relief to hear I had a little extra time. But I didn’t feel relieved. Even before she began swearing, Daniella’s voice had been shaking.
This was a woman who regularly performed on stage in front of hundreds, even thousands, of people. I’d never seen her nervous, and never heard her voice tremble like that.
Daniella Stuart had been an actress for years, and this Fringe Festival show was the first play she’d also written. She’d moved from a small Scottish village to London to be an actress when she was a teenager and had become moderately successful on the London stage. But after celebrating her fortieth birthday, Daniella wanted more. I’d met her the previous year at the British Library, where I was doing research on the British East India Company to finish my dissertation, and she was researching historical chess pieces for the two-person play she was writing. Her carefree spirit made her a welcome break from my research in the library’s reading rooms.
Whatever was making her that worried, it wasn’t good.
THREE
I replayed the voicemail message. The only new thing I noticed was that she gave a slight, nervous laugh after saying she’d be late to her own party. What was going on?
Daniella’s play, Fool’s Gold, was scheduled to begin the following night, so today’s picnic was a party her friends were throwing for her. It would have been a dinner except there was a big festival gala happening that evening she planned to attend.