Time's Echo: A CHRONOS Files Novella

by Rysa Walker

  The uneasy feeling is still there, but I just blow her a kiss and close the door behind me.

  ∞

  2 ∞

  Norumbega Park is busy, even though it's a weekday, and it takes a while for me to work my way through the chaos. It's mostly mums and kids looking for a bit of summer fun. They move at a snail's pace, one kid yanking toward the zoo and another toward the paddle boats on the river or some other attraction.

  I grabbed a map of the park at the gates, but I soon realized you don't need a map to locate the Great Steel Theater. It's at the top of a hill, visible from pretty much every vantage point. What was once a modest open-air amphitheater is now a hulking giant with metal curtains that can be yanked down to shield the audience if a storm blows in.

  I pull on my coat and hat as I approach the entrance. I was told to be ready to audition at four-thirty, so I'm surprised to see that there's a matinee in progress that won't end until around four. So much for having time to prepare.

  The gray-haired woman in the ticket booth doesn't look up from her book until I speak.

  "I have an interview with Mr. Ervin Easley. Do you know where I can find him?"

  "He's prob'ly in the audience watchin' the show." She runs her tongue over her teeth, then continues. "Unless he's in the back. Or he might have stepped out."

  I'm tempted to tell her it would have been a lot quicker to say she didn't know, but I just smile and ask, "What does he look like?"

  "Kind of fat, middle-aged." Her nose stays in the book, a dime-novel called Parted by Fate.

  It's clear I'm not going to get anything more than this vague description, so I turn and move toward the door.

  "Twenty cents," she says. I stop, and she finally looks up from the page when I don't respond immediately. "It's twenty cents for a ticket. I can't let anyone in without a ticket. You could be sayin' you had an audition just to get in to see the show."

  Right, lady. I'm wearing a tuxedo with a bloody top hat in July so that I can get out of paying twenty cents admission for a show that's nearly over. It's not worth the argument, however, so I toss her two dimes and take my ticket.

  The auditorium is barely half full, but that's still more people than I'd have expected for a Tuesday matinee and I feel uneasy as I realize this is the crowd I'll be facing twice daily if the interview goes as planned. I take a playbill from the doorman and stand at the back for a few minutes, looking around for Easley. I'm not even sure why I bother—the ticket-seller's description fits about half of the men I've seen since entering the park.

  The violinist on stage finishes Spanish Dance. I work my way about halfway down the outer aisle of the theatre during the applause, finding an empty seat at the end of a row. The next act, a juggling group from Europe, is billed as "The Agoust Family." At first, it looks like a pantomime skit. It starts out with this waiter taking an order from his table, and then the dishes and cutlery begin flying from one side of the stage to the other. The act is good enough that I briefly forget why I'm here and watch the show, but when the applause starts it jogs my memory.

  A sister quartet, next to last on the program, begins setting up. I stand and cross over to a door near the main stage. It's unlocked and opens into a large prop room. Moving slowly, I follow a narrow path of sorts between the furniture, stage flats, and boxes, hoping to find Easley or someone else in charge.

  It's hard to hear much over the quartet, whose voices are the high, warbling type that sets my teeth on edge. Fortunately, there's an instrumental stretch in the middle and I pick up a bit of conversation coming from behind the stage.

  I follow the sound and a few minutes later see a short, attractive blonde who looks to be in her mid-twenties. She's joking with two of the guys from the juggling group, as she helps them load the last of their gear into the wheeled cart they used in the act.

  The blonde turns toward me, running her eyes over the tux in a way I suspect Kate wouldn't appreciate. "You can't be the new banjo player in that get up, so let me guess—you're here to replace Clive the Debonair?"

  "Hopefully, yes. I'm supposed to audition for a Mr. Easley, but I can't find him. He said there was a…palanquin cabinet left behind that I might be able to use. Do you know where?"

  "Sure." She tilts her head to the left. "Follow me."

  She leads me back to the prop room and turns onto one of the tiny paths through the clutter. It's more suited for her frame than mine, and I narrowly avoid toppling a lamp.

  "Where are your assistants?" she asks.

  "Um…in the letter, Easley said that I could use the same girls that the other guy, Clive, did, if I get the job. I haven't met them yet."

  "Well, you've met one of them. Typical that I'm the last to know." She turns to face me and drops a tiny curtsey. "Eliza Easley, at your service. And you are?"

  I hesitate for a moment. "The name's Kiernan, but I'm billed as the Amazing Boudini."

  She snorts. "You're gonna get sued. Maybe even killed. They say he has a temper."

  "No, he's a nice guy. Really," I add, as she gives me a skeptical glance. "Houdini recommended me. I'm his protégé."

  "If you say so." She turns and continues through the maze of junk.

  "Eliza Easley." I say, hoping to change the subject. "Are you Easley's daughter?"

  She has a very loud laugh for such a small girl. "Don't let him hear you say that. I'm his wife. Number three, unless he's hidden one from me."

  I decide it might be best to button my lip before I stick my foot any further into my mouth.

  "Daisy'll be your other girl," Eliza says. "She's running an errand or something. Should be back in a few minutes."

  She walks behind a dolly stacked with theatrical flats and rolls out a rectangular cabinet maybe five feet long and four feet tall. It sits about waist-high on four sturdy wheeled legs. Gold curtains cover the front and the back. I saw several of these contraptions as a kid, so I'm not a total rube—even worked with one for a couple of nights when a girl on the Midway took off with some guy without bothering to give notice. As soon as the magician found himself another girl, I was out of a job, of course—vanishing a pretty girl in a tight costume sells way more tickets than vanishing an eight-year-old boy.

  Unfortunately, the box looks much smaller now than when I was eight, and the curtains are going to be a problem. This setup is for a standard vanishing act, not for an escape artist. Even if I can wedge myself inside, there won't be any room to maneuver. And I need something that not only hides me from the audience, but also keeps my assistants from peeking until I'm back in the box.

  "Hmm. This will require a bit of work. I need to rig it so you can lock me inside."

  "Oh. Thought you'd be vanishing me or Daisy. Not complaining, mind you—I'm tired of folding myself inside that box. There's no way you're going to fit."

  She thinks for a minute, then holds up a finger. "Wait here. Maybe something else would work better."

  I stay put as she heads off to the right. The quartet launches into another high-pitched musical nightmare. After a few moments, I hear shuffling noises from the back of the room.

  "Hey, Houdini. Come help me move this thing."

  The thing in question turns out to be a coffin. The prop room is much too crowded for her to push it more than a couple of feet. I help her lift it up and over some of the junk and we put it down in a relatively clear spot.

  I can't say I'm wild about being locked in a coffin, even one that is a prop. Still, I have to admit it's perfect. "Think Mr. Easley would mind if put this up on the cart instead of the palanquin cabinet?"

  "Don’t matter whether he minds or not. I'm prop mistress. I'll get you a toolbox."

  Twenty minutes later, I have the coffin attached to the wheeled legs and a makeshift latch on the inside. The coffin isn't attached quite as firmly as I'd like and the latch is a bit flimsy, but it'll do for now. I toss the rest of my gear inside and roll the contraption onto the stage, parking it in front of a raised wooden platform Eliza
dragged out that has steps going up both sides.

  I screw one part of a hook latch to the side of the coffin and the other to the platform so that Eliza and Daisy can anchor the thing. Although I told Eliza that's to make sure the coffin doesn't go rolling away when I pop up at the end, the position is actually crucial. If the coffin isn't rolled back to the stable point, I can't jump back in.

  The audience clears out and Easley still hasn't arrived. Eliza suggests a dress rehearsal while we wait, but I'm leery of pushing my luck with the key. Even with short hops like this, I'll be lucky if I can do more than four or five round trips before I tire out. So I just walk her through the main points of the act and we do a dry run with Eliza attaching cuffs and me climbing into the coffin.

  The inside is well padded and comfortable, but it smells musty. No actual dead bodies have been in here, however…at least not to Eliza's knowledge. Or, at least not that she chose to mention.

  I tug on the watch chain and pull out the CHRONOS key to be sure I have enough room to lift my head and see the display. I do, but it's a close call. I set my current position as a stable point, so all I'll have to do later is set the time. Then I push the medallion back into my pocket, and tap for Eliza to open the lid.

  No response. I tap again, harder.

  "Eliza?"

  There's still no response. I feel my pulse rising. "Eliza!"

  A soft chuckle from above. "What's the matter, Houdini? Need help?"

  Great. I'll have to waste a jump because my assistant wants a sneak preview. "No," I say through gritted teeth. "I can get out. Just give me a minute or two."

  I'm about to flip the latch to secure the lid when the coffin opens, and Eliza grins down at me. "I'm kidding. Save your contortions until His Highness arrives. And Daisy, for that matter…" Her eyes narrow a bit. I get the sense she's added the two absences together and doesn't much like the result.

  After unlocking the various cuffs, Eliza wanders off. I sit on the edge of the stage with my feet hanging down into the orchestra pit. And I wait. For nearly an hour, I sit there, rehearsing the act in my head and trying to stay alert. Even with large weather curtains open and a slight breeze blowing in from the Charles River, it's still hot and humid. The lack of sleep is beginning to get to me and I'm almost (but not quite) tempted to stretch out in the coffin for nap.

  Easley finally strolls through the door and down the center aisle a little after five-thirty. The ticket-seller was right—he's fat and he's middle-aged. He's also a good foot shorter than my six-foot-one, an unusual enough fact that you'd think the woman might have added it to her description. A redheaded girl comes in a few seconds behind him and slinks down the left aisle toward the prop room door, giving me a nervous glance before she closes it behind her.

  "You're not ready yet?" Easley brushes crumbs from his waistcoat, which is stretched a bit too tight over his belly, and settles himself into a seat a few rows from the stage.

  I'm reminded of an afternoon when I was maybe seven, sitting on a bench outside a barn at the Cyrist farm with my dad. He was angry, something I'd rarely seen. When I asked why, Da gave a bitter laugh and said he was just tired of dealing with the Cyrist version of the Golden Rule—whoever has the gold makes the rules.

  I don't know whether this Easley guy is rich, but he certainly has the attitude down pat. You can tell he likes being in charge. It's a shame I don't have a Cyrist recruitment flyer on me, because he'd fit right in down at the Temple.

  "I'm ready," I say. "Just let me get my coat back on."

  "The kid's been waiting for over an hour, Erv. So have I." Eliza doesn't seem nearly as cheerful as when we were talking backstage. She casts Easley a glare that is downright poisonous and then walks over to the coffin, followed at a distance by the redhead.

  "Daisy is probably smart enough to catch on," Eliza continues, "since all she'll need to do is put on the cuffs and help me spin you around before the reveal. But wouldn't it have been nice to have her here to go over things earlier?" She flashes Daisy a fake smile.

  I look over at Daisy, but she doesn't meet my gaze, apparently having discovered something very interesting on the toes of her shoes. Whatever drama is going on here, there's no way I'm getting caught in the middle.

  "I guess we'll just have to discuss the details with Daisy afterward. Assuming I get the job."

  "You'll get the job." Eliza glances toward the seat where Easley is sitting, his head back and his eyes closed, and then adds under her breath, "Clive didn't give notice. Don't let the Little General fool you—he's desperate for something to close out the first act."

  I bite back a laugh. Easley does look a bit like a chubby version of Napoleon, with one hand resting on his gut.

  "Well then, let's do this," I say, giving her a smile that I hope looks more confident than I'm feeling. Then, I walk center-stage and bow, sweeping my hat off in one of the grand gestures I practiced over and over with Kate. It still feels hokey.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, I…am…the Amazing Boudini. Tonight you will see—"

  Easley's eyes are still closed, but his hand goes up, signaling me to stop. "No, no, no. I don't want to see your card tricks, rope tricks or the rabbit you've got up your sleeve. Any fool can learn those and you wouldn't be here if you hadn't mastered them. You'll need ten minutes of filler before your finale and damned if I care what it is. Just skip to the main event and don't waste my time with the crap you feed the audience."

  I'm kind of relieved. Skipping the other tricks means there's less chance I'll mess something up. Unfortunately, I practiced the act in order, so I stand there for a minute, trying to remember the lines I use to introduce the finale.

  To hell with it. I'll drop the stage act entirely. Easley's an ass, but he's right about one thing. If I can't sell it with the finale, it's never going to work. Stage magicians are a dime a dozen.

  I pull the jacket off again, toss it offstage along with my hat, and climb the steps to the wooden platform behind the coffin. Eliza goes up the opposite set of stairs, holding two sets of handcuffs and the keys. Daisy follows a few steps behind me with the other handcuffs and the larger set of shackles for my ankles.

  Holding the first set of cuffs above her head, Eliza yanks the chain taut several times. Then she pivots to show it from all angles before starting to attach the cuffs to my wrists.

  "Make sure they're tight," Easley chimes in, actually bothering to open one of his eyes. "We need to see what he can do."

  "Yes, dearest." She gives him a smile I hope to God I never get from Kate and ratchets the cuffs another notch tighter. When the cuffs are snug—a bit too snug—on my forearms, Daisy follows with the second set, Eliza with the third, and then Daisy attaches the ankle cuffs.

  It's tough to balance in these things, so the girls help me sit down on the platform. I spin my feet over the edge and then slip down into the coffin, about six inches below.

  As soon as the lid closes, I twist slightly to secure the latch and pull out the CHRONOS key attached to my belt. I lock in the stable point on my bed, twenty minutes after I left for the trolley.

  Kate has fallen back asleep, with her arm flung over my pillow, right where I need to land. I scan forward twenty minutes, then half an hour. Then forty minutes. Her arm is still there. I can feel the coffin moving forward as Eliza and Daisy roll it toward the audience, and I know I can't waste any more time hunting for a moment when Kate's not hogging the bed. She's just going to have to deal with that arm getting a bit squished.

  I blink to lock in the location and hear her muffled "ow" before my eyes open. She pulls her arm out from under my neck and rolls toward the wall. I nudge her with my elbow.

  "Hey, sleepyhead." I nudge her again. "Wake up and grab the keys, okay? These cuffs aren't as comfortable as they look. And I want to get back so I can get this over with."

  She yawns and stretches, then climbs over me to grab the key ring. Her brow creases as she slips the first key into the lock. "Why are they on so tight? Your
arm is all red."

  "Easley is a world-class jerk. But I think the job's in the bag. The last guy quit without notice."

  "Yes." She smiles, unfastening the second set. "Clive the Debonair is now performing at a theater in Woonsocket. A six-month contract. It pays surprising well for such a small venue."

  I should have known.

  "I'll bet it does." I sigh and slide my hands out of the cuffs on my forearms, as Kate removes the ankle cuffs. "You couldn't have told me this?"

  "Didn't want you to go in too cocky." She scoops the cuffs off the floor and hands them to me. "And I did say that you'd get the job, didn't I?"

  Kate starts to get back on the bed, but I put my hand on her shoulder. "Might as well stay put on the floor," I say, tossing her one of the pillows. "He's going to want to see this at least twice. You don't want to get squished again, do you?"

  "Not unless you're going to stick around long enough to do it properly this time."

  I grin at her and lie back down, holding the cuffs in one hand as I activate the medallion with the other. "Patience, my love. You need to learn patience."

  ∞

  Easley is staring up at me from the orchestra pit. Standing in the pit makes him seem even shorter—from up here, I can count the few remaining strands of hair plastered to the top of his skull. This is the fifth angle he's chosen to view my finale. In addition to his initial vantage point near the front, he's watched from stage right, stage left, halfway back in the audience, and now, from the pit. I wonder if he's planning to climb up and view the act from the bloody rafters above the auditorium next.

  I truly hope not, because I doubt I can make another jump. If these weren't short, local hops, I'd already be tapped out. It took three tries for me to get back to the coffin on the last attempt and now I'm wishing I'd taken Kate's advice and waited there for a few hours to, as she puts it, "recharge my batteries." But I really want to get this over with.

  After a moment of standing there, saying nothing, Easley disappears around the side of the pit. I hear his feet tapping up a small flight of stairs, and then he walks over from stage right.