by Alex Archer
“You look dashing.”
“Thank you. You are most kind.”
Annja surveyed the front of Carlini’s Magic Bullet Club. The first floor of the small building was covered in wooden gingerbread that made it look positively ancient. Red velvet curtains covered the large plate-glass windows. Torchlight created golden pools against the material and shadows moved inside. A red carpet under a small canopy led to the front door, which looked like it would open to a dungeon.
“Now, that looks foreboding.”
Edmund’s smile was so big and innocent, Annja was certain she could see the twelve-year-old he had been. “Doesn’t it just?” he replied.
“And I notice there’s no doorknob.”
“So it’s mysterious, too.” His dark brown eyes twinkled. “Carlini’s is a very special place. No one gets in here who isn’t invited.” He waved a hand and suddenly there was a single red rose in it. He offered it to Annja.
Smiling, she took the rose in her free hand and smelled it. The fragrance was subtle and sweet. “You’re a magician?”
“Alas, you thought I was merely a literature professor?” Edmund feigned a look of pain.
“From what I’ve heard, you’re an authority on English literature. I saw you in an interview on the History Channel and was impressed. When I got this assignment, I knew I wanted you as a guest speaker.”
“I’d wondered about that. Your program doesn’t draw immediate confidence from a cursory look.”
“No.” Annja knew that was true, and it was one of the things she had to accept about the opportunities Chasing History’s Monsters afforded her. “I like to go below the surface of a story.”
“That was true of most of your segments that I saw.”
“Sometimes a good deal of what I’ve prepared ends up on the cutting-room floor. So I have to warn you that some of what I’m doing could end up in the same place.”
“Well, we’ll just have to roll the dice, won’t we?”
“I do put interviews on the television website.” That was a deal Annja had recently negotiated. “Added-value pieces I believe are interesting.”
“Then I shall endeavor to be interesting. I consider it a challenge.”
“That’s hardly fair for you.”
“Trust me when I say that I am a fierce competitor.”
“All right.” Annja grinned in self-satisfaction. She’d known Edmund was going to be intriguing. She was happy to be proven right.
“So how goes your hunt for our new Mr. Hyde?” Edmund looked troubled.
“We’re still looking.”
“Please don’t hold it against me for hoping you’re not the one who finds that man.” Edmund shook his head. “I saw some of the pictures and videos they released of those poor women. I would hate to think of you facing such a brute.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen. Not with Metro increasing surveillance on the streets.” Annja looked at the pub. “Tell me about this place.”
“Carlini’s has been a home to magic for over a hundred years. All the great masters have come here. Magicians. Escape artists. Illusionists. Mentalists. And prestidigitators of every stripe—fair and foul. They’ve had just as many villains as they’ve had heroes.” Edmund smiled fondly at the pub. “Houdini was here. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, though he came looking for real magic and a way to contact the spirit world. Walter B. Gibson. Robert Harbin. Chung Ling Soo. David Nixon. David Copperfield. Penn and Teller. You’ve heard of the Magic Circle?”
“The organization committed to sponsoring and reimagining magic. Of course.”
“They formed here in London in 1905. Carlini’s predated them. The Great Carlini preferred to keep a lower profile and only invited in the very best in the field. They gave private shows to the royals and other important people, perfected their craft and studied other masters. This was the place where they could be themselves and enjoy magic without the stress of an unfriendly or doubting audience. The people in this place appreciate the orchestration of a skilled magician.”
“It sounds like the hardest audience in the world to play for.”
Edmund grinned. “No. And do you know why?”
Annja shook her head, enjoying his enthusiasm.
“Because magicians want to believe in magic.” Edmund’s eyes sparkled. “Carlini’s guests are the best audience. They live to be astonished, amazed and entertained. Now, observe.” He gestured at the door.
In response, the door quivered, rattled and slowly pulled inward with a theatrical creak that gave Annja goose bumps. She’d been in scary situations before, circumstances that would have gotten her killed if she hadn’t been quick enough or strong enough or lucky enough to get through. But there was something about the atmosphere of the pub, Edmund’s story and her own awakened childish fascination with magic that affected her.
Edmund took her arm and guided her inside.
After the outside door closed, a small yellow light flared to life overhead. The tiny bulb was barely enough to reveal the three wooden doors at the end of the hallway. One door lay dead ahead and the two others were on either side. The doors were unmarked.
“Magic is all about choices.” Edmund waved toward the doors. “Tonight you have three.”
“And if I choose wrong?”
“We go hungry and I don’t get to show you my biggest surprise.” Edmund grinned. “But I have faith in you.” He gestured her forward. “Please have a look. This challenge has been designed for you.”
Annja cocked an eyebrow at Edmund. “You realize we could go hungry.”
“I’ve always found that risk increases appetite and appreciation for a meal.” Beswick looked at her. “I wouldn’t have figured you for someone unwilling to risk.”
Amused, Annja advanced. As she did, a slot opened up in each door and a three-by-five notecard slid out to hang from each of them.
“Kind of creepy.”
Edmund just smiled and waited.
Examining the cards, Annja discovered the one on the left door had a drawing of a chicken in charcoal-gray ink. The middle door had a drawing of an egg in brown ink. The third one she wasn’t quite sure of but it was black and the drawing was etched deep into the card. She pointed to it. “What’s this?”
Edmund shook his head. “The best I could do at drawing a chicken nugget.”
“A chicken nugget?”
“Yes.”
“So the obvious correlation would be that I’m supposed to pick the door that comes first?”
“If that’s what you think.”
Annja examined the cards again, more closely this time. She paid particular attention to the drawings, the ink and the shape of the lines. She even smelled them to confirm her conclusions. “If you listen to a biologist, the biologist would say that the egg comes first. But a theologian would insist that the chicken came first.”
Edmund’s face remained unreadable.
“However, a mystery lover could be tempted to pick the chicken nugget simply because it doesn’t fit, or because it’s not a natural thing, as the chicken and the egg are.” Annja smiled. “You went to a lot of trouble.”
“Then you already know the answer?”
“Yes.” Annja knew she’d surprised him. He hadn’t thought she would fail, but he hadn’t expected her to succeed so early. “But only because you went to such great detail to make your clues.”
“Elucidate.”
“The answer is in the inks, and somewhat in the drawings, but not in what was drawn.”
Edmund smiled in startled appreciation. “You are good.”
Annja pointed to the egg. “That ink is atramentum, or it’s supposed to be. It’s a replica of a Roman ink made about sixteen hundred years ago. You can tell because it’s faded out and has turned brown. That’s because it was made from iron salts and tannin. It goes on bluish-black, then fades to brown.”
She moved on to the nugget. The image was drawn deeply into the card with fine, black lines. “This
ink was called masi and was created in ancient India about 400 BCE. The drawing is deep and thin because they used needles to write with. So did you. Quite a good touch on that, actually.”
Edmund inclined his head in thanks.
“This, however, was the first.” Annja touched the drawing of the chicken. “The ink is graphite based and it was drawn with an ink brush. When you look closely, you can see the brushstrokes. This ink, or at least the original, was created by the Chinese about 1800 BCE. Definitely the first.”
Edmund quietly applauded her. “Bravo, Ms. Creed. Quite the performance.”
Annja curtsied, thoroughly enjoying herself. “Did you think of this little test yourself?”
“No. I must admit that I had help. After all, I’m just a professor of English and literature. This was beyond my ken.” Edmund walked to the door with the chicken on it and the door opened before he reached it.
A large man in a good suit greeted Edmund with a warm handshake. He had a high forehead and glasses and looked to be in his sixties. “Welcome, Ms. Creed. It is indeed an honor.”
“Annja Creed, may I present Gaetano Carlini, the current owner and host of the Magic Bullet Club. Gaetano, my beautiful guest, Ms. Annja Creed.”
Totally charmed by the big man, Annja offered her hand and he took it, bowed deeply and kissed the back of it. “Please come in and make yourselves at home. I have your table this way.” Gaetano swept them into a large dining room.
* * *
“OVER THE YEARS, MS. CREED—”
“Please call me Annja.”
Gaetano nodded solemnly. “Annja. Over the years, Carlini’s has been host to a number of important and famous people.” He gave a careless shrug. “And, at times, some who were more infamous than famous.”
“But no one that was ever shot or hanged for their crimes.” Edmund swirled his wine around in the fluted glass.
“Thankfully, no. We’ve never had that notoriety.” Gaetano pushed the glasses up on his nose. “But we do ask one favor of those guests, other than to enjoy themselves while they are here.”
Annja sat at the small, intimate table in the center of the ornate dining room lined with stage magic memorabilia and framed caricatures of magicians. Her red rose occupied a small vase in the middle of the table. They were adjacent to the small, curtained stage. Noises came from the back, so Annja knew something was going on. Her curiosity was getting the better of her.
“What would that favor be?” Annja nibbled on a piece of Havarti cheese.
“To allow me to sketch a caricature to hang on our wall.”
“Gaetano is very good. Very knowledgeable about a great many things. Including history.” Edmund sipped his wine. “He’s the one who helped me figure out your puzzle.”
Gaetano waved the compliment away.
“In another life, had not magic called to him so strongly, I fear he would have been a forger.”
“Oh, now I’m offended.” But the big man’s boisterous laugh plainly indicated he was more flattered than anything.
“I would love for you to draw a caricature of me. But I’m not a magician.”
“I beg to differ.” Gaetano sat up straight in his chair. “I have seen many episodes of your television show. You are a great performer at revealing some of history’s best-kept secrets. I knew who you were before this youngster did.”
Edmund held up his hands in surrender. “Sadly, that’s true. I told him I’d gotten an email from an American archaeologist regarding the Mr. Hyde murders.”
“He was set to turn you down.” Gaetano shook his head in mock exasperation. “Silly boy.”
“In my defense, it was only because the murders were so heinous. I didn’t want to contribute to the gratuitous exposure of the misfortunes of others. That was before I spoke with you and you assured me that would not happen.”
“It won’t.” Annja fully intended that the Mr. Hyde piece, if it aired, wouldn’t dwell on the murders as much as it did the legend. Hopefully the London Metro police would have the killer in hand by then, as well.
“He might not have called you at all had I not shown him one of your programs.” Gaetano chuckled. “He was, of course, instantly smitten.”
Annja laughed. “Obviously he’s easy to impress.”
The meal came then, thick steaming platters of pastas and seasoned vegetables along with crisp salads. Annja ate with gusto, listening to the familiar camaraderie of the two men as they played off each other and took turns telling her stories.
While they dined, several magicians from other tables went to the stage and performed their acts. The audience oohed and aahed in approval and delight as things disappeared, reappeared and changed into other things.
Annja loved every moment of the shows, from the theatrics to the conversational patter that established the history and the obvious familiarity the men and women all had with one another.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll return shortly.” Edmund left the table and headed for the kitchen area.
Gaetano kept Annja enthralled with stories about his adventures as a magician. He also kept the wine flowing and managed small sleight-of-hand tricks with dinnerware, napkins and coins between magic acts.
Then the stage curtain parted and Edmund passed through. He no longer wore the old-fashioned suit. He was dressed in a swimsuit and carried swim goggles in his hand.
Instantly, the dining area filled with catcalls and good-natured teasing.
“I see you’ve got nothing up your sleeve, Professor Beswick!”
“And chicken legs.”
Edmund held up his hands in surrender. “Go ahead, mates. Take your shots. Make them the best you can, because I’m about to amaze and astonish you.”
After a few more catcalls and hoots of laughter, the crowd settled into an expectant hush.
“Tonight I’m going to attempt my grandest escape ever. As many of you know, I’ve been studying to become something of an escapologist. I’m going to perform this escape in honor of my guest—Ms. Annja Creed of Chasing History’s Monsters and something of an escape artist herself, according to the stories I’ve read about her.”
An enthusiastic burst of applause followed the announcement.
“Stand up. Let them see you.” Gaetano pushed back out of the spotlight that suddenly fell on Annja.
She stood, waved and bowed, and felt more than a little embarrassed. She sat back down and glanced at Gaetano. “Does Edmund bring all his dates here?”
Gaetano smiled. “You are the only person Edmund has brought here in all the years that he’s been coming.”
Flattered, Annja turned her attention back to the stage.
“You have all heard of the Great Houdini, and you have heard of the Chinese Water Torture Cell. Or, as the master himself called it, the Upside Down.” Edmund stepped back and swept a hand toward the stage.
The curtains parted and a large glass-and-steel box filled with water was revealed. A beautiful young woman walked out of the shadows. Like Edmund, she wore a swimsuit, except hers was a spectacular yellow bikini designed to draw the attention of every male in the room.
Annja kept her focus riveted on Edmund. The assistant locked his feet into stocks, then operated a mechanical winch to lift Edmund off the stage floor, suspend him in the air and place him headfirst into the water tank.
Despite the fact that she knew the trick was part of a planned show, Annja tensed as she watched Edmund submerge. He put his hands on the glass, steadying himself as he went into the water. His hair floated around his face. She caught herself holding her breath with him and felt foolish.
A moment later, the assistant locked Edmund in. Once the woman stepped back, Edmund started working to free himself. At first, his movements were controlled, smooth and confident. Then, as time passed, he became more frantic. His hands slammed against the glass walls as he jerked and strained to pull free of the stocks.
3
“Something’s wrong.” Annja started to get up. Sh
e was already reaching for her sword, thinking that she could break the glass walls and release the water.
Calmly, Gaetano put a hand on her forearm to restrain her. “Relax. This is part of the show.” But he didn’t take his eyes from the stage.
Annja forced herself to sit, but she noticed that several of the other dinner guests were ill at ease, as well. She didn’t know how much time had passed, but she thought at least two minutes had gone by. Perhaps as many as three.
Abruptly, the assistant hurried forward and draped a bloodred curtain over the water tank. Maybe it was supposed to protect the audience from the horrid sight unfolding before them. Then the woman lifted an ax and prepared to strike.
The audience held its collective breath.
The only thing holding Annja in her seat was Gaetano’s firm, unshaking hand on her arm. And that wasn’t going to hold her back for much longer.
The assistant started her swing with the ax just as the curtain rose above the water tank. She dropped the ax and yanked the thick material away to reveal Edmund standing triumphantly on top of the locked water tank.
Annja released a tense breath as enthusiastic applause filled the dining room.
Dripping wet and looking magnificent, Edmund bowed theatrically. Then the stage curtains closed.
Gaetano smiled at Annja. “Now are you glad that I asked you to wait?”
“Yes, but that was nerve-racking.”
“It was meant to be. Magic is meant to confound or astonish. But really good magic, the kind like Houdini practiced, was more in line with a circus performance.”
“How?”
“An aerialist working without a net. A lion tamer sticking his head into a lion’s mouth. A motorcycle daredevil whirling madly inside one of those steel balls. And even someone who allows himself to be shot from a cannon. They all flirt with death. At least, they do to an untrained eye. But the reality is that even the best performers sometimes catch an unlucky break. The audience never truly wishes to see something like that, but the expectation is there that it could happen.”