Magic Makes You Strange (The Brontosaurus Pluto Society Book 1)

by Noah K Mullette-Gillman

  After a few moments, one of the silver men pushed the other aside and shone a red light upon the opening. It burst into an instant flame so hot as to render the wood ash in only two or three seconds. That man and his friend then leapt down into the opening, pursuing the magician.

  Of the other silver men still about the theatre, one was examining a cigar which Nevil Dever had wizarded into a yard-long sapling. He held it up close to his face, as if he were sniffing it or considering eating it. It appeared to still be slowly growing. As Edward watched the strange silver fellow, he noticed at last that he could see the reflection of his own eyes floating in the sheen upon the being’s back and neck.

  They wore no clothes, but all the same didn’t appear to be naked. Whatever it was that coated their forms did not seem to be best described as “skin.” Their eyes were great black teardrops, wide and deep black, larger than a man’s hand. He could see no evidence of sex about them. All the same, they radiated cruelty. He couldn’t imagine one laughing or smiling. He couldn’t fathom such a creature being aware of the existence of joy. As young Edward watched them, he felt like just their presence was dangerous.

  Slowly, the one he had seen his reflection in seemed to feel his eyes. It turned around angrily and looked right at him. The mouth opened and clenched rectangular teeth which radiated hatred. It raised an impossibly thin silver arm and spread strange fingers. Edward could see a small round grey device in its hand. The device began to glow red.

  The young assistant magician began to run, and he did so barely in time. The ground he had stood on suddenly burst into a terrible flame. He felt the heat on the back of his neck, as if he were sitting too close to the fireplace. He ran out onto the stage where another one of the invaders wrapped a shining hand around his wrist.

  Then, from above, there was the sound of a great crash. The illusionist, Nevil Dever, came falling mysteriously down from the ceiling. He was caught in a series of thin white strings. As he fell, the cords pulled toward the stage and all of the cards that he had so recently sent flying into the back of the theatre came flying forward again and wrapped themselves around him. There was a Jack of Diamonds visible against his forehead.

  Three or four of them shone blue lights upon the magician and the young assistant who both fell asleep right where they were. The abduction was successful.

  The frightened crowd stood helpless as the group of foreign gentlemen lifted up Nevil Dever, Walls Carpenter, and young Edward Whistman. The three men were carried out into the cold London air, down the street as many people watched, and lifted unconscious into the buzzing and whirring flying saucers, ready to traverse the stars.

  2

  When young Edward awoke within the spaceship, he was not tied down, but he felt like he was restrained. He could move his hands and his arms, but he could not lift them. His toes wiggled. His calves flexed, but his knees would not respond. He did not feel any weight upon his body, but all the same, he was held.

  The room he was in looked like it was made of white opaque glass. He lay on a tablet of the same material, without benefit of either pillow or sheet. The walls, ceiling, and floor were indistinguishable save for the operation of gravity. He did not see anyone else, nor any point of escape.

  He lifted his head without any problem. His neck responded without difficulty, but all the same he could not rise from where he lay.

  He imagined what his master might do in such a situation. It seemed to require an escape not so very different from one the great Nevil Dever might fantastically effect. But, in truth, the main difference was that the illusionist designed all of his own traps. It was indeed a wholly different matter for one to be captured in another man’s apparatus.

  He paused to consider his assets. In his jacket pocket he had a trick pen which could be made to transform into a flower. In his left sleeve he had four cards secreted. They were all the Queen of Spades. Around his right arm he had wound a length of silk and two small, powerful magnets. In his trouser pockets he had a few coins, a playbill from the night’s performance, the keys to his trunk, and a convincing fake diamond ring. His right sock concealed a pair of weighted dice. His right shoe held a pair of lock picks.

  The lock picks would have been fortuitous, had he been held down in any recognizable way. But, of course, there was little in young Edward’s situation which felt familiar to him at that point.

  He did his best to maintain his composure as he attempted to flail on the alien’s bed. It was a strange and limited flailing. As he imagined that he would look the fool to anyone who caught him acting thusly, he quickly desisted.

  He decided to try to fall off of the table and began wriggling himself sideways in an effort to do just that. However, after a short distance he found himself unable to keep moving in that direction. It wasn’t that he could feel any invisible object blocking him, rather his body simply refused to comply. He reversed gears and attempted to fall off the opposite side, but the same problem confounded him. Attempts to wiggle down to the bottom of the opaque slab fared no better. He thought better of trying to fall off head first, and so did not try the top.

  As his efforts ceased, the white material of his cage began to dim and change color. A blue luminescence began to fall upon him. This azure projection caused his eyelids to droop and fall. His consciousness began to fade and young Edward fell asleep for a time, until they were ready for him.

  “You can stop pretending now, Edward. We all see through you.”

  His eyelids opened. The opaque matter was gone. Instead he found himself in a cozy and luxurious sitting room. He lay lengthwise on a padded red velvet sofa. As he put his feet on the ground, his heels clicked against hard wood. In front of him was a small table covered in food and drink. He could smell the roasted beef. His hand’s instinct was to grab at one of the ornate glasses and taste the wine.

  Across a short span, next to a densely packed bookshelf, the alien stood and read from a thick volume. The gold tongue of a sewn-in bookmark hung down lasciviously from the paper.

  “You are like water to my eyes.” The foreign mouth spoke to him sharply. It spoke perfect English, but there was something behind it – an accent. The alien spoke English softly.

  Edward gave in and grabbed one of the glasses. He didn’t fill it immediately. He hadn’t just then decided whether he meant to use it to drink or perhaps to defend himself with. “Where are we?”

  “We’re in the sky. It is thicker than you are.” The alien carefully laid the book-mark between the sheets and closed the book. “It is harder for me to see through than you are. I think it is more real. It has more substance. You are to the wind, as the wind is to the stone. Do you understand this?”

  “No, I don’t. Where’s Dever?”

  The silver man carefully slid the book back into the bookshelf between two others. “He’ll be just about done by now.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Clouds. You have seen clouds in the sky take a shape for a time: a cow, a face, a dragon. Then a few moments later the pieces move apart and the cloud no longer resembles what it once did.”

  “What the bloody hell are you on about?” Edward asked angrily. He began considering using the glass as a weapon all the more seriously. He also considered lifting up one of the glass bottles from between the grapes and cheese and seeing what the bottle might do against the elongated silver face.

  “By now, your master is probably no longer of any use to you. He was of little use to us.”

  “What use could I possibly be to you?” Edward asked carefully.

  The alien walked over, closer to young Edward. It reached down, picked up one of the bottles of wine, and began to pour it over the beef as if this were a perfectly normal action. Edward looked into the strange being’s face trying to divine why it would do such a thing, but the being was inscrutable. “You will tell me the trick. Then I will allow you peace until you finish dissipating.”

  “Which trick?” Edward asked. As he did so, h
e found himself defensively summoning the queen of spades to his palm. It was obviously no weapon, but having a surprise at the ready made the young man feel safer.

  “The trick which was not a trick.”

  “The spell? The one he said was passed down to him from Prague? I wonder. Were you the devils who came and spirited that poor chap away as well? Did you force him to sit here, as I do now? Did you offer him some of these same treats?”

  “We are not devils. We were not welcome in Prague. If you give the trick to me, I can make sure that it never passes on to them.”

  “You’re not angels. What are you?”

  “They are hot. They are poisonous. We are cool. We are clean.”

  “Are you good?”

  The silver man looked at Edward. There was no kindness in the metallic shine of his face. There was no sign of comprehension either.

  “Are you good?” At last, the space-man replied.

  “Well,” Edward made a great show of sitting back down on the sofa, “the matter is immaterial in any case. I do not know the details behind this particular trick.”

  “You do.”

  “I do not. While I am privy to a great number of my master’s secrets, I have no idea how he manages that one.”

  Edward could see his hand and the glass he held both reflecting in the alien’s body. He had a sudden thought that it might actually see, not just through its eyes, but in fact be aware of any sight captured in the reflective surface. He imagined that the one figure was like an entire audience watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake which would give the act away. Young Edward worked hours every day practicing his slight-of-hand, working with cards and coins, learning misdirection. He wasn’t a performer yet, but he knew where he wanted his future to lead. He knew where he belonged.

  He “accidentally” revealed the queen in his palm, making sure that it caught in the silver for just a moment, a full breath, but no longer.

  “We know that he passed his secret on to you. The devils made the mistake of grabbing the magician and forgetting the apprentice. We heard him say it. But we are smarter than the devils! We haven’t made their mistake.”

  “Yes, but I’m afraid you have made your own. I simply do not have the information that you need. No matter of glowering with your big black snake-eyes is going to change that, my good man, so you might as well put me back where you found me and you and I can forget this whole mess ever happened. Shall we agree to part as friends?”

  The silver man was furious. He generated the most horrific howl, louder than any voice. A little like an angry gorilla and a little like a train. The creature’s mouth opened wide. He began to shake so hard and so fast that his image blurred. The long thin fists crashed into the table, sending the beef and the cheese sliding off. Grapes bounced against the rare meat. Glass shattered. The wine flowed out, making a deep “glug-glug” sound.

  For a moment, Edward was completely terrified, but he struggled to hide it.

  “See here! I would be more than happy to share what I do know. Perhaps the secret of sawing a woman in half would be useful among your people?”

  The alien leaned in. It stopped shaking. Edward was half afraid that it might bite him.

  “We have no interest in your delusions and confusions!”

  “Well, hey, look at this -” Edward lifted up the queen. I want you to remember this card. Can you do that? Don’t tell me what it is…”

  The silver man paused for a moment, its attention on his left hand, where Edward wanted it to be. The young assistant chose this moment to use all of the strength his hours of practice had given him. Using his right hand, he threw a single copper coin into the alien’s eye so hard that the invader lost his footing and fell backwards.

  Edward swiftly rose to his feet and reached for the door. Unfortunately, when he tugged at the brass knob, the portal didn’t open. In fact it felt as if the “door” was merely a decoration.

  “An illusion?” Edward said with shock.

  “There’s no way out, you fool!” The alien said as he rose. “Did you think you would jump out a window and run home? We’re beyond your world now. Your home is lost to you forever.”

  The silver alien advanced on him again. As he grew closer, Edward saw the copper still embedded in the great black eye. Rather than blood and ichor, there appeared to be cracking and clipping where it had damaged the ocular.

  The unnatural presence grabbed Edward roughly by the arm. The two stood for just a moment face to face. Really, the silver man had a small body like a child. If it were not for the enormous skull, it would have been much shorter than the human. As it was, they were about even.

  But only a moment after grabbing Edward’s arm, the silver man bellowed in pain. For a second time, it fell down to the floor; this time tumbling onto its poor and inadequate little knees. Curiously, it seemed to regard the hand which had been upon Edward’s right arm.

  The magnets!

  With a simple twist, Edward produced one of the two magnetic rocks, and the length of cord which held it, from his sleeve. He pressed the stone against the alien’s forehead and watched in fascination as the malicious silver being appeared to suffer from the most horrible of pains.

  Young Edward broke the cord with his nails and then tied the first magnet around his captor’s throat. He noted with some satisfaction that the vile creature quickly descended into a twitching unconsciousness.

  “Right. That sets the first matter straight.”

  He then began looking around the room, attempting to find the true exit.

  It didn’t take him terribly long, but longer than he would have wanted to admit, for young Edward to discover that there were no openings in the walls. He looked behind the bookcases, the paintings, the curtains, but the integrity of the room seemed to be sound. Only after a great while did Edward get the idea to try using his second magnet.

  He knew nothing of alien technology or high science, but he did understand that the little piece of stone was enough to undo his captor. Perhaps his trap would be susceptible to the same forces?

  Indeed it was. When he found the right spot and held the small stone near the wall, there was a great whirring sound and the wall began to bend. The bottom of it lifted out towards him and rose toward the ceiling. Young Edward ducked his blond head under the opening, before the door was even done lifting, and popped out of the room.

  Outside of his prison cell, the hallway was long and curved. Ceiling, floor, and walls all appeared to be made of the same white opaque matter which he had originally observed when he woke up the first time. From inside of the room, the door had been obfuscated, but in the hallway he had no problem finding the entrance into the next room. He held the magnet just in front of it and watched, unsurprised as that door opened, the same as the first had.

  This second room was white on the inside and undecorated. It may have been the same room he was in initially. It contained a hard slab of a bed, which he was surprised to learn did not rest on any sort of a pillar, but instead levitated in place. Upon the bed lay his good friend, Walls.

  Walls had seen better days.

  A series of tubes led from the wall into his nose, mouth, and under his back. His skin had taken on a bluish tinge which looked deeply unhealthy. In fact, it fairly recalled the pallor of the dead. It looked like the silver men had been experimenting on him. A large section of the good soul’s skull had been cut away. Brain matter was visible. The missing portion of his head lay on the slab only a hand’s span away from where it belonged. Edward’s first instinct was to quickly grab it and push it back into place, as if it could possibly heal.

  In the folds of his brain, three small red crystals could be seen. They obviously didn’t belong there and had been inserted by their captors. Edward felt a compulsion to reach right into Walls’ mind and pluck the stones out. He resisted, for fear of what his touch might do to him.

  For you see, the large brave man who had attempted to protect their master was not d
ead. His chest moved. His mouth was slightly open. He was breathing deeply as he slept.

  Young Edward was not possessed of a weak constitution, but all the same, the vision in front of him nearly drove the boy to his knees. That his friend was still alive seemed crueler, more unnatural, than if their captors had simply had the dignity to kill him. He had never seen inside of a man’s skull before (or even a woman’s for that matter.) As his eyes dove in-between the folds made available to him, he couldn’t help but look for thoughts. He wondered if the man’s dreams might appear if he stared hard enough – and that thought sickened him. That thought struck him as the worst invasion he had ever heard of. He blamed himself for looking, almost as much as the silver men for cutting him open.

  Uselessly, he waved his little magnet at the whole scene, as if wishing that the rock could undo the crime. It goes without saying that it did no such thing.

  He reached for Walls and shook the man gently by the shoulder. On the one hand, Edward was hoping to wake him, but he was also afraid that if he woke too suddenly, the man might jump up and that could quite possibly cause the brains to actually fall from out his skull. Fortunately the shaking had no appreciable effect.

  Edward began to sense that he should move on, rather than be discovered. But he could not stand to leave without doing anything for the man he had worked side by side with for so long. At length, he rolled up his sleeve. As if he had an audience, he did so with a theatrical flourish. He then, really and truly did reach into Walls Carpenter’s skull and pulled out one of the red crystals. His fingers were wet with what Edward could only assume were lost dreams and memories. He wondered if the small quantity of liquid which his glove had extracted from his friend represented a day in the man’s life which he would never again be able to recall.

  Then, sadly, as he looked at Walls, he realized that it seemed unlikely that the builder would ever recover from this present indignity.