Odd Partners

by Mystery Writers of America

  Payment wasn’t a motivation. “Why can’t you catch him yourself?”

  They had reached the steps of St. Mark’s and sat down. The man glanced to the side, not meeting Celwyn’s gaze. “It will take all of your skills of illusion, your cunning, and more to subdue him.”

  Celwyn yawned. “And what will you be doing?”

  “Helping, of course.”

  The magician regarded him. He looked skinny, peculiar, and seemed more an intellectual than capable of pummeling someone if needed. For several minutes Celwyn thought about his own level of boredom and the unknown, and wondered how depraved this Kang could be.

  The other man stood and opened the church’s heavy door. “You may call me Talos. Do not mention my name once we board the ship.”

  “Why?”

  “It would only make things more difficult. You see—” He paused, and his eyes once again glittered like broken crystal in the sun. “Kang is my brother.”

  * * *

  —

  Celwyn felt more than knew it would soon be dawn. No hint of pink filtered through the higher panes in the rectory windows, yet faint sounds of movement could be heard in the kitchen below. In another second, he determined he was not alone in his makeshift bedchamber below the rafters. The magician had become accustomed to the rats, but found Talos’s smirk as annoying as the stench of cloves that clung to the man.

  “Excellent. I’m glad you have awakened.” Talos jumped off a crate and beamed at Celwyn. “We must get to the docks. The Zelda will sail soon, and we have much to talk about along the way.” He clapped his hands. “Make haste.”

  As Celwyn pulled on his pants, he wondered if Talos had any idea how close he had just come to flying off the church roof. But no, he chattered on.

  “—voyage of several weeks.” He handed Celwyn a short knife with an ornate ivory handle. “Keep that in your boot. I have sent a trunk of rather elegant clothes for you ahead to the ship. Of course, I will be the passenger with sea sickness who stays in his cabin, and out of my brother’s sight.”

  * * *

  —

  Dawn painted the tall-masted ships of the harbor with a watery hand as sailors winched cargo aboard barques and transports. Celwyn inhaled the salty air and with it a reminder of how much he loved the sea. A moaning fog horn resounded across the bay, the sound competing with a crate of squawking chickens as it was lowered into the hold of a nearby ship. Celwyn approved: omelets.

  Talos led the way toward a throng in front of a pristine barque. The Zelda, white with a band of blue and her three-story-high masts, would spread great expanses of freshly laundered canvas once at sea. Celwyn loved ships, especially elegant ones. He expected to discover a worthy gentleman’s parlor aboard, and perhaps a decent game of poker.

  Talos had wandered on ahead. Celwyn scanned the area and discovered why he had disappeared; at the rear of the crowd stood a man with elfin ears and gleaming eyes that didn’t seem to rest until they encountered Celwyn’s gaze. One of the most beautiful women the magician had ever seen held the man’s elbow. Her hair was the color of a darkened flame, and her skin glowed with health as she murmured to Xiao Kang. He continued returning Celwyn’s stare as he ushered her forward.

  Celwyn presented his ticket to the purser. “I say, who is that gentleman in the beaver hat?”

  The purser raised his chin and squinted. “You must mean the professor. He’s sailed with us before.”

  * * *

  —

  A week later, Celwyn stood on the leeward deck, letting the growing wind buffet him. In the distance, thick opalescent clouds gathered near the western horizon. The magician sighed. It appeared they were about to encounter a storm. Maritime logic dictated that they would sail around the worst of the tempest, but would not sit still to let it overtake the ship.

  Two of the fussier passengers clutched parasols and minced along the rail to join him in his perusal of the sea. Celwyn made a face of annoyance. Their arrival could be a social call, but he suspected that they viewed him as a wealthy prospect for the comely niece who did her best to bat her eyelashes at him while holding on to her billowing hat.

  Mrs. Porter sighed. “Traveling is such a bother, is it not, Mr. Celwyn?”

  “Yes ma’am, it is.”

  Celwyn had so far exercised a modicum of restraint with Mrs. Porter. If he wasn’t careful, he’d endure hearing a repeated story of how she had found a live fish nestled in her trunk next to her flowered frocks. Maybe with a companion so it wouldn’t be lonely.

  He bowed to the niece. “You are looking well today, Miss Annabelle.”

  “Thank you. The first officer reported that the ship will encounter a storm tonight, and we will be confined to our cabins.” The niece frowned, and her perfectly formed brow crinkled. “Is this true?”

  Celwyn felt a twinge of sympathy for her. Trapped with her aunt in a small cabin wouldn’t be pleasant. He debated how much to say to her, but then it occurred to him that the situation could be useful. “That is one option the captain has. However,” he assumed a worried expression, “I would suggest that we all stay in the salon. There are fewer than a dozen of us.”

  “Why?” Mrs. Porter asked. A gust of wind slammed the Zelda broadside, causing Mrs. Porter to lurch back to the rail and hold on with both hands.

  “The salon is located in the center of the ship. It will receive less water from the waves.” Celwyn stood taller. “And we can offer one another encouragement if the storm becomes too frightening.”

  If Mrs. Porter convinced the captain to utilize the salon, then Kang would stay there for the evening. The magician had tried for days to invent a way of getting into the man’s cabin; he intended to search it and then have a conversation with him.

  * * *

  —

  Luncheon was a simple affair, with the last of the fresh vegetables, an overcooked roast, and a fair claret placed before them. As he sampled the wine, Celwyn observed the other passengers. Young Mr. and Mrs. Tarryton ate like their final meal had just been served. Mrs. Tarryton nearly resorted to picking up the roast beef with her delicate fingers when she couldn’t cut through it fast enough. Heavens! What about propriety and etiquette? Celwyn had heard the couple was on their way to a diplomatic posting in Hong Kong. He tapped his nose, and Mrs. Tarryton began snorting as she ate.

  The magician turned his attention to the passengers at his own table, who were trying to ignore the snorting. For the first time since they’d sailed, Kang and his wife had been seated with him.

  Elizabeth Kang’s hand lay close enough that Celwyn could have touched the emerald she wore. He resisted the urge to do so, and continued eating his parslied potatoes. Her perfume reminded him of a lilac field nestled high in the Irish mountains.

  Across the table, Kang ate with quiet efficiency. It was time Celwyn knew what the man was thinking. One of the magician’s many talents, which Talos had alluded to, included the ability to invade another man’s mind. While there, Celwyn could learn secrets and fears. It also made a perfect opportunity for inserting a new wisp of mystery or useful morsel of scandal.

  As Celwyn turned toward Kang, the man looked him in the eye and just barely shook his head. Celwyn pushed forward. When he should have entered Kang’s thoughts, nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing! Kang’s lips twitched as he nibbled a roll.

  Celwyn cursed, and a row of bar glasses shattered behind him. The candles across the room dimmed until he controlled his anger, and then burned even brighter than before. In the past, the magician had never failed to read another’s thoughts.

  It occurred to Celwyn that even if he could not read Kang’s thoughts, perhaps getting to know his wife better would be just as useful. With decorum and modesty, of course. The magician had been accused of many things—some of them even true—but he’d always been a gentleman.

  “Please p
ass the salt, Mrs. Kang.”

  As she handed it to him, Celwyn directed his attention to her, entering her thoughts as easily as a warm knife through butter. “Storm…lifeboats…Mrs. Porter’s double chin…Kang talking about his brother…” Celwyn listened, and within minutes knew much more about Kang. Enough to confirm that Talos had lied to him.

  Elizabeth Kang stole a look at Celwyn while silently noting how handsome she thought him. Especially the curve of his jaw. Celwyn looked away so that she wouldn’t notice his look of satisfaction. He hadn’t even had to suggest the thought to her!

  * * *

  —

  Throughout the rest of the afternoon, the hammering of boards placed over the windows and doors rang across the deck. Barrels and other unsecured storage had been taken below. More telling, heavy crates from the cargo hold were wrestled up to the deck and tossed overboard. Celwyn hoped the passengers didn’t register the significance: Dumping expensive cargo was a clear sign that extreme danger lay ahead.

  When Celwyn entered his cabin, he found Talos sitting on the bunk reading a newspaper. Cloves again. He pinched his nose and crossed to the desk.

  “This storm could blow us off course a great distance,” Talos said without looking up.

  Celwyn said nothing, but realized that with Talos so near, he had an opportunity. What more did the man know? With a deceptively blank expression, Celwyn attempted to read his thoughts.

  Damnation! Celwyn gripped the desk, trying for control. Two times in one day, he had failed at such a simple undertaking. How could both brothers thwart his attempt?

  “Is there something wrong?”

  Celwyn waited until he could control his anger before asking, “Do you have a ship following us?”

  “Yes.” Talos folded the newspaper and began examining his nails. “All you must do is deliver Kang to me.”

  “I thought we were to do this together.” Again Celwyn eyed him, wondering how much effort it would take to throttle him. Probably one hand could perform the deed.

  “You should be more worried about how you will subdue Kang.”

  “I won’t allow the passengers and crew of this ship to be hurt,” Celwyn said. Played with, yes; hurt, no.

  Talos stood and walked to the door. “At the right moment, attack, or cause an illusion, or whatever you do. Just be sure Kang is restrained. That is the surest way to ensure their safety.” The ship dipped low and a collection of bottles beside him toppled off the dresser. “Assuming we make it through this storm.”

  * * *

  —

  Nineteen bells resonated across the deck. As the Zelda sailed into a wall of rain, the staccato pattering grew to a pounding cadence. The iridescent foam of the roiling waves contrasted starkly with the blackness of the night, and one by one the waves extinguished the running lamps until only the signal lamps on the bridge glowed, swinging side to side like silent death knells.

  In the distance, a flicker of lightning decorated the darkness. As the first officer ushered Celwyn into the salon, a ridge of seawater topped the railing and flooded the deck.

  The magician had seen livelier parties at funerals. Most of the passengers huddled on the sofas in the center of the room, except for Annabelle, who paced the room fore and aft, holding a cigarette and a full glass of wine that dribbled down her skirts with each swing of her hips. Kang and his wife sat side by side across from the Tarrytons. The magician acknowledged Kang with a nod as Mrs. Porter’s voice shrilled.

  “We are going to die!”

  Annabelle patted her aunt’s shoulder and tried to stem the flow. Celwyn crossed to the bar and poured a large quantity of sherry. When Mrs. Porter took a breath to begin another outburst, Celwyn handed her the glass. “Drink that.” It wasn’t a request.

  She gulped and bleated, “The ship will sink!”

  Another woman moaned, “I cannot swim. We will all drown!”

  Celwyn frowned. A distraction was in order.

  He lit the fireplace, bringing warmth and hopefully cheer. He produced a spirit board from behind the bar, where it hadn’t existed before, while planting the idea in Mrs. Porter’s mind that it would be entertaining to ask it when her niece would marry, what the spring fashions would bring, and a yearning for chocolate cake.

  With a bit more help from Celwyn, the notion of lighting candles and summoning spirits occurred to the other passengers. He reclined against the bar and watched their conversations evolve to ignoring the noise outside: It was just a storm. Nothing to worry about. All night long, they would disregard the fury of the rain as it pounded the roof of the salon like hundreds of symphony drums.

  A few minutes more and the passengers closed their eyes to concentrate on the unnamed spirits as Celwyn shut the salon door behind him.

  Seawater had stopped draining from the scuppers and sloshed starboard and back with the rhythm of the sea. It took fewer than twenty steps to reach Kang’s cabin, and when the ship shifted to starboard, taking the water with it, Celwyn opened the cabin door and slammed it shut behind him. From his pocket he withdrew a stub of candle, lit it, and began to explore.

  The Kangs had been assigned an excellent room. A velvet settee, a carved wooden dresser, and tall, ornate pianoforte made the space livable. The magician added a vase of red roses and bowl of chocolates next to the bed. As he congratulated himself on his thoughtfulness, he nearly tripped over the bedpost: An opaque eye stared back at him from atop the pianoforte.

  An iridescent black bird with silver-tipped feathers sat there, twisting its head from side to side. Inspecting him. After a moment it soared upward with languid wings moving just fast enough to keep it aloft. As he watched, it descended and resumed its position atop the pianoforte.

  Although he found the creature somewhat fascinating, considering his own predilections, Celwyn had things to do.

  He began touring the room, examining various items, noting the type of shoes Mrs. Kang favored and the silk of Kang’s ties. For a “professor,” he appeared quite wealthy. The magician speculated what his real profession could be. His foray into Elizabeth Kang’s mind confirmed Talos had lied to him: Kang wasn’t a criminal. But what was he?

  On top of the desk blotter, Celwyn discovered a bound collection of papers. The pages contained numbers and drawings of what appeared to be alchemy. On the final page Kang had written: “—correction to Dalton’s theory.”

  How interesting, the magician thought. The last line read: “…suppress this discovery until such time as the world is ready for it. Until it is used for forthright purposes, not for war. I believe in the good it can do….”

  Celwyn stood there for several moments, trying to understand the quixotic lists of numbers. His gifts did not extend to science; more accurately, they extended to bending the laws of science. From outside, the calls of the crew faded as the reverberation from the thunder grew louder.

  What could be more perfect than nature and music together? Celwyn nodded, and the pianoforte began a tinkling baroque ballad that fit the atmosphere perfectly. He enjoyed the play between numbers and power, for that was what music and the storm represented. Even more appropriate was the contrast of elements; he produced dozens of candles and lit them.

  What was keeping Kang?

  * * *

  —

  It was another ten minutes before the cabin door opened and a cold gust of wind blew in along with Kang. He staggered to a halt and held out a scrap of paper. “I believe this was from you?” Kang wiggled the paper. “Inviting me to my own room?” He studied Celwyn, who lounged by the desk. “I trust you are comfortable?”

  “Except for a spot of whiskey, to warm our souls.” The magician rubbed his hands together and produced a bottle.

  Kang asked, “Are you armed?”

  “Only with the knife your brother insisted I carry,” Celwyn murmured as he held an imaginary b
aton high, conducting the music emanating from the pianoforte.

  “It is time we talked.” Kang crossed the room to sit at the pianoforte. For a moment, he watched the keys as they moved and the music played. “I’ve surmised why you are here.”

  “Then you know your brother engaged me to capture you.” Celwyn eyed him. “Why?”

  Kang shrugged. “Because in an altercation between us, he would lose. But bring in someone such as yourself, then the odds are in his favor.”

  The magician poured whiskey into the two glasses and extended one to Kang. “To civilized discourse.” After a few sips, he added, “You are not the supreme criminal he indicated, or fundamentally evil from what I can discover.” The ship stopped swaying, and then began a slow tilt leeward. When it righted itself, he continued, “My reasons for helping your brother are dwindling.”

  Kang rose and began pacing the room in short, precise steps. “In 1373, the first recorded instance attributed to your magic was the images of Anubis in the clouds above Chartres. Then the khamsin in Algiers, where you turned the dust storm to water. It was only later that I learned your name.”

  Celwyn raised his glass in salute.

  “I can appreciate the artistry in what you do, and the moral point of view that drives it.” Kang stared into his glass and added, “Talos has probably asked you to…er…disable me. Is this true?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  For a long moment, Celwyn thought over what he had surmised, and about the lies Talos had told him. As the American cowboys said, it was time to switch horses midstream.

  The magician said, “I was to cut into your chest and find what he called ‘a source of your power.’ Then I was to remove it.”