The Vanishing Trick

by Jenni Spangler

  But she’d require a lot more children. Showing the same ones again and again would never do – people would realize it was a trick. She’d need a steady stream of freshly captured children to keep up with demand, and when she’d finished with each of them . . .

  Leander was only the first.

  9

  Ace of Wands:

  A New Business

  Venture, Profit

  Immediately after dinner, Pinchbeck packed them up for another seance. Leander was even allowed to ride up at the front of the carriage with Pinchbeck for a little way, which made him feel very important indeed.

  ‘I’ll leave your Cabinet open in a dark corner,’ said Pinchbeck as they clattered down the narrow street. ‘Come out when you hear the music, but try not to show yourself.’

  She had instructed him to keep his black coat on this time, instead of changing into the glowing jacket. She didn’t need him to be a ghost for the performance that evening – it seemed her only concern was testing the camera. Charlotte would do the knocking and whispering, while Felix would take centre stage with his violin.

  ‘See if you can find anything worth taking, but don’t steal too much. It’s a small house and they will notice. We must avoid suspicion.’

  ‘Yes, Madame,’ said Leander.

  *

  When the first notes came from Felix’s violin, Leander thought out and felt his body take shape. His head pressed against something hard and he crouched down quickly before he was solid enough for it to hurt. It took a moment to get his bearings. He was under a small table in the corner of a dark parlour.

  A group of people sat in a horseshoe shape with their backs to him. Felix stood in front of them with his violin, swaying in time to the music. His eyes were half closed and he seemed so peaceful and happy, even in this spooky setting.

  ‘My spirit guide comes forth from the haunted violin,’ said Pinchbeck. ‘His ghostly music calls the spirits through the void.’ She stood behind the watchers with the camera set up on three tapered wooden legs and pointed towards Felix. She lifted the clockwork lamp and touched a taper to the silver wick.

  A lightning-white light filled the room. Leander shaded his eyes with his hands. Felix’s fingers slipped on the strings, the flat note like a stain in the air. The light lasted six or seven seconds and then it was gone, and the room seemed much darker than before.

  The watchers murmured with approval, impressed by the camera as much as the ghost.

  Leander took his chance to move before their eyes adjusted back to the darkness. Felix had quickly found his rhythm again and now his music became louder and faster. Keeping low to the ground, Leander slipped his hand into the pocket of the nearest man and drew out a watch. No. It’d be too quickly missed. He put it back.

  The lady beside him had a small beaded purse hanging from the chair back. He opened it silently and took out two coins – a sixpence and a shilling, he guessed by the feel – and left the other three behind.

  Just then a knocking sound came from the opposite corner of the room: Charlotte was tapping on the windowpane. The watchers turned in their seats, looking for the source of the noise. Leander flattened himself to the ground, relying on the shadows to keep him hidden.

  Pinchbeck chanted and sang her way through the rest of the seance. It felt to Leander as though she was rushing to finish, now that she’d taken her photograph. He helped himself to two teaspoons from the sideboard drawer, swiftly and silently. It was almost too easy. He felt a little thrill of pleasure at his own skill, followed by the familiar pang of guilt.

  There wasn’t much else for him to steal in the room and he couldn’t reach the door without being spotted, so he stuffed his ill-gotten gains into his pockets and vanished back into his Cabinet. A few moments later, he heard the violin stop with a great tuneless screech. The seance was over.

  *

  Back at the farmhouse, Pinchbeck went straight into the small larder. She draped the tiny window with the thickest rug and stuffed rags into every crack and cranny.

  ‘We’ll show Fred Hudson how it’s done, children!’ She rushed about, carrying sheets, transforming the little room into a cave of fabric. ‘To bed then, and don’t disturb me on any account! I must have complete darkness when working on photographs.’ She slammed the door.

  With the blankets all taken by Pinchbeck, it was bitterly cold. The children did their best to build up a fire, though most of the remaining wood was too damp to burn.

  ‘We should try to get some rest,’ said Felix.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Charlotte. ‘We can use this time, while she’s occupied.’

  ‘I’m too tired.’ Leander rubbed his eyes.

  ‘I need to explain—’

  ‘I don’t want to listen.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Leander, this is important,’ said Charlotte. ‘You’re in danger. I’m trying to help you.’

  ‘Stop lecturing me! I know. We’re prisoners. I understand!’ His eyes stung with the threat of tears and he angrily blinked them away. ‘I don’t care. I like it here. I wasn’t rich like you. I didn’t have a fancy home with servants. I was alone and I don’t want to go back.’

  Charlotte pressed her lips together into a thin line and took a deep breath. Leander could tell she was fighting the urge to shout at him again.

  ‘And I’m doing my bit. Look.’ Leander took the spoons and money out of his pockets and dropped them on to the kitchen table. The sixpence landed on its edge and spun round and round before falling flat.

  ‘It’s not about doing your bit,’ said Charlotte. ‘It’s about your safety. You’ve had new clothes and a couple of meals and a bit of fun at the seances, and you think everything is wonderful. You’re wrong.’

  A look was exchanged between Charlotte and Felix.

  ‘We’ve told you about the magic Pinchbeck uses to keep us trapped like this,’ Felix began. ‘Well, we don’t know how it works, but we do know she can’t keep more than two Cabinets at a time.’

  ‘Good,’ said Leander. ‘Then she’ll let one of us go. Hopefully you.’ He pointed at Charlotte.

  ‘You’re a fool—’ Charlotte began.

  Felix put his hand on her shoulder in a calming gesture. ‘Pinchbeck doesn’t let people go,’ he said. ‘I don’t think she can.’

  ‘There have been other children. Children she stole, then . . .’ Charlotte wiped her eye with her sleeve. Was she crying? ‘Come and see.’

  She walked to the door and Felix followed with a candle. Leander stayed put, arms folded. He wasn’t in the mood to be ordered about by Charlotte.

  ‘Come on!’ she said.

  He sighed and got up. They unlatched the front door and walked to the carriage, clambering in one by one. Leander sat on the bench with Felix beside him.

  ‘Look,’ said Charlotte, stooping beneath the low ceiling. ‘Here, and here.’ She pointed out glass jars of various sizes. ‘And here.’

  ‘What?’ said Leander. He picked up the nearest one. It contained shards of pottery. Another had pieces of broken glass.

  ‘They’re Cabinets,’ said Charlotte.

  ‘They were all children she captured,’ said Felix. ‘Destroying the Cabinet is the only way to get rid of them.’

  Leander furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of what they were saying. ‘So . . . if we destroy our Cabinets, we’ll be free?’ But even before he finished his sentence he knew that wasn’t what they meant. Their faces were grave in the candlelight.

  ‘No,’ said Charlotte. ‘If the Cabinets are destroyed, we’re . . .’

  ‘Dead,’ said Felix. The word hung in the air like dust.

  ‘Pinchbeck can’t keep three Cabinets for long. It hurts her. It drains her power. She’ll have to get rid of one of us soon.’

  ‘Or what?’ said Leander.

  There had to be another option. They couldn’t really be saying that Pinchbeck would just kill one of them. Whatever the others said, the woman had been so kind to him. And, when he and
Felix had spoken in town, there had been almost a fondness in Felix’s voice. Leander hadn’t even got used to the idea that he was a prisoner, not really, and now they were saying she was a . . . murderer?

  ‘Or nothing,’ said Charlotte. ‘She gets older, and weaker, and . . .’

  ‘Would she die?’ said Leander. He rolled the jar in his hand, watching the fragments of blue-and-white pottery fall against each other.

  ‘No,’ said Charlotte. ‘I mean, we don’t know if she could die that way, but it doesn’t matter because she’d never let that happen. Pinchbeck will preserve herself at any cost. She’ll destroy a Cabinet and go back to being healthy and young.’

  ‘She wouldn’t,’ said Leander. His throat felt tight and his shoulders were tense. ‘You’re trying to frighten me. Why would she take me in just to hurt me?’

  ‘To use you. We’re objects to her, like all this stuff,’ said Charlotte. ‘When we stop being useful, she’ll throw us out.’

  Maybe Charlotte was trying to upset him. She didn’t want him here in the first place. Leander looked at Felix for confirmation.

  ‘It’s true,’ Felix said with a sigh.

  ‘You think you know who she is, but she’s a stranger to you,’ said Charlotte. ‘She’s trying to win you over so you don’t question her.’

  ‘But . . .’ Leander put the jar back on the shelf. He didn’t want to touch it for a moment longer. ‘She’s going to help me speak to my mother again. She said she kept her real power for people who deserved it. People like me.’

  Charlotte scrunched her eyes up and exhaled hard. Leander waited for her next set of mean words, but instead she kneeled down by his feet and took his hand.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but that’s not going to happen. Pinchbeck can’t speak to the dead. She lied to you.’

  They went back to the kitchen and huddled round the dying embers in the stove. Charlotte tried to explain to Leander and Felix about the camera – her suspicions that Pinchbeck was going to snatch more children in order to produce spirit photographs in large numbers – but Leander couldn’t take it in. He felt numb. He wanted to speak to his mother more than ever before.

  Eventually, the others fell asleep, Felix propped up between two chairs and Charlotte with her head down on the table. But Leander couldn’t rest.

  *

  Early the next morning, Pinchbeck summoned them to stand shivering in the hallway and admire the photograph of Felix playing his violin. She held it up to the light so they could see. It was smudgy and Felix’s arm was blurry because he was moving the bow. Pinchbeck said this was a good thing. If the photograph was too crisp, people would see he was just a boy.

  If Leander didn’t know better, he would have believed Felix was a ghost. The harsh shadows from the clockwork lamp made Felix’s eyes look huge and dark, and the polished wood of the violin caught the light and gleamed. Where Felix was blurry, the people watching with their backs to the camera were completely sharp and still, making it seem like Felix wasn’t made of the same substance as the watchers.

  The photo itself was imperfect, a blotch covering one corner. ‘A little light got in when I was fixing the image,’ said Pinchbeck. ‘Next time I shall be more careful to have absolute darkness.’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ said Leander, although he didn’t really understand anything she had said. Pinchbeck didn’t seem to care, and continued lecturing the children on how she printed a copy of the photograph with paper soaked in egg white.

  ‘A little work to refine my technique,’ she said, ‘and people will be fighting to hire me. We’ll be rich. We’ll sleep in the finest hotels. Have a different outfit for every day of the week!’

  Leander wanted to be excited, but Charlotte’s words were still echoing in his mind.

  Pinchbeck scribbled a letter and folded it with the picture of Felix, then put on her hat to take the letter into the village.

  ‘Madame,’ said Leander as he helped her on with her cloak. ‘Perhaps today we could speak to my mother?’

  ‘Another time. When I’m not so busy,’ she said, brushing him easily off.

  *

  The next few days were miserable. Each morning Pinchbeck walked into town to check for messages, and returned in a meaner mood when there were none. She told them she expected an invitation from a very important person, and nothing else would please her. Leander politely asked about his mother once or twice, his heart sinking each time Pinchbeck shooed him away.

  The others were right after all. Pinchbeck couldn’t speak to the dead. Of all the lies, this one hurt the most. He knew he should never trust her again.

  Pinchbeck spent most of her time in the darkroom, experimenting with chemicals and light, trying to create the perfect photograph. She wrote endless notes in her little black book, which she always kept close to her chest. From time to time she shouted for one of them to pose for her, and woe betide them if they weren’t quick to answer.

  ‘When I call you, you come right away,’ she snarled at Leander, twisting his shirt as she pushed his back against the wall. He noticed thin strands of white were beginning to appear in Pinchbeck’s jet-dark hair. She growled at him and he swore that he caught a glimpse of long, sharp teeth behind her thin, sneering lips. He stared. A strange expression flickered over her face for a moment and she let him go, flashing him a pleasant smile with her usual normal-sized teeth.

  They weren’t safe with her. He understood it now. Not just understood but felt it in his bones.

  Once Pinchbeck shut herself back in the darkroom, Leander went looking for Charlotte and Felix. Leander always felt a pang of jealousy whenever he saw them together, as close as brother and sister. He wanted a friendship like that.

  He found them inside the carriage. Charlotte was poring over one of Pinchbeck’s magical books.

  ‘I believe you,’ said Leander.

  ‘What?’ said Charlotte, moving her legs so he could climb in. She shuffled along the bench seat to make room for him.

  ‘I understand now, about Pinchbeck. You were right when you tried to warn me. She’s evil. We need to escape. I want to help.’

  Felix, sitting on the floor in the narrow gap between the shelves and bench, leaned to one side so Leander could get past.

  ‘Finally,’ said Charlotte. ‘Working together, all three of us, is our best chance of defeating her.’

  ‘Did you find anything in the books?’ Leander asked.

  ‘It’s useless,’ said Charlotte. ‘We’ve read every book a hundred times. If the answer was here, I’d have found it years ago.’

  At her feet, Felix was dealing out Pinchbeck’s cards on to the floor. He shook his head, gathered them up and shuffled them back together. ‘The cards aren’t making any sense tonight.’

  ‘How is it done?’ Leander asked.

  ‘It’s hard to explain.’ Felix handed the cards to Leander and beckoned to him to sit down. Leander squeezed into the gap between the bench and drawers to sit facing Felix. With his back against the carriage door, there was just about room to lay the cards out between them.

  ‘Spread them out like this,’ said Felix, pointing to different spots on the floor as Leander dealt each card in turn.

  ‘How do I know which cards to put down?’ asked Leander.

  ‘You don’t. The cards decide what they want to tell you. Now put one in the middle. That means today.’

  The middle card was a king draped in fur robes and holding a huge silver sword.

  Charlotte sighed. ‘This is just superstition,’ she muttered.

  ‘I don’t know what it means,’ said Leander.

  ‘It’s less about knowing,’ said Felix. He squinted and rubbed his ear. ‘More about feeling. Quiet your mind and listen.’

  Leander didn’t hear anything.

  ‘I can’t make any sense of them,’ said Felix. ‘Perhaps they’re not ready to give us their message today.’

  They certainly looked magical, but Leander felt as if he was missing some secret. He
looked at each one in turn, trying to take in every detail of the drawings in the hope that he would spot . . . what exactly?

  The snap of a book made him look up.

  ‘Here.’ Charlotte dropped it into his lap. ‘You look. I’ve read it over and over. If the answer is here, I’m not seeing it.’

  ‘Same here,’ said Felix, beginning to tidy up the cards again.

  Leander felt his cheeks flush with shame. ‘I can’t read,’ he admitted. ‘Not properly.’

  As if Charlotte needed any more reasons to think he was an idiot.

  ‘Of course not.’ She rolled her eyes, then paused as if catching herself and spoke more gently. ‘It doesn’t matter. The answer isn’t here anyway. We’re wasting time.’

  Felix picked up the last card – the fur-cloaked King of Swords. The golden edge glinted and sparked something in Leander’s mind. Golden edges. A king . . .

  ‘There’s another book,’ said Leander. ‘I brought one with me. A book you haven’t checked yet.’

  It was a silly idea. The book he’d brought from Litchfield House wasn’t a book about magic, like all of these. It was only fairy tales. But he had nothing to lose by showing them, and a tiny voice in his head told him it might be important.

  He reached past Felix, who squashed himself against the shelves to make room. Stuffed in a corner under the bench was the sack of stolen items from Litchfield, forgotten by Pinchbeck the moment she’d captured Leander. The book of fairy tales was still inside. He handed it to Charlotte and her eyes grew wide.

  ‘I remember this! It was mine as a child.’ She clutched it to her chest and then, to his great surprise, she hugged Leander. It was an awkward, lopsided hug because of the cramped space, and Leander sat stiffly, not sure how to react. ‘It’s lovely to see this, Leander. But they’re just stories. It can’t help us.’