The Vanishing Trick

by Jenni Spangler

  It was increasingly uncomfortable to reflect on his agreement with Pinchbeck, when her recent actions had been so very wicked. In the past, it had been easier to overlook her cruel side and focus on everything she had given him. But more and more, Felix was torn between his loyalty to Pinchbeck and his love for Charlotte . . . and now his growing fondness for Leander.

  ‘Nothing looks different.’ Leander handed the stone back to Felix.

  ‘No,’ said Felix, putting it away in his pocket. ‘It never does.’

  They rounded the corner leading to the lane with the carriage on and immediately something felt wrong.

  Movement at the carriage up ahead; a disturbance.

  Felix grabbed Leander’s sleeve, urging him to stay quiet. Felix recognized trouble when he saw it.

  Hold your nerve, watch and wait. The others are counting on you, he thought.

  No one was looking in their direction, so the boys approached cautiously. Three men stood by the carriage, including the gentleman they had met at the farrier’s shop. Two of them held Pinchbeck between them. She was not struggling, but her face was full of poison.

  Felix and Leander hopped into a ditch and crawled as near as they dared, trying to make out what was being said.

  ‘The constable is acting on my instruction,’ the gentleman from the shop said, his back to the children.

  ‘And you are?’ Pinchbeck’s voice dripped with disdain.

  ‘The magistrate of this parish.’

  Felix took a deep breath. What would it mean for their quest if Pinchbeck was arrested?

  ‘I understand you were recently the guest of Lord Litchfield,’ the gentleman continued.

  Leander made a sound: half gasp, half whimper. The gentleman looked over his shoulder. In panic, Felix almost fled to his Cabinet, then stopped himself, worried that Leander wouldn’t have the sense to disappear, too. And he didn’t want to leave the other boy exposed and alone. They stayed low, bellies to the ground, for twenty eternal seconds until the man began talking again.

  ‘I’ve heard some troubling reports.’ The gentleman turned his attention back to Pinchbeck and the boys raised their heads far enough to see over the ratty grass.

  ‘Yes,’ said Pinchbeck, her voice honey-smooth. ‘People are often troubled by my work. Alas, I am cursed with a gift and must use it to help people. His Lordship was pleased with the results.’

  Despite sleeping in her carriage, Pinchbeck looked respectable with her neat hair and fancy hat. She held herself with poise and spoke like a lady, and made it clear she expected to be treated as one.

  ‘I’m here with regard to his niece,’ said the magistrate.

  Leander pressed a little closer to Felix’s side.

  ‘A tragedy. She appeared to me as a spirit. It was my sad duty to tell Lord Litchfield of her demise.’

  ‘We have reason to believe you have the girl in your possession. Kidnap is a most grievous offence, Miss Pinchbeck.’

  ‘Madame Pinchbeck,’ she corrected him haughtily.

  Joy washed over Felix like a high vibrato. Lord Litchfield must have found Charlotte’s note and it convinced him to alert the magistrates! Leander must have been thinking the same thing and the boys shared a hopeful smile.

  Pinchbeck laughed. ‘You must have misunderstood. Lord Litchfield’s niece died five years ago.’

  ‘Just doing my duty, ma’am. I’m sure you understand.’

  Felix clutched Leander’s sleeve, half afraid the boy would leap up and blurt out the whole story. But, if Pinchbeck saw them, she’d command them into their Cabinets before they said a word. She’d manage to explain it away if the men saw anything strange – she was a medium after all. Disappearing children would only strengthen her claims that she was communing with spirits.

  He felt Leander shaking, and then realized that he was shaking, too. Excitement and desperation tore at Felix’s insides. He dug his fingers into the dirt to anchor himself as his mind whirred with possibilities. If Pinchbeck was taken by the constable, they would be able to search for Charlotte without her interference. And, once they’d found her, Charlotte could send word to Lord Litchfield and then perhaps he’d come and help them. They wouldn’t be able to travel all the way back to Litchfield House, of course – they’d be insubstantial if they strayed so far from Pinchbeck – but they could send a telegram.

  He watched as Pinchbeck stood, erect and haughty, with the air of someone confident in her innocence. One of the men had let go of her arm and she slipped her hand into her dress pocket. Her eyes were alert and, though she looked calm, she was obviously worried. She looked round and the boys lowered their heads.

  Above them, there came the familiar bang-rattle of the carriage door slamming shut. A deep voice spoke. ‘No one here, Your Honour. No room to hide a child.’

  ‘I must object,’ said Pinchbeck. ‘This is hardly the way to treat a lady.’

  Please don’t let them give up.

  Another figure emerged from the carriage. His voice was higher pitched, barely a man. ‘Found this, sir.’

  Felix dared to peek. The boy passed something shiny to the magistrate.

  ‘Well, look at this,’ said the gentleman.

  It was the silver sugar bowl from Litchfield House that Leander had brought with him in hopes of selling to Pinchbeck. This could be the luck they were waiting for.

  The magistrate continued. ‘I may not be able to prove you are a kidnapper, Madame Pinchbeck, but there’s no doubt you are a thief. Constable, detain her. Send word to Lord Litchfield. Court will convene Monday morning. Keep a close watch on this villain.’

  The boys agreed a plan in the quietest of whispers as Pinchbeck was marched off by the constable.

  ‘We need to know where they’re taking her,’ said Felix. ‘So we aren’t stranded too far away. I’ll follow at a safe distance.’

  ‘I’ll get the Cabinets,’ said Leander. ‘Then come after you.’

  Felix shook his head. ‘I’ll come back for you. Don’t get yourself lost.’

  As Felix sneaked away, Leander stayed in the ditch and watched the constable’s men search the carriage, praying they wouldn’t move or break the Cabinets. They took a money bag and the pinboard of jewellery, mumbling that they were certainly stolen, then left, agreeing to leave the carriage behind until the farrier came for the injured horse.

  The instant they were out of sight, Leander dived in. What luck! With Pinchbeck out of their way, they would find Charlotte. They had to. He dug out his old sack and stuffed it with anything that looked useful. He found his locket – thankfully hidden by the drapes and unnoticed by the men – and put it on. Felix’s violin case had been pulled out, but left behind. The instrument was so old and tatty they probably assumed it was worthless. Leander fastened the case to protect the violin. Though he hated to shut Felix’s Cabinet, he could not carry it otherwise.

  The carriage was in complete disarray from the search. Glass jars had been smashed, allowing powders and potions to form a foul-smelling sludge on the floor. He took the shovel, a penknife, a small lamp and a tinderbox. He decided to leave the spellbooks and the book of fairy tales behind. They were heavy, and he was sure they had no more help to offer. The tarot cards might be useful to Felix, but they were scattered about on the floor and there wasn’t time to collect them all. Maybe it didn’t matter. Felix had said you didn’t need to pick the right cards, but that ‘the cards decide what they want to tell you’. He grabbed them by the fistful and threw in as many as he could.

  Crumpled on the floor, muddy from a boot print, lay Charlotte’s yellow ribbon. Leander shuddered as he thought of her scared and alone somewhere.

  He hesitated to leave the food hamper, but it was too big to carry and the men could be back at any moment; he settled for stuffing his pockets with handfuls of dried fruit. The bag tore as he slung it over his shoulder so he snatched up a blanket and heaped the things on top, gathered the corners together and heaved the whole uncomfortable bundle up on to his
back.

  How far away would Pinchbeck be taken? Felix said he would come back for him, but he could at least start walking in the same direction as the constable’s men. He couldn’t risk becoming insubstantial.

  Onward. No time to waste. Pinchbeck was captured, at least until court on Monday, and they had the freedom to search for their friend. Luck was finally smiling on them.

  It was dark. Charlotte was used to that. The walls of her lantern were glass but, once inside, she could see nothing. Darkness did not scare her. What scared her was the absence of sound.

  Even in her Cabinet, there was always something to hear: distant voices, muffled hoofbeats, birds singing.

  Wherever she was now, it was silent.

  By trying to escape her fate, it seemed she had only hastened it, like the classical myths she had once studied in her uncle’s library. Another foolish mortal. Except, of course, she wasn’t mortal, as far as she could tell, and if she was imprisoned it would be eternal.

  Was this what Pellar had spoken of? Had Pinchbeck hidden her away in some secret place like buried treasure, forgotten for all the ages?

  Was this what she had to look forward to – no light, no sound, no feeling – for ever?

  Without physical form, Charlotte couldn’t even weep.

  17

  Justice:

  Law, Truth, Clarity

  A breathless Felix raced towards Leander before he reached the end of the road.

  ‘This way . . .’ He pointed back the way he’d come. ‘They took her to the constable’s house. I saw them search her pockets . . .’Her book – her commonplace book – they took it. Which means we can get it.’

  The book which Pinchbeck had guarded so jealously, kept about her person day and night, made all her notes in. ‘If she was going to write down where Charlotte is—’

  ‘Exactly!’ Felix was pink-cheeked and hopeful. ‘Let’s go.’

  After handing Felix his violin case and tightening the grip on his bundle, Leander trotted behind him through narrow, winding streets lined with neat brick terraces and tiny stone cottages.

  ‘This is wonderful,’ said Leander. ‘If we find Charlotte, we can get word to Lord Litchfield somehow, can’t we? Do you think he can help us?’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Felix. ‘This way, to the right.’

  ‘I hope Pinchbeck goes to prison for ever!’

  ‘I only hope she doesn’t get sent far away. If they took her to the city by carriage, we’d never catch up before we turned insubstantial. Mind the puddle.’

  That was a sobering thought. Even with Pinchbeck locked away, they weren’t completely safe. But at least it gave them breathing room. Time to find Charlotte. Time to plot a way to get free. Fat drops of water began to splash down from the sky and drip from the uneven roofs and guttering. By the time they reached their destination, it was a proper shower.

  The constable’s house was squat and shadowy like a brown toad. It was set back from the road, a little distance from its neighbours and behind it sloping grass led up to the woods. They tiptoed to the back of the house, passing a small, windowless outhouse half sunk into the ground.

  ‘Pinchbeck is locked in the root cellar,’ Felix whispered, pointing at the outhouse. ‘They must use it as a prison cell.’

  Leander shivered at the thought of her just beyond the stone walls, waiting in the darkness. Their footsteps were as quiet as their breath.

  ‘See there?’ Felix pointed to a small window. The wooden frame was warped and swollen with damp – easy enough to pull open. Leander had broken into harder places. ‘They searched her in that room and put everything she was carrying into a bag before they locked her up.’

  Leander was taller than Felix and, with a boost, he was able to drag himself through the window. The floor indoors was higher, and it was only a small drop down to it, so it was easier to land quietly.

  He found himself in a room that was something between an untidy parlour and an office. A tired old chair stood before a rickety desk strewn with papers, and hanging on the wall above was a needlepoint reading Cleanliness is next to Godliness. It was covered in dust.

  ‘In the corner,’ whispered Felix, his eyes just visible as he peeped over the window frame. ‘Look under the desk.’

  A familiar mix of thrill and shame brewed inside Leander as he crossed the floor. More than a few times, cold and hunger had pushed him into doing something criminal, and he’d become good at it. He tested the floorboards gingerly before transferring his weight.

  Yes, there was a bag there, sitting alongside a pile of rusted chains and a coil of rope. Pinchbeck’s coin purse was inside, a few crumpled handkerchiefs, a brass ring and—

  He held the book up.

  ‘Yes, that’s it. Hurry.’

  Pocketing the book, Leander replaced the bag and returned to the window. Felix gasped. His hands grabbed the frame as he tried to pull himself through.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Leander glanced round and saw what Felix was staring at. Something small and brown had fallen out of the bag and was rolling towards the door.

  ‘Isaak—?’ whimpered Felix.

  Isaak? Cogs and gears turned frantically in Leander’s head and then he remembered that Isaak was the name of Felix’s brother. Did the object belong to him? If so, that meant it was . . .

  A Cabinet.

  Pinchbeck stole Felix’s brother.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Leander said. Felix was still trying to scramble through the window. Leander spun on his heels to chase after the thing, but the door swung open in his path. A woman stepped through, and screamed.

  ‘Go!’ shouted Leander. Felix darted away from the window and Leander took a running jump, flinging himself through behind him. The woman swiped at his ankles, barely missing.

  ‘Get back here!’ she shouted after them. He ran with all his might, fingers locked tightly round the precious book. Ahead of him Felix rushed on, his violin case slung over his shoulder and the blanket bundle bumping against his legs.

  Once they were deep in the woods, the boys huddled below the lowest branches of a large evergreen, wet and cold and shaken by their near miss. Leander brought out the commonplace book from his coat. He handed it to Felix.

  Felix was staring at a spot in the dirt and took the book without breaking his gaze. He was trembling hard, and Leander had a hot-stone feeling in his stomach that it wasn’t because of the weather.

  ‘Felix?’ He touched the boy’s shoulder gently. ‘Felix?’

  No answer. It was scary to see Felix this way. Felix, the calm, clever, sensible one.

  ‘The little round box that fell out of the bag . . . was it your brother’s?’ Leander guessed.

  Felix glanced at Leander and then back to the dirt. The violin case was still on his back and his fingers gripped the strap so tightly his knuckles were white. He moved his head a fraction of an inch, which Leander took as a nod.

  Felix coughed. ‘He kept his best marbles in it.’

  Leander’s mouth went dry and he forced himself to swallow. ‘Did Pinchbeck catch your brother, too?’

  Silence.

  ‘Do you think Isaak has been here all along?’ asked Leander. The words tasted sour and stale. ‘Augustina collects spirits,’ Pellar had said. How many prisoners did Pinchbeck have? How many children had she tricked into giving up their souls?

  Felix didn’t, or couldn’t, reply. A realization, stronger than the wintry wind, swept over Leander. He did need other people. He didn’t want to be without Felix and Charlotte. Their friendship, though as new and delicate as a spring snowdrop, was the best thing he’d had since his mother died. Now Charlotte was lost, and Felix was giving up, and without them he couldn’t hope to defeat Pinchbeck.

  ‘I’ll get it for you, I will. As soon as it’s dark, I’ll go back and find it. Do you hear me?’

  Felix gave another nod, stronger this time.

  I can do this. If Felix can’t take care of me, I’ll take care of him.This idea was strangely c
omforting. That’s what a family does.

  ‘We’ll find your brother, I promise.’

  Plunk. A raindrop landed on the cover of the commonplace book.

  ‘But first we need to find Charlotte,’ he urged. ‘And this book might be our answer. I can’t read it like you can.’

  Felix nodded.

  The rain kept coming. The tree was wide and thick, but somehow droplets managed to trickle through the branches. Leander unwrapped the bundle he’d taken from the carriage, and did his best to tuck the blanket into the boughs to make a shelter. A handful of tarot cards, caught up in the folds of the blanket, fell down on to the muddy ground and mingled with the carpet of twigs and moss. Leander and Felix huddled together in the dim light as Felix opened the book.

  It was small and roughly bound. The pages were as fragile as the oldest of the spellbooks, and dirty edges showed they were well thumbed. Some were torn and carefully mended with silk thread. They smelled of spent gunpowder and yeast. Felix turned the pages reverently, as though Pinchbeck’s magic might spill out.

  Words and drawings covered the pages leaving not a half-inch wasted. Tiny, complicated pictures. Sketches of animals and the stars, and endless charts of numbers. But mostly words, written with a thick pen in a small, tight hand, making it nearly impossible to distinguish where one word ended and the next began.

  ‘What’s it say?’ said Leander, peering over Felix’s shoulder.

  ‘Not all the words are English.’ He flipped a page. ‘This is English, here, but nothing about captured spirits. It’s a recipe, I think. And this –’ he flicked to the next page – is Latin.’

  ‘Can you read it?’ Leander squinted at the page, hoping to see a word or two he recognized from church.

  ‘No. Charlotte can read some Latin if – when – we find her. I only know the words they write on gravestones.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Leander pointed to words in a different shade of ink, encircled by a snake.

  ‘I don’t recognize those letters.’

  ‘Keep going.’

  They continued through the book, Felix reading out the parts he could understand. There were more recipes, strange prayers and, at the back, a list of addresses. All homes at which Pinchbeck had performed seances, complete with notes on each of the family members.