The Vanishing Trick

by Jenni Spangler

  It was surely madness, but Leander no longer felt afraid. He’d used up all the fear he had. Fear was gone; strength was gone; hope was gone. Yet somehow his legs kept moving. It was frustratingly slow, a bad dream in which he ran and ran but never gained any ground.

  It was late now and the little town slumbered around him.

  How can they sleep when the world is ending? Leander thought. How were they not woken by the deafening roar of the blood rushing through his body?

  After he had put some distance between him and the stable, he slowed his feet to listen to the night. Noises spilled out from homes – a child crying for his mother, low voices over a late supper. The streets themselves remained quiet. Leander looked through the holey stone, though he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to see. Then a vague shimmer from far away led him through the streets. A clue from the stone or just his imagination?

  He paused as he heard a sound round the next corner. Footsteps? Yes. A slow but solid gait, heavier on one side than the other. Leander tried to remember the way Pellar had moved in the graveyard. Could it be? A rough, gravelly cough answered his question.

  Gathering all his courage, Leander stepped out within arm’s reach of Edmund Pellar. The man looked as peculiar and disturbing as before, though he stood a little straighter now, as if the long walk had somehow refreshed him. On his back he carried a thin cloth bag, the strap slung over his shoulder and across his chest. It had to contain his gun.

  Leander expected Pellar to speak, but he did not. Instead, he continued walking at the same pace with no change of expression, as if Leander was no more than a creature scurrying across his path. Leander held firm. Pellar marched past, knocking him aside with his shoulder.

  ‘Mister Pellar!’ Leander called after him. The man grunted. Leander walked alongside him, skipping sideways to stay in his line of sight. ‘Mister Pellar, I’m the one—’

  ‘I know who you are. That woman has sent you out into the cold to mislead me. She is a coward, afraid to face me herself.’

  ‘She doesn’t know you’re coming.’ Leander touched Pellar’s arm, and he roughly shrugged him off.

  ‘All the better, then.’

  ‘Wait!’ Leander stepped directly in front of Pellar, causing the man to trip. ‘Please, please wait, sir. We’re so close to having her captured.’

  ‘The other boy said she was locked up already. You are all lyin’,’ Pellar growled.

  ‘She was locked up! She was caught by the constable. I was too! They got me free, but that meant she was released as well and now she’s stealing a horse, but Charlotte can—’ The story spilled out like tangled yarn and he hung from the man’s coat as Pellar kept walking. ‘She’ll be locked up again soon and then she’ll be easy for you to find. Only please give us a little time to free ourselves so we don’t perish with her.’

  ‘I’ve done enough waitin’, child.’ He swung round a corner, heading towards the middle of the town, closer to Pinchbeck and Felix.

  ‘You’re going the wrong way,’ Leander tried. Pellar gave a hollow half-laugh.

  ‘You shan’t fool me.’

  ‘Sir,’ Leander pleaded, ‘if you have any kindness left in your heart—’

  Pellar stopped and shook his head.

  ‘You shouldn’t have been pulled into Pinchbeck’s wickedness,’ he said to Leander. ‘It wasn’t fair nor right. But it has to end this way.’

  Leander was burning despite the chill of the night. He couldn’t, wouldn’t believe Pellar. There must be another answer.

  Pellar held Leander’s shoulders firmly, but there was no menace in the gesture. ‘I won’t let her take another child. I can’t have that on my conscience. I’ll give her one last chance to repent and give it all up. But make no mistake: I will shoot her when she refuses.’

  ‘I won’t let you,’ said Leander.

  The inn wasn’t far. If only Charlotte could run faster. Pinchbeck would be in a hurry to get away.

  Ouch! A loose cobble made her stumble and wrench her ankle. She found her balance, testing her foot. It hurt but it held her weight. She gritted her teeth against the pain and pushed on.

  She’d burst in and shout for the constable. Say someone was trying to steal a horse. That was the best plan. No time to waste explaining the whole story. She feared they wouldn’t listen, her looking so wild in her burnt and stained clothing and her odd luminous smudges.

  As she drew closer to the inn, her heart leaped. A carriage was pulling up in front of the inn. A carriage bearing the Litchfield crest.

  Uncle!

  Charlotte’s legs were suddenly string beneath her weight and her head was full of stars. Salvation was within reach.

  She hobbled the last few yards, shouting with all her might and waving her arms above her head. Soft light spilling from the inn caught the powder on her dress and turned her into a glowing apparition. The driver was dismounting and jumped aside as she swept past. She yanked the carriage door open with such force she almost fell over.

  ‘Uncle!’

  ‘Hey, you!’ yelled the driver behind her.

  ‘Uncle? Are you there?’ In the gloom, she could barely make out two shapes. An elderly man, thin and hunched, stared back, wide-eyed and alarmed. Behind him a sour-faced woman wore a matching expression.

  The heavy hand of the driver clamped down on Charlotte’s shoulder and began to pull her away.

  ‘It’s me! It’s Charlotte!’ she pleaded, shrugging off the man’s grip with new-found strength. She put her foot on the step. The woman shrieked and cowered away. ‘Please, Uncle. You have to recognize me.’

  Her uncle continued to stare and a second man joined the driver, pulling Charlotte backwards. She was not strong enough to resist two of them. They dragged her away, her fingers losing their grip on the door and her shoes slipping on the uneven ground.

  ‘Wait!’

  The old man’s voice was loud and deep enough to echo round the square, despite his frail appearance. The men stopped pulling, big hands still tight on her shoulders. Charlotte held her breath. Her uncle struggled to his feet and laboriously climbed down from his carriage, followed by the woman, who hung back, holding the door like a shield.

  He shuffled towards her, leaning heavily on a silver- topped cane.

  ‘Charlotte? My Charlotte?’

  ‘Careful, Your Lordship,’ said the woman. ‘The streets are full of beggars and thieves.’

  Lord Litchfield ignored her. ‘Could it really be you?’

  For a short eternity, the whole world was still. Then they surged towards each other and Charlotte fell against his chest. His arms folded round her. The years had not been kind; he was thin and small. But his smell – the scent of him, his clothes and hair – and she was a child again, listening to a story on his lap by the fire. Her cheek brushed against the soft silk of his cravat – mourning black.

  ‘Honeybee. Are my eyes playing tricks?’ He moved back to examine her at arm’s length, some of her mud and powder left behind on his travelling coat. He did not notice. ‘I found the letter, but I hardly dared believe . . . Safe.’

  Charlotte desperately wanted to wallow in this moment for ever, but everything hung in the balance. This was not her happy ending – not yet.

  ‘I’m not safe. Others are in danger, too. Pinchbeck—’

  ‘That infernal woman. I knew it! Where is she?’

  ‘In a stable, stealing a horse to flee. The constable is—’ She pointed at the inn, too overcome to finish her sentence.

  ‘Mrs Smart, instruct the constable to follow us immediately.’

  The woman scowled but hurried to the inn.

  ‘Charlotte.’ He squeezed her arms as though checking she was real. ‘Take me there.’ He signalled for the driver to return to his post and, with obvious effort, clambered up after him. Charlotte followed.

  She pointed out the way to go. Wind blustered round them, whipping up her hair and clothes. Her teeth chattered and her stomach churned. It felt as if the whole
world was somehow ending. But her uncle was there. If I die today, at least we were together one last time.

  Lord Litchfield kept a firm grip on her hand. The hurried footfalls of the constable’s men joined the rumbling of the carriage. The noise was too loud for her to explain or try to talk. Instead, she thought of the boys and silently prayed Pinchbeck was still in the stable. She and Felix should have agreed on a sign that he could leave if Pinchbeck moved on. And Leander – had he reached Pellar? Had he come to any harm? She shouldn’t have sent him alone. Of the three of them, he was the newest, and the most naive. What had she done?

  What choice did I have?

  The horses’ hooves beat out a message. Dan-ger-com- ing-dan-ger-com-ing-dan-ger—

  It was too loud. So much noise . . . No chance of catching Pinchbeck unawares . . .

  ‘Stop!’ she shouted, and the carriage pulled to a halt. She was down as soon as the wheels stopped turning. The driver leaped from his seat and a moment later the constable and three other men thundered up behind them.

  Suddenly she saw a breathless Leander come rushing from the opposite direction, followed by the determined stride of Edmund Pellar.

  24

  Judgement:

  A Final Reckoning, Absolution

  Fear clawed at Felix’s belly, so strong he could hardly draw breath. The wind howled round the little stable as they faced each other, Pinchbeck still clutching Isaak’s Cabinet.

  ‘Leander is outside, keeping watch.’ His voice cracked. ‘Please don’t burn it.’

  ‘Call him, then.’

  Felix hesitated. She waved the tiny wooden box dangerously close to the top of the lamp flame. If it burned, would Isaak burn, too?

  ‘Wait, I—’

  ‘If Leander is waiting outside, you’ll have no problem calling him in.’ Still holding the box out towards the flame, she edged her way along the wall and unhooked the curved hoof knife.

  I should have grabbed it! Now she had his brother and a weapon.

  Was it too late to beg? To give it all up for his brother?

  The horse gave a small whinny and her ears twitched. There were sounds from the street. It might be Charlotte, or else the stable owner had heard them.

  ‘I’ll get him,’ said Felix.

  ‘Quickly.’

  He darted to the wide stable door and pushed. Movement out on the road; people were gathering at the end of the path.

  ‘She’s here!’ a man shouted from the road.

  Felix looked back at Pinchbeck in terror, knowing the ruse was over.

  ‘You’ve betrayed me,’ she said. ‘I knew it.’

  Should he run, or try to grab Isaak’s Cabinet?

  He hesitated a moment too long. Pinchbeck lunged at him, the wooden box still clutched between gnarled fingers. Wheezing with the effort, she yanked Felix by the collar and held the curved blade of the hoof knife against his neck, then shuffled forward into the open doorway.

  ‘Stay back!’ she shouted to the people outside. ‘Or I’ll kill the boy!’

  Leander had failed. Pellar was unstoppable.

  Noises up ahead. He rounded the last corner to the lane and was met by a commotion.

  A carriage stood abandoned in the road near the stable. Not Pinchbeck’s. Leander saw Charlotte on the path leading towards the closed stable, a smartly dressed old man next to her with his hand on her shoulder.

  Lord Litchfield. Just as Leander remembered him.

  Their plan had worked. Five or six men were running up the path towards the stable. Among them he recognized the constable.

  Is Pinchbeck still inside? And Felix?

  ‘Round the back!’ Lord Litchfield said with the air of a man used to giving orders. Two men, one in livery, bounded round the side of the stable. The doors of nearby houses were opening, some by inches, others swung wide as people came to see what was happening.

  Pellar was only thirty yards from the stable path, and closing. Leander had raced as fast as his tired legs could go, but the man had kept pace, his long stride uneven but relentless.

  Charlotte turned towards the sound of the man’s footsteps and Leander watched her face as she first saw him and then Pellar, her expression changing from joy to horror in an instant.

  But Leander wasn’t giving up now. If he couldn’t stop Pellar walking, he’d at least stop him from shooting. He charged and lunged for the gun bag on the man’s back. He grabbed it and yanked hard enough to make Pellar stumble backwards, but the strap across his chest was too strong to give. Pellar snatched at the air to stop his fall and Leander tried again to pull the weapon free.

  Man and boy fell together, limbs tangled. The butt of the gun hit the ground next to Leander’s head and the jolt caused it to fire into the air, leaving a smouldering hole through the bag.

  Crack-BOOM!

  The bang of the gun echoed in Leander’s skull and brought a strange stillness to the air. Everyone froze.

  Pinchbeck was a silhouette in the lamplit doorway. Under her arm was a squirming shape.

  Felix! Pinchbeck had a knife to his throat.

  As Leander was distracted, Pellar flung him aside and got to his feet.

  The constable pointed at Leander. ‘That boy was locked up with her! Grab him!’ A tall man darted across the road and twisted Leander’s arm up his back until he was doubled over, unable to do anything but watch.

  ‘Repent, Augustina!’ shouted Pellar, his hoarse voice somehow carrying over the commotion.

  Pinchbeck turned, her expression moving from surprise to horror to an unconvincing attempt at a smile.

  ‘Edmund,’ she said. ‘My love—’

  ‘Witch,’ interrupted Pellar. ‘Betrayer.’ Patiently, with twisted, unsteady hands, he set about reloading his gun.

  Leander looked on in horror. Why is no one stopping him?But all eyes were fixed on Pinchbeck.

  ‘Don’t let him—’ Leander tried to pull away from his captor, who gave his arm another wrench. Pain shot through it like a spike of hot ice.

  ‘Where have you been, husband?’ said Pinchbeck, her grip on Felix tightening.

  ‘I shall give you one chance to renounce your evil.’

  ‘Help me, my love.’ Pinchbeck sounded so pathetic Leander almost felt sorry for her, but the knife in her hand belied her words. ‘We can be together again. I’ve missed you.’

  The constable’s men edged forward, surrounding Pinchbeck and the stable at a wary distance.

  ‘Stay back!’ Pinchbeck shouted. ‘Don’t make me kill him.’ Felix squirmed like bait on a hook and Pinchbeck grunted with the strain. Something fell from her hand and rolled across the paving slabs in a steady circle. Felix stretched out his hand towards it, though it was too far away for him to reach.

  ‘He’s got a gun! You have to stop him!’ Leander struggled, but the man holding him cuffed him across the ear and ignored his pleas.

  ‘Give yourself up, woman.’ Lord Litchfield spoke fearlessly to Pinchbeck. He began to walk towards her with slow, measured paces. Leander’s heart was in his throat to see it. ‘You’ve no chance of escape. Let the boy go, and you might avoid the gallows yet.’

  Such bravery. The lord was smaller, older, weaker. He had no weapon, yet still he inched towards her. The constable’s men waited, prepared to pounce the moment Felix was safe.

  ‘Come on, son,’ Litchfield said in softer tones to Felix, arms outstretched. ‘Pull yourself free of her.’

  Felix tried, his fingers digging into Pinchbeck’s arm, heels scrabbling in the dust . . . Pinchbeck pulled him tighter. Her hair was completely white now. Red face, teeth clenched – Leander could see it hurt her to hold on, but hold on she did. In the stable, the horse was stamping and fretting, at risk of bolting. Pinchbeck ignored it.

  Felix’s eyes closed in relief and he melted away from Pinchbeck’s grip, vanishing to nothing. A murmur of confusion and fear rippled over the onlookers.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Felix.

  ‘You can do it, Felix!’ sh
outed Leander.

  ‘Leander!’ Felix yelled back. ‘Isaak’s box!’

  The object Pinchbeck dropped. It was Isaak’s Cabinet! In all the chaos and with so many people milling about, it could get trampled underfoot.

  Leander lifted his heel and stomped as hard as he could, scraping his boot down his captor’s shin. The man cried out and loosened his grip enough that Leander could twist to face him. He bit the man’s forearm as hard as he could.

  ‘You little—!’ the man yelled but Leander was already away. He pushed through the constable’s men and ran between Lord Litchfield and Pinchbeck. He grabbed Isaak’s Cabinet.

  Pinchbeck snarled in frustration.

  ‘I’ve got it, Felix!’ Leander shouted. He raced towards Charlotte, well away from Pinchbeck’s reach. ‘I’ve got Isaak. I’ve got him.’

  Charlotte could hardly breathe. Felix, underfed and frozen, had not the strength to fight, though Pinchbeck was older and weaker than ever with four spirits weighing on her. She was cornered, but still fighting, hissing at the gathering crowd. How much longer could she hold out?

  ‘I’ve got Isaak’s Cabinet,’ panted Leander as he ran towards her. He was ice-white and looked about ready to drop.

  Isaak’s Cabinet. A flash of clarity. ‘We need to get the Cabinets!’

  Charlotte sprinted back towards the yard where they had hidden their Cabinets, pain shooting through her sore ankle with every step. Leander followed at her heels. Left at the corner, through the alley, hop over the gutter, round the wall.

  If she opened the violin case, then Felix could disappear. Pinchbeck might be able to force them into their Cabinets, but there’s no way she could lock them before being caught by the men in the stables. So they’d be able to just come straight back out.

  ‘Here.’ She pointed out the hiding place to Leander.

  Leander kicked away the broken bricks and yanked open the outhouse door. He slung the violin case strap over his head and Charlotte picked up her lantern, then noticed the bag they’d found in the wall.