Saving Houdini (7 page)

Then he took a low, gracious bow, and left the stage.

There were catcalls mixed in with a little applause.

“Did you see that?” said Dash.

“I did,” replied Walter. “He was horrible!”

“We gotta talk to him!”

“He doesn’t know what he’s doing!”

“He does. He’s a magician, he … he did the rope trick really well, don’t you think?”

“You think
this
guy invented a time machine out of soap? He’s rubbish. I’m going home.” Walt started for the rear doors. “You better get me my quarter back.”

Dash grabbed him by the elbow. “Come and see him with me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re in this now.” He looked straight into Walt’s eyes.
“Aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” said Walt. “Someone here is a bit goofy, and I think it’s you.”

“Maybe,” Dash said. “But how will you know for sure if you don’t stick around?”

Walt was looking highly unconvinced. “I’ll go with you. Just to see what happens. If you’re taking me for a ride, though … you’re gonna regret it. I know fisticuffs!”

A pair of small dogs had taken the stage with their trainer, and they were jumping over chairs and standing on their hind legs. The boys went into the clamorous hallways behind. There was a warren of rooms scattered along its length, and Walter hesitated, flattening himself against a wall before a corner.

“Do you really know where to look for him?”

“He’s gotta be back here somewhere.” Dash retreated a couple of steps to stand beside him against the wall. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, you know.”

“I’m not afraid! Do I look afraid?”

“So come on, then—”

“I’m also no sucker,” he said.

“There’s no way I can outrun you, and I couldn’t take a single punch from you, so why would I mess around? Look, he probably won’t be here for long! And I can go on my own, but …” He shrugged. “It’s, like, your loss, dude.”

“What’s like my loss? Dude?”

“Never mind.” Dash snuck around the corner into the dark hall alone, but he knew—he had an instinct—that Walter Gibson would be right behind him. He took a few more steps before looking over his shoulder.

“Don’t want anyone to take advantage of ya,” Walt said. “You’re not from around here.”

They walked side by side, each checking the shadows for surprises, and soon they emerged from the other end of the hall into another dimly lit corridor. There were people here; a couple of the doors were lit from behind. A woman in a ballerina costume stood in front of them, smoking a cigarette, and behind her, two acrobats were stretching their muscles.

Dash whispered, “Look like you know what you’re doing,” and he stepped into the light. The dancer started. “Oh, excuse me, ma’am,” he said to her. “We’re just going to our dressing room.”

“You boys frightened me,” she said, with one hand against her chest. “What time are you on?”

“Soon,” said Dash, walking past her.

“What’s your act?” rasped a wiry-looking acrobat.

“Time travel,” Walt said.

Dash began trying doors. In the distance, they heard the laughter of the crowd and then there was a drumroll.

“If I was him, I’d have made tracks by now, before the tomatoes ripen.”

“You better hope he’s still here,” Dash said, “or you might be bringing me boiled eggs for the rest of your life …” He was about to knock on a door, when they heard a familiar-sounding voice from across the hall.

“Forget it! No, you are not getting an acorn right now, no. You’ve made a fool of me for the last time!”

Dash went to that door and knocked.

“What is it
now
?” came the voice, deeply aggrieved.

“Is that Mr. Blumenthal?”

“No one here but us
sqvirrels.
”

“Please, sir,” Dash said through the door, “may I speak to you, please? It’s very important.”

“Go away.”

Walt pushed Dash aside. He put his mouth to the door. “Your rope trick was really … very splendid,” he said. “Sir.”

“Oh, well, humble thanks, then. Now go away.” There was silence for a long moment, and then the door finally opened. The magician stood there in an undershirt, his suspenders hanging down on either side. “You didn’t go away.”

“You’re a good magician. We were watching,” said Dash.

“How old are you boys?”

They answered in unison: “Twelve—”

“—almost,” Walt added.

“Well, thanks for the compliment, almost-twelve-year-old persons. Now,
so long.
”

He began to close the door, but Walter put his palm against it. “Uh, could I just get an autograph, or something? Please, sir?”

Blumenthal stared at them through the half-closed door. “You liked the rope trick? The
furshlugginer
rope trick?”

“
Yes
,” said Dash. “It was a very
original
effect. Five ropes. I’ve never seen it done with five ropes.”

“Yeah, how’d you do it anyway?” Walt asked.

Blumenthal stared at him through the crack in the door.

“You don’t ask that,” Dash said. “Mr. Blumenthal, did you invent that, um, version of the trick?”

“I did …” The door drifted open a little. He stepped back and it floated open all the way. He turned and went back to the dressing-room table, muttering to himself. “Is it too much to ask maybe a girl comes backstage and asks for an autograph? No, I get two boys who don’t have
whiskers
yet, fulla questions …” They considered themselves invited and entered. “In Minsk I vanished
elephants
,” he said, his voice strangling in theatrical anguish. “But here? They don’t care. They want to look at a fat lady sing and two geniuses shoot a plate. Oh, but what is this? A rope trick with
five
ropes? No thank you.”

“Did you train Wolfgang to do all that?”

“What train?” he said, shooting a nasty glare at the cage that sat on the floor. Wolfgang was curled up in the bottom of it. “He wants his own show! Such a big squirrel-about-town.” He stared at the animal. There was a reluctant affection in his eyes. “For this I rescued you from Han Ping?”

“Han Ping?”

“He was riding
tricycles
for Han Ping! With a little top hat. Such dignity.”

“Mr. Blumenthal?”

He looked back and forth between them. “What is it? Whaddya want?”

“I’m just wondering … why you don’t do some of your …
other
tricks?” Dash asked.

“For these yankels? They wouldn’t know a good magic trick if it jumped up and vanished on their nose.”

“But you have other tricks, right?”

“Yeah, sure I do,” the magician said, using a matchstick to pick his teeth. “I can make a ribeye disappear too.”

“What about …?”

“What?”

“What about your Soap Bubble Vanish?”

Blumenthal regarded the two of them with mild distaste. “My what?”

“Oh, bully,” said Walter. “Hey, you don’t have a quarter, do you?”

“The Soap Bubble Vanish,” continued Dash. “I heard it was a special trick you did. That you invented.”

Walter flung his hand out. “Aw, cantcha see? This guy couldn’t get a rabbit out of a barn. He’s an amateur!”

Blumenthal nodded sagely in the direction of Walter Gibson. “You want to know how to do a magic trick?”

“He already
taught
me one,” Walt said dismissively. “He can make a whole quarter vanish right in front of your eyes!” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

“I want to know,” said Dash. “That ring trick you were going to do—”

“Before you were so
rudely
booed off the stage,” said Walt.

“Ah, the ring,” said Blumenthal. “Let me see if I can find it.” He went back to his chair and rifled in his vest, then brought the ring over for inspection.

Dash held it in his hand. Just a plain metal ring, tarnished from being handled, almost black. It was the circumference of a can of soup.

“Now,” said Blumenthal, “how is a good magic trick done?” He took the ring back and held it out in the air between his thumb and forefinger. He moved a couple of steps away from them and gestured that they should remain still. “It is just a mixture of light, misdirection, tomfoolery, and mechanics.” He held the ring very still in the air, like he was balancing it on something. Then he let go of it and it stayed there, floating. “Oh, and technique,” said Blumenthal.

“Howdja do
that
?” asked Walt.

“With mirrors,” the magician answered. “Here, look.” He picked the ring out of the air and gestured them over to his mirror. There, he performed it again, and the ring hung in the air as well as in the reflection, just a foot away. He lit a candle. “Here now, get those lights,” he said to Dash.

Dash turned out the lights and came back. Blumenthal held the candle behind the ring and it hung doubled in ghostly reflection.

“This is how it’s done,” said Blumenthal. “The one in the mirror is the real one,” he said, and he shot his hand out toward the glass and snatched the reflected ring out of the mirror.

Walter went white and ran out of the room.

“You
are
the guy who invented the Soap Bubble Vanish.”

“Sure, I am. And I invented horse-racing too.” He
pshaw
ed and went to flick the lights on again. “Your friend has a weak constitution?”

“Please, Mr. Blumenthal. I came a long way to find you. The Soap Bubble Vanish
is
your trick. Maybe you … you just haven’t invented it yet.”

“How would you know that? You a medium?”

“A medium?”

“A person that talks to ghosts.”

“No. But, um, I do know some things.”

“Like what?”

Dash sighed. “Look. I was
in
a trick called the Soap Bubble Vanish, and it was a trick everyone said you invented. Something went wrong with it.”

“It turned you into a terrible liar?”

“No. It sent me back in time. Eighty-five years, to be exact.”

The minimal warmth in Blumenthal’s eyes had faded. “Excellent. A comedian.” He threw a soiled towel into his suitcase.

“Sir—”

“Ah-ah-ahh!” said Blumenthal, his index finger raised in warning. “We are finished, thank you very much. Goodbye.” He stood and grabbed Wolfgang’s cage in his other hand. “Say hullo to Gluckman for me.”

“Gluckman?”

“Too late to play dumb. Herman Blumenthal wasn’t born yesterday, all right? So long, kid.”

Dash protested, “Wait—”

“SAYONARA!”

Blumenthal grabbed the case with all his effects in it and left the room. Dash stood there a moment, despondent, then trudged back out into the hallway. Walt was waiting at the end of it, by the rear exit.

“Thanks a lot,” Dash said to him.

“That guy’s a warlock.”

Dash put his head in his hands. “I need to get home, and ‘that guy’ is the person who’s supposed to do it! But I’m in Montreal
tomorrow
? Why?”

“I don’t know!”

“Put on your thinking cap, Walt!”

Walt said, “Mine is already on, okay? Gosh, you’re bossy!” And he exited through the door to the back alley.

That night, Dashiel Woolf felt he was truly alone in the universe. Nobody knew what was happening to him. The dark outside the curtainless window had distressed him the night before; now it overpowered him. He was lost in time and space.

He laid one of his dimes in the light and watched it gleaming, as if it were something alive to keep him company, and then he picked it up and began scraping his name in the brand new lacquer. He finished the
D
and stopped, unable to listen to the
disturbing sound of the dime scraping against the floor of an empty house.

Finally, he fell asleep under his jacket on the wooden floor, his face in the little patch of moonlight coming through the window. His dreams were full of urgent voices. Bodies rushed one way and the other. He saw faces he knew and the faces of strangers. The world of his dreams was so chaotic that when he finally awoke, he was still exhausted. A gloomy orange light filled his room. At least the night was over.

He stood in the window and looked out toward the woods, and the sun was coming over them, setting the tops of the trees aglow. The red and yellow leaves were fierce in the light.

He was hungry again. Fear and hunger were things he’d only ever imagined until now. He knew that people in other parts of the world suffered from them. Every year in their house, they’d make a decision—the three of them together—what two charities they would send money to. His parents would write a cheque and Dash would forgo his allowance for two weeks and contribute. It was a good feeling to know the money he’d spend on hockey cards and comic books would, for those two weeks, be helping someone somewhere else in the world.

But now he needed help himself.

He put his jacket on and went downstairs. He stepped out into the crisp dawn air and took it deep into his lungs. Fresh air made you feel so alive, no matter how screwy the universe got on you.

Some of the men on the street were already getting into their cars to go to work, or walking out to Broadview with their leather
briefcases hanging from their hands. There was a boy standing in a doorway across the street, waving goodbye to his father. Just a normal morning for them—

“
Yasas
, Papa!” the boy called. He was maybe six years old.

“
Yasoo
, Louie!” said the man as he got into his car.

Louie!

Same house too!

At ninety or so, Louie would wear his pants up to his rib cage, but today he was a little boy in his pyjamas waving goodbye to his papa.

Dash wanted to wait for the car to pull out and then go up to the little boy and say to him,
I’m Dashiel! I’m Dashy!

Walt came at eleven, on his way home for lunch. He had another apple and one boiled egg with him, which Dash ate ravenously. He almost bit into the egg with its shell still on.

Walt watched him uneasily. “I was thinking last night.”

“Yeah?”

“That Blumenthal guy. He doesn’t know how to do this trick you need him to do.”

“I know that.”

“So maybe that’s why you and me have to go to Montreal. To get Houdini’s help.”

Dash pushed himself off the bedroom floor and started walking around making silent gestures with his hands. “O. M. G.,” he said.

“Homegee?”

“Never mind—I mean, you’re right. We really gotta go.”

“Yeah, but how?”

Dash stopped against the far wall, facing the closet. “Are there planes yet?”

“Yeah, there are planes, Dash. If you’re a rich man. You got a hundred dollars or something in the bank?”

“We have to be there
tonight.
”

“We’ll take a train,” said Walt.

“Oh, you have trains too!”

Walt just stared at him. “There have always been trains, skipper.”

“Okay. Good.” His mind clanked into motion. He felt the weight of a tennis ball in the upturned palm of his hand. He tossed it: nothing but net. Walt was getting used to his strange behaviour and hardly batted an eyelash.

“I think I know what we have to do,” Dash said. “Do you ever have sleepovers?”

“Do you mean, have they been invented yet?”

“Can you leave your parents a note that you’re, like, studying for a test and you’re staying at a friend’s house overnight? Like, give the name of a real person or something, someone who’ll cover for you.”