The Man Who Was Magic (5 page)

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your professional name, like ‘Whosis-the-Something,’ that’s to say the ‘Amazing,’ the ‘Petrifying,’ the ‘Flabbergasting.’ For instance, I am known as ‘Fussmer the Fabulous.’ I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

“Well, I for one haven’t,” put in Mopsy.

Adam gave him a small, admonitory shove with the side of his foot and then replied, “Indeed we have, sir. But I’m afraid I am only Adam. Adam, plain and simple.”

The Town Clerk showed all his flashing teeth in an unpleasant smile as he said, “Shall we write down, then, ‘Adam the Simple?’ ”

“Would you?” said Adam. “That would be very kind.”

Fussmer gave him a hard look to see whether he was making fun of him, and when it was obvious that he wasn’t, wrote down not quite so triumphantly, “Adam the Simple.” Then, “Age?” he inquired.

“I don’t know, your honor.”

“What? When were you born?”

“Stupid!” giggled Mopsy. “If he knew when he was born, he’d be able to tell you his age, wouldn’t he?”

“Mopsy! Stop it!”

“See here,” Fussmer squeaked angrily, “I won’t have this dog interrupting us all the time. Now then, what about your clothes? What kind of a costume would you call that? I never saw an honest magician in that sort of outfit before. Do you mean to say you intend going before the august Judges in that rig?”

“I’m sorry,” Adam replied, “but I’ve just arrived. I have clean ones in my knapsack, but I haven’t had time to change yet.”

“You’ll never pass,” shrilled Fussmer gloatingly. “They’ll give you a black mark just for the way you look.”

“He’s a fine one to talk,” commented Mopsy. “He’s like a sausage about to burst out of its skin. And, speaking of sausages, I wish I had one. I’m hungry.”

“Not now, Mopsy.”

“Is it that dog again?” asked Fussmer.

“Sorry, your honor. I’ve told him he must keep quiet.”

“Let’s get on, then. The name of your assistant?”

“Jane, here,” said Adam, pointing to his new-found friend who arose from her chair and, to her credit, dropped a most passable curtsy to the Town Clerk, who looked up in astonishment, having hardly noticed her before.

“Jane?” he asked. “The Chief Magician’s daughter? Well, that’s a fine thing. Does your father know about this?”

“No,” replied Adam. “But I’m sure he will have no objection after I’ve had a word with him.”

“Hah!” sneered Fussmer. “That’s a good one! Now I know you won’t pass. The child’s impossible. The Great Robert himself says so. She’s all thumbs. Besides which, she’s underage. Fourteen is the legal limit for assistants in Mageia. Well, what have you got to say to that?”

“Please, Adam,” Mopsy begged, “mayn’t I nip him just once? I can get at his ankle easily under the desk.”

“No, you may not!” Adam reproved. “And for heaven’s sake behave yourself, Mopsy.” To Fussmer he said, “Only that as a stranger it is my intention to claim hospitality and I am sure that Jane will be able to assist me properly in the rather inadequate things that I do.”

“Please, Mr. Fussmer,” Jane begged, “I’ll try awfully hard and he hasn’t anyone else.”

“Well,” said Fussmer, “we’ll let that go until later. Your father will have to decide.” For even though The Great Robert did not appear to think too highly of her, it would not do to be too gratuitously offensive to one of the family as long as he was in power. And here Fussmer made a mental note that he also must not neglect sucking up to Malvolio the Mighty, who he was aware was beginning to make considerable headway against the Chief Magician. He now addressed himself to Adam.

“And speaking of what you do, what is your speciality: cards, ropes, cup and ball, coins, bills, silks, billiard ball, vanishing eggs, cigarettes, Chinese rings, mental magic, Black Art, sawing a woman in half . . . ?”

As the list was rattled off, Adam listened politely and finally replied, “I’m afraid not any of those.”

“Then what
do
you do? Tricks with string?” Fussmer inquired nastily.

“Just magic,” said Adam.

“He gave me the most beautiful rose,” put in Jane.

“Huh! That one!” scoffed Fussmer. “That’s for babies.”

“But it was real,” Jane insisted.

“Real, indeed!” said Fussmer. “There’s no such thing in Mageia.”

“Just one, teensy-weensy, little nip?” begged Mopsy. “Not hard enough to break the skin, but only . . .”

“No!”
said Adam firmly.

“What about equipment?” Fussmer continued. “Proper costume, props, servantes, double-bottomed boxes, false-bottomed tables, loaders, marked cards, heavy dice, cabinets with mirrors, shoulder hangers, sleeve pulls, prepared cigars and cigarettes, pochettes, vanishers, trick pistols, clips, hooks and quick changes?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t anything at all like that,” Adam confessed.

The Town Clerk was now looking utterly incredulous. “And you claim to be a magician? Any confederates?”

“Confederates? I don’t understand what you mean.”

“My goodness,” Fussmer exclaimed testily. “What
do
you know? Helpers, of course, stooges incognito in the audience or in the wings, who assist you with escapes. Or when you ask for committees to come up onto the stage, see to it that the smart alecks don’t interfere with your gimmicks.”

“Of course not,” said Adam. “That would be cheating.”

The Town Clerk gave a high-pitched whinny through his nose. “Ha-ha-ha! Cheating! And what do you think magic is, my friend? It’s all cheating of one sort or another, isn’t it?”

“Well, mine isn’t,” Adam replied. “At least, I don’t think so. It’s honest magic.”

Fussmer laughed and said, “That’ll be the day! Ha-ha! I’ll write that down.” Thereafter he picked up the sheet, scanned it and sneered, “Well, my fine fellow, do you know what all this adds up to? It means out!” and he spelled it,
“o-u-t:
out!”

“Oh, please!” cried Jane and moved a little closer to Adam.

Mopsy said nothing at that moment. He just growled. But filtered through all the hair it didn’t sound like very much.

“Please, nothing!” said Fussmer the Fabulous. “You actually haven’t satisfied a single one of our requirements. You haven’t got a name, or an age; you lied about where you came from; your assistant is too young; you don’t know any of the routines I’ve mentioned; you have no props, or equipment; no clothes—you look like a scarecrow to begin with—and, in fact, I’d say that you were nothing but a faker.”

“That’s done it,” said Mopsy. “Now I am going to have a piece out of him.”

Adam, however, was able to get his foot in front of him just in time, as he ordered, “Wait!”

“But I’ll tell you what I’ll do, just to prove my judgment,” continued Fussmer, sitting up, preening himself a little, arranging his cuffs and giving the toupee on his head a little pat. “If you can show me one, single trick that a two-year-old baby couldn’t guess, right here and now, I’ll stamp this paper ‘passed’ and send you along into the trials. Now, what do you think of that for generosity?”

“That’s most kind of you,” said Adam. “May I try, then? I’m afraid it won’t be anything as extraordinary as the things your honor did before.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” replied Fussmer impatiently, “get on with it then, because I must be going upstairs to the judging.

“Now, Jane,” said Adam, “perhaps at the same time we shall be able to show Mr. Fussmer what a splendid assistant you can be.” He was some three yards away from the Town Clerk’s desk as he spoke, with the little girl by his side. “Suppose you take my cap and go and stand over there, by those chairs. That’s fine. Now, open the cap and hold it upside down, so it may receive that which is about to arrive. Excellent, Jane! Ready now, sir?”

And with that Adam shouted, “Hi!” made a swift lightning-like pass through the air in which he caught a handful of nothing and threw it in the direction of his assistant, crying, “Catch, Jane!” and his open hand was empty.

He had not moved an inch closer to the Town Clerk, who now, however, shot up from his chair as though he had sat upon a tack, covered his mouth with one hand and mumbled, “Mfff! Mfff! Fy feef!”

“I beg your pardon?” said Adam.

“Fy feef—fif fe fack fy feef!”

Mopsy leaped about and waved his silk flag of a tail frantically. “Brilliant!” he yelped. “Don’t fif him fack his feef! If ferves him right!”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” said Adam.

“Argh! Oop! Foof!” moaned Fussmer and pointed to his mouth.

“Oh, you mean those?” said Adam. “Perhaps the young lady can help you. Jane, look into the cap you’re holding.”

Jane did so and let forth a squeal of delight. For there, in the bottom of the folds, was a pair of very white teeth, uppers and lowers. “Here they are!” she shouted. “Higgledy-piggledy-parabaloo!”

Fussmer was now not only toothless, but purple with rage and could only shout, “Fy feef, fy feef!”

“Give the gentleman back his teeth, Jane,” Adam commanded.

Jane came forward and gracefully proffered the cap to the Town Clerk, who reached into it furiously, grabbed the dentures and crammed them into his mouth.

“Oooooh!” he mewed. “How did you do it? I didn’t see it happen.”

“Magic. Would you care for another trick?” Adam suggested.

“I don’t think that hair’s real, either,” put in Mopsy. “Go on. Have a go.”

“Shsh!” whispered Adam. “I think this one did it.”

For while the fat Clerk was in an absolute fury now, he was also very much upset and quite certain that he did not care to risk a further experiment. Although members of the Council suspected that his hair was a wig, he had hoped that the false teeth were a secret from everyone. If the story of what had just happened got out, it would make him a laughing stock. Somehow he must manage to save face.

“Ha!” he cried, even though Adam had not been within yards of being able to touch him. “Now I know what your line is. You’re one of those newfangled, pick-your-pocket fellows that have come along in the business, inviting members of the audience up onto the stage and stealing watches, wallets, papers, purses and bits of jewelry from them.” Then, glaring at Adam, he snarled, “Well, a promise is a promise and I’m a fair man.” He sighed and stamped the form. “There! I’ve let you into the trials. I suppose if the dog is part of your act, I’ll have to allow him in too. But I warn you, don’t expect to pass. You see—heh-heh-heh—I shall be joining the Judges!”

At that moment the Town Hall clock struck ten. Fussmer arose. “Entries closed,” he said. “You’re the last one. Come along, then,” and donning his top hat, he motioned Adam and Jane to follow him out of his office and up the broad staircase that led to the first floor.

VI

N
INIAN THE
N
ONPAREIL

T
he last stage of the trials was about to begin when Adam, Jane and Mopsy entered the Council Room and quickly sat down on two empty chairs nearest the door. Some thirty other magicians of various ages, with their paraphernalia and pretty assistants, were seated nervously around three sides, competing for the eight places in the final selection the following night.

At the far end of the chamber, at a great, long table, sat the Judges. Here too, were chairs for a number of guests, important magicians and their wives.

The Council Room itself was a most awful place in which to perform—one of those huge, bare, two-storied lofts you find in every Town Hall, featuring tall windows that let in too much daylight—which showed up the whitewashed walls and the depressing portraits of past Presidents of another day peering out of dark backgrounds.

The floor was of stone and uncarpeted, so that footsteps made a hollow sound and voices awakened an unpleasant echo, a further disturbance to a smooth act.

This was done on purpose. If in this glaring, inhospitable atmosphere without the assistance of sets, backdrops, scenery, footlights, spotlights, dimmers, drum rolls or atmospheric music the candidates could hold the interest of the Judges and execute their tricks perfectly, they would be very good indeed.

One of the Judges was seated at the center of the table, on a dais slightly higher than the members of the Council of Thirteen, ranged on either side of him. This, since he was already a huge man, caused him to tower over his companions and the gold-rimmed eyeglasses attached to a black ribbon, perched on his nose, gave him an air of great judicial dignity.

“That’s my daddy, The Great Robert,” Jane whispered to Adam, “and my brother Peter’s sitting beside him.”

“Is he one of the Judges, too?” Adam asked.

“Oh no,” said Jane. “Not yet. But Daddy always takes him along. Doesn’t he look silly!”

Peter, who was the image of his father, was quite aware of the importance of being the son of the Chief Magician and was trying to imitate his expression of benign condescension and not making a very good job of it.

“Who are the others?” Adam asked.

Jane began to count off on her fingers and whispered, “Well, first the Chinesey one is Wang Fu. He’s not really Chinese. He only pretends. But he’s funny, he makes me laugh. Then, the next one is called Dante the Dazzling. He does marvelous tricks with cigarettes. He’s nice. The little one with the funny red hat on his head, that’s Abdul Hamid. He’s Egyptian, and gives me the shivers. He does tricks with live snakes. And then Rajah Punjab; he’s not a real Indian, either.”