The Nowhere Emporium (6 page)

“Caleb likes to collect things that the customers leave behind,” said Anja. “He has built up a small collection of curiosities over the years.”

Caleb rummaged in his pockets. He thrust his hand towards Daniel, and opened it. In his palm lay a half-sucked lemon sherbet, coated in grey fuzz. “I picked it up a month or two back. Would you like it? It might remind you of home.”

“I’m fine,” said Daniel, trying not to sound too disgusted. “But thanks.”

“We know all about you, you know,” said Anja. “Lucien Silver has an apprentice! It’s the talk of the place. If you ask me, it’s about time he got himself some help. How are you settling in?”

“Fine, I think,” said Daniel. He craned his neck around them to stare down the passage. “Has Ellie passed this way?”

Anja’s brow wrinkled. “We haven’t seen her. Is something the matter?”

Daniel explained how Ellie had stormed off.

Caleb jutted out his bottom lip and nodded. “Ah. That would explain it.”

“What? Explain what?”

“My guess,” began Anja, patting her tightly curled black hair into place, “is that Ellie became angry because you were talking about how you are free to discover the world outside the Emporium’s walls.”

Daniel’s mouth pursed. “But why would that make her mad?”

Caleb placed a heavy hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Because she’s in the same boat as the staff,” he said. “She can’t leave the Emporium.”

“What? How come?”

“We don’t know the ins and outs of it,” said Anja. “It’s private business, after all. Ellie doesn’t like to talk about it. But she’s a lonely girl. You know, Daniel, you must be the first person from outside the Emporium to talk to Ellie in … well, goodness knows how long.”

“Really? What about the customers? She must talk to them, surely?”

Caleb shook his big head. “No. They can’t see her or hear her. Something in the magic of this place has made Ellie invisible to anyone who isn’t a part of the Nowhere Emporium. To most of the world, Daniel, Ellie Silver is nothing more than a ghost.”

Next morning, the view from the shop window was very different to what Daniel had grown used to. There were no canals, no colourful shutters. Instead, there was a narrow cobbled lane, lined with unbroken rows of skinny houses and shops, and scattered with stalls selling a great number of different things. Mr Silver explained that they were now in Paris. He invited Daniel to walk the streets with him. Daniel, who had not left the shop since his arrival, jumped at the chance.

As they walked through the crowded backstreets, Daniel raised the subject of Ellie.

“I told her to keep away from you until you’ve had time to settle in!” said Silver with a resigned sigh. “Was she rude to you? She has a habit of being rude.”

“She wasn’t rude. I like her. She showed me around, and let me see her favourite Wonder.”

Silver gave Daniel a sideward glance. “She has a favourite?”

“Yup. The Leap of Faith.”

As they walked, Daniel became aware that Mr Silver was, undoubtedly, disguising a limp. His right leg seemed stiff, and he gritted his teeth when his weight shifted to that side.

“Do you mind me asking … is it true Ellie can’t leave the shop?” said Daniel.

Silver seemed caught off guard by the question. “She has a condition that prevents her from going outside,” he said. He did not elaborate.

“What sort of condition?” asked Daniel. “A disease? What’ll happen if she does go out?”

Silver grimaced. He rubbed his leg. “Look, Ellie is safe in the Emporium. That is all you need to know.”

“And is it true that the customers can’t see her?”

Silver gave him an irritated look. “Yes.”

“And that’s part of this condition as well?”

Silver nodded, and grimaced again. “No more of this,” he said. “We are not here to discuss Ellie.”

“Of course not,” said Daniel, and he knew not to push too far. “Why are we here?”

“Looking for something,” said Silver. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

“Is your leg all right?”

“Fine.”

On they walked. Daniel soon realised they were not out for a leisurely stroll around the sightseeing spots of Paris. They stuck to the backstreets and alleys, visiting several shops and stalls in the darkest corners of the city, each connected to the elusive and shadowy world of magic. There was a shop whose owner claimed to be in possession of a magic carpet, a stall selling the blood of many different animals, and an old woman who sold potions and powders from a flat overflowing with rats. None of these places, though, seemed to sell what Mr Silver wanted, and each failure only darkened his mood.

“These are the places you were talking about, aren’t they?” said Daniel, breaking the silence as they approached another winding lane. “The magic places normal people can’t see – or choose not to?”

Silver gave a nod. His limp had subsided a little, but Daniel could tell that he was still in pain.

“What exactly are we looking for?”

“Treasure.”

It occurred to Daniel that Silver must be ill. Was he looking for some sort of medicine?

An apothecary sat at the end of the lane, leaning at a strange angle, as if it had been propped up by something that had suddenly disappeared. In the window, Daniel saw many dust-smothered bottles and jars, arranged around a human skeleton. He hoped it wasn’t real.

The interior of the apothecary was filled with a silvery fog that stuck in Daniel’s throat. A sharp metallic smell hung all around. Mr Silver purchased several items, among them a glass jar of black powder and a strangely shaped bottle filled with red liquid. But none of them seemed to be the mysterious item that he was so desperate to find, and by the time they left, Silver’s mood had become quite black.

Daniel did not speak as he hurried along after him. He did not dare. In a mood like this, the air around Silver seemed to crackle. It reminded Daniel of how the world felt before a thunderstorm.

They had travelled some way along another alleyway, a shortcut completely hidden from the streets, when Silver stopped dead and clamped a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. A little further up the path, a man in a ragged black coat blocked the way. In his hand he clutched a dagger with a long curved blade that looked as though it had drawn blood many times.

“Give me your money and valuables,” he said.

“We don’t have any money.” Mr Silver’s voice was low and calm, but there was an undercurrent there, something sharp and dangerous.

The mugger smiled.

“You wear a fine suit such as that, and expect me to believe you’ve got no cash? I may be a mugger, but I’m not a mug.” He held out his free hand, beckoning for Silver to hand over his wallet.

“Put the blade away,” said Silver. “I do not like knives.”

The mugger snorted.

“Well, I’m sorry to inconvenience your lordship,” he said. “But the idea behind my holding this blade is not to make you feel more comfortable, is it?” He took a step forward, raised the blade so that it pointed to Silver’s face. “Last chance.”

Mr Silver did not move. He did not even blink.

The mugger’s gaze turned from Silver to his own hand, the one that held the knife.

“What … what’s happening?” Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, dripping from the end of his nose. He began to shake, to gasp and squirm. “What … are you … doing?” he said through clenched teeth.

It was then that Daniel noticed the knife trembling in the mugger’s hand, glowing red hot, like embers of coal in the Emporium’s fire.

“I can’t let go!” screamed the mugger. He dropped to his knees. “Help me! Please!” He crumpled on the ground in agony.

Mr Silver watched for a while, his face impassive. Then he made the slightest of movements, and the mugger’s grip on the glowing dagger was released. The man whimpered, nursing his hand.

Mr Silver dusted a speck from his sleeve. He stepped over the mugger, motioning for Daniel to follow.

“I warned you,” he said without so much as a backward glance. “I do not like knives.”

The dagger spun through the darkened theatre in perfect circular motions, blade glinting in the stage lights.

Across the stage, Vindictus Sharpe’s apprentice was suspended several feet in the air, fastened securely to a sparkling circular board. The audience gasped as the blade plunged deep into the board only a few inches from his left eye, though the young man himself did not so much as blink.

As the crowd applauded, Vindictus Sharpe, widely regarded as the world’s finest magician, held up his hand for quiet. Blindfold tied tight over his eyes, he reached down to the table by his side, his fingers touching upon the handle of another dagger.

Silence.

Sharpe raised the dagger to his shoulder, sent it ripping through the air with a flick of the wrist.

Again the apprentice remained calm. His thunder-grey eyes watched the blade with great concentration as it flew towards him. This time, the dagger stabbed deep into the board above his head, so close that a few of his wild dark hairs were now half an inch shorter. The audience seemed to breathe as one. Some
of them could not bear to look as Sharpe reached for the last remaining dagger, preparing to launch it with his weaker left hand.

Another flick of the wrist, and the dagger was a blur in the frozen silence.

Someone in the audience screamed as the apprentice caught the blade between his teeth.

For an agonising moment, nothing happened.

Then the apprentice tilted his head back and spat the dagger high into the air. As it soared upwards, the blade shattered into many pieces, each blossoming and shifting and blurring, until there were two dozen red admiral butterflies fluttering above the stage.

The audience roared. They stood in the aisles. They whistled and cheered.

Sharpe freed his assistant from his bindings. The young man took a quick bow, and slipped through the stage curtain. He swept through the darkened area backstage, down a set of wooden steps, and into the relative calm of the dressing room he shared with Sharpe.

He sat in a wicker chair and removed his necktie, observing his reflection in the mirrored dresser. Even down here, in the bowels of the theatre, the roar of the crowd was still audible. He could picture Sharpe strutting around the stage like a gigantic peacock, soaking up the applause he craved so much.

A knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Birdie.”

A smile flashed across the young man’s face. He darted up from the chair, grabbing a bunch of drooping white roses from a glass vase on the dresser. He waved a hand over the flowers. Clouds of colour instantly flooded the petals, billowing like ink
through water. In a moment, he was holding what might have been a freshly picked bunch of roses, save for the fact that they were in shades that did not exist, deep blues and silver-greys.

“Come in!”

When Birdie entered, wearing a flowing gown of black and gold, he rushed to her, planting a kiss on her hand, pushing the flowers into her arms.

“You’ve learned some manners,” she said, her wrinkled mouth curling upwards at the corners. “You must be after something.”

He offered her a drink, which she gladly accepted, and they sat on a comfortable couch.

“It seems we are a hit.” She indicated the general direction of the stage. “Edinburgh lapped it up, every moment of it.”

The young man made no reply. He scratched the tip of his nose.

Birdie frowned. “What is on your mind, boy?”

“I’m not sure I should say. I must remember my place.”

“You are having doubts about our project,” Birdie said.

For a long moment, he did not answer. Then he took a deep breath. “Not doubts exactly. More like … I’m struggling to understand the point of what we’re doing. Every night I stand on that stage and I watch the faces in the crowd, knowing that they believe our show to be nothing but trickery and misdirection. They think we’re fakes.”

Birdie contemplated this.

“And what would you like to do instead?” she said, her voice calm and warm. “Tell them magic is real?”

“Of course not. I just want … I don’t know. Something … bigger. I want to change the way they see the world.”

Birdie frowned at him, but she could not hide the twinkle in her eyes.

“And what exactly might this ‘something bigger’ be?”

The apprentice hesitated, and then reached into the silk-lined pocket, bringing out a black leather book, similar in size to a diary.

“I have ideas,” he said, waving the book in the air. “Would you look at them for me, Birdie? I don’t expect any promises, but perhaps if you like some of my concepts, you can talk to him. He’ll listen to you—”

He stopped. Vindictus Sharpe stood in the doorway like a great bear, his blue eyes blazing. He waved his hand, and the black book broke free of the young man’s grip, zipping across the room into his waiting palm.

The apprentice cringed as his mentor thumbed through several of the pages.

“You have spent a great deal of time on these ideas, haven’t you?”

The apprentice felt a little hope rise in his chest. He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“And you believe you have the skill to pull these off successfully?”

Another nod.

Sharpe began to laugh. But it was not laughter of good humour, or affection. It was a laugh designed to hurt. “Then you are deluded,” he said, and he tossed the book to the floor.

“Vindictus! Is that necessary?” said Birdie.

“I will not tolerate the arrogance of a teenager with ideas above his station!” spat Sharpe. He strode to the dressing table and poured himself a large drink, downing it in one. Then he opened his arms, motioning around the room. “You think that you are better than this?”

“No, sir,” said the apprentice. “Of course not. I don’t wish to seem ungrateful—”

“Then keep your mouth shut. Focus your energy on the skills
I am trying to teach you – skills that are making you a wealthy young man, if I’m not mistaken.”

“But—”

Sharpe threw his glass with such force that his apprentice barely had time to react. The young man shot up a hand at the last second, and the glass changed direction, bending around his head, shattering against the wall.

“Enough of this!” said Birdie. She did not raise her voice, but the severity of her tone was enough to capture even Sharpe’s attention. He turned away and sat at the dresser, filling another glass.

Birdie placed a hand on the apprentice’s shoulder.

“I think it best if you go ahead to the hotel and give Vindictus a little time to cool off. He was under great pressure this evening. Opening night in Edinburgh can crack even the hardest egg, yes?”

The young man managed a half-smile. “As you say, I shall see you here tomorrow. Good night.”

He kissed Birdie on the cheek and exited without another glance at Sharpe. He was so flustered that he did not remember to pick up his book from the floor.

When she was sure the boy had gone, Birdie retrieved the book and sat on the comfortable couch, flipping through the pages.

“Don’t chase him away,” she said without looking up. “He is not like anyone else. You can take almost any urchin from the streets and teach him how to turn a rag into a pretty scarf. But talent like his is rare, as you have insisted on telling me over the years. His ideas are exceptional.”

Sharpe glared at her in the mirror.

“He is not as talented as he believes. He needs a lot of work. He must be reminded of this now and again.”

“How? By almost killing him with a glass to the head? I can see what’s really going on, Vindictus. You are intimidated by the boy’s abilities. You see him as a threat to your crown.”

Sharpe did not respond, choosing instead to fill his glass for a third time.

Birdie stood up and leaned heavily on her cane as she limped to the door.

“Goodnight, Vindictus. I hope to find you in better spirits tomorrow. A word of warning: the boy is too talented to waste. If you cannot work with him, then I will find someone who can.”

She left without saying another word, and was escorted through the plush red-carpeted corridors of the theatre into a waiting carriage. As the horses carried her off through the warm Edinburgh night, Birdie turned the book over in her old hands, reading and re-reading the inscription on the cover: