The Man Who Was Magic (4 page)

“What sort of a magician are you?”

“Oh, the simplest kind, I suspect. Nothing spectacular, I assure you.”

The serious eyes that still shone with tears now searched him from head to foot. “You’re wearing very funny clothes,” she said.

“Well, for that matter,” put in Mopsy, “so are you,” causing Adam to laugh.

“What did the little angel say?” Jane asked holding Mopsy away from her so that she could see all of him.

Adam replied, “He said, well and for that matter yours are somewhat unusual as well.”

Jane tugged at her skirt and smoothed her spangled bodice. “This,” she said firmly, “is the proper dress for a magician’s assistant in Mageia. In fact it’s all we ever wear. Except I don’t want to be an assistant, I want to be a magician. But my father won’t let me.”

“Who is your father?” Adam said.

“The Great Robert,” Jane replied. “He’s Chief Magician and Mayor of Mageia. And my name is Jane. He says I can’t be a magician because girls aren’t. But I want to. Shall I do a trick for you?”

“Oh yes, please do,” Adam said.

“Here, you hold him for a minute,” Jane cried, returning Mopsy to Adam, who placed him on the sill, where he stretched out full-length, contentedly. She ran to a chest, opened a drawer and took out what appeared to be an empty tube and a handkerchief. Then she stood in the center of the room and half closing her eyes, her voice taking on quite a professional note she began:

“I have here an empty tube. I’ll show it to you. Would you like to examine it? You see, there’s nothing in it; you can look through.”

“Let’s have a look,” Mopsy said.

Adam took the tube and let his dog peer into it as well.

“Right,” said Mopsy, “nothing funny about that.”

Adam returned it. “I can see it’s quite empty,” he said.

“Well, then,” Jane continued, “I take this plain, ordinary, white handkerchief—you may examine it if you like, but I shouldn’t bother—and now I stuff it into the tube like this. And then, higgledy-piggledy-parabaloo, look what comes out!” Here she flipped the tube in her hands with rather amazing dexterity for one so young and began to draw from it a dozen or so colored handkerchiefs of various hues, knotted to one another, ending with the national flag of Mageia, a tricolor of gold, blue and silver. This last she presented with a flourish and a bow.

“Oh, I say, that’s clever!” exclaimed Adam.

“Not bad!” said Mopsy.

Jane laughed happily. “Did you really like it? I’m so pleased. Now it’s your turn. You do one.”

“I don’t think I could manage anything quite as pretty as that, but I’ll try,” Adam replied.

He raised the staff on which he had been leaning, aware of the child’s interested, innocent face and that with sparkling eyes she was watching every move closely. It was a branch which he had cut from an oak tree, whittled clean of bark and polished and which had aided him over hill and dale on his long journey. Passing his right hand over its smooth surface, he handed the long-stemmed, white rose that suddenly appeared between his fingers to the little girl. “This,” he said, “is for you.”

With a cry of delight, Jane took it. “Oh, how beautiful! And how wonderful it smells!” Then a look of bewilderment came over her features and she gave another cry, “But it’s real!”

“Of course,” said Adam.

“Not bad,” murmured Mopsy.

“But it can’t be,” she exclaimed and with a finger touched the delicate surface of the bloom. “And look, there’s still a drop of dew on it, like a tear.” For an instant Jane pressed the velvet petals of the rose against her cheek and once more inhaled its perfume. Then with an odd, doubtful look in her eyes she handed it back to Adam, saying, “Here, take it. I’m frightened.”

“But why, Jane? There’s nothing to be frightened of. Still, if it worries you—” his hand moved and with that the rose was gone and there was only the staff.

“Neat,” said Mopsy.

“Oh,” cried Jane, this time with a different kind of anguish, “it’s gone, and I loved it! Because there aren’t any real flowers in Mageia. All ours are artificial. That’s what frightened me. Where did it come from? Where did you get it?”

Adam replied, “Magic.”

“Don’t be silly,” Jane said. “Let me see the stick.”

Adam gave it to her and she examined it, going over it minutely and professionally, pressing her fingers over every inch looking for springs, flaps, hinges or some sort of secret compartment where the rose might have been concealed.

“Ha-ha! You won’t find anything there!” Mopsy remarked.

Adam said, “Hush!”

Jane had finished her examination and as her head came up, Adam saw there were tears in her eyes again, but this time of anger and her face was flushed. She cried, “If you don’t show me immediately how you did that, I’ll never speak to you again!”

“But don’t you see?” Adam replied. “There’s nothing to show. That’s the magic part.”

Jane burst out, “I think you’re mean! There’s no such thing as real magic.”

“All magic is real, isn’t it?” Adam said gravely. “Wasn’t yours?”

The child blinked at the question and for a moment didn’t know what to say. But there was something about the expression of his eyes and the look upon his face, the strangest kind of loneliness, that quite suddenly dissolved all her anger. “Oh, Adam, please forgive me. I’m sorry I was rude. I suppose that’s why everyone says I’m nasty. But it’s only because I do so want to learn how to be a proper magi . . .”

“But you aren’t at all nasty,” Adam interrupted. “For if you were, Mopsy wouldn’t care for you and I can see he’s quite mad about you. Look here, Jane, I’ve had an idea. The old man at the gate, who let me in, said I wouldn’t be allowed into the trials unless I had an assistant. Might you be free to help me? How would you like that?”

“Adam, you’re a genius,” said Mopsy. “I was just thinking the same thing myself.”

“Well, that makes it unanimous.”

“Your assistant?” breathed Jane, suddenly starry-eyed and thrilled. “Would you? Could I? Oh dear, but I’d spoil everything for you, for Mummy and Daddy and Peter say that I’m clumsy and awkward and trip over things and never do what’s right. Besides, I’m not at all graceful and pretty and that’s one of the spccial things magician’s assistants are supposed to be.”

Adam was looking at her, his eyes lost in his crinkled smile. “I don’t believe a word of it, Jane,” he said, “and I shall be very proud to have you.”

“Oh, Adam I would
love
to. And I’d be ever so careful and try not to get in your way.”

“Well, then, that’s settled,” Adam said.

“And jolly good, too,” put in Mopsy.

“It was Mopsy’s idea, as well,” said Adam, picking the dog off the sill and putting him on the pavement. “Come then, and you can show me the way to the Town Hall.”

Jane’s hands suddenly flew to her face and the tears were close again. “I can’t,” she wailed. “Don’t you see? I’m being punished for being naughty.”

“Hmmm,” said Adam. “I do remember now. Well then, are you sorry you scratched your brother?”

“Served him right,” said Mopsy. “I’d have done the same.”

“Mopsy, do be quiet! How about it, Jane?”

“Well, sort of. If he’d be sorry he pinched me. But he wouldn’t be.”

“Suppose you try, just this once, to be really sorry?”

Jane made two fists, put her chin onto them and concentrated.

“I think it’s coming,” she said. And to her intense surprise, she actually felt it. “I am sorry, truly.”

“Splendid,” said Adam. “Then that ought to end the punishment.”

“But what will Mummy and Daddy say? They’ll be furious! I haven’t had permission. Oh, I do so want to be your assistant!”

“Leave that to me,” Adam said. “Shall we be off, then?”

“But how can I?” asked Jane. “I’m locked in and Daddy has the key.”

Adam shouldered his knapsack once more and took up his staff. “Try the window,” he grinned. “If Mopsy could get in, you can get out.”

“I don’t know how you think of these things, Adam,” the dog said admiringly.

Tentatively, Jane put a leg over the sill. Adam extended his hand. Mopsy leaped up and down barking furiously and turning himself almost inside out with excitement. In a moment she was standing beside them.

“Nothing to it,” said Adam. “Off we go.”

And with Mopsy scampering backwards and forwards, the three proceeded up the street.

V

F
USSMER THE
F
ABULOUS

T
he legend on the door inside the Town Hall read, “T
OWN
C
LERK
. K
NOCK
B
EFORE
E
NTERING
.” With Jane holding tightly to his hand, for she was still quite frightened, Adam complied.

A high, piping voice from within cried, “Come in, come in!” and as they did so, Adam saw sitting behind a desk an enormously fat man with what looked like a wig plastered across his skull and extraordinarily white teeth that gleamed almost blindingly from a round, red and rather disagreeable face. He was clad like most of the other inhabitants in white tie and tails, but was so stout he looked as though he might explode from the garments any moment. On the desk was a small, metal plaque which read, “F
USSMER THE
F
ABULOUS
. T
OWN
C
LERK
.”

Jane immediately nipped off and sat down at the side of the room and so, as the Clerk looked up, his first glimpse was of Adam standing there before him in his worn and dusty clothes.

“Back entrance for tradesmen,” he piped. It was strange that so huge a man should produce only so thin a voice, but there it was. Then, after a second glance he squeaked even more vehemently, “We don’t give anything to tramps, so you’d better move on.” And finally, as he peered over the desk, he concluded, “And no dogs allowed, either!”

“But I’m neither a tradesman, nor a tramp, sir,” said Adam politely. “I’m a magician and this is my talking dog, Mopsy. I would like to enter the trials for admission to the Guild of Master Magicians.”

“What’s eating you, fatty?” asked Mopsy. “Did you get out of bed on the wrong foot this morning?”

“Mopsy, no! You
must
be polite.”

“Well then, why isn’t
he?”
asked Mopsy.

There was an answer to this question, though neither Adam nor Mopsy knew it at the time. This was that while the majority of magicians dwelling in Mageia were the best of chaps, kind, friendly and ever eager and delighted to help a young fellow get along in their profession, Fussmer did not happen to be one of them. He thought it amusing to use his authority as Town Clerk to frighten and upset candidates or beginners and make them nervous. Besides which, he was of a jealous disposition and hoped that most of them would fail. And one of his least admirable traits was that being a bully, he was also something of a coward and bootlicker and was always to be found on the winning side.

“Hmph!” he said, “you’ve just made it then. I was about to close up. I suppose you’re one of those ventriloquist fellows who throw their voices about and pretend it’s someone else speaking.”

And with this he made a motion with his right hand in the vicinity of the desk. A pen appeared within his fingers, vanished, appeared again—except this time there were two, then three, then none and once more one. Adam stared fascinated. Fussmer gestured similarly with his left hand and seemingly plucked out of the air a long questionnaire, “Form C 3,” for candidates to the Guild trials.

“Not bad, eh?” said Fussmer. “If you can work like that, you might have a chance.”

“Show off!” said Mopsy.

“Quiet!” said Adam.

“What’s that?” Fussmer queried.

“My dog said you were brilliant,” replied Adam.

Fussmer said, “That’s my reputation. Now then,” and he posed the pen above the paper with a satisfied smirk, for he was certain that under the rules there would be at least a half a dozen stumbling blocks he could throw in the way of this latecomer to whom, for no reason at all, he had taken a dislike. “Name?”

“Adam.”

“Last name?”

“I haven’t any.”

“What’s that? Ridiculous! What was your parents’ name?”

“I can’t say,” Adam replied. “I never knew them.”

The Clerk sniffed, “That’s a likely story. Very well, then, where do you come from?”

“From Glimour, on the other side of the Mountains of Straen.”

“Never heard of it! How do you spell it?” Then, suddenly, Fussmer glanced up sharply. “Ha! That’s a lie. Nobody’s ever come from the other side of those mountains.”

“Why, you big bag of wind!” Mopsy yelped.

“Mopsy!” Adam warned.

“But he called you a liar!”

“Never mind, Mopsy, he doesn’t know any better.”

“What? What?” shouted Fussmer. “What are you two going on about down there?”

“It was just my little dog, sir. He was expressing admiration for the manner in which you conduct your high office.”

Fussmer looked over the edge of the desk, but all he could see was a small mass of hair upon the floor. He wasn’t quite certain, even, which end was which since at that moment Mopsy was most definitely not waving his flag. “Well, that may be,” he piped, not at all mollified. “Now then, stage name?”