spirit among the magicians - pt 2

[wytchcroft]

PT 2: The Second Skein

Once through the fabric partition of the Great Fabrizi’s study and the small door concealed by it, the Great Magician and the Aetheric Assassin stood in a chamber of small proportions and little furniture. A small wicker chaise-lounge and a row of drawers such as an architect might have to store his papers and plans. What the Great Fabrizi kept, of course, were the blue prints and sketching for his theatrical magic tricks.

“Many men would sorely like to obtain the secrets kept here,” the Great Fabrizi acknowledged.

“Then I am privileged,” replied the Assassin politely. “You may rest assured, - I am no thief.”

“It had not crossed my mind that you were, though I’ll admit, thinking about it now; your talent could no doubt be used in such a way.” For a moment the Great Magician’s face expressed suspicion but this passed and in a trice the old zealous enthusiasm was back. “Well, no matter, for this is but an antechamber – a prelude to adventure, in our case, yea, a veritable aperitif, to the main course that awaits us.” By now he was gripping and twisting a gilt picture frame that hung from one of the deep crimson papered walls. “A course that is – of action!”



And with this well timed utterance, there came a rumbling from the walls and a grinding of gears and a doorway where none had been was visible now in front of them, etched by its darkness.

“Now my Aetheric friend the real journey begins!” The Great Fabrizi was beginning to regret parting from his whiskers but he jutted out a fine pointed chin as surrogate and waved his enigmatic companion forward into the Stygian black.

Before they had gone far however, indeed it was but a few paces, the Magician had produced a lantern that, once lit, both transfixed and transformed the dank and claustrophobic dark.

And what a transformation it was! Warm light reflected back around from smooth painted walls. It was an utter effacement of the gloom. “Admit it,” the Great Magician prodded roguishly, “you are taken aback, eh? You are impressed!”

The Aetheric Assassin, who had fallen noticeably silent for some time now, stopped and looked about and then said, with his usual calm, “It is no great confession Sir, the tunnel itself speaks more eloquently of its remarkable nature than can I.”

“Then you agree – it is remarkable?” It occurred to the Magician then, that being as he was, the Aetheric Assassin might be entirely insensitive to the common fustiness and oppressive stale atmospherics of the subterranean. Still, he reflected, it is manners that maketh the man – not lungs or nostrils, and the Assassin was no exception.

“Of course. The walls – they are...”

“Pink!" Fabrizi waved his lantern for effect, “I tell you, that were we to fill the tunnel with electric light (as indeed, elsewhere, we can), or to flood the thing with the noon day sun, a more garish and ludicrous sight would not be conceivable – and yet it is genius. Have you ever walked a white-walled tunnel under the stark lights of a hospital, say, or in crossing a station on the London Underground? A more brutal and depressing thing is not to be found. Nor is the light efficiently used and reflected – it is just a daze of brightness. The tunnel here, as you see, gives back the glow in the friendliest manner. Naturally, this also serves to reduce the necessary volume of lantern light, which is to say heat and smoke – though not entirely. Would that I could claim the credit but, alas, that belongs to Swenson.”

“Then he studied” –

“The Science of Colour; a new and bold terrain that together we had begun to map – we aimed to meet upon some future plateau for all the world like Livingstone and Stanley. But for the while I was deep into the purple and Swenson – he was in the pink!” And the Great Fabrizi chuckled heartily.

“You treat the death of your colleague lightly.”

Fabrizi halted abruptly. “And you claimed you were not sent to judge. Not only that – but you fail to understand the nature of my sense of humour,” a shake of the head then, “Well, perhaps that is not so great a loss, eh? Ha-ha. But as for Swenson, you would be wise to hold your tongue for a little while, for you may discover circumstances to change your mind.”

The Aetheric Assassin shrugged. “All is as it is,” was his runic reply.

The two personalities were once more moving along the glowing tunnel. “I will add however,” noted the Assassin in regard to their surroundings; “that I begin to feel... not unlike a throat lozenge.”

The Great Fabrizi laughed uproariously, indeed, but for the lantern, he would have clapped spontaneously. “Ha! Humour when least expected!” he cast his eyes about as if seeing the pink hued tunnel in a new way. “Unexpected – and not inaccurate, I’ll admit, though it has never struck me that way before.”

“Should I apologize?”

“By no means – in any case we have come to the end of this portion of our journey."

This was obvious for the Assassin was now stood still and facing a wall with a door similar to that through which they had come. The Magician came up beside him. “And here Sir,” he seemed to shift a little uncomfortably, “I would ask you to let me go first and in all wise since the abode we are to enter is far from empty, a modicum of discretion is to be advised. One of your strengths I’m sure.” Fabrizi added hurriedly.

“One of many,” the Aetheric Assassin’s word needed little emphasis to carry the weight of threat.

The Great Fabrizi was quieted, but if he seemed now to be a trifle nervous, nonetheless the hand that lifted the door-key did so with both the usual steadiness and innate sense of drama.
The door smoothed open on oiled hinges revealing an iron spiral stair that the Great Magician began to ascend. Silently, the Aetheric Assassin followed after.

Fabrizi would have preferred the sound of accompanying footsteps for, despite his grounded scientific nature and no matter what his mood or bearing, the Great Magician always found these awkward, twisting, metal steps to be eerie and arduous. To be climbing them now, ahead of a dogged and supernatural agent of destruction... it was enough to make any man shiver, no matter the close and stifling airlessness of the narrow stairwell.

Eventually though the ascent was complete, stage one at any rate since it was immediately clear that, having emerged on a tight wooden landing, there was another more domestic-seeming flight to be tackled before any room was reached.

The way however was barred.

A fierce looking but pallid, ragged girl stood upon the lowest of the stairs twisting her fingers into knots and with her worn boots threatening to bore straight through the flooring. She cast a baleful glare.

“That,” said the Magician, “is Mary Carty. Be warned, she may lark upon the stair but she is no Cosette, you may be certain. Alone in this vast metropolis, the girl is responsible for half that is mischievous and almost all that goes unpunished. Eh, Magpie? We have a visitor tonight as you can see.”

“I should bleedin’ cocoa," the girl scoffed. "Might be your visitor – aint mine. Nicked your whiskers did he?”

“Don’t be insolent Mary – run along this instant!” Fabrizi made shooing motions at the scamp without the slightest effect.

“Don’t like the look of him Sir,” she spat, “don’t like the look of him at all.”

The Great Magician raised a large hand angrily, “Now child – I will not countenance such rudeness! Our visitor is a guest and your better, so mind that tongue of yours and”-

He was interrupted then as the Aetheric Assassin undercut him with a shrug, saying (sotto voc); “’better?’ Indeed, I daresay but that we would both seem ‘better’ after a good meal, a good bath, and were we but in a fine house, well clothed - and with a deal of money about our persons. Eh? Yet, since we are here and now and in the absence of ‘better’, we must do our best not to care. Do you care, Mary?”

“Not a lick.” The child stamped a foot like Rumplestiltskin.

“And nor do I.” The Aetheric Assassin gave a curt nod in the girl’s direction but turning to Fabrizi said, “We should not tarry however.”

“Quite so.” Seizing back the initiative, the famed showman pointed a long, sleeve billowing, arm and proceeded rapidly up the stairs. Despite her glowering, the urchin Mary retreated ahead of him and disappeared into some bolthole or other off from the small landing. “And here Sir,” The Great Magician announced, “We are come to Bob Swenson’s chambers.” And he reached for the door handle.

“You forget perhaps,” the Aetheric Assassin said quietly, “that I have visited before.”

“Pfff! I have not forgotten – why else are here if not as a direct result of your former coming and goings. Indeed, in that respect the orphan Mary has a right to hold you in high suspicion. But now is not the time for recriminations, there are much grander – nay momentous, things afoot!” So saying, Fabrizi opened the door to Swenson’s rooms and stepped smartly through – from the bare boards of the landing onto a faded but comfortable carpet. The Aetheric Assassin followed behind.

Robert Swenson had kept a home which, if less ornate and imposing than that of the Great Fabrizi, was no less Bohemian. There was, for all the sprawl of papers, trays, whiskey glasses and (at one end of the sitting room) test tubes, Bunsen burners, and other laboratorial paraphernalia, something of the long-shirted artist’s garret about the place. This was reinforced by a collection of prints each showing the varied and picturesque aspects of tropical nature. Swenson, clearly, had had something of a yen for the South Seas. There were book cases with journals, periodicals and files and volumes of fiction and reference in apparent disarray.

Fabrizi, with obvious familiarity, found a clean tumbler and having poured a generous measure of whiskey added a dash of soda from a new-fangled gasogene. “You will forgive me, I’m sure,” the Magician murmured, lighting a cigarette as he did so, “only after the atmosphere of the tunnel I find it best to whet my whistle. I shall be more comfortable if you will be so kind as to allow me a moment to take my ease.” He proceeded to seat himself in one of the cushioned chairs adding pointedly, “Besides which, though I am a vigorous man, yet I am but flesh and blood all the same and two staircases demands from me an interval – especially since our wanderings this night are far from over.” His stare had become once more frank and bold.

The Aetheric Assassin nodded his assent but, for all his staring, Fabrizi could make out little more than that from a face that was as shuttered and contained as a Dark Lantern. Since such an effort was clearly futile the Great Magician abandoned it and concentrated instead on his own private meditations.

No building is ever truly silent and those with history will regale an ear with as many noises as old men do stories. As the Great Fabrizi sat smoking and sipping his restorative, the pair listened to the emerging sounds of wood and stone that filled the gap in conversation; the wind in the chimney and the rattle of the night’s chill rain upon the window. Farther off the sounds of an omnibus clanging and the faint insect whir of a flyer could be heard whilst from somewhere below came the scuffle of booted feet upon stony step – and a snatch of child’s doggerel sung in the broad common accent of London’s lower classes.

Finally, setting down his empty glass, the Magician rose to his feet with a renewed purposeful attitude.

“And so,” he announced, “I think – to business.” The Magician leaned forward – his expression intense, his eyes gleaming. “What if I could lift from you the weight you carry, the burden of which you have spoken; would that free you from bondage to your masters – and would you in turn then teach me the secret for which I hunger?”

The Aetheric Assassin appeared momentarily nonplussed by the directness of Fabrizi’s question. He hung fire for a moment, seeming to consider, weighing the consequences before framing a reply.

When he finally spoke, the Assassin’s voice had assumed once more a hard and sepulchral tone, as he too leant forward, mimicking Fabrizi’s posture the temperature of the room seemed suddenly to plummet and the sounds from the world outside to be vanished utterly away.

“I am but an agent; emissary and weapon. I am but one agent – there are many more that could be sent – have no doubt. The Higher Court could reach out with a combined Mentalism and shrivel you in an hundred ways... or they could unleash the beasts and set them upon your trail; the Serpent, the Rat, the Hellhound, all are theirs to command. Could you, for all your tricks and cunning, avoid the pit? You did not manage to avoid me. Are you willing to live the rest of your short life in the shadows and in terror of the stamp they have pressed upon you?”

“Indeed,” Fabrizi replied, “I am not.”

The Assassin nodded – but the Great Magician was shaking his head angrily. “I am not Sir,” he repeated, more forcefully, “and nor shall I. I shall do my utmost to avoid their black hands and talons – but I shall neither shrink nor shiver. I am no craven and you insult me by suggesting as much.”

“Many a brave one has blanched at the moment of truth,” the Assassin was not easily impressed by such bravado.

“Then I swear to you, that should I falter, and should you find it justified calling me coward - then you may and with alacrity send my soul to whichever unholy destination you had selected for it tonight.”

The Aetheric Assassin was looking around the room slowly as though seeing it anew. “There was something you wished me to see, something other than this...” and he waved a gloved hand at the messy apartment about them.

“Come”, the Magician strode down to the laboratory section of the sitting room, “I should value your opinion,” he began rooting through the detritus of test tube and slide, pipette, clamps and wire, “on this!” With a flourish the Great Fabrizi held up a sheet of some foil like material, it caught the light in a wan sort of way.

The Assassin looked a touch underwhelmed. “That?”

“Even so. Prey, examine it if you would.” The foil gave a crackling sound as Fabrizi passed it across and into the hands of the Assassin. “Note it well Sir for this is a portion of the material that Swenson hoped would shield him from you.”

An almost mischievous expression tugged at the corners of Fabrizi’s eyes and mouth. With a deft movement he plucked the stuff back, waving it like the proverbial red rag to a bull. “If you would be so kind,” he asked the Assassin and his voice was at its most lugubrious and stagey, “as to render yourself into the form by which you travel and then if you could please demonstrate that remarkale ability by penetrating... this plate.” Rummaging further the Great Fabrizi produced a large glass plate of a sort used for combining elements and materials under the gaze of a microscope.

“I have not come here to play games!” the Assassin replied hotly.

“Nor have I” said Fabrizi smoothly. Again he indicated the plate. “Please?”

With a sigh the Aetheric Assassin put forth his hand which for an instant seemed to tremor and waver and then was through the glass without disturbing it in any way. “Quite marvellous,” declared the watching Magician despite the Assassin’s glowering as he then removed his hand. “And if you would care to do so but one further time. I think it may be your turn to be astonished.”
This time, as Fabrizi held the plate aloft, he combined both glass and foil so that it acted in effect as the silvering of a mirror. However the hand went through, even as before. The Aetheric Assassin raised an eyebrow.

“Oh well,” Fabrizi shrugged, “I suppose that’s that. You had best withdraw your hand.”

The Aetheric Assassin sighed and his arm bent slightly – but the hand, the hand was stuck fast as if in quick lime or cement, he gave a hoarse exclamation.

“Aha!” cried Fabrizi in delight. “Admit it man, you are astonished!”

“A child’s trick!” astonished yes but angry, that much was plain. Whether the Assassin’s anger was directed at himself or the Magician, Fabrizi could not judge, “like the finger puzzles of the Orient!” The hand had become a fist.

“Wait man, wait!” Fabrizi yelled, reaching out his own hand to block the sight of the glass.

“Gently, gently is the way. It’s neither trick not tra”-

There was a sharp crack and the Assassin was free, his hand jerking back, still balled, and now raising to strike. Fabrizi again cried out for patience. “Think damn you! I have not brought you here for so mindless a purpose as you suppose. This, this substance is not to confine you – but to free you!”

The fist hung suspended.

“Explain, but be brief.”

This time the Great Magician was forced to forgo a nerve stiffening jolt of whiskey. “This miraculous concoction of Swenson’s was to be the final defence against you – he was convinced it would work, that it would keep you out. When we were conversing earlier it came to me like a bolt from Heaven; perhaps it could be utilised to keep you in a place.”

“You would be in unwise in attempting to imprison me.” The fist was beginning to vibrate in the air above the Magician. Fabrizi strained to the utmost to ignore it.

“I have told you,” said he, “that such is not my intention. But if you would just be content to finish the journey we have started on this night, all, good Sir, shall be revealed. We have but one more destination to reach.”

Anticipating no doubt some negative reaction from the Assassin, the Magician reached out swiftly to the nearest bookcase, and, much as he had done in his own room, tugged the unprepossessing spine of one the books. Instantly a section of the shelving and wall retreated on hidden hinges and revealed a cubbyhole across which was a concertina of fine metal. “It is a lift,” Fabrizi explained. “The apartments here are indeed like no other in London and the variety of uses to which they are put is quite staggering. Not without reason has the whole garnered its nickname; the Bazaar. This laboratory contains elements we will need when reached the studios beneath us. Hidden from the world they are the secret chambers whereby many an artisan, including myself, has laboured to fashion those studies in wax that are now so renowned and popular with the general public in the museum located here and known as”-

“Madame Tussaud’s.”

“Quite so.” Fabrizi was already beginning to gather up in his wide arm an assortment of phials, papers and objects. “Well?” Reluctantly he looked toward the Assassin. The fist was still poised to strike.

How many heartbeats can pass in such a moment? Slowly, slowly the fist uncoiled, became once more but a smartly gloved hand and then lowered.

“Understand this,” the Assassin held the Magician by his look alone as tightly as if the fingers of that fist had shifted anew and grasped him by some monstrous power that could not be countered. “If I spare you now it is not for your sake, whose life is I could extinguish as easily as any other I have taken. Nor even for mine, for what right have I to decry my state? I will, in the last account, be judged for my... deeds - and by a court higher yet than that of those I serve. No, it is not for us, petty as we are.”

“Then why?”

“For the girl upon the stair.”

And before the astonished Fabrizi could say a word, the Aetheric Assassin had disappeared into the concealed lift and was once more but a part of the dark.


end of pt2



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