Disappearing Act Page 2

  Only the heart knows magic is real.

  But others might find a different meaning. For instance, the word courartem can also mean spirit or what makes a person who they are. That’s the tricky part of translation, and who is to say that one person is right and another wrong?

  Not that Mattheus gave such matters a single thought as his pen scratched across the page. His love for Carrida made him feel that magic had taken hold of his heart and those words warmed him every time he saw them on the front page of the notebook.

  Inside, he drew detailed diagrams to show how his tricks worked, because one day he planned to publish a book for aspiring magicians. He would become famous and every magician in the world would know his name. That was his dream.

  When the Prince announced his choice, the other magicians of Montilagus sighed and half-heartedly wished Mattheus good luck. His close friends were made of stronger stuff though, and after they’d recovered from their disappointment they came to offer their help. He even had a visit from Walter Borrodi, which seemed especially gracious since many had believed Walter would be the lucky magician to perform at the Palace.

  ‘Some of your props are a bit shabby for such a great occasion,’ said Walter. ‘Would you like to borrow mine?’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Mattheus.

  ‘Not at all. Glad to help a colleague. Which tricks are you going to include in your act?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mattheus with a smile, ‘they are a surprise. I’ve developed some new ones just for the occasion.’ Instead of showing Walter what he intended, he picked up his notebook and held it to his chest. ‘I’m sorry, Walter. You will have to wait until my performance to find out.’

  Mattheus was away from home the following day when Walter Borrodi called with the props he had promised. Later, Mattheus returned and reached for his notebook. It wasn’t where he had left it. It wasn’t anywhere in the room. He burst into the kitchen where Carrida was feeding their son and immediately he relaxed.

  ‘Ah, there it is,’ he said, pointing to his notebook on the kitchen table. ‘For a terrible moment I thought that Walter …’

  He didn’t want to say what he’d been thinking. Imagine his surprise when Carrida did it for him.

  ‘That Walter had stolen your notebook,’ she said, putting down the bowl and spoon. ‘He tried to, but I saw it in his pocket and stole it back again.’

  She twiddled the fingers of both her hands. A magician had to have fingers as nimble as a pickpocket’s and Mattheus had taught his wife the same skills. Just as well it seemed.

  ‘I was a fool to trust him,’ said Mattheus, as he sat down at the table and took his son into his arms.

  ‘You are too trusting, it’s true, my darling, but only because you are good at heart. Walter Borrodi is not. They say he dabbles in alchemy and that he is one of the Practicum.’

  The Practicum were a group who thought cheap metals could be turned into gold by spells and witchcraft.

  ‘That’s a silly rumour, Carrida. It’s 1946 – no one believes magic is real any more. Scientists took the place of alchemists a long time ago. Magicians like Walter and me do tricks, that’s all.’

  ‘Tricks that dazzle the audience, I hope,’ said Carrida. ‘That’s what everyone will be expecting on Sunday.’

  Mattheus knew this better than his wife. That was why he had built such a fine reputation. It was why the Prince had chosen him ahead of men like Walter Borrodi.

  ‘I must put on a spectacle that people will talk about for years,’ he said.

  ‘How will you do it?’ Carrida asked. ‘You are very good at making things disappear.’

  Mattheus took a coin from his pocket. ‘Yes, yes, I can make coins vanish before your eyes.’ As he spoke the coin was no longer in his hands. ‘I can make them reappear.’ Presto! The coin emerged from behind his son’s ear. ‘I can make a dog disappear, even a horse, if they would let me take one into the Great Hall. But none of this has the suspense I need to create. Great magic must be as dramatic as an opera. The audience must be afraid that something precious has truly dissolved into thin air. They must be on the edge of their seats pleading for it to come back.’

  ‘What about the Prince’s granddaughter? Is she precious enough?’

  Mattheus grinned. ‘To the royal family, yes. Not so much to the rest of us. I hear she is a spoilt brat. She might tell everyone how I did the trick and then where would I be?’

  The following day, Mattheus visited the Palace to prepare for his act. He was shown into the Great Hall by a man roughly his own age, a striking fellow, tall with the blond hair of a Viking that stuck up at the crown and refused to be tamed no matter how many times he smoothed it down. He introduced himself as Volmer, though whether this was his first or last name wasn’t made clear.

  ‘Have you worked here long?’ asked Mattheus, just for something to say.

  ‘No, I only came back to Montilagus a few months ago. And I may not stay long; the war has given me wanderlust in my feet.’

  ‘You have no family to keep you here?’ Mattheus asked. To him, a life constantly on the move sounded lonely. How could this man know the kind of love Mattheus shared with Carrida if he didn’t stay in one place long enough to let it grow?

  ‘No, they died long ago,’ Volmer replied, ‘and only recently I lost a dear friend I hadn’t seen for many years.’

  They walked to one end of the hall.

  ‘You will perform on this stage, of course,’ said Volmer.

  There were black curtains at the rear, and behind them tables, a number of screens and a dozen music stands.

  ‘I’ll need one of those tables,’ said Mattheus and with Volmer’s help he positioned it at the side of the stage.

  Above the stage was a chandelier, one of many in the hall. It was made from golden struts, the finest crystal and coloured glass cut so cleverly the chandelier seemed festooned with precious stones.

  At first Volmer pointed things out and answered Mattheus’s questions in the formal voice of a servant, until gradually he became more interested.

  ‘You must be very excited,’ he said at last.

  ‘That is hardly the word for it. I won’t sleep a wink between now and the big day.’

  Volmer smiled. ‘You have a great show planned for us, I’m sure, something out of the ordinary.’

  Mattheus laughed. ‘You sound like my wife. I have planned the entire act, but there is still something missing. I was hoping I might get some ideas from this visit.’

  Volmer raised his blond eyebrows. ‘What do you mean?’

  Mattheus explained the need for drama, for suspense, although he thought it best not to repeat Carrida’s joke about the Princess. ‘I need a finale that will make hearts stop beating. If only there was something precious that I could make disappear, something that belongs to the royal family, perhaps. A ring from the Prince’s finger or a diamond brooch pinned to his wife’s dress.’

  ‘But you won’t know what jewellery they will wear until they arrive for the performance.’

  ‘That true,’ said Mattheus with a sad sigh. ‘And magic may seem full of surprises, but not for the magician. I must be sure of every detail and practise, practise, practise.’

  A long pause followed while they each put their minds to the problem. Then Mattheus saw a flicker in Volmer’s eyes.

  ‘What is it?’ Mattheus asked.

  Volmer shook his head. ‘Nothing. A crazy idea. It would be foolish even to consider it.’

  ‘Please, tell me. I’m out of ideas. Is it something precious?’

  ‘The Royal Sceptre,’ said Volmer. ‘Is that precious enough for your finale?’

  ‘Well … yes, of course, but I cannot ask Prince Edvord to bring it here just for my performance.’

  ‘You don’t need to. It will already be here, on display. Those men are preparing for its arrival right now.’

  He nodded towards two men who had just set down a table between them. A third man carried a richly
embroidered cushion and, while Mattheus watched, he laid it on a velvet cloth draped over the table’s surface.

  ‘The sceptre will be placed on the cushion this afternoon and remain there, under guard, until the parade on Sunday,’ Volmer said.

  ‘Perfect!’ said Mattheus, who had seen how close the table was to the front of the stage. He turned back to Volmer. ‘To pull it off, I’ll need to know more about this room and what’s next to it. Perhaps you can help me.’

  ‘Aren’t you afraid I’ll give away your secrets?’

  ‘Oh, you won’t guess how I do it,’ Mattheus laughed, ‘no matter how much you help me.’

  3

  The Jewelled Sceptre

  While Mattheus practised his spectacular finale, a troubled figure walked the festive streets of Montilagus. He kept his face hidden so none of the revellers would guess at the anger that had brought him to their town, or what he’d been planning to do. In the pocket of his coat lay a letter that would have given some clues to anyone who knew his strange story, but no one alive had heard it and no one would believe it if he told them. He reached for the letter and in the light of a street lamp read it yet again.

  Dear Mr Volmer,

  I am writing to you about my aunt, Michelle Schwartzer. Although I never heard her mention your name, I can tell from a letter I found among her possessions that you two have remained lifelong friends since meeting in Munich many years ago. It is sad, then, that I must tell you my aunt Michelle died in the final days of the war. She and her husband had tried to enter Switzerland but could not get a visa. Their last hope for refuge was Montilagus, but Prince Edvord closed the borders before they could get across and Michelle perished in the harsh winter that followed.

  ‘The promise I made to her means nothing now,’ the man whispered. He read again the name of a woman he’d once loved. Michelle wasn’t the only woman he’d loved – nor the first, as a ring on his left hand reminded him. Both women had died through the heartlessness of one man and to avenge their needless deaths he had come to Montilagus with murder in his heart. Luck had been with him; he’d quickly found a job in the royal Palace and more than once he had been close enough to strike – yet he hadn’t killed the Prince and he had begun to doubt that he ever would.

  ‘You are no assassin,’ Michelle had told him the last time he had seen her and she had been right.

  Now a different way to destroy the Prince had fallen into his path. The Royal Sceptre was more than mere gemstones and gold; it was the symbol of princely power. By suggesting the young magician make it disappear during his act, he had found a way to destroy not only Edvord but all who had turned their backs on the women he loved. There was no need for a pistol or a dagger or a cord to strangle the royal neck when Mattheus Coperneau would strike the blow for him.

  To Mattheus, Saturday seemed to drag its heels like a child reluctant to leave the fun of the fair. He was nervous, roaming the tiny apartment like a leopard.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, my darling. Sit down for a moment before you drive me crazy,’ said Carrida.

  She made room for him on the sofa and he joined her there. The springs creaked and the split in the cushion beneath his thighs lengthened a few centimetres.

  ‘We will have a new sofa when we move,’ he told her.

  Carrida smiled and put her head on his shoulder. ‘Are you sure we can afford it? I will be content wherever we live, as long as you are with me, my love.’

  He felt the same way. That was why he had written the words in his notebook. He was the luckiest man on earth and he begged the gods of good fortune that he might stay that way forever. He put his arm around his wife and held her gently until young Mattheus cried to be fed. For a short while, at least, these jewels in his life had driven away the nerves.

  Sunday arrived. Carrida’s mother agreed to mind the baby so Carrida could witness her husband’s moment of triumph. She helped him get ready in the Great Hall as the lucky children were ushered in along with their parents. It was a tradition that all the other magicians of Montilagus sat in the back row to watch their colleague perform. Walter Borrodi was among them, his face no longer pretending goodwill towards the young man who had beaten him to this honour.

  Soon after Carrida took the seat reserved for her among the magicians, the royal family made their entrance.

  When storybooks speak of a prince, he is usually handsome and always young, but those words no longer described Prince Edvord who was eighty years old and mostly blind. He was still a man to be wary of, however, a powerful man not afraid to demand his own way. He had ruled Montilagus for as long as most people in the audience could remember and if they all bowed at his entrance it was out of duty, not love. As he was led into the Great Hall by his son the pair paused briefly beside the jewelled sceptre, which glittered and shone on its cushion, then took their places in the front row. Younger generations of the family followed, the women looking very grand in their extravagant gowns. One granddaughter – the girl Carrida had made fun of – argued about which chair she was to sit in. What did it matter? They were all in the front row, with a perfect view of the stage.

  All morning, Mattheus had been too nervous to stand still for a moment, but as soon as the Master of Ceremonies called his name, his hands steadied. He strode out to the applause of the crowd and from nowhere sent a dove fluttering into the air above him. The first ‘ooh’ of surprise broke from hundreds of lips.

  Then he paused and, in the tradition of all who had carried this honour before him, he announced, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I dedicate my act today to Prince Edvord and the royal family of Montilagus.’ After a bow to the Prince, he spread his arms wide and said, ‘Only the heart knows magic is real.’

  To most in the audience, the words sounded like the motto of a magician, but in the back row, one person felt his eyes on her alone. Carrida knew that with these words Mattheus had dedicated his act to her as well, with all the love in his heart.

  It would not have been a magic show without a rabbit pulled from a hat, but Mattheus made the rabbit change colour before the audience’s eyes, from white to pink to green. He made it quack like a duck and fly, for all the world as though it was using its ears as wings. Finally, it vanished overhead.

  Glasses were smashed with a hammer then put themselves together again. That one brought a gasp. Countless objects disappeared from sight only to find their way into the curtains at the rear, shimmering into view like ghosts then dissolving into dust.

  Mattheus had the entire audience in the palm of his hand – all except Walter Borrodi, it seemed, because he could no longer be seen among the other magicians. Mattheus could have bowed deeply and left the stage to rapturous applause. But it was not enough. He must finish with great drama so that people would speak of this day for as long as they lived.

  In a graceful flourish, he unclipped his black cape and jumped down from the stage. The cloak undulated through the air, its blue satin lining drawing every eye until it settled over the Royal Sceptre. The entire audience seemed to take in a shocked breath. The Royal Sceptre! Such daring, and what was he going to do?

  Mattheus swept his hands over the shape beneath his cape, then grasped one edge and flicked it aside. The sceptre was gone.

  What happened then? Reports of this day would be written down and argued about; those who witnessed it firsthand would tell their story and no version would be the same as another.

  Mattheus returned to the stage to take a bow, as though his act was done, but of course it could not possibly be over. The shock brought absolute silence until, after long, long seconds, a single pair of hands began to clap. It was the Prince, and within moments the entire audience had joined in.

  ‘Bravo,’ the Prince said. ‘Although it’s not hard to hide things from me. The sad thing is, I can’t see more than vague shapes in front of my eyes.’

  It was true. Prince Edvord had come to the magic show simply to maintain tradition, just as he would later lead the parade through the an
cient streets around the Palace.

  ‘Where are you hiding the sceptre?’ he asked Mattheus, and because he spoke in such a jolly tone, the audience smiled too.

  ‘I am not hiding it anywhere, Your Highness. It has vanished altogether,’ said Mattheus, using the steps this time on his return to the floor.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m sure,’ joked the Prince’s son, who would one day be the Prince of Montilagus himself. ‘I’ll bet it’s under the table.’

  Mattheus lifted the velvet cloth. There was no sign of the sceptre. He asked a teenage member of the royal family to crawl underneath in case it was stuck to the bottom of the table. The boy came out shaking his head.

  ‘It’s hidden on your body then,’ said another of the Mahlings, a woman this time.

  Mattheus took off his waistcoat and rolled up his sleeves and even the legs of his trousers. He called to the guard who had stood watch over the sceptre all through the performance and asked him to search his body like the suspect’s in a crime. The guard did his job, checking the cape too, then shook his head.

  ‘You’d better get it back on that cushion quick smart,’ the guard whispered before he went back to his place.

  Good, the guard is on edge, thought Mattheus. In the front row, the Prince’s smile had slipped a little.

  ‘Perhaps it rose into the sky,’ called Mattheus.

  Every eye dutifully scanned the ornate ceiling, where the sceptre was nowhere to be seen, of course. It was a wonderful feeling to have so many people enthralled. Mattheus was the only one in the Great Hall who knew where the sceptre had gone.

  ‘Thin air,’ he teased them. ‘I have made it vanish into thin air, as only a real magician can do.’

  The tension in the hall was unmistakable. Some were starting to believe him. Perfect. This was what every magician dreamed of: that people with the good sense to believe only what they saw might think he could make jewels and solid gold dissolve into nothing.