Escaping From Houdini Page 9

  I stared at him a few moments longer, mesmerized by the way he folded his body up. A thought struck me. “Where is your Houdini?”

  “Likely off with Mephistopheles.” Liza sighed. “The two of them are always putting their heads together, coming up with some new way to dazzle an audience. I’ll fetch you to meet him tonight after the show.”

  Unless there was another murder. Then I’d be meeting a corpse. The thought broke the wonderment of the carnival’s practice session. Now as I glanced around, the performers all made my skin crawl like grave worms. Even without an audience they all wore masks, hiding from both the world and one another. A large board with concentric circles was set up at one end, firecrackers shooting out as it spun in place. Jian Yu threw blades one after the other into the center of the target, the last dagger sinking into the hilt of the blade before it. Chills slid under my silk.

  “Who’s the man with Jian?” I asked, watching him remove the daggers and stagger back. “Is he an assistant?”

  “Goodness no. That’s Andreas the Fool.”

  I snorted. “I would have imagined that to be Mephistopheles’s stage name.”

  “Honestly, Cousin. Mephistopheles is not half as bad as you make him out to be. He’s the Magician, naturally. And he’s one of the best I’ve ever seen. Harry admires him and is constantly yammering on over his brilliance. The way he uses science and math is incredibly innovative. If you give him a chance, you might actually like him.”

  I kept my eye roll to myself. It seemed as if everyone was convinced the ringmaster could do no wrong. While I was intrigued by his form of science, I did not wish to let on about it. I nodded back at Andreas. “So why is that one called the Fool?”

  “He claims to have a magic looking glass that divines one’s romantic future.” She shook her head. “The sad thing is, he actually believes it works. I’ve sat down to a reading, and thus far it hasn’t informed me who my husband will be. All I see is my distorted image and an indecent amount of cobwebs. If anything, it’s downright haunted!”

  “Why does Mephistopheles keep him if he’s no good?”

  Liza looked at me as if I’d said something particularly dense. “He’s incredible at the spectacle of fortune-telling. His tent is one of the most popular—he lights incense, speaks in a darkly mysterious Bavarian accent. Plus”—she nudged me in the ribs—“he’s quite interesting to look at. Not exactly handsome, but arresting in a way.”

  “What about—”

  “She shouldn’t be here.” Liza and I both spun around, faced with massive chest-plate armor. I dragged my gaze upward and swallowed hard. Jian turned his glare from me to Liza. “And you still don’t belong here.”

  “Don’t be so cross, Jian. It’s unbecoming.” My cousin simply rolled her eyes. “This is not just anyone, this is my cousin, Miss Wadsworth. She’s a lord’s daughter so you ought to show a smidgen of respect.”

  He pointed one of his blades at me, hands scarred from practices that must have gone poorly. “You shouldn’t be here, miss.”

  Liza’s face turned near scarlet, but before she could explode, I smiled politely. “It was lovely meeting you, Mr. Yu. Impressive knife work, you must practice often.”

  His lips curved up in what I imagined was an attempt at a smile but came out more like a sneer. “Sometimes I use moving targets. Keeps things interesting.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Have you ever made any mistakes while using live targets?”

  “Once.”

  Without elaborating, he marched back to the stationary target board and threw blade after blade into the wood. Andreas jumped back as splinters flew. It took an incredible amount of force to cause that sort of damage—the same sort of strength that was needed to shove seven swords into a corpse and string it up.

  “I’m dreadfully sorry about that,” Liza said as we made our way out of the practice ring. “The performers get a little sensitive about outsiders.”

  “You’re not an outsider,” I pointed out. “And he wasn’t very pleasant to you.”

  “Once I accept them as my blood, our bond will become unbroken,” Liza said, sounding as if she were quoting from some strange carnival manual. “But not a moment before.”

  Houdini promotional poster

  NINE

  KING OF CUFFS

  DINING SALOON

  RMS ETRURIA

  3 JANUARY 1889

  Tonight’s stage was dressed in silvers and grays—like moonlight shining through cracks in the ship’s hull, lighting on bits of broken glass, or, in this case, crystal decanters and bejeweled patrons. Diners paused, eyeing the preshow performers as they glided through the room on stilts, their movements surprisingly graceful despite the long poles they perched on.

  Every part of their costumes was silver, from their masks to their sequined shoes. Tulle hung in tattered shreds that moved ethereally each time they stepped forward on their tall pretend limbs. In fact, the stilts they balanced upon resembled swords. They were bits of glittering beauty with an edge, blades ready to drop at any moment and slash those who least suspected it.

  While my uncle and Mrs. Harvey spoke cordially over their meal, I stared at the twirling batons, mesmerized by the silver and white ribbons slicing through the air. An extraordinary amount of work and skill had gone into the creation of the garments, and I wondered at the person who’d made such fine stitches. They could be under the queen’s employ, though I supposed they worked for royalty of a different sort.

  “You’ve got the look of someone who’s thinking of sewing corpses back together.” Thomas grinned over his roasted-duck entrée as I snapped my attention to him. It was scary how well he knew me sometimes. He lifted his glass. “We ought to toast to that. This champagne is terribly good—the bubbles go straight to your head. Don’t worry,” he added with a wink, “I’ll be sure to join you dancing on the table after you’ve had a few glasses.”

  “My partner in crime and debauchery,” I said, clinking our glasses together. “I am a lucky woman, indeed.”

  Thomas seemed quite pleased by the statement.

  The lights dimmed, our nightly signal that the show was about to begin. I shifted, watching the ringmaster, who promptly took the stage in a clap of cymbals and blast of smoke. His suit was tailored to his body and was a charcoal so deep it could have been mined. Both mask and waistcoat were scarlet tonight, the red bullion around his top hat mimicked splashes of blood. A bold yet decent choice, considering everything that had occurred. I tried to ignore how his knee-high boots drew the eye downward, even if the eye stubbornly wished to remain on his blasted face.

  Thomas inspected the young man in the same manner he studied corpses. I couldn’t tell if he desired to murder him or dissect his secrets more.

  “Ladies.” Mephistopheles walked the perimeter of the stage, mask casting beams of light that cut through the chittering crowd and ended most conversations. “Tonight’s act is so fearsome you may faint from the strain. However”—he pulled out a small crystal vial—“we have smelling salts for any fits or vapors. Don’t be shy in requesting them. Our stilt walkers have plenty on hand; alert them if you’re in need.”

  He beckoned to someone behind the curtain. No one appeared, which likely meant something had been set in motion behind the scenes. I swallowed a bit of roasted duck that suddenly seemed stuck in my throat. I hoped Liza was all right.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” Mephistopheles paced along the edge of the stage. “You may wish to look away if you have any sort of medical condition. Particularly any affliction of the heart.” The ringmaster paused and glanced around, his gaze settling on my table. “For the brave and fearless among you,” he continued, “tonight will forever be marked as the greatest event of your lives.”

  A murmur went through the crowd at that bold statement. The Moonlight Carnival was spectacular as a traveling troupe, but even their exquisite illusions couldn’t live up to that show-bill claim. A sound of thunder rolling through storm clouds be
gan a moment before a masked Liza and another assistant wheeled out a large trunk, then stepped back.

  I moved my focus from the trunk to the assistants. They were dressed in sequined silver costumes that were basically just corsets, and thick white stockings. It took a moment for me to piece together that most of the colors chosen were a palette taken from the night—moon, stars, and clouds against inky skies. The ringmaster extended his moonlight revel to the smallest detail.

  “Tonight you will experience a metamorphosis like no other. Tonight the impossible is possible. All the way from Appleton, Wisconsin.” Mephistopheles swept his arm in a gesture of welcome. “The great. The wonderful. The man who cannot be tamed or caged—please turn your attention over to the amazing Harry Houdini, King of Cuffs!”

  The audience politely clapped, but it wasn’t anywhere near as wild as it had been for the ringmaster on opening night. Mrs. Harvey winked at me, then hefted her wine into the air in a toast as a young man in a tuxedo took the stage. I sat straighter, not wishing to miss even the slightest detail. This was the young man who’d been clever enough to win my cousin’s affections. His dark hair was parted down the middle, and when he flashed a smile, dimples greeted the crowd.

  Unlike the other performers, Houdini was unmasked. There was a presence about him, though, something that felt like a charge in the air before lightning struck. Liza smiled wide, her whole body seeming to radiate joy as Houdini lifted his arms above his head. In a booming voice that was surprising for his smaller stature, he called, “Ropes!”

  Liza removed a length of rope from the trunk, holding it up for the audience before snapping it through the air like a whip. Houdini pivoted, his back now turned on the crowd.

  “That’s quite rude, isn’t it?” Mrs. Harvey whispered. “Bad manners to turn his back on… oh… oh, I see. That is something.”

  Houdini held his arms out behind himself, nodding to Liza as she silently tied them together in a web of crisscrossing rope. I was impressed by her expert knots—Aunt Amelia would not be as pleased by her embroidery lessons being used in such a way.

  “Look at those knots,” Mrs. Harvey whispered, “he’ll have a dickens of a time getting out of those. I wonder if he’s got a knife stashed in his trousers… certainly appears that way.”

  Thomas choked on his water, shooting our chaperone an incredulous look.

  Liza tugged and pulled, nearly knocking the escape artist off his feet. A young man at the table next to ours said quite loudly, “How boring. I bet the rope isn’t even real.”

  Houdini spun until he faced the tables again, eyes flashing. “Two volunteers from the audience! Who wants to inspect my bindings?”

  The young man who’d spoken sank into his seat, the weasel. Apparently he was one of those dogs who was all bark and no bite.

  The audience kept its attention on the stage, likely hungry for the same sort of drama that unfolded the night before. Two men took Houdini up on his offer and added another length of rope around his bound hands for good measure. This seemed to satisfy the crowd, though it was a bit duller compared to the tension the Knight of Swords drew out.

  I glanced around the room, unsurprised that no other performers were in the crowd, except for the stilt walkers, who still picked their way among our tables, silent and eerie as ten-foot ghosts.

  “And now…” Houdini wriggled in place. “My cuffs!”

  The second assistant, Isabella, brandished the handcuffs that he’d crowned himself king over. Houdini showed us his back once more, standing perfectly still as the cuffs clicked into place with finality. Houdini strode over to the trunk and climbed inside, folding himself in tight as any bolt of fabric. Seemed he’d taken some contortion lessons from Sebastián.

  Thomas set his glass down when the lid was dropped and locked into place. Liza tied another length of rope around the trunk, then snapped a padlock and chains around it. We’d likely sit here all evening waiting for him to pick his way out of all those locks.

  Diners slowed their chatter. Without prompting, both assistants skipped behind the stage, reemerging with a rolling cabinet that was taller than a person, the portable curtain fabrics a deep charcoal. They secured it around the locked trunk, keeping it from view. To my utter shock, Liza stepped forward, mask shimmering as lights flickered overhead, before retreating behind the portable curtains with a grand flourish of her hands.

  “When I clap my hands three times—behold a miracle!”

  She clapped once, and diners shifted in their seats. Twice, and talking dropped to mere whispers. She clapped a third time, and the room was a held breath, ready to gasp.

  Out burst Houdini from behind the curtains Liza had disappeared through, free as anything. He swept his arm out: “Behold! Metamorphosis!” He yanked the curtain back, revealing Liza cuffed in the trunk.

  Thomas and I exchanged glances as the crowd sprang to life. The trick had literally taken three seconds—how they’d accomplished such a thing was indeed magical. I wondered if there was anything Harry Houdini couldn’t escape from.

  Or any trap he couldn’t set for someone else. Our last victim had been hung up from her ankles; perhaps we’d just found the young man who’d accomplished that difficult feat.

  TEN

  HEART OR HEAD

  WOMEN’S PARLOR

  RMS ETRURIA

  3 JANUARY 1889

  “Look, Cousin,” Liza whispered, an expression of awe upon her face. Up this close, the wax of her heavy makeup showed its cracks like a porcelain doll whose paint had flaked from age. “There he is. My truest love.” She admired Houdini across the crowded room, and the power of her emotions crashed into me like a wave. I wished I could muster up the same level of excitement, but something I couldn’t quite identify kept me skeptical about his intentions. “Isn’t he the most amazing young man you’ve ever seen?”

  “He is intriguing,” I admitted, eyes straying to Mephistopheles before flicking back to Houdini. My own cheeks warmed when the ringmaster’s gaze fell on me and remained there. I pretended not to notice—it seemed a dangerous sort of thing, having a young man like that interested.

  Oblivious to who had captured my attention first, my cousin nodded. “Just watch the way he moves about the room. Every eye is upon him. I swear he truly does possess escape magic.” I followed her gaze but was once again caught in Mephistopheles’s snare. “I am most certainly bewitched in all ways and see no way out. It’s the most horrid splendor of all!”

  I looked sharply away from the ringmaster and studied my cousin. Two petal-sized spots of pink bloomed across her cheeks. It was obvious that she was quite taken with the escape artist. Though one glance around the room—filled with women fanning themselves—had me raising a brow and staying my tongue.

  Houdini seemed to have an entire garden of blushing roses to tend to. He buzzed from one flower to another, laughing and kissing gloved hands as he went. Liza appeared utterly enchanted, while I felt my face scrunching into a most unpleasant scowl. He paused a bit too long near some women, his touch lingering well past the point of decency.

  “Ladies.”

  I turned abruptly at the sound of that deep voice, heart knocking about my ribs. Mephistopheles stood in all his costumed glory, filigree mask curling about mischievous eyes. The very ones fixed upon mine. This close I could see the hair that fell across his brow was black. It was silky with subtle waves, the sort of soft curls that made your fingers wish to run through it on their own.

  “Seems I haven’t yet had the pleasure of properly introducing myself,” he said. “Liza? Who is this beautiful creature and why have you kept her from me?”

  “This is my cousin.” Liza smiled proudly. “Miss Audrey Rose Wadsworth.”

  So much for this being our “proper” introduction. I all but rolled my eyes. “Creature? You do flatter me too much with such compliments, sir. It’s no wonder that so many lose their hearts to your traveling minstrel show.”

  He stared at me, brows raised above
his mask. Apparently sass wasn’t what he expected, though he honestly should have with an opening such as that. Creature, indeed. As if women were mere animals to be fancied when it suited a gentleman.

  “Such sharp words,” he said. “Your tongue ought to come with a warning.”

  “Truth is often compared to a blade,” I said. “I question those who marvel when it pricks.”

  Liza stood behind him, subtly shaking her head, but the smile on her face told me she approved of my comment. She was my partner in all things equality. We women could be called creatures, if only the men who said such careless words accepted our claws were fearsome things when we decided to scratch.

  Much to my utter amazement, he laughed. “Miss Wadsworth, I—”

  A young woman squeezed between us, a glass of champagne in each hand as her two friends pushed in beside her. She nervously stuck a glass out, offering it to the young ringmaster. He politely took it but did not sip from it—he still appeared a bit amused by my response.

  “You were incredible opening night, Mr. Mephistopheles. Absolutely marvelous, even,” the young woman said, taking a long pull of her champagne. She winced, likely from drinking the bubbles too quickly, her cheeks flushing bright. “A few of us were wondering if you might try a new trick just for us. Surely you can’t best all of us.”

  Giggles erupted from the small crowd around us. Liza grinned. It was quite a scandalous offer, one I couldn’t help smiling over myself. I liked these girls. There was something bold about them that reminded me of my friends Ileana and Daciana. A twinge of sadness pinched my core—I wished they were on the ship with us, but they were settling things in Romania after the Dracula case. They promised they might board another ship and meet us in America next month if they could, something I hoped for dearly.

  The ringmaster’s lips curled up at the edges, though his eyes were stubbornly stuck to mine while he considered their offer. I quirked a brow, waiting. He turned toward the young women and bowed deeply. “Of course. But only if I get to choose my next victim.”