Reserved for the Cat

Well put. And about time someone taught him that schoolboy tricks are very unwelcome when played by an adult man.

She waited a few moments more, then came out of her dressing room and returned to the stage, where Jonathon was fussing with his apparatus. She cleared her throat and he jumped.

“You aren’t going to kick me again, are you?” he asked, turning to her with a grimace.

“I shall, if you do any such thing again,” she said stiffly. “I am not your hired assistant, who must endure cruelty in order to collect her pay, and if you play more tricks on me, I shall kick you somewhat higher than your shin.”

His eyes widened. “You’d do it too, wouldn’t you?” he said with grudging admiration.

“Yes, I would.” She looked up at him defiantly. “Now, I believe we have an illusion to rehearse. I take it you wish me to scream in a terrifying fashion when I see the flames?”

He nodded speechlessly. She returned to her “spot” and knelt, arms behind her back as if tied there, then nodded to Arthur, who took that as the cue it was, and lifted his baton.

This time the illusion proceeded in a professional manner. Jonathon locked her in the cabinet, when she saw the flames, she shrieked, and if she let out a bit more anger with her screams, well, no one was the wiser. The trap-door released, she dropped onto the mattresses, then made her way back up to the wings.

They ran through the trick three or four more times before Jonathon pronounced himself satisfied. “You are a capital screamer, though,” he said, apologetically. “I should have told you what was coming, since I can clearly see you would have done just right if I had warned you.”

She raised her chin. “I am a professional,” she said.

“I can see that.” He looked uneasy. “I am sorry I frightened you.”

She sensed that was the closest she was going to get to a real apology, and nodded. She was not going to apologize for kicking him, even though she was fairly certain that he now had four round little bruises on his shins.

“I think that the illusion is ready to use tonight,” he continued.

“I think so too. I will have just enough time to change after my ribbon dance.” She couldn’t help but smile at that. The ribbon, hoop, and ball dances had, with some more adjustment by Monsieur Ciccolini, been quite popular with the audiences.

“That’s a nice bit of business, that ribbon dance,” Jonathon said awkwardly, then paused. “You know, I have an illusion that makes a handkerchief fly about the stage. You might do a dance where you chase it. Or dance with it.”

“I would prefer a combination of the two,” she said after a moment. “I begin by chasing, then stop and dance to see if it can be lured, and lure it into dancing with me.”

He laughed. “That is a good notion. Let’s go talk to Nigel and Arthur about it.”

She nodded, and the two of them headed up to Nigel’s office.

Arthur was with him, as they both expected, going over some last-minute changes to the bill—just a little rearranging of the acts, since it was proving awkward to get the performing dogs off the stage in time for the ragtime dancers to enter, since they had to come in from both wings. The acrobats were going in after the dogs instead, since they could enter from one side while the dogs left on the other.

Jonathon explained the idea for the new illusion, Nigel approved it, and Arthur made several suggestions for music until they finally settled on a piece. Only then did Ninette ask the question that had been in her mind since her shock. “What were those flames?” she asked. “They were not even warm, but they looked so real!”

Jonathon chuckled. “Pure illusion, not stage magic, but one that ordinary folks can see. As a Fire Master I know everything there is to know about Fire and its creatures, and as a consequence, I can call up real fires, or summon up what is nothing more than the illusion of fire. That’s how I intend to burn down the Sultan’s Palace at the end of our production, except the fires will be partly my illusion and partly stage-craft.”

He held out his hand, and a moment later, there was a flame dancing on the palm. “Don’t touch that one, that’s real,” he said cautiously. He held out the other, and a second flame sprang up, but with the two side-by-side, she could see that there were differences. The illusory one was paler, and rather than flickering and moving randomly, this flame kept the same side-to-side motion, as if it was some sort of clockwork pendulum.

“That’s the problem with illusions,” Jonathon continued, turning both hands into fists to banish both flames. “Unless you concentrate all you have on it, you always wind up with a second-rate imitation of the real thing. Still, it wouldn’t do for me to burn down the stage, or my apprentice either.”

She smiled slightly. As witticisms went, it was rather feeble, but she was determined to hold the high ground and not show any further displeasure with him.