The Man Who Built His House Upon a Rock CH.3 (pt2)

In time Nachton was ushered through the exit. Beyond was a short hall which ended at an elaborately carved wooden door. He gazed upon it in wonder:

Performers Entrance

Parlor of Prestidigitation       Palace of Magic

                                                            

(Book shows a single door with a knob on both the left and right sides -BKE) 

“One door, two destinations?” Nachton smiled to himself, his mind whirring about how they could perform this trick. “If I turn the right handle it will have to disengage the hinges on that side. The same holds true for the left. If there are two hallways behind the door and whichever side I chose leads to a particular one, how would they block off the other?”

Various mechanisms of sliding walls came to mind. In seconds he had decided which should have the quietest, smoothest and most convincing operation.

“The door must needs pull open so as to provide the time and space for the fake wall to move in place” he thought. “There will either be a gap on a hard floor or worn carpet.” His analysis was interrupted by an unexpected question.

“Will you be performing stage or close-up magic?” asked his companion.

“I can do either” Nachton replied, “I’ve learned all the basic tricks.”

“You must choose one.”

Willard managed to stammer, “Oh…okay. Um… I’ll do some stage then.”

“Very well”, he replied and turned the knob to the Palace of Magic.

The door swung easily to their left and allowed them into a long and twisting hallway. The Knight was vaguely surprised when Nachton suddenly dropped to one knee and studied the oak paneling immediately on their left. Sure enough, there was a clear swath of worn carpet where the “wall” had swung into place by the action of the door. They were standing in, Nachton was sure, one wing of a “Y” in the hallway and at the juncture was this door. He checked the right hand wall and discovered that it too could move and would do so when the left handle was engaged. Some ingenious architecture was to be found here indeed.

Despite his ability to see through most illusions Willard was stumped by this next hallway. It seemed as if every step forward caused the hall to stretch out two more. After an agonizing hike they arrived at a third door and passed through.

Before the pair was a small backstage area, impossible to see well in the dark. Peering out through a gap in the curtain before him however revealed what to the young man was simply heaven. He was looking out over a shallow stage, complete with footlights and curtain in the 19^th century style. The hall was a wide, rectangular room. It was brightly lit by overhanging electric chandeliers and wall sconces. Directly center-stage front row, were five chairs, each occupied by an individual so extravagant in dress or physical appearance that Nachton wondered if the Castle staff was in on Billy Talbot’s joke.

“You will find here a small selection of the basic illusion supplies. You may use any of it in whatever way you can”, intoned the now familiar voice of his escort as he lit a small lamp. Its beam was carefully shielded to face backstage.

Nachton moved quickly to the area indicated by his guide. There he found an open-faced cabinet fitted with dozens of small cubicles. Within each box rested some item traditionally associated with magic and illusion. Wands in profusion were there as well as steel magic rings, silk handkerchiefs, top hats, and even a strait-jacket. His eyes flew from left to right searching for one certain item, indispensable to his best trick.

The Castle Knight then patted Willard gently on the shoulder and said, “I know how daunting this can be. Don’t be nervous. It’s not like this is life or death. Just do your best and everything will be fine. You’ll have a couple minutes to prepare.” He then adjusted his bow tie and stepped out onto the stage.

Alone for the first time, Willard began to tread water in a sea of fear. He had never faced this large a challenge. No high school party or Library show was this. These were the best, the Gods of Magic. He began to hyperventilate.

Willard became light-headed and leaned against the cabinet for support. Various possibilities rushed through his mind. “I could just leave”, he thought. Back down the hall and through the doors would put him back in the lounge with Billy and the rest of his gang. But Willard knew they would bully and tease him unmercifully. He could find another exit. Just go without seeing the others. But then when would he ever have this opportunity again?

“The Magic Castle” he sighed. Everything he had ever dreamed of was here, could happen here. Then deep in his heart, somewhere between the hopes and fears, something small clicked into place. Or was it somewhere in his psyche, the last thin strand that connected Willard Hoffmann with reality broke and only Nachton remained.

With amazing speed he found the small box which contained that critical element for his coup de grace. He retrieved a number of charcoal gray bars from his pocket and a small tube of clear gel. Though simple, the preparations needed to be precise. The slightest misstep and his entire illusion would be ruined. He finished the work just in time as a loud voice echoed in the tomb-like silence, “The Magic Castle now presents, Nachton the Great.”

He stepped between the curtain folds into a room which bore little resemblance to what he had seen mere seconds earlier. It was far larger, perhaps three or four times so, than the area he had expected. The walls and ceilings were festooned with flickering candles and the footlights projected a brilliant glare which could only be real lime-light.

The five judges were still there, exactly as they had appeared earlier, except that now their odd appearance was enhanced immeasurably by the moody light. The first was an extremely old man wearing magenta robes and a pointed hat, his long gray hair flowing copiously around his shoulders. Under the bushy eyebrows were a set of bright yellow eyes. Nachton thought he could have just stepped from the pages of a Harry Potter novel. Next was an agonizingly beautiful and ageless woman whose penetrating eyes seemed to pierce him. She had a notebook and pen held ready to record her thoughts. In the middle sat a young man of about 30, surprising considering the maturity of his companions. Nonetheless, authority and command literally radiated from him as his flaming red hair stood up at all angles. The fourth judge was an enigma to Nachton. He wore dress shoes, slacks, a paisley silk smoking jacket, black sunglasses and fez. He was, for all intents, the Invisible Man. Last in the row was a real giant. Though seated, he towered over his companions by a foot and a half. Standing, he would easily reach seven foot tall or better. His head was shaved and he sported a wild goatee which only almost hid a rather weak chin. The living mountain wore bright blue pants, gathered at the ankles and waist, which ballooned out alarmingly. Coupled to his turquoise vest he gave the impression of visiting from The Arabian Nights.

In the darkness behind his judges Nachton could almost make-out the figures of several hundred audience members. Some interplay of the flickering candles and dazzling footlights was tricking his eyes. What might have been real people may also have been simply a very intricate mural on the back wall. Regardless of their actual existence, his stomach lurched and heart raced as if he were playing to a full house.

Nachton reached into the cloak he had draped around his shoulders and removed the steel rings. It was a very old illusion and had not been mysterious since the turn of the century. He performed it flawlessly and was therefore surprised when his judges gave no sign of approval.

Next he worked a series of tricks from the disappearing-milk-in-the-bottle to a less familiar illusion involving the removal of one’s own right ring finger and placing it on the left hand. It was done with mirrored films he discovered in the cabinet and so presumably not unknown to his inquisitors. None of the quintet had moved or spoken during his ten minute performance save the woman who had jotted a brief note after this latest piece.

“For my finale, I would like to perform a feat of magic never seen anywhere at any time. It is of my own devising and guaranteed to astound you.”

Thin creases of smile or cynical frowns appeared on the faces of the five seated magicians.

“We look forward to it son,” said the wizard-like man in the first chair.

His kindness worked like a tonic in Nachton’s soul. With flair, he pulled out a deck of over-sized playing cards and displayed them to the audience. The clear disappointment which he saw on their faces almost broke his concentration.

“Card tricks?” the woman asked sardonically and leaned back, leaving her notepad in her lap.

Nachton opened his hands to show his palms as empty of all but the cards. Suddenly he raised them high together, almost concealing the odd twitch of his left hand and drew them back to waist height. The cards had formed a perfect arc in air between his outstretched arms. Nachton waited a full 15 seconds for the image to sink into everyone’s minds. Then he made them dance.

In a feat of magic none of the judges had ever beheld, Nachton controlled his paste-board minions without touching them. They spun end-over-end in tight summersaults. Then in singles, groups and as a whole they flipped side to side. Pinwheels erupted at the ends and zenith of the arch. Without warning the entire pack flew into the air and returned gracefully to his power. At no point in the entire recital had Nachton’s hands moved in the slightest. Once the card arch was rebuilt, he began to direct the fragile construction as if it were solid and indestructible. He stood it on end, spun it like a ballerina and looped it around his neck. This was without a doubt, fine magic.

Finally, and to the great amusement of the judges, he shuffled the deck, spread it out again and invited one of them to, “Pick a card, any card.” He thanked them for their consideration and stepped back behind the curtain. All five had stood and offered him the greatest tribute a magician could ever hope for: they simultaneously clapped and loudly wondered how he had done it.

Nachton’s lip began to quiver with suppressed fear and excitement. Most of the show was a complete disaster. He had been technically perfect but nothing he’d done touched on the Masters fancies. Only his last set, the very special one, the one he created himself, had really opened their eyes. If nothing else, he had proven that Willard need never return. Nachton would live.