Legerdemain 2- so soon!
Jun. 11th, 2010 05:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
foolish_m0rtalGenre: Fantasy, Steampunk, Alternate History
Rating: PG- some swears. Ladies cover your sensitive ears.
Summary: In 1800s London-Aldwych, stage magic always comes second to the scientific and engineering advancements that are quickly becoming the new marvel of the age. But Charles East (The Enchanting East, Monday-Saturday at 1:30PM, half-price on Sundays at 4PM) stumbles upon other magic that is practiced by an altogether other sort of Londonite. And sometimes when you pull a rabbit out of a hat, there is no place to put him back.
Note: I'm posting this in the library while I'm supposed to be utilizing my free time to get ahead on work so...my time to check for errors has been short. Please let me know! I'm going out with my lab colleages for eating, drinking and carousing around Higashi-Omiya (you know us coders) so I'll talk to you guys tomorrow. Is the beginning of this chapter foreshadowing for ME? Hmm...
When Charles finally woke up, it was to the horrible sunlight beaming directly into his face. His eyes felt gummed together and came apart with a singularly disgusting plicking sound that he tried to rub away. He tried to sit up and was suddenly assaulted by the feeling that his stomach was trying to come out through his navel, so he fell back to the floor and heard something clank behind his head painfully.
He sat up again, slower this time, and found he was in Henry’s dining room, which had been converted into their temporary workshop a few weeks ago, after they had finished their contract with a previous theatre. After feeling around behind him, he found a large crank handle and realised he was lying in the cannibalised remains of their trick guillotine, which they had stripped for parts for the more gently named Disassembler. The guillotine had been Henry’s idea, and now he was unanimously (Charles and Margaret- Margaret had voted with both arms) banned from ever creating another trick again. Some of the ladies in the audience had fainted- alright, perhaps the stage blood had been a bit much. They hadn’t expected that. They had even shown it to Margaret long before, and she had applauded and laughed until her sides had ached, which in hindsight should have been their first warning.
Charles contemplated going back to sleep again, but the room was too bright, and that knock to the head hadn’t done anything for his grogginess. So he levered himself up using the workbench for balance and set about trying to find his shoes, Margaret and Henry, and a decent cup of tea. Not necessarily in that order. In fact, as he found his jacket hanging from the top of the kitchen door and checked his considerably lighter wallet in the front pocket, he decided he would definitely put off looking for Margaret and Henry until later. It wouldn’t do blaming Henry for all of it either- from his patchy memories from last night, he remembered the other men at the pub being very openly impressed by how quickly Margaret could finish a tankard, and they had expressed their appreciation in pints that had somehow ended up on his bill. Margaret looked small and delicate but could probably drink both he and Henry under the table (and from the size of his headache, it seemed she had.) He didn’t know how she did it- she was cheating somehow, she had to be. It was the only thing that made the humiliation bearable.
And once he was too far gone to keep his eyes open she would- Charles felt around his throat and cursed- she would always steal his neck ties. Inevitably after Henry talked them into going out drinking because oh no, it couldn’t happen again, he would wake up and find her wearing his ties around her throat like a scarf or looking quite warlike with them tied around her head. And then of course to get them back, he would have to do ridiculous things like buy her apples for the whole week or run her errands on nights she was working. (Being a magician’s assistant didn’t exactly pay very much and besides, helping him out had been more a temporary favour for extra money that had somehow become permanent along the way.)
He found Henry’s slightly discoloured but generally usable tea kettle on the stove in the kitchen and staggered about trying to find a striker, which he finally found back in the workshop buried deep in the toolbox...next to his shoes. He decided not to ask questions.
The kitchen was ridiculously small, worsened by the unwieldy table right in the middle that had once been in the dining room. In one of the cabinets he found a few pieces of bread that weren’t too stale and set about carefully eating them and waiting for the tea. He didn’t feel much like anything solid at the moment, but knew he had to force something down. He was feeling somewhat human again as the pot began to steam and waft the smell of tea around the room, so he got up and decided to look for the others.
The problem with Henry, Charles concluded as he opened one door and then another, wasn’t that he needed a wife. He just needed to develop some semblance of socially accepted order. For instance, Charles knew perfectly well that the bookshelves were jammed full of half-shaped mechanical automata because Henry said Charles would always take the diagrams off the top shelves and then absently leave them somewhere in the house to be found weeks after he had desperately needed them. The placement was sensible, but chaotic to the un-Henried eye. Similarly, Henry stored his dry breakfast food in the shelves of his dresser so he would have something to eat the minute he got out of bed- Charles said the room was going to get some sort of animal infestation while Henry was unconscious.
And speak of the Devil, the door to Henry’s room was open, and Charles could see a large cocoon of sheets on the bed with Henry’s feet sticking out like a large pair of insect feelers. His hat was hanging jauntily from one of the bedposts.
Charles rolled his eyes, because wasn’t this just typical? “Oy, I’ve put the tea on-”
There was a little sleepy groan and then a rustle. Another foot slid out from the blankets, but this one was smaller and paler.
Charles shut the door so fast he almost knocked himself over. He paused for a moment, but he didn’t hear anyone get up or walk to the door. He released the knob with a sigh of relief and covered his face with a hand. God, he would have never been able to live through that embarrassment. Henry and Margaret had flirted like they breathed air the second they had met, but he didn’t know when it had stopped being friendly and become...friendly. He suspected it only happened when they got drunk enough for it to be an excuse. He knew Margaret had her second job and didn’t have time for attachments, and Henry was just...Henry. But it was still embarrassing being the person caught in the middle of them.
He decided to leave and get breakfast, because he felt rather guilty for eating all of Henry’s bread and more importantly, he didn’t want to be there when the two of them emerged. So he took the tea off the stove and set about trying to find something to wear. He couldn’t exactly go to the market in his stage suit, so he stole one of Henry’s jackets and then a pair of his spare shoes. There was nothing to be done about the trousers, Charles thought critically and decided to wear his formal ones. Going back to his own flat to change would have taken too much time and effort. If anything, perhaps he would give the baker’s wife a laugh and get an extra roll. He heard another rustle from Henry’s room and in his hurry drank his tea down so fast that he nearly scalded his entire mouth and hit himself in the shins with the front door on his way out. Yes, he would definitely take his long leisurely time.
He got some standard things at the market- bread, sausage, a few potatoes they could fry, eggs, and milk and oats for porridge. Then he decided to be munificent and spent the rest on strawberries and sugar because Margaret loved to put spoonfuls and spoonfuls into her tea, and it was a luxury she seldom got. And if they had sugar, they could always manage to bully Henry into making them candied fruit or sugar crystal candy. Henry’s father had owned a sweets shop in Berkshire for a number of years, and despite Henry's denials, he had picked up quite a bit of it.
He was feeling clumsy and weighed down from all the food and was entertaining the thought of going back to Henry’s when he had his second strange bit of luck for the morning and saw that the theatre where he'd seen Perceval Fletcher had its doors wide open. He stopped and looked at it for a moment- it looked quite a bit shabbier in the daylight, though Theodore Briggs would have had his head for saying so. He had the strangest urge to go in, sit down, and just take in the feel of it again and then thought why the hell not? He’d give Henry and Margaret ten more minutes.
As we walked into the dim light of the theatre, he could see a few people sweeping up and polishing the windows. He supposed the early morning was the only time they could do general upkeep since many of the shows started in the afternoon and went on till late at night. He looked up, and a bright poster with ‘Perceval Fletcher, Mid-Day Magician’ was still hanging above the entryway.
There was the harsh clack clack of a cane against the floor. “Oy, you! What’s your business here?”
Charles turned around and smiled. “Good to see you again, sir.”
Briggs limped forward a bit faster. “Well if it isn’t Charles East!” He clapped him soundly on the shoulder, still painful after all these years. “How are you doing, boy?”
“Well. You seem to be doing quite well yourself.” If the new ornate eagle-headed cane was any indication. Briggs’s leg injury had just been some small silly thing from his boyhood, but the man capitalised on it a bit too enthusiastically in Charles’s opinion and collected a number of varied and strange canes for every day of the month. Briggs had always been by far one of Salt Academical’s most outrageous professors, only cemented by the last day of Charles’s class when Briggs had slammed his books down on his desk and declared, “Sod this, I’m going to London-Aldwych,” and had promptly handed in his resignation an hour later. Charles and his friends had laughed until they had cried and before realising Briggs had been perfectly serious. In fact, it was Briggs that had given Charles the idea to follow in his footsteps years later. The city had some subtle mysterious something that industrious efficient little Leeds and Saltiere didn’t. (Though admittedly, the canal to Lancaster was quite impressive. If it hadn’t been for the friends he had here, he would have entertained the idea of going back, because Leeds looked like it was about to take a page out of London-Aldy’s book and go completely berserk)
He and Briggs still kept an acquaintance albeit not a very good one, for all that Briggs owned a theatre and Charles was a showman. Even in the theatre business Briggs never played favourites, and Charles never asked for favours. They weren’t really friends but had a healthy amount of respect for each other, which was probably the best solution to everything. Charles had observed a certain awkward social inequality in attempts at such friendships.
“Heard about your show,” Briggs said, putting a cigarette in his mouth. He offered one to Charles, who declined. “It’s quite popular. Congratulations.”
“We put a lot of work into it,” Charles said neutrally.
“As you should have,” Briggs said approvingly. “What brings you here? Not looking for a new theatre, are you?”
Now the request seemed ridiculous. “Actually, sir, I was wondering if I could go sit in the theatre for a moment. I’ve been before, but it was dark then and I wasn’t able to see much.”
“Mm hmm,” Briggs said sceptically. “Does this ‘seeing’ include all the equipment from Perceval Fletcher’s act?”
“Wh-what?” Charles demanded, shocked.
Briggs laughed at him. “Thought never even occurred to you, did it? Good to see London-Aldy hasn’t changed you for the worse. Go on.” Briggs opened the doors to the audience seating and ushered him in with his cane. “Go look at the new trimming or whatever it is you want.”
“Thank you,” Charles said. The doors closed behind him with a dull bang, and he was surrounded by the still musty darkness and rows and rows of wooden seats. Only a few nights ago, this place had been crowded and hushed, intent on the man hovering in the spotlights on the stage- almost a hungry feeling. There had been a charge in the air that Charles had never seen in an audience, even the most well behaved genteel ones.
Charles found his seat near the stage again and put his groceries down next to him. He put his hands on the armrests and leaned his head back, trying to recall that sense of wonder. The long unbroken string of casually impossible things and the sweet linger of sugar in his mouth. The tea had smelled wonderful under his nose, and there had been a button missing off the top of Fletcher’s jacket when he’d leaned down to offer him the little bone-china cup. He remembered that very well.
Charles didn’t know how Fletcher had spirited the sugar cubes in his pocket and found that he really didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to spoil the illusion for once. He absently put his hand on top of his jacket pocket and felt his pocket watch ticking under his fingers. It should have been embarrassing being the fool in another magician’s trick but god, he’d been humbled- could do with being humbled once in a while when it seemed their shows would never close and every seat in the audience was filled.
He heard footsteps and jumped out of the chair like it had shocked him. He turned around, and had his third piece of odd luck for the day and almost trampled Perceval Fletcher himself. They stared at each other warily for a moment, and then Fletcher’s eyebrows shot up in recognition.
“You’re the Enchanting East.” He bowed stiffly, perfunctorily. “Enchanted.”
“Er,” Charles tried, “It’s not really...” he sighed. “My assistant came up with it.”
“Oh, bit it fits you,” Fletcher continued in a cool voice. “I went to your most recent show-”
Charles frowned, because he certainly would have remembered Perceval Fletcher sitting in his audience, but perhaps he’d been in the back. A small mercy, because if Charles had known, he would have certainly stuttered and dropped things the whole time. And suddenly he was painfully conscious of his mismatched clothes and messy hair and the little discoloured spots on his collar where he had dribbled some of his hot tea. Fletcher at least looked better than he had at the performance. Now he was clean-shaven and smartly dressed and looked like he had slept- Charles wondered if it was his day off and then wondered if magicians ever had days off.
“- and the revolving mirror trick was quite elegant- took me a week to figure out how you did it. You know, you have wonderful showmanship for a man so unpretentious.”
“Er, thank you?”
Fletcher waved his hands. “No no, it’s just that usually the showy magicians are either frauds or completely besotted with themselves.”
“I thought all magicians were frauds,” Charles replied. “Comes with the territory, I should think.”
Fletcher hmmed. “And thieves too.”
“Damn it!” Charles snapped. “Why does everyone assume I’m here for some underhanded little-”
“Because most magicians would be,” Fletcher said, and his eyes drifted to the bags of groceries in one of the seats. A corner of his mouth softened. “But not you, it seems," he conceded and squinted at Charles like a near-sighted old man. "Although there's still something I just can’t place about you. Something quite bothersome.”
“Thank you,” Charles said flatly. “Is there a reason I’m getting such lovely compliments?”
And Fletcher was wearing a strange expression, as if he desperately wanted to laugh out loud. “Not at all- I give them freely to people who come sneaking into my theatre.”
“I wasn’t sneaking,” Charles replied, affronted. “And it’s not your theatre.”
“Just temporarily,” Fletcher said mellowly. “It’s the landlord’s property, but you still call it your flat, don’t you?”
“Might not be mine much longer,” Charles muttered.
“Oh, so we’re looking for a new place to stay, are we?”
“Oh yes, your very own theatre ghost.”
“I had heard they were accepting applicants," Fletcher continued gravely, "In that case, I shall forgive your stealing in here-”
“I was doing no such thing,” Charles replied angrily, and Fletcher’s strange struggling expression was back. “Prof- Theodore Briggs let me in here.”
“Theo?” Fletcher looked surprised. “I didn’t think he let anyone in here when it was locked up.”
“He knows me from a long time ago when he taught at Titus Salt.”
“You?” Fletcher said disbelievingly. “Were a Salty Dog?”
Charles shrugged “If the land is full of animals.”
“We’ll live out on the sea,” Fletcher finished dutifully. “And if the sea is made of salt.”
“We’ll turn it into gin,” they said together and grinned at each other self-consciously.
“I don’t even know what the actual school motto is anymore,” Charles admitted.
Fletcher shrugged. “Oh, I think it ends with something like, ‘we’ll build cities unto the waves,’ or some such.”
“I didn’t know you went to Titus Salt too,” Charles said. “Is that how you know Professor Briggs?”
Fletcher shook his head. “Oh no, I went to Keating. This was before they merged Keating and that little music conservatory that shut down and established Titus Salt. Had friends that were transferred to Titus Salt after the move, so I know a bit about it.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at Charles.”You’re sitting in the same seat you were during my performance,” he said suddenly. “That’s it. I remember. I saw you right...there-” he tracked the motion with his finger, “And asked you- oh, what did I ask you?”
“You wanted the sugar cubes in my pocket.”
“Oh yes,” Fletcher said. He had an almost-smile hovering on his face. “And then you ate one. Did it occur to you that it could have been toxic?”
“Would have found out,” Charles said flatly, and Fletcher let out something between a cough and a smothered laugh.
“So what did you think of my show?” he asked. “Find any loose wires or suspicious looking pieces of furniture?”
Charles sucked in a deep breath and then held it. He could already feel his damned ears burning. “I forgot to look for all of that, but you were brilliant,” he said in an embarrassed rush.
Fletcher didn't try to suppress a smile this time. “I can see why Theo was willing vouch for you.”
“I don’t understand,” Charles said slowly.
“Exactly,” Fletcher replied, and there had apparently been something Charles had said that had placated him, because he bowed his head again. “Sorry, let’s start from the beginning again, shall we? I’m Perceval Fletcher, Mid-Day Magician.”
Charles nodded back. “Charles East, The Enchanting East.”
“Enchanted,” Fletcher said, and this time he sounded like he meant it.
It’s like 1800s frat boys, oh god.
“Oho, do you recall the time we forgot Thaddeus at the pub, and he had to do the carriage ride of shame back home?”
“I remember it well, friend. Most sweet.”
*facepalm*
I found out that Titus Salt actually DOES have a school named after him, and it specialises in (wait for it) Computing and Mathematics. XD Irony, thy name is research.
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Date: 2010-06-11 03:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 03:47 pm (UTC)Haha, well perhaps not singing a song together, but yes, this is a bit of a flashback to Glee Club parties where they would sing all the old college songs at midnight. (They have an impressive array of forgotten outdated UVa college songs. I believe they did a full concert of them once. I had my own concert and couldn't go T_T) When I was writing this I was actually thinking about the bit in Dead Poets Society where they bastardize the school motto. (Keating, little dig there)
Ah, that's a very nice compliment, thank you! I like that a lot. ^_^ I left 'writing prettily' behind a long time ago. I like crisp! It's not sweet, it's salt and vinegar! (haha, salt...)
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Date: 2010-06-11 04:40 pm (UTC)LOL RIGHT! OUO
Anywho, I love the world your weaving.
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Date: 2010-06-11 06:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-12 03:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-12 03:48 am (UTC)Oh god, I hope the whole Titus Salt school motto wasn't totally sappy. I don't know how it came across as singing, but I trust it didn't seem cheesy and musical-esque?