Free Now You See It by Richard Matheson

need,”
he added. “Let them be already chosen when the time arrives to use them.”
    Absolutely
, I reacted.
    Max was coming to life now, as I was (well, relatively)—his eyes bright, his posture alert, his voice increasingly excited as he spoke; and why not? Wasn’t this his kingdom?
    Hadn’t it been mine?
    “What will these volunteers be used for?” he asked. The question was academic, of course; he already knew the answer. “Helpers? Subjects? Subjects must be credulous, not doubtful, not distrusting.”
    Harry would have made a lousy Subject, it occurred to me.
    “Lenders of objects?” Max was adding further academic queries. “Watches? Keys? Pens? Lenders must be chosen for appearance of integrity. The same for inspectors of devices. The audience must trust their judgment.”
    How well I had taught him; I basked in the knowledge.
    Now Harry tensed as Max moved to the desk and set the pistol down, then began to use both hands to gesture as he continued pacing.
Is that a good idea?
I fretted. What if Max moved so far from the desk that Harry could make a rush for the pistol? Surely he would do it. There was no other way out for him.
    It seemed as though Harry listened now with one ear (as they say), keeping himself prepared to move should the opportunity arise.
Watch it, Son
, I thought.
Don’t get so carried away by your rhapsodizing that you overlook basic caution
.
    “As for me, the magician,” Max was saying; he seemed to have completely forgotten the pistol. “I must show no sign of strain or stiffness in the hands, the elbows, or the shoulders. Gestures must be practiced to perfection—even the smallest one.”
    He demonstrated some. “Their length,” he said. “Their speed.
Never more
than one at a time.”
    Watch it, Sonny boy
, I thought.
    “Time,”
said Max, so loudly that it made Harry twitch. “Pauses. Counts and rhythms. Root out everything which might distract. Useless movements. Pointless jewelry. Clothes that call attention to themselves.
    “And always an alternative ending; always,”
he said. “One must look ahead. Things can go wrong.”
    Yes, they can
, I thought.
Like an agent rushing to a desk and snatching up a pistol
.
    It disturbed me to see that Max’s gaze was so inward now. I’m not sure he even knew that Harry was in the same room with him. And I saw that even wooden-witted Harry sensed this and was readying his move.
    “Consider every detail,” Max was saying (or was it The Great Delacorte, father and son, who spoke?). “Lighting. Music. Apparatus. Stagehands. Posture. Footwork; one kind for a cross, another for climbing steps. Another for moving upstage, yet another for moving down.”
    He began to demonstrate as to a class of novices. Ambivalence tore at me. I loved what he was saying but feared that, in saying it, he had become too incautious. I saw Harry edging forward on the chair.
Oh, God, to have a voice!
my mind exploded with lamenting rage.
    “The eight positions of the body,” Max was saying, demonstrating as he spoke. “Full back. Three-quarter right. Right profile. Quarter right. Full front. Quarter left. Left profile. Three-quarter left. Return to full back.”
    Harry started up, then sank down hurriedly as Maxturned back. Was it possible that Max was playing with him? If so, he was taking greater risks than were prudent.
    “The six positions of the feet,” Max told him, smiling as he demonstrated. (He
was
lost in his kingdom!) “Feet together, side by side, pointing forward. Either foot one step sideways so the feet are twelve to twenty-four inches apart. One foot perpendicular to the other, the heel of the perpendicular touching the arch of the other.”
    Despite uneasiness, I could not but be awed by the detailed lengths to which Max had gone to perfect his act. Even I had not gone so far, I admit (with contrition).
    “The perpendicular foot one step forward,” he was continuing, “one foot pointing forward, the other at a forty-five-degree