Free Saving Houdini by Michael Redhill Page A

I’ve never seen it done with five ropes.”
    “Yeah, how’d you do it anyway?” Walt asked.
    Blumenthal stared at him through the crack in the door.
    “You don’t ask that,” Dash said. “Mr. Blumenthal, did you invent that, um, version of the trick?”
    “I did …” The door drifted open a little. He stepped back and it floated open all the way. He turned and went back to the dressing-room table, muttering to himself. “Is it too much to ask maybe a girl comes backstage and asks for an autograph? No, I get two boys who don’t have
whiskers
yet, fulla questions …” They considered themselves invited and entered. “In Minsk I vanished
elephants
,” he said, his voice strangling in theatrical anguish. “But here? They don’t care. They want to look at a fat lady sing and two geniuses shoot a plate. Oh, but what is this? A rope trick with
five
ropes? No thank you.”
    “Did you train Wolfgang to do all that?”
    “What train?” he said, shooting a nasty glare at the cage that sat on the floor. Wolfgang was curled up in the bottom of it. “He wants his own show! Such a big squirrel-about-town.” He stared at the animal. There was a reluctant affection in his eyes. “For this I rescued you from Han Ping?”
    “Han Ping?”
    “He was riding
tricycles
for Han Ping! With a little top hat. Such dignity.”
    “Mr. Blumenthal?”
    He looked back and forth between them. “What is it? Whaddya want?”
    “I’m just wondering … why you don’t do some of your …
other
tricks?” Dash asked.
    “For these yankels? They wouldn’t know a good magic trick if it jumped up and vanished on their nose.”
    “But you have other tricks, right?”
    “Yeah, sure I do,” the magician said, using a matchstick to pick his teeth. “I can make a ribeye disappear too.”
    “What about …?”
    “What?”
    “What about your Soap Bubble Vanish?”
    Blumenthal regarded the two of them with mild distaste. “My what?”
    “Oh, bully,” said Walter. “Hey, you don’t have a quarter, do you?”
    “The Soap Bubble Vanish,” continued Dash. “I heard it was a special trick you did. That you invented.”
    Walter flung his hand out. “Aw, cantcha see? This guy couldn’t get a rabbit out of a barn. He’s an amateur!”
    Blumenthal nodded sagely in the direction of Walter Gibson. “You want to know how to do a magic trick?”
    “He already
taught
me one,” Walt said dismissively. “He can make a whole quarter vanish right in front of your eyes!” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”
    “I want to know,” said Dash. “That ring trick you were going to do—”
    “Before you were so
rudely
booed off the stage,” said Walt.
    “Ah, the ring,” said Blumenthal. “Let me see if I can find it.” He went back to his chair and rifled in his vest, then brought the ring over for inspection.
    Dash held it in his hand. Just a plain metal ring, tarnished from being handled, almost black. It was the circumference of a can of soup.
    “Now,” said Blumenthal, “how is a good magic trick done?” He took the ring back and held it out in the air between his thumb and forefinger. He moved a couple of steps away from them and gestured that they should remain still. “It is just a mixture of light, misdirection, tomfoolery, and mechanics.” He held the ring very still in the air, like he was balancing it on something. Then he let go of it and it stayed there, floating. “Oh, and technique,” said Blumenthal.
    “Howdja do
that
?” asked Walt.
    “With mirrors,” the magician answered. “Here, look.” He picked the ring out of the air and gestured them over to his mirror. There, he performed it again, and the ring hung in the air as well as in the reflection, just a foot away. He lit a candle. “Here now, get those lights,” he said to Dash.
    Dash turned out the lights and came back. Blumenthal held the candle behind the ring and it hung doubled in ghostly reflection.
    “This is how it’s done,” said