Page 45 of Magic for Nothing

“I can’t trust you as a pitch man, and I’m not going to use you as a lure until I know whether I want you somewhere else. So for tonight you’re in here, on popcorn and candy duty. We’ve got a costume that should be about your size, and I’m sure your hair knows what a brush is; reintroduce the two and be here for curtain at six.”

I resisted the urge to stare at her. “I’m going to be a candy girl?”

“For tonight, yes. Here.” She produced a stack of throwing knives from inside her jacket and offered them to me. “Impress me.”

Impress her. Right. I took the knives, weighing them in my hands, trying to get a feel for them. This was the second time in a relatively short period that I’d been handed knives by a virtual stranger, and I was starting to miss my own knives, weighted for my personal use, more and more. Really, I missed all my weapons. I’d never been unarmed for this long, not since I was big enough to hold a fork.

“Am I allowed to throw knives at your grandson?”

Maybe not the most politic of questions. Her eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. So did Sam’s. For a moment, the family resemblance between them was so visible it hurt. Then, looking amused, she smiled.

“Yes, you can throw knives at my grandson, but you’re not going to hit him,” she said. “He’s faster than you think.”

“Good to know,” I said. “Is there a plank somewhere that I can use?”

“Sam, get the lady a plank.”

Sam, who did not look happy about this plan, frowned before heading off across the tent. I began stretching out my shoulders while Emery watched.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m a little out of practice.”

“And yet you want to throw knives at my grandson?”

“Well, like you said, he’s fast. It’ll be okay.” That, and this was a trick I’d done before. The knives were decently weighted; they must have belonged to a professional knife-thrower. That was good. Sam was returning with a two-by-four. That was also good. “Okay, I’m going to say I’ve got fifty feet accuracy on these, forty if I’m throwing straight up. Sam? I’m going to close my eyes. Go somewhere—anywhere—within fifty feet of me, and call my name.”

“And then you’re going to throw a knife at me.”

“Yes. And then I’m going to throw a knife at you. Hold the plank at chest-level, if you would.”

“You meet the best people at the carnival,” he grumbled, and turned to walk away. I closed my eyes. I didn’t see him go.

“You’re sure about this?” asked Emery. “You only get one chance to impress me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“Hey, rube!” Sam shouted from behind me.

I whipped around, peeling a knife from the stack and flinging it in the direction of his voice. He was tall, but his voice was taller; he’d climbed the bleachers. That adjusted the angle of my throw, and I twisted my wrist to accommodate it. There was a thunk a second after I threw the knife, followed by Sam swearing.

“Keep moving!” I said. The next knife was already in my hand, ready to go.

The next “hey, rube” came from the side, at floor-level; the one after that came from about ten feet up, as he’d partially climbed one of the poles. Each time, the shout was followed by the sound of my knife hitting its target. Each time I heard a knife hit home, my shoulders unkinked a bit more. I was starting to enjoy this. The Incredible Cristopher had insisted we all learn blind fighting alongside the more standard, open-eyed knife-throwing tricks, since they’re much more impressive for the average crowd. It’s always nice to have the wisdom of my teachers confirmed.

“All right,” I called. “Sam, can you get up on the edge of the net and then jump down?”

“Uh, no?” he replied. “You’re going to skewer me and say it was an accident.”

“Please. If you’re as fast as you say, I couldn’t skewer you if I wanted to.”

“Do as the lady says, Samuel,” said Emery.

He swore again. Then: “Do you want me to tell you when I’m jumping?”

“Please.”

“I’m jumping!”

It wasn’t much warning, but it was about what I’d been expecting. I threw the first knife as I was already dropping to my knees, threw the second knife before I hit the ground, and threw the third knife from a kneeling position. All three audibly struck home. I spread my arms and opened my eyes. “Ta-da!” I announced.