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The crowd was mostly quiet whenever Mephistopheles took the stage, but when Houdini entered the room this evening, the hush that descended was a living, breathing thing. Darkness and density and the throbbing beat of one’s own blood pumping in
the void of outward noise. I’d heard people remark on being able to hear a pin drop, but the truth of Houdini’s presence was so much more than that. I could have sworn I heard each contraction of my heart, each molecule of oxygen I barely breathed in, all of it so loud within my head it had to be heard across the sea to London.
Mephistopheles was correct once again: Harry Houdini was destined to become a legend, if only for the magnitude of his presence. He was a man of modest stature and extraordinary might. At least on this night, after we’d all seen death made into a spectacle.
“A bit dramatic for my taste,” Thomas whispered, leaning in. “How many adjectives can one use in a sentence? Mephisto might be in want of a thesaurus. Perhaps I’ll gift one to him.”
“Hush,” Mrs. Harvey scolded, her attention riveted on the dark-haired young man wrapped in a plush robe. Without preamble, Houdini dropped the robe. Heat flooded my cheeks; women and men gasped around the room. I’d never seen a man in his smallclothes, and Houdini was practically naked.
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Harvey said, then took a long pull of ice water. “It’s been a moment since I’ve seen a man in his underthings. Poor Mr. Harvey, Lord rest his soul. He—”
“Please, I beg of you, do not elaborate,” Thomas interrupted, giving her a look of pure dread. “Some things are better left to our imaginations. And even then we might not wish to go down that creative route.”
“Humph.” Mrs. Harvey picked up her fan, waving it steadily about. I’m sure it had nothing to do with being upset and everything to do with being once again riveted by the young man parading around in his smallclothes. He seemed to soak up the attention.
Liza, ever the daring assistant, kept the smile on her face, though I could see the strain. I hadn’t yet spoken to her to see how she was faring, interacting with Houdini after the love letter revelation, and would do so immediately following the show. If she made it through this act without letting on how upset she was, she might make it to New York without dunking him in the ocean yet.
“The clock, if you please!” Houdini’s voice boomed out with the command. The assistants rolled a massive timepiece a few feet from the milk can. His gaze strayed to Liza, then quickly moved on. “Now,” he addressed the audience, “I need a volunteer. Who will come up and inspect my prison for any defect?”
Thomas’s arm shot into the air. I kicked at him under the table but missed, judging from the way he waved his arm around. The escape artist passed over my friend in favor of a robust man of around forty-five years. The man banged a cane on the side of the can, the clang proving it was no fake. He did a thorough job of walking around, tapping each side of the milk can. He even lifted the lid, inspecting it for who knew what. Satisfied, he gave a curt nod, then returned to his table.
“As you have witnessed, there are no tricks involved,” Houdini called out, voice clear and loud. “I want you all to hold your breath and watch the seconds tick by.” He motioned toward the stopwatch. “Begin the count… now!”
Mephistopheles hit a button on the side of the clock, setting the second hand in motion. He’d never remained onstage to assist before, and I wondered if he was only here tonight to watch for anything amiss.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Everyone inhaled deeply, then held their breath for as long as they could. Most exhaled by thirty seconds.
Tick. Tick. Tick. A few more after forty. Almost all were dragging in breaths before a minute had passed.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Thomas’s cheeks remained puffed out, and he seemed no more distressed over the lack of oxygen than he did by the sight of the half-naked young man onstage. Houdini grinned when my friend finally released his breath.
“Now, I ask that you all hold your breath once more. But first…” He strode across the stage, completely unconcerned about the death trap lurking behind him. Without further discussion, he climbed into the milk can. Water sloshed over the sides, forcing his assistants to back up or stand in the growing puddle. “I wouldn’t feel right being called the King of Cuffs without my bracelets, now, would I? Liza, please bring my handcuffs.”
His use of proper manners brought on the ghost of a smile to Mephistopheles’s otherwise blank expression. He was a quick learner, something highly valued in this business.
Liza, smile still in place, stepped forward, cuffs in hand. At this the crowd turned indignant. Someone yelled out, “This is madness! No one wants to see a man drown. Where’s the fire act? Bring out the fortune-teller!”
Mephistopheles, still posted near the giant stopwatch, cocked his head. “If you’re afraid of death, you ought to leave now. Neither Houdini nor I can guarantee his survival. Smelling salts are available to any and all who may require them.”
“People have died! This is unacceptable.” The man shook his head at his table and stormed from the room. No one else protested the idea of witnessing a man possibly drown before their eyes. Which was unnerving. Any one of these passengers, eager for death, might be involved with the murders. Or become the next victim.
My gaze drifted back to my cousin, who was still smiling behind her mask. Angry though she might be with Houdini, if there was even a hint of this act going wrong, she wouldn’t be able to maintain her cool stance. I hoped.
Unease crawled along my thoughts. If anything were to go wrong, it would be easy to claim faulty equipment. However, would that be too quiet of a murder for a killer who enjoyed theatrics? Or would the thrill of taking out a legend in the making be enough of a draw?
Houdini held his arms up, waiting for the cuffs. Liza clapped them onto his wrists a bit too exuberantly, the sound near echoing in the quiet. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, but lifted the cuffs up proudly.
“These are regulation police handcuffs.” He tugged on them, proving how real they were. “Once I submerge myself underwater and my assistants have replaced the lid, I ask that you all hold your breath along with the clock.”
A long look passed between Houdini and Mephistopheles, and the ringmaster finally nodded. Despite logic telling me all would be well, my palms tingled when Houdini maneuvered himself into the vessel. Either for our benefit or his own, he took a large breath before submerging himself. Liza and Isabella were on the can in an instant, securing the lid in place. At the same moment the lid clanked down, Mephistopheles started the clock. It seemed they’d practiced quite well. This was one science experiment they could not get wrong. Not only for Houdini’s sake, but for the fate of the carnival.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Once more, I dragged in my breath along with the crowd, holding it until I convinced myself my eyes would burst from my skull if I didn’t release it.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
