10

After that he could not fall asleep again. He kept remembering her face swimming up before him, becoming more certain and beautiful the closer it came. That she had allowed him to kiss her was a blessing: it had not at all been like kissing Jenny Oliver or Diane Darling. Rose Armstrong was beyond his experience in a thousand incalculable ways. The unknown surrounded her, cast all of her words and gestures into relief - that yearning brooding uncertain beautiful face looming up before him, claiming him, not as much asking for trust as demanding it, had in some way been the essence of Shadowland. Certainly it was as unexpected as everything at Shadowland; as dreamlike, too, in its suddenness. And Rose Armstrong was much better at kissing than his earlier girlfriends. That, the sharp responsive physicality of her mouth, was anything but dreamlike. He lay in his narrow bed, wondering. What was she promising him? Del is just a little boy. He could not bear to think of Rose Armstrong in the company of Mr. Peet's brutes, but his mind perversely would not leave these pictures be: as soon as he closed his eyes, he saw Seed or Thorn pushing toward her, all belly and beard. Then he saw her as he had with Del, pulsing through the dark water.

After half an hour he threw back his sheets and got up. He felt impatient, constrained by the room. With nothing else to do, he decided to write to his mother. Sheets of paper and envelopes were just under the flap of the desk. Still in his underwear, he sat and wrote.

Dear Mom,

I miss you lots. I miss Dad too, just like he was still alive and pretty soon I could go home and see him again. I guess I'll feel like that for a long time.

Del and I arrived safely, but the train before ours had a bad wreck. This is the strangest place anybody could be. Del's uncle is such a good magician that he can really mess up your mind. He keeps saying that I could be a good magician too, but I don't want to be like him.

I want to come home. It's not just homesickness. Honest. If I can get us out of this place, could you arrange to be back home? I guess I won't be able to get a letter back from you for about two weeks, but could you please…

That was no good. He balled it up and threw it in the wastebasket.

Dear Mom,

I'll explain later, but Del and I have to get out of this house. Can you possibly cut your trip short and come back sooner than you planned? Send me a telegram. This is urgent. I'm not joking, and I'm not just homesick.

Love,

Tom

This he folded into an envelope, wrote the address of the London hotel where Rachel Flanagan was staying, printed 'airmail' and 'please forward' on it just in case, and put the envelope on top of the desk. He stared at it, knowing that it committed him to trying to get Del to leave Shadowland. Now he was truly the traitor the magician had said he was.

But he could be a magician without Coleman Collins, and so could Del. You didn't have to lock yourself up in a fortress and apprentice yourself to an alcoholic madman… These thoughts bounced against an area in himself which he did not wish to acknowledge, but which was there all the same; part of him was fascinated by Shadowland, and intrigued by the powers Coleman Collins might be able to find in him. You are exactly the right age… Two and a half months isn't long enough. This was still tempting: after seeing Collins at work, any career but that of magician seemed flat to him.

Tom dressed, knowing that he could not sleep. He put the envelope in his wallet, the wallet back in his hip pocket. For a time he paced around the austere room, knowing that there was something he had intended to do, something suggested by a comment made before Rose Armstrong had sent everything but herself out of his mind, but not remembering what it was.

He had wanted to look at something… That was as far as he got.

Tom flopped down in the chair - the chair where she had sat - and picked up his book. He willed himself into Nero Wolfe's round of the orchid room, the kitchen, and office, but read only ten pages before he gave up. That orderly, talkative adult world was not his. His stomach growled. He decided to go downstairs and see what was in the refrigerator. Collins had not forbidden him that.

He closed the door behind him and slipped down the hall. The magician's room was dark - what was it like in there, behind the swinging doors? As bleak as Tom's own room? Or would it look like Del's room at home, crowded with photographs and the apparatus of magic? He did not want to find out.

Down the stairs, around the corner in darkness into the long hall. Scattered ceiling lights dimly shone. This time he remembered to stop before the posters.

He was looking at one from the Gaiety Theater,' Dublin. A night of spectacle and enchantment, it said in ornate type. Halfway down the list of names Tom found herbie butter, the Amazing Mechanical Magician and Acrobat. Beneath that but in type of the same size was this line: Assisted by speckle john, master of black mystery. Beneath this, in slightly larger type: THRILL TO THEIR WIZARDRY, GASP AT THEIR OCCULT SKILLS. Far down the list of mainly Irish names Tom found' The Astounding Mr. Peet and the Wandering Boys-Music and Madness. Tom searched the ornate poster for a date and saw it near the top: 21 July, 1921.

The poster beside it was in French, and featured a drawing of a black-hatted magician emerging from a puff of smoke. Was that where Del had got the idea for the beginning of their own performance? monsieur herbie butter, l'orioinal. avec speckle john. This was dated 15 Mai, 1921.

Other posters were from London, Rome, Paris again, Bern, Florence. In some, Speckle John's name preceded Herbie Butter's. Mr. Peet and the Wandering Boys appeared on most of them. The dates of the performances spanned from 1919 to 1924. The last poster, from the Wood Green Empire in London, announced The Last Appearance on any Stage, by the Beloved Herbie Butter. Farewell Performance. Thrills, Surprises, and Frights Guaranteed. Here the illustration was of a smooth-faced young man in tails floating above an astonished audience, his arms out before him, his legs together like a man in the middle of a dive. Beneath the illustration was a line stating that Mr. Peet and the Wandering Boys would assist. With an appearance by the Collector. Feats of mentalism. Defiance of gravity. Fire. Ice. The astounding Collector! Invisibility! Wizardry Unparalleled-Feats never before attempted on the English Stage. A Magical Extravaganza. The date on the poster was 27 August, 1924.

Then someone was moving, a shape was coming from the living room out into the hall. Tom gasped and whirled around to face it.

The old woman, Elena, was glowering at him. In a flash, she had disappeared back into the living room.

'Elena!' Tom called. 'Please!' He ran down the hall and into the room. The woman was hovering by a couch, knotting her hands together before her. She looked very uneasy. Tom stopped running and held up his hands, palm out. 'Please,' he said. Her black eyes burrowed into him. 'Letter? Post office?'

She dropped her hands, but her face did not change. Tom pulled out his wallet and showed her the letter. 'Post office? Will you mail it for me?'

She glowered. Looked at the letter in his hands. 'Post office?'

'Si. Da. Yes. Please.'

Elena stabbed her forefinger toward the letter. 'Momma? You momma?'

He nodded. 'Please, Elena. Help me.'

'Is okay. Post office.' She snatched the envelope out of his hands and buried it somewhere in her apron. Then she went past him without another word.

So now it was settled. He had two weeks at the most before he and Del and Rose would have to leave Shadowland.