The Illusionist Thief

 

The old man lit his cigarette and watched the smoke curl up toward the rafters. Out of the window, he could see the sun glancing off the bay and the few boats coming in to moor. The bar was nearly empty; he sat alone at his table.

            Just as the old man emptied the last of his pint, a young man by the name of Bryson came through the door. Excited and clumsy, he made his way over to the old man’s table.

            “Evening Mr. Alder, I was just--”, he struggled to get his arm out of his coat and finally managed to shake the other man’s hand, “--I was just coming by for a pint myself and I was hoping to see you here”. He signaled to the bartender for two more and sat down. Alder, knowing when he has been implored rather than simply asked, reseated himself and removed his hat once more. He caught the bartenders smirk in time to return a mock look of defeat. Alder had always been fond of Bryson, after all, he had been telling stories to him since the lad was just knee-high. Bryson’s appreciation was clear, he was always properly enthused by a happy ending, dismayed by the failure of a hero and good humored after every joke. Few young people seemed as interested in story telling anymore.

Coincidently, stories were what Alder did. He was a bard of sorts, collecting folk tales and person accounts, stories from lowly strangers to profiteers to kings. He wrote them down or simply kept them in his mind to be passed on, so that they might be remembered.

            Bryson took a long gulp of his lager and gazed out the window, remarking on how beautiful the bay looked, now red with setting sun. As a matter of courtesy and respect, Bryson never pressed Alder for a story but let them come in time, as all good stories will. He also never questioned the validity of the stories because, in fact, one was never sure if some of the most fantastical stories couldn’t be true, with all the wide wanderings the old man had taken in his days and with all the magnificent people with which he had acquainted himself. Alder was one of the last people on Earth to have seen magic first hand, and Bryson had been sure he had seen, in more than one illusive glance, that the old man carried some within himself, if only in a glance.

            “It was an evening very much like this one,” Alder began slowly, tracing the darkening horizon with his gaze, “that I first met one of my dearest friends, Dr. Fredrik Caul. He worked for many years in a children’s hospital in the East. In those days, many of the children were lost to diseases that we have treatments for today. Although it was often heartbreaking work, he kept at it year after year, using the smile of each brave child as a compass. He was a good doctor, kind-hearted, with an excellent sense of humor, and the children loved him in return

            “He told me once, as we sat talking (much like we’re sitting now), that one child stuck particularly in his mind, one whom he could never forget, yet one so miraculous he scarcely believed that she could have been at all”.

Alder chuckled at this and began to roll another cigarette from his tobacco pouch.

“When she came to the hospital, she was eight years old, thin and small. Her eyes were as green as the hills and they bore wisdom uncommon in children that age. The staff felt right away that she was quite different from the others. Upon her arrival, she was ushered in by two attendants, her face tired yet unafraid, diminished from years of sickness. She was dying of a congenital bone disease which left her spine and rib cage weakened. The condition was expected to prove fatal within the year”.

Bryson nodded, a contemplative frown had formed above his brow.

“Despite her fragility, she was a remarkably congenial girl. She never made a fuss about any tests they ran or the food or being placed in a room all by herself. Despite the fact--also--that she had arrived at the hospital all alone, with very little money, her parents no where to be found. The Doctor had questioned the girl and around town, no one knew or had heard of them. The only thing the little girl would say about the topic was, ‘they left because they had to’ and nothing more.

“You see, in those days, it was not uncommon for desperate parents to abandon their children in hospitals, hoping they would fare better in the custody of the state than they would in the meager, impoverished home from whence they came. So although it troubled the Doctor, he continued his quotidian duties and took special care of little Lilliana”.

“It did not take long for the staff to notice that there was something different about this little girl indeed. It started as whispers between the nurses, and traveled through the corridors until they reached the Doctor’s ears.

The staff would go in to give her more water, having seen her cup empty not moments before and, low and behold, the glass would be full again. Her pillows would be fluffed and blankets straightened. Flowers would appear on her bed stand when no one had paid her visit. Soon they were asking the Doctor if the parents had reappeared, in secret. He reassured them that they had not; he had questioned Lilliana himself and knew that she had not lied. Still, strange things occurred in her little room that could not be explained.

“The weeks passed by and Lilliana grew weaker and thinner, still she maintained a smile and kept her spirits high. Even in the absence of visitors she always seemed to have what she needed: toys, books, food and water; and although the staff was puzzled, they were simply glad to see her smiling face. Stranger things had been said to happen, and if they were for the benefit of a sick child, so be it”.

 

“One evening the Doctor visited her room to check in on her. It had been a busy week and he had not been able to have their daily chat which they both so much enjoyed. ‘How is the pain today, my dear? Holding on through thick and thin, eh?’

‘More thin than thick, sir’, she said holding up her tiny wrist and giggling. He held her hand and took her pulse,

‘Ah, true, can’t we get more food in you then, eh? Ice cream, perhaps?’

‘I have everything I need, sir, but thank you kindly. If I need it, I will have it in the blink of an eye’. There was her knowing smile, charming and unique. A diamond in the rough, he thought.

‘Yes, there has been some talk of this within the walls of my ward. You never need attending to and it’s rather putting out my staff’, he said jovially, poking her gently in the stomach.

‘It’s really quite simple’, she answered, letting her arms flop down beside her in pretend frustration. There upon she disclosed to the good Doctor her magnificent secret; one that would, in the end, change more the course of a life than just her own”.

Bryson stared intently, watching Alder and nibbling on the end of a coffee stirrer.

“Well?” he asked, “What was it then? What is it about the little girl?”

Alder chucked again, “That, my boy, is for me to know and you to find out-- after we get another pint”.

Bryson hopped up, nearly falling off his chair.

“No, no,” said the old man, slowly standing, “it’s my turn to get them. Sit, please”.

The young man sat and watched Alder shuffle, slowly and stiffly up to the bar. He had seen that old man move quick as a deer when he wanted to, when there was a chance to dance with a pretty young lady. Smiling, Bryson go the distinct feeling the old man loved making him wait for a story. “Patience.”, the old man often said, “What a good story needs is almost always patience”. The clever smile on Alders face as he carried back the glasses told Bryson, too, that he just liked giving the young man a bit of a hard time. All in good fun, of course.

 

“It was not long before the news of this miraculous child reached the darkest streets of the town,” Alder began once again, “and to one of the dingiest gambling halls specifically. Within sat one of the most infamous magicians in the region, still drunk on fine whiskey and the promise of winning at one more hand. Actually, to call him a true magician would be false; he was an illusionist, one with quick hands and an insatiable hunger for wealth and power. His shows always ended with a stunned and flabbergasted audience, while his pockets filled with money. Often the audience paid more than the cost of admission, but they never noticed the missing coin until they were already home. Although his tricks seemed, infallibly, like magic to the untrained eye, he constantly yearned for real power”.

            “So as he sat in the dismal hall, whispers between two men seated at the adjacent table reached his ears. He gulped the last of his glass, collected his due and stole out into the bustling street”.

 

            “Now despite the tenebrous cunning and greed within his heart and mind, this man was especially handsome and charming (which made pick-pocketing rich, young women that much easier). His face was wizened and his eyes sharp, his clothing neat and elegant. He had no trouble at all convincing the hospital staff to let him come in and perform tricks for the sick children”.

            “So perform he did, for three days he went from room to room exacting shows which left the young ones clapping and screaming and laughing, charming the hospital as a whole. Every day he listened and waited and searched, silently, for the little girl of whom he had heard.

            On the fourth day he was making his rounds when he heard the shriek of a woman from one of the rooms at the end of the wing. One of the nurses marched out mumbling to herself that ‘it wasn’t right…animals in the hospital…the Doctor needs to do something about her”, she caught his eyes and quickly looked away, turning down the hall. Next, he saw the Doctor entering the room from which the nurse had just come and he could be heard talking to a girl.

            Looking around, the illusionist cautiously made his way toward the room and peaked in. The Doctor and girl were chuckling and he heard her say, ‘I didn’t mean to frighten Miss Shila, and anyway Daisy would not, nor would want to, hurt a single fly. She’s a vegetarian’ another bout of soft laughter filled the room.

            He entered the room slowly, hands clasped behind his back, ‘Just thought I would stop in and make sure everything was alright,’ they both looked up. ‘Miss Shila seemed to have quite a fright’.

The Doctor’s gaze hardened, ‘Oh, Lilliana, this is Mr. Raskin he--’

Lilliana cut in excitedly, ‘he’s been performing magic for the kids- I know, I’ve heard all about it!’, she winced in pain and had to lay back. The doctor handed her a glass of water.

‘It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Lilliana’ said Raskin, bowing low and smiling. It was then that he noticed the snow-white ferret curled up in the little girls lap, ‘My my, that must be the creature what caused all the commotion’, he went to pet it, but rethought and withdrew his hand. He instead pulled out a beautiful rose, as if from thin air. Lilliana’s eyes widened with her grin, ‘so it’s true, you can do magic t--” the Doctor cleared his throat and said, watching Raskin, ‘perhaps you should sleep for a while Lily, you’ve had a hard day”.

‘No, no, I’m fine. I want to see more magic’. She took the rose from Raskin’s hand.

            A nurse then poked her head in and said the doctor was needed in his office. Getting up he looked at Raskin, ‘she’s been in a lot of pain today, don’t get her over excited”. When he reached the door he turned to Lilliana, ‘I’ll be close by if you need me’. Allowing for one last cavillous glance at Raskin, he disappeared out the door.

           

            Raskin performed his tricks as usual; making cards disappear and reappear, pulling a coin from behind her ear and the rest of it. He finally sat down in a chair and sighed,

            ‘You know, it can be strikingly lonely, this life. People always look at me as though I’m different, sometimes even as a freak of some kind. They don’t understand what I do’. He glanced up at Lilliana, noting her empathetic look. Her hand drifted up and lightly clasped a pendant which hung around her neck on a gold chain.

            ‘Children,’ he continued ‘they understand. They see that it is only for good that I use my gift. But the elders of this town, they look at me distrustfully. I just wish more people understood. Still, my magic isn’t even that strong. I have heard of greater magic elsewhere in the world. Maybe I will meet someone, someday, who will be able to show me”.

As he finished, he noticed the glass of water on the bedside table. It was filling up with water, completely on its own. Lilliana’s eye was trained on it. Two ice cubes formed and clinked in the glass, ‘Go ahead, it’s for you, sir’ she said nodding toward the glass.

            His hand shook as he reached for the glass; the water was cold and pure. ‘How? How could that be?’ He was careful to control the vehemence in his voice. Quickly he added, ‘that you--too-- should have this power, and so young?’

            She smiled and stroked the ferret’s head. It yawned and stretched, then began to clean its coat.

            ‘And that too’, he motioned to the ferret ‘you made that too, just like the water?’ His eyes were distant with disbelief.

            ‘M-hm’ she nodded, ‘I can make whatever my heart desires, if I need it. Anything in the world I want’. Her hand once again graced the pendant. It shined in the most beautiful white gold, the shape of Celtic knot work around a sapphire gem. It glimmered in the reflection of Raskin’s eyes.

‘Yes, I see, my dear. So you know how I feel’. He laughed and clapped his hands together; the vision of the piles of gold swam in the deep dwellings of his mind. It was so simple, it would be so easy.

As if reading his mind, Lilliana settled into her pillows and said, ‘It isn’t as simple as it seems, after all, some days are better than others’. Her eyes were growing heavy. ‘The best things are made when I need them the most’.

Raskin nodded, he understood now what needed to be done. He pulled the covers over her and left without a sound. ‘Tomorrow’, he thought. ‘Tomorrow will bring the opportune moment for which I must wait’ and wait he did.

 

The next day he strolled into the hospital much as any other day, performing his tricks and bestowing gifts upon the children. Soon, he would be a very rich man indeed.

After many of the children had settled down to bed, he made for Lilliana’s room. He found her playing a game of fetch with her pet.

‘Hello there, tired after a long day?’ She looked up and smiled in response, ‘A bit, but I was hoping to see one more magic trick before I went to sleep’.

He bowed low, ‘I would be happy to oblige’. He circled around her bed and raised his gloved hands, ‘Now watch them closely’. He waved them in front of her face and mumbled some vacuous incantation. He continued to wave his hands all about her head until suddenly snapping his hands forward in front of her face. A finch sat upon his finger looking at the little girl. She beamed and gasped at its beauty. Holding out her hand, it hopped onto her finger and up her arm, resting quietly on her shoulder. She laughed and rubbed its head.

‘It is a gift to you, may it keep you company on dark nights’. He reached out and stroked its head.

‘It’s beautiful, I’ll treasure it’

‘You’re very welcome, my dear. Now, you must rest’.

She settled down once more and closed her eyes, ‘It has been a long day, hasn’t it? I feel awfully weak’, she yawned.

‘And yet, it has been a fruitful one’ he whispered; but she was already fast asleep.

He turned; his hand tucked into his pocket clasping the necklace of untold power, and left the hospital without a word.

The little room was now quiet. The finch which had perched on the bed backboard took one last glance at the sleeping girl and flew out the window, into the night”.

 

“Safely hidden from sight, on the balcony outside his hotel room, Raskin removed the necklace from his pocket; it glinted menacingly in the moonlight. Holding it to his chest, he imagined a gold coin in his hand, but wished in vain. He thrust the chain around his neck and tried once more, still to no avail. Try as he may, not a single coin could he produce.

“For some time he stood, trying to discern what secret kept him from his quarry. As he looked toward the sky...suddenly, it came to him. He remembered something the little girl had said, ‘...anything I need...some days are better than others...’. That was it! He pulled out a pocket knife from his coat and slid the blade across his hand with a jerk. The dark blood oozed slowly from the wound and trailed down his palm. Wincing, he watched the first drop fall toward the ground. As it did so, he saw it slow and spread thin, changing while it fell until it drifted to a gentle stop on the floor. Raskin bent slowly and picked it up. Between his fingers he held a single red rose petal”.

 

The bay was now completely black, save for the moonshine which danced gracefully among the waves.  Alder looked at Bryson, who was frowning out over the water. “So, it was pain, then? The pain Lilliana suffered gave her the power, with the necklace, to create whatever she wanted with her mind?”

Alder nodded, also looking out over the water. Within the nearly empty bar, the only other sounds were those of glasses being washed and shelves restocked.

“But magic stolen from a child is not so easily wielded by its thief. You see, once the Illusionist Thief Raskin discovered the magic’s secret, he amassed the gold and jewels he had coveted for so long. Oh yes, he grew very rich. Pilfering some, hoarding most. He was eventually driven mad with greed and sickness, refusing to leave his treasures, lest they be stolen by some unseen hand. But for every desire, there was a price to pay. It began small, cuts here and there, blood payment, you might say. Soon, however, he realized that the greater and more awesome the treasure, the greater and more awesome the payment must be. He began cutting himself to pieces, bit by bit. Fingers, toes, ears, lips, teeth and pounds of flesh, all went. All spent for gold. One can only imagine what retched, disfigured creature now skulks between the piles of that glittering hoard. Never able to leave his hide, never again to be seen by the eyes of men”. Alders words were filled with bitterness, his eyes immersed in woe.

Bryson sighed, “So--so, how was it that Lilliana came to have the necklace in the first place?”

“Her loving parents, dear boy, had left it with her before they fled. It was said that they were being persecuted for witchcraft. They knew she was dying and would suffer more from fleeing with them than of waiting out her final days in a hospital. They gave it to her to protect her and to provide for her in their absence. They knew that as the disease progressed, the pain would become worse and worse, and that her need for the magic would become exceedingly great”.

“And Lilliana?” Bryson asked.

Alder shook his head, “She died. Not two days after the pendant was stolen from her”.

The two men were quiet for quite a while.

“There’s all kinds of magic in this world, isn’t there?” Bryson said finally. They both stood and put on their coats.

“Yes, my dear boy, and all kinds of men”.

The moon had moved a great distance across the sky and each star shone with it. Old and tired eyes, trained on a world they would never understand. Alder stood looking at them as Bryson tipped his hat, “Thanks again Mr. Alder. See you on down the line”.

“Of course, my lad, of course”. He walked silently away, down the darkened road.

 

Author's Note

Please let me know what you think. I'm practicing using different voices and I know it needs a lot of work.

Reviews

[Katherine S.]

I loved this story! First off, I like the way you formatted this, most people don't use indentation like they should. And I like the font size, makes it easier to read without straining the eyes. And I loved the way this was written, the imagery is great and it's a good plot idea. I really don't have any criticism on this, the only thing I could suggest for future writings is to maybe have more action scenes, that usually sucks the reader into the story more. But I certainly didn't find this dull, I was pretty engrossed throughout the whole story. Great write! :)