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The Clockwork Conjuror: Chapter 6

The backstage room was small, gloomy and had an odour that somehow suggested damp, mould and tears. The Clockwork Conjuror sat in front of a mirror, whistling a melody that had no apparent key and scraping face paint off by the trowel-load. There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said cheerily.

The door opened and Sir John and Marie walked in. 

“Oh hello,” said the Conjuror, looking a little surprised. “You made it to the show then?”

“Mr… Conjuror,” said Sir John, “you haven’t been entirely honest with us, have you?”

The Conjuror dropped his head a little.

“Well I may have exaggerated ticket sales a little,” he said.

“No,” said Sir John, “I mean about your… troupe.”

He gestured at the puppets and noticed that all their heads were turned to stare at Marie. He couldn’t remember if they had been like that when he came in.

“I’m not sure I follow you,” said the Conjuror, nervously.

“Boss,” said one of the puppets,” I think the jig is up. That dame there, she has some hocus-pocus stuff.”

“She is a witch!” said Sir John, proudly.

“She seems perfectly nice to me,” said the Conjuror, taken aback. “Nice to meet you, by the way!”

“Enchante,” said Marie. “Maybe you explain about this jig.”

The Conjuror sighed and began his tale.

“Well, truth be told, as well as being a mediocre magician, unfunny comedian and tuneless troubadour, seems I’m not a very successful puppeteer either. Of course, I figure this out after I’ve spent all my savings on a fine set of puppets. So, desperate and at rock bottom, I do something rash.”

Sir John looked around and tried to imagine what rock bottom would look like for the Conjuror.

“Go on,” said Marie, not unkindly.

“You know that magicians are supposed to summon spirits. Well of course, that’s just a story to sell the magic. Or so I thought. I wondered if there was some truth in the tale. So I went looking and I found it: A grimmer.”

“Grimoire?” said Sir John.

“Exactly,” said the conjuror. “So I arrange all these puppets in a circle, and I follow the instructions, and, lo and behold, they speak, they are alive.”

Sir John inhaled sharply.

“So these are… puppets possessed by… spirits?” he said.

“Not exactly,” said the puppet that had spoken before. “See, the same time the boss is doing his thing, we’re all sitting on a girder, high in the sky, eating lunch.”

“In… heaven?” said Sir John.

“Park Row Building, New York. We’re a construction crew, see? Well we were. Turns out that girder wasn’t attached so well. We all fell down. I can still recall it, seeing the ground rushing toward me, my life passing in front of me and then… BAM. We wake up in Birmingham, England.”

“Good God!” said Sir John.

“It makes sense mon cher,” said Marie. “It’s like you say about electricity, it takes the lazy path. Magic is the same. Why bother fetching spirits from the otherworld when you have 23 souls already here.”

“So here we are,” said the puppet. “We may be small puppets that are dead inside, but hey, we’re in showbusiness!”

“Ta-da!’ said the puppets at once.

Lunch atop a Skyscraper

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The Clockwork Conjuror: Chapter 5

Sir John and Marie settled into their seats in the nearly empty theatre. Seated next to them was a man coughing intermittently and a young man with a paper bag of sweets, that rustled loudly. Sir John kept glancing at them.

“Been a while since we went to the theatre,” he said. “When was the last time?”

Marie pulled a moue and looked away.

“Wait, was it when we were in Manchester?” said Sir John. “When that man had a funny turn?”

He looked at his wife who had a tear running down her face.

“That was me,” she said.

“Oh,” said Sir John, “Oh. Oh. Well at least tonight should be free of anything supernatural, just a good old fashioned puppet show.”

He glanced around guiltily to check no-one had heard.

“Nearly let the cat out the bag,” he whispered to Marie.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” said an invisible announcer, “I present to you… the Clockwork Conjuror and his Amazing Automatons.”

There was a smatter of applause in the theatre as the lights dimmed. The Conjuror walked out on stage, followed by a troupe of 23 automata.

“Good evening everybody,” he said, “and welcome to the show.” 

There was an attempt to disguise his rich west midlands accent, but it was the elocutional equivalent of a small fake moustache. The show then commenced with the automata making a series of elaborate tricks. Sir John looked moderately amused but Marie was rapt.

“Seems a bit obvious when you know how it’s done,” Sir John whispered to Marie.

“Where are the strings?” said Marie.

Sir John looked puzzled. 

“Well.. maybe they’re on sticks” said Sir John.

“Then where are the sticks?” said Marie. “Something is strange here.”

“Well we are quite a way from the stage and I imagine they do a good job disguising it,” said Sir John, as a duo of automata jumped through a hoop. “A very good job.”

Marie turned away from the show for the first time and pushed her face close to her husband.

“Something is amiss here, I can feel… I can feel something magical,” she said.

“Are you sure?,” said Sir John.

By way of answer Marie took off her pendant and let it dangle. It rotated gently for a moment until she half closed her eyes. Then the pendant shot horizontal, pointing toward the stage. It spun about wildly in all directions pointing to the whole of the stage.

“Good Lord,” said Sir John. “What is that? Did you learn that in France?”

“No, I taught myself,” said Marie. “I used it before, when… never mind. It detects magical force. And it’s all over the stage.”

“Are you sure?” said Sir John, looking perturbed at the pendant.

“That’s a good trick miss,” said the man with the sweets.

Marie shot him a look and gathered up the pendant. She turned closely to her husband again.

“Those aren’t puppets,” said Marie, “they are magical beings.”

“Well then,” Sir John said, swallowing hard, “we’d better pay the Conjuror another call.”

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The Clockwork Conjuror: Chapter 4

The room was gloomy with decoration so tired it was practically snoring. In the centre was a middle aged man with a paunch, receding hair and the look of one who had seen too many late nights and not enough early mornings. At least not from the right direction. He was dressed in a garish costume which had food stains and was engrossed in a book on stage magic. Around him were various puppets or toys that looked mechanical in nature..

Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

“Open up, this is the police!” said Detective Symonds.

The man jumped up, looked shocked and cast his eyes around the gloomy room. He shrugged, went to the door and opened it. Behind it stood Detective Symonds and Sir John Jennings.

“Are you the… Amazing Clockwork Conjuror, Master Magician of Devices,” said Detective Symonds, reading from a flyer.

“Oi am” said the Conjuror, in a strong Black Country accent.

Detective Symonds looked puzzled at the man and then looked at the flyer and the man in quick succession.

“Artistic loiciense,” said the Conjuror. “Do come in and make yo’self at home.”

The two men came in, looked at what passed for furniture and remained standing.

“We wish to speak to you about a disappearance,” said Sir John.

“Which one?” said the Conjuror.

“You mean… you’re aware of more than one disappearance?” said Sir John aghast.

“Of course, I make two or three people disappear every night,” said the Conjuror.

“Arrest this man!” said Sir John to Detective Symonds.

“I believe,” said Detective Symonds, “that Mr… that the gentleman… is referring to disappearances as part of his stage act.”

“Of course,” said the Conjuror. “What do you mean?”

“A… man has gone missing,” said Detective Symonds. “We believe one of his last social engagements was at one of your performances.”

“Well a lot of people come to my shows,” said the Conjuror. “Sometimes.”

“His name is Phlebotomous Bosch,” said Sir John.

“Oh, him!” said the Conjuror. “Yes he wrote to me to say he was coming, but I never saw him.”

“Do you have the letter,” said Detective Symonds.

“It will be in the fan mail,” said the Conjuror, looking into a nearly empty box. He produced a letter and handed it to Detective Symonds, who read it with a confused look on his face.

“I was quite glad that I didn’t see him to be honest,” said the Conjuror. “I would have had to confess my secret and I think he would have been disappointed.”

“Your secret?” said Sir John.

“Yes,” said the Conjuror, “that these aren’t really mechanical devices, just puppets. I’m not really a technical wizard. In fact I’m not even that great a magician. But put together a bit of a magic show with some ventriloquy, give it a mechanical flavour and throw in a few jokes, and voila, the crowds come flocking. Eventually.”

“This looks like a red herring,” said Detective Symonds. “We’ll need to work back from the theatre.”

“Talking of which,” said the Conjuror. “Do accept these complimentary tickets to the show. There are only a few left, so these are like goldust.” He picked up another box filled with slips of paper and handed two to each man.

“Well, thank you for your time,” said Sir John and the two men left.

After he shut the door, the Conjuror sat back in his chair and sighed. One of the heads of the puppets began to turn to face him.

“I don’t like the sound of this boss,” said the puppet to the conjuror, with a strong Brooklyn accent.

“Me neither,” said another. “I smell trouble brewing.”

A Wonderful Book on Stage Magic

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The Clockwork Conjuror: Chapter 2

Sir John and Marie were sitting in the drawing room of their Southampton Row house. Marie was busy with her crochet and Sir John was simultaneously reading the newspaper and eating biscuits. A series of grumbling sounds and appreciative mutterings were issuing from him depending on the activity.

“It really is too much,” he said, putting down the paper.

“What is?” said Marie.

“That whole business,” he said, waving a hand vaguely at the paper. 

He turned to look at the plate of biscuits, now empty.

“We go through those rather quickly don’t we?” he chuckled. “I’ll ring for some tea, there might be more.”

Marie smiled to herself and then at the maid as she entered the room.

“Here is some tea and I brought you some more biscuits,” said Miss Henderson.

“That was rather quick,” said Sir John. “You must be a mentalist.”

“I can assure you my mental facilities are in full working order,” she said, looking a little put out. “By the way, do you know when Mr Bosch might be calling? Only that ironing device he gave me is playing up a bit. Well, a bit more than usual. A lot more in fact.”

“I…he’s… well isn’t he here?” said Sir John. “It seems like he usually is.”

“I don’t think I have seen him for a few days,” said Marie.

“Well, if you do see him, please kindly send him downstairs,” said Miss Henderson. “On a not unrelated topic, I’m afraid I’ve had to send that skirt with the lace trim to the repairer Mrs Jennings. There is a small mark on the waistband and the lace is completely destroyed. As is much of the skirt”

“Oh dear,” said Marie. “Yes, we’ll definitely send Mr Bosch to you when we see him.”

“And finally, here is the post,” said Miss Henderson, handing a few envelopes on a silver tray.

“Thank you Miss Henderson,” said Sir John and began attacking the post and the biscuits with equal vigour.

“Oh here’s one from Osvold,” said Sir John. “That’s rare, I wonder what he wants.”

Sir John opened the letter and a frown crossed his face as a biscuit was inserted into his mouth.

“Hur-rur-rur fur-rur  hur-rur,” said SIr John through the biscuit.

Marie looked puzzled and so Sir John handed her the letter.

“Oh, he hasn’t heard from Mr Bosch either,” said Marie. “And he usually gets a telegram every day.”

“I shall call Mr Bosch on the telephonic device” said Sir John. “This is one mystery we can solve easily.”

Sir John picked up the telephone and called. There was a pause whilst it rang then it was picked up.

“Ah here he is,” said Sir John. “Hello Phleb… What do you mean you’re not there, I’m talking to you. Stop, slow down man you’re not listening to me. What do you mean ‘leave a message’? Phlebotomous? Phlebotomous?”

The telephone made a high pitched tone. Sir John put it down, looking at it suspiciously.

“Something is seriously amiss,” he said. “I shall go at once.”

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The Clockwork Conjuror: Chapter 1

Dear Mr Clockwork Conjuror

Before I begin this letter I should probably clear up how to address you. Debretts was unable to tell me the correct format for addressing a conjuror and I wasn’t sure if conjuror was an honorific. As it is the second word in your name I guessed not and then realised that I didn’t know whether you were a Mr, a Dr or even a Rev. Having checked Hansard I have established you are not an MP which at least rules out Rt Hon. I wondered if maybe I should even address you as The Clockwork Conjuror, but that seemed strange to use as a greeting. So In the end I settled for Mr. If indeed you are a medical doctor, a holder of a PhD or a minister, I apologise in advance.

So, having established that point, I now will turn to the main part of my letter. I am writing to tell you that I am very much looking forward to your upcoming show at the London Palladium. I have booked 4 tickets, one for me and two either side so nobody puts their elbows on my seat and also the one in front so a lady with a large hat won’t spoil my view. I am rather short and I have had this problem in the past. I once watched an entire performance of Giselle through an oversized ostrich feather. The problem was magnified as I have allergies to large flightless birds. And also many birds that can fly.

Anyway, what I really wanted to say was that I was hoping that after the show we may meet up and talk about your technical achievements. I am an inventor myself and so the chance to not just witness a performance of twenty three automata, but to converse with the genius that created them, is one I don’t want to miss. I mean you of course when I mean the genius as I have assumed you have built them. If not and someone else has built them and they are also at the show, it would be nice to see them. Of course it would be nice to see you too as you could talk about how you operate the automata on stage. Again, unless there is a third person that does that. In which case, meeting all, or some, of you if you are not busy would be wonderful.

Anyway, I will be at your show on October the 18th and hope we can talk about the automata.

Best Regards

Phlebotomous Bosch

PS As I mentioned I am an inventor myself. If you are agreeable I can bring a small portfolio of some of my diverse inventions. Perhaps you may even find something useful for your show! Although I have to tell you now that I would be unable to accompany you on any tours as I have unusual sleeping arrangements and an aversion to overly starched hotel sheets. But nevertheless I could perhaps create a set of instructions to help you fully utilise any device you wished to have in your show. I am also unable to offer guarantees of safety at the request of my lawyer (made shortly before his untimely demise).