All the while the subtle whisper persisted, growing louder. It no longer sounded like it was coming from outside the window, but from inside me.
I couldn’t move.
Couldn’t breathe.
“Time for introductions,” Xavier called to me.
I lifted onto my toes, moving away from the window. The string of light stretched all the way from the moon to me. It was the most beautiful, magical, terrifying thing I ever saw. “Xavier . . .”
“Maggie, tell me after the show!” Xavier hissed.
Ignore it, I told myself. I had a job to do, and if I didn’t do it, I would go hungry tonight.
A few more steps away from the window, the moonbeam flickered off. But then, it wasn’t completely gone. I could still feel the cold burn of its light dead center in the palm of my hand.
Utterly confused, I stepped out from behind the curtain, singing the refrain I had sung so many times before.
“Hear me, hear me, weary travelers!”
The tavern’s drowning chatter dulled.
I walked upstage, making eye contact with several, but none near the prince. “Keep your lids from blinking, I warn! For sorry indeed will be he or she who misses a moment of the wonder of Xavier, the true Ambrosius!”
Xavier’s arrival onstage was met with sporadic clapping. “Thank you for your kind welcome.” He paced, as he always did, taking in the excitement level of the audience, which proved lackluster. He would have a difficult job tonight.
“I’ve heard tell that those in this village have never seen magic before.” He drew out a silver coin from inside his sleeve and held it up for all to see. “I’ve even heard that some here might not believe. Indulge me with your attention, I beg, and learn the truth.” He folded his hand and opened it again, the coin seemingly vanishing.
The children in front oohed in astonishment. A table of drunken men in the back grumbled.
“E-even I ca’ do dat,” one boasted.
Xavier would soon shut them up. He always started with simple. As I moved beside the prop table, I could feel the prince’s eyes on me. I risked a glance and he caught me. Smirking, he arched an irritating brow.
I scanned the patrons for soldiers. Sir Raleigh was supposed to be traveling with Jori. Sure enough, Raleigh’s sweaty, balding head emerged from the back. He had another soldier with him. They wove through the tables and sat on either side of the prince.
Raleigh’s lip lifted into a snarl as his eyes fell on the stage. My heart hammered. Run. I would, but now it would draw attention. I would have to wait until the show was over.
Xavier folded his hands together like a collapsing clamshell. When he opened them, he showed not one but two silver coins. This impressed. Making silver multiply was worth a rousing cheer. Then Xavier tossed them to the boasting drunk man in the back, silencing him for the rest of the show.
“A simple trick, a sleight of hand. Or was it? Argue as you will, but how about something that none can refute?” A few clapped. “Oh my. You’ll have to do better than that if you want the magic to work.”
The few children in the tavern stood up, slapping their hands together.
“Very well then. Maggie?”
Looking unimpressed, Prince Jori got up from his table. Raleigh and the soldier followed him. Perhaps they would leave. But the prince leaned his shoulder against a post in the middle of the room and continued to watch.
I set ceramic bowls on the table in order of smallest to largest. Xavier held each up, turning them upside down. “Empty. But for how long?”
Xavier handed me the smallest bowl. Prince Jori’s eyes shifted in my direction. Fear tightened its grip, numbing my hands. I felt the slick surface slip from my fingertips too late.
Xavier caught the bowl midair. “What’s wrong with you?” he muttered. He lifted the lip, making sure all could see the bowl empty, then cradled it in the crook of his arm. “I will now make sand appear from nothing!”
The room fell silent in expectation.
Xavier closed his eyes, mumbling in a language I never understood, and one I always suspected was little more than improvised gibberish.
He rotated the bowl while running his fingers along the edge so that, unseen by the audience, he could open a small compartment. And like that, sand poured into the bowl.
Still tricks. No real magic.
With deft agility, Xavier flipped the compartment closed at the same time he tilted the bowl. He showed off sand, turning in all directions to be sure everyone could see. “Yes! I, the great Xavier, the one true Ambrosius, turned air to sand, but only true magic would have me pouring mead from my fingertips.” His proclamation was met with a round of applause.
“That I’d pay to see!” a man called from the back.
Prince Jori pushed off the post, curious, and moved a little closer to the stage.
I spun, putting my back to him.
“Would you, now?” Xavier nudged me. “Maggie . . .”
I passed him a larger bowl, which he placed on the stage to catch the spill. “Then I suppose that will have to be the next feat, and I will hold you to your word.”
Xavier waved his free hand over the bowl, humming, repeating the mumblings. He tipped the bowl forward, allowing the sand to spill out. As it crested the lip, another unseen shaft opened beneath his well-placed hand. Mead poured through his cupped fingers and into the bowl below.
The audience stood from their seats, trying to get a good look at the magic. A mixture of laughter and applause began in the back with the table of besotted men and spread throughout the tavern.
Over the next twenty minutes, Xavier kept all engaged with dissolving rope knots, disappearing and reappearing flowers, and more. As he prepared to end the show with his final trick, he asked, “Have I convinced you all that magic really does exist?”
A fat sweaty man whistled, stumbling toward the stage. “That’s what I call a piece of magic.” He aimed his finger at me. “Come sit on my lap, lass. I’ll give you a lovely piece of gold for your trouble.”
“Remain in your seat,” Prince Jori growled.
Raleigh shoved the fat arse.
The man fell backward, into a chair.
Xavier picked up our jittery gray rabbit and lifted her out of her cage, clutching her tightly as she squirmed in protest at being held like a prop.
“A simple rabbit. But is it? Perhaps this is something else in disguise. . . .” Xavier returned her to the box, swiftly closing the lid.
Waiting to crawl out from behind the slat that divided the box into halves was a twitchy red squirrel. He started a nervous chirp. The damn squirrel hated being carted around in the box as much as I hated to have to keep him there, but if he ruined our show and I got no supper, he would be roasting over a spit tonight.
I snuck a comforting hand inside. The evil rascal bit me. I bit my lip, hiding my bleeding finger behind my back.
Xavier covered the box with a blanket. He waved his staff, jerking his head so the bones clacked, spewing an incantation.
As my bloody finger fumbled for the button to drop the slat, the drunken ass from the audience leaped up onstage.
He slurred, “Hello, lovely . . .”
The latch gave way. The squirrel exited at the same time he grabbed me, capturing my arms, lifting me off my feet. I kicked him as hard as I could. My heel collided with his knee at the perfect angle. It buckled and he fell forward, landing on top of me and the squirrel, crushing me under his immense weight.