The Magician

The audience sat in silence, watching the dark stage. They sat waiting, both excited and nervous with anticipation. Just then, a spotlight appeared in the centre of the stage. In the spotlight, was a man. He looked out into the sea of a thousand faces. He wore a black suit with a jacket that had a silver lining, and a red bow tie. He had black hair, and a thin moustache. He wasn't a very tall
man, but he had a presence about him. He bowed slightly and walked a few feet to the side. The curtains were opened as six bright stage lights were suddenly switched on. They burned into the centre of the stage. There in the midst of the lights, stood a large steel box, it was silver, and just wide enough for a man to stand in, with twelve inch thick walls. It stood eight feet tall, and it was welded together, not riveted. Two assistants walked briskly onto the stage. They, with difficulty, slowly opened the door. This, as many people would think, was not theatrics. The man now joined his assistants. He stood next to the open box. He gestered to it. The two assistants, again with great difficulty, turned the box around until it faced the audience once again. The box was, of course, positioned on a turn table for ease. Once the box came to rest, the man gestured towards the ceiling of the stage. A nozzle attatched to a pipe was lowered down to the stage from the roof of the hall. The man grasped it, and lightly sprayed the audience with water. Then he handed the nozzle to one of his assistants. He gestured once more to the box. Then he entered it. Once inside, he turned to face his audience. He raised his ungloved hands in front of him, his palms facing away from him. He took a few deep breaths. Then he nodded. The assistants closed
the door, and locked it. It was then that the audience noticed all of the locks. All fifteen of them. Superfluous? Maybe. But all served to divert attention away from the truth. One of the assistants climbed on top of the box, by means of a ladder. The assistant on the ground passed the nozzle to the one on top of the box. He gave one more squirt of water, before attatching it to the hole in the box. Once the nozzle was secure. He glanced at the assistant on the floor, as if to say, "Are you sure about this?" His partner nodded back, as if to say, "No. But the man inside the box is." The assistant on top of the box, grasped the nozzle. He checked his watch, and as the new minute started, he squeezed trigger.

The audience began to murmer. "Whats going on here?" said a man. 'Is he sure about this?" said another. Once the box was full, the assistant let go of the nozzle, though he did not remove it from the box. He climbed down the ladder. The assistants moved quickly now. They positioned themselves on either side of the box and gestured towards it. They waited in this pose. One minute went by. Then another... and another... and another. Five minutes later, one of the assistants checked his watch. Surely no man could hold his breath for five minutes. The audience had been antsy for the past few minutes. But now the assistants started to get nervous. The
assistant on the left glanced at the one on the right who nodded quickly. The man on the left fished out his keys. As he approached the door of the box, he dropped his keys. This caused a few gasps from the audience. The other assistant, rushed to help him. The first assistant grabbed the keys from the ground, and started on the locks. But his haste only caused him more anxiety. He fumbled as he attempted to open the first lock. The second assistant put his hand the the first's shoulder. "Relax!." he whispered loudly. The first assistant took a deep breath and opened the first lock. He moved on to the second, then the third, then the forth. The second assistant
checked his watch. It was taking too long. Finally they reached the last lock. He slid the key into the lock. Just then, the assistant heard a long gasp for air. Ten minutes had past. Was it really possible? From behind the box emerged a dripping and tired man. His thin moustache a little droopy now. He walked, almost gingerly to the centre of the stage. The hall was now in absolute silence. The man smiled, and gestured towards the steel box. The assistant turned the key, and removed the last lock. Then he and the other assistant, moved to the sides of the box. He unlatched the door of the box, and the water forced it open. The water rushed towards the audience, but was caught by a gutter that had been installed prior to the show. The man, his bow tie a little skew now, stood in silence. He bowed gently. The auditorium erupted in applause, so loud, the windows shuddered. The man received a standing ovation.

* * *

Simon Hargreaves closed the door of his changeroom behind him as he walked out. He wore a pair of jeans and a maroon golf shirt. He also wore a pair of glasses now. On stage he wore contact lenses. He did this to make himself less identifiable. He had learned a long time ago to seperate his work life from his social life. Simon took the elevator down to the lobby, where walked to the bar. This was a ritual for him. Every night that he worked, he would have one whiskey.

Simon sat down at the bar. "Hi Larry." he said to the man behind the bar.
"How was the show?" asked Larry.
"Went well. The steel box took a bit longer than usual."
"Rusty hinges?"
Simon smiled. "Something like that."
"No ice left, I'm afraid." said Larry.
"No matter. I'll just take it straight, tonight.
Larry set a whiskey in front of Simon.
"Thanks." said Simon, as he took a sip.
"I'll pay for that." said a voice behind him.
The tall man sat down next to Simon at the bar. He wore a suit.
"It was a very good show." said the man
"Thank you." said Simon.
"I was particurlarly intrigued by the steel box trick."
"Look, its a trade secret. I'm sorry, but I really can't say any more. You understand."
"Oh, thats not why I'm here. I already know how its done."
Simon smiled.
"No you don't."
"Oh, but I do."
"No. See, you think you do. Heck, you may even be able to perform a similar trick. But you won't be able to perform an identical version."
"I didn't say I could perform it. I'm not a performer. A good seventy five percent of the trick is stage performance. You've got charisma, and stage charm. You are naturally good at working an audience. You are the best magician I've ever seen."
Simon smiled and took another sip of his whiskey.
"If you don't mind waiting till I've finished my drink, I'll sign an autograph for you."
"Mr. Hargreaves, I'm here for business."
"Okay, I'd encourage you to speak to Frank Greenwell. He's..."
"...Your manager. I know." interrupted the man, "The thing is, I'm not here for Frank. I'm here for you."
Simon looked around the bar. Only five or six patrons, were scattered around, and the music from the jukebox sufficiently drowned out any soft spoken conversation. He turned to Larry.
"Larry, could you get me some ice?"
Larry, confused, stared at Simon.
"From the kitchen, Larry." said Simon
"Ah." said Larry, catching on. He disappeared into the kitchen.
"You're here for me?" said Simon
"Yes you. Look, enough of the pleasantries. I'm going to cut to the point."
"Suits me."
"We know that your Steel Box Escape, isn't actually a trick."
"For a second there I thought you were actually being serious." said Simon with a raised eyebrow.
"One of the people I work with is a Simon Hargreaves fanatic."
"I'll send him a signed photograph."
"He got curious one day, and used some of our resources to try learn your secrets. The majority of your tricks are actually quite simple."
"Simple in theory. They still all take practise. And, by the way, its for that reason, that they're secrets."
"True. Anyway, what he was really curious about... the one secret he absolutly had to know, was your Steel Box Escape."
"I see."
"He managed to get a very close look at your box. He spent two hours examining every centimetre of it, but he just couldn't figure it out. No trap doors, no gimmick hinges, nothing. And anyway, how would you keep the water in, while getting yourself out."
Simon smiled. He already knew the man couldn't have found anything. But he enjoyed the feeling of superior knowledge.
"So, he took it a step further. He installed micro cameras on stage. Fourteen of them."
"What??"
"When he reviewed the tapes later that night, he found something very interesting. Something that he brought to us. Something that we could use to our advantage."
"I don't know what you're talking about." said Simon nervously.
"We want you to come in for... an interview."
"Firstly, whose we? and secondly, who are you?" said Simon with a bit more confidence.
"Thats on a need to know basis."
"Is this a joke?"
"We've got a video tape showing you literally melting through a steel wall. You want me to show it to you?"
"Keep your voice down. There're some things, the world are better off not knowing." said Simon, "Do I even get a choice in the matter."
"Let me put it to you this way. I am well within my rights to use force. Now, its your choice. I can drag you out of here by your feet. You'll be plastered on the front page of every major newspaper. 'The Great Simon Hargreaves Kidnapped'. said the man, as he gestured with his fingers. "Or, we can both walk out to my car calmly."
Simon flashed a grin, "My kidnapping would only boost my fame, and hasten the search for me." he said.
"I happen to have one more card in my hand. If you somehow escape me, the news might recieve a certain video from an unknown source. Its your call."

Simon, realising the futility of his situation, drank down the last of his whiskey and slowly rose from his chair. The man rose from his chair, fished some cash out of his wallet and placed it on the counter.

They left the bar.