The Magicians Read online

  She seemed to be in her early twenties, which gave her almost a decade on me. The other women didn't look much older, it was true, but there was a maturity to them that showed in the way they stood or moved, and a youthfulness in her that revealed itself in a grin and a girlish slouch. She knew she was being inspected, and she didn't care.

  She laughed again. It was a pleasing, girlish sound; it wouldn't flutter any pulses, but it made me want to laugh with her. “Have a program, Gabriel."

  She handed me a booklet from a stack beside her. I took it, wondering if her eyesight was unusually good. It would have to be to read my name card. I still had it in my hand. But maybe she had heard the doorkeeper.

  I leaned forward to read the name on the card attached to the pleasing slope of her white knit dress.

  “Call me ARIEL,” it said, “or pay me five dollars."

  “Ariel?” I said. “Where's Prospero?"

  “He's dead,” she said simply.

  “Oh,” I said. That was the trouble with being an uninitiate in a private gathering. You couldn't say anything for fear of saying the wrong thing. “Thanks for the program, Ariel. And the support."

  “Any time,” she said. Her blue eyes seemed to say, in a pleasant way, that the words weren't meaningless courtesy.

  I started to turn away, pulled by a sense of duty, but a large, jovial man with white hair stood in my way.

  “Ariel,” he said over my head. “It was sad news about your father. The society won't seem the same."

  She murmured something while I glanced at the card on the broad chest in front of me. It demanded that it be called Sammael.

  “It's a disgrace that he's got you here passing out programs like a neophyte,” Sammael said. “You should be up on the platform with the other dignitaries."

  “Nonsense,” she said. “I am a neophyte. In spite of what my father was, I'm just an apprentice. Anyway, I volunteered."

  “Tut-tut,” he said. I listened with fascination, trapped between them without a graceful way to escape. I didn't think anybody said “tut-tut” anymore. “You're an adept if there ever was one. I'd match you against any of them. But I've been out of touch for several months. My own career has arrived at a new crisis point, and I had difficulty getting away even for these two days. But I couldn't miss one of our annual meetings."

  “Many of the members have said the same thing to me,” Ariel said, “but like you they couldn't stay away. Everything seems to be coming to a focus."

  I noticed that she didn't ask about his career, whatever it was. She avoided it as if to ask would be a serious breach of etiquette. “Excuse me,” I said, trying to squeeze out from between them.

  “Sammael,” Ariel said, “this is Gabriel."

  The large red face swiveled to inspect me. Blue eyes weighed me; they were ordinary blue eyes, but there was something a little wrong with them, as if they were perfect imitations made out of glass so that they caught the light wrong. “Gabriel, eh? I've heard fine things about you. Great things are expected. Great things indeed."

  He'd heard about me? “You haven't heard anything until you've heard me blow my trumpet."

  “Exactly,” he said. “We're all waiting for that.” He turned his blue eyes back on Ariel. “I've been so out of touch, my dear, I haven't even heard how your father died."

  “Oh,” she said slowly, as if measuring the impact of every word, “he just seemed to waste away."

  “Waste away!” Sammael said. The words had connotations that bleached the red face. “Oh, dear. Wasted? Oh, my!” He was backing away as if Ariel had just announced that she was a carrier of the plague. “Very sad. Very sad indeed. Ah well, we all must go. But wasted! Good-bye, my dear. And—” He had been about to say “good luck,” I thought, but he had reconsidered and turned away.

  I looked at Ariel. She was staring regretfully after the rapidly disappearing white hair. “That's what always happens,” she said, “but I had hopes for Sammael."

  Just then I saw my man come through a small door beside the backdrop at the far end of the room. He ascended the three steps to the platform and began to converse with another man who had been waiting there. “Who's that?” I asked before I thought, touching her arm. It was a dumb thing to do; if I was a member of the society I should know the others.

  “I wish I knew,” Ariel said.

  “He's a stranger?” I asked, surprised.

  “Of course not."

  “Then who is he?"

  “He's the Magus."

  “The Magus?"

  “That's what we call the president of our society,” she said.

  “But what's his name?"

  “He calls himself Solomon."

  “Or pays five dollars. I know.” I sighed and turned away. I would have enjoyed Ariel's company in other circumstances, but I had responsibilities. “See you around, Ariel."

  “Good luck!” she called after me.

  The seats had begun to fill up, but the back row was still empty. I wandered over and sat down. Overhead the crystal chandeliers tinkled their eternal music. In spite of the fact that I couldn't feel a breeze.

  Good luck! Ariel had said. I needed it. I wasn't handling this assignment in a professional manner. Of course this wasn't an ordinary assignment; every question got the wrong answer. But I was blundering along, giving myself away every chance I got. The girl now—she knew I didn't belong. I'd told her as much several times. But she didn't seem to care. How many others knew?

  Good luck? Funny thing: suddenly I felt lucky.

  It had all seemed too simple at first. Here's a thousand bucks. All you have to do is find out a man's name.

  A name, a name. What's in a name? Gabriel, Ariel, Prospero, Sammael, La Voisin (How did a name like that slip in among the others?), and now Solomon the Magus. I should have told the old lady that. I should have said, “What's in a name?"

  Chapter 2

  The gates of hell are open, night and day;

  Smooth the descent, and easy is the way.

  - Virgil, Aeneid

  I sat there alone in the office for a long time, talking to myself. I'd got in the habit of doing that. It was a bad habit, all right, but there was nobody else to talk to, and it was better than listening to the spiders spinning their webs in the corners and across the door.

  The office was small and dark. Just big enough for me and a desk and a filing cabinet with one drawer half full of old file folders and a nearly empty bottle of bourbon. And a chair, now dusty, for prospective clients. Another office, a bit bigger, was on the other side of the right wall. Outside was a water cooler, empty, and a desk for a receptionist and typist, unoccupied. Even the typewriter was gone.

  The light that came through the dusty window behind me was that peculiar kind of late October sunlight, pale and a bit spooky, like the sunset over a pumpkin patch, and I sat there, haloed by it, flipping a quarter over and over. It was my last quarter, and I kept telling myself that if it turned up heads I would walk out of the office for the last time and go down and spend the quarter for a cup of coffee and then go to my apartment, get drunk, and tomorrow start looking for some honest work.

  But no matter how many times I flipped the quarter, it always came up tails. Finally I let it lie there on the blotter.

  Casey, you're a dope.

  “You're telling me."

  Private detective! Public sucker! You have as much backbone as a jellyfish. You can be talked into anything.

  “Don't repeat yourself."

  Why waste your life teaching? Start living! Get where the money is! Excitement! Glamour! All you need is a little capital and you can be in business for yourself. Junior partner! Junior moron!

  “I know. I know. What can I say? The trouble is: Suzie agreed with him."

  He's gone. She's gone. The money's gone. None of them are coming back. It's time you put it behind you. Get out of here. Get a job. Start teaching again.

  “Where am I going to get a job in the middle of the semest
er?"

  Get a job, then, where you don't need brains. Because you haven't got any.

  I was very hard on myself, and a great second-guesser. But I had good reasons. I stared down at the quarter and thought about a bank account that had been cleaned out and a partner who was in South America or South Africa or South Dakota, and a girl friend who had disappeared at the same time, without a note, without a word, and there was no reason to connect them all together except for the timing but I did. And when I glanced up the little old gray-haired lady was looking lost in the big dusty chair reserved for prospective clients. It was the one respectable piece of furniture in the office except for the desk, and that was somewhat marred by heel marks. The chair, of course, was due to be repossessed any day now.

  I must have looked startled. I didn't know how she had got there without my hearing her come in.

  “I knocked but you didn't seem to notice,” she said.

  I doubted that. “What can I do for you?” I asked.

  Her faded blue eyes twinkled. You read that a lot, but I had never before seen it happen. I wondered how she did it.

  “Before we talk business,” she said, “I think I ought to know a little about you.” Her face was crackled like old parchment and concerned and kind. An odor of lavender reached me.

  I resisted her charm. “I'm a private detective, lady. You get references from butlers."

  “At least you don't get any sass,” she said. “This is important to me. I just want to ask a few questions."

  I sighed. “Okay, lady, ask."

  “What did you do before you were a private detective?"

  “All private detectives were on the police force,” I said. “You learn that from all the detective novels."

  “But not you,” she said.

  I shrugged. “I taught school. High school."

  “What did you teach?"

  “English, mostly, but I was versatile. I substituted in history and math."

  “What kind of math?"

  “Algebra, mostly. Occasionally a bit of calculus for the college-bound group.” I stopped. I was talking too much. “What is this? What has all this to do with whatever it is you want me to do?"

  She smiled at me. “Just a few more questions,” she said gently. “It's important to me."

  I sighed again and flipped the quarter. It came down tails once more. “Okay,” I said. “I'm not going anywhere."

  “Why did you leave teaching to become a private detective?” she asked.

  “Have you noticed what they're paying teachers these days?” I asked. “Besides, I had a girl friend.” I listened to myself with horror. I certainly hadn't meant to talk about Suzie.

  “What made you think you could be a successful detective?” she asked.

  “You haven't been around any high schools lately,” I said. “Actually, I was talked into it. I'm not very good at it, as you can see.” I was babbling, and I couldn't seem to help myself. It was as if I was trying not to be hired by this strange old lady.

  She nodded, apparently satisfied, and changed the subject. “Do you have any family?"

  I shook my head. “I'm all alone in the world."

  “Me, too,” she said.

  I stared at her. Why shouldn't an old lady be all alone in the world?

  “We have something in common,” she said quickly.

  “Yeah,” I said, but I didn't like it much.

  “You have a girl friend, you said?"

  I frowned at this further intrusion into my private life. I decided not to answer and then changed my mind. “Had, lady, had!"

  “There's no one near and dear to you?” she insisted.

  “What is it, lady? If I said you were as near and dear to me as anyone on earth, I wouldn't be exaggerating much!"

  “It's quite important in affairs of this kind,” she said primly, “not to have hostages to fortune whose lives and welfare can be threatened by unscrupulous—"

  “What are affairs of this kind?” I asked, and then I realized that in her own old-fashioned way she had told me that there was danger of death and I decided maybe I didn't want to know whatever it was she wanted to tell me.

  For she had decided to tell me. She nodded and said, “I want you to find a man."

  “Who?"

  “If I knew that, I wouldn't need a detective, would I?” she asked briskly.

  Why not? I wanted to ask, but she went on before I could say anything. “He'll be coming into the lobby of the hotel around the corner between nine thirty and ten o'clock tomorrow morning. You won't have any trouble recognizing him. I'm sure he'll be tall and slim. His hair will be dark, medium length, graying around the temples. He'll be very distinguished looking. He'll be wearing evening clothes."

  “At ten in the morning?"

  “Oh, yes. And he'll have a pentacle in his lapel."

  “A what?"

  “A five-pointed star, made of gold, and engraved with symbols and Hebrew letters."

  “He's Jewish."

  “I don't think so."

  I nodded as if I understood. It was a good piece of acting. “What do you mean, you're sure he'll look like this and that? Haven't you seen him before?"

  “Oh, yes. I saw him earlier today. I'm sure he won't trouble to change."

  “Change what?” I asked with heavy sarcasm. “His clothes or his face?"

  “Either,” she said. “But I'm not doing it well, am I?” Her hands fluttered. “I'm afraid I'm only confusing you. Oh, dear!"

  Confusing me. That was the understatement of the year. My head was spinning like the gears of a slot machine. I should have told her then that I didn't want her job, I didn't like the sound of it, I didn't believe a word she had said, and I was out of the business anyway, but I looked down at the top of the desk and hit the jackpot. Beside the quarter was a rectangular piece of paper printed green. In each corner was a figure “1” followed by three lovely symbols for nothing. One by one the gears clunked to a stop. This I could understand. I picked up the bill and turned it over. I crinkled it. It was crisp and new and untouched, and I loved the feel of it. “Is it real?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “It's genuine. And it's yours—"

  “How did it get there?” I asked. The pleasure of finding it was wearing off.

  “I put it there while you were looking away,” she said.

  I hadn't looked away from her for an instant, and I knew she hadn't moved. But she said it as if she were telling the truth, and I have heard enough lies from students about absences and late papers to know the truth when I hear it. That was one talent I had for detective work. I looked at the old lady sitting in the big chair, her spectacles sitting on the end of her nose, her eyes twinkling, and before I could say anything else she said, “It's yours if you take the job. Is it enough?"

  “To start on,” I said, and I was lost. “Let me get this straight. The man you want me to find will be coming into the hotel lobby about ten in the morning—If you know he's going to be there you can find him yourself!"

  “That's just the beginning."

  “I see,” I said, nodding. “You want me to tail him—"

  “And make very certain he doesn't know you're doing it. Very certain. He can be dangerous."

  “Dangerous, eh?” I stared at the bill in my hand and crackled it again. Maybe it wasn't so big after all. Not that I'm afraid of danger. Not in moderate amounts. I just wasn't sure I wanted a thousand bucks’ worth. “So I tail him. And then what?"

  “You find out his name."

  “His name?"

  “His real name."

  “I see.” This is the first thing I had understood in a long while. “He's going under an alias."

  She hesitated. “I guess that's what you call it."

  “He's blackmailing you,” I said with a scarcely concealed note of triumph in my voice. At least I had figured it out; things began falling into place like the last pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

  She looked shocked right down
to the tip of her nose. “Nothing like that!"

  “He's involved with your daughter, and you suspect he's married!"

  “I have no daughter!” she said indignantly.

  I tried once more. “He claims to be a long-lost relative, and you think he's an imposter.” But it was weak, and even I couldn't put any conviction into it.

  Her lips pressed together into a single line, like an old-maid schoolteacher I once had who taught handwriting in the fourth grade. She hadn't taught me much either. “Just do what I tell you and don't jump to conclusions. Remember: he's very skillful at—at disguises. If you see him get in a car and see someone get out later looking much, much different, don't be surprised. Believe your own powers of logic, not your prejudices about what you think is possible. Because the man who gets out of the car will be the one you want; it's his name I want you to find out."

  “But what if he doesn't get into a car?” I asked.

  “That's just an example, silly!” she said impatiently. “You know what I mean."

  “I get it,” I said. I really did. The old lady was crazy. She had what psychologists call a monomania. She had been looking under her bed for so long that she had started seeing things. And now she wanted to know his name. You might not suspect it, just looking at her, but monomaniacs may be completely normal except on one subject.

  I knew what would happen. Nobody would show up in the lobby. I'd hang around for two or three hours, charge her for a day's work, and give the rest of the money back to her. Hell, I rationalized to myself, if I turned her down she might go to someone who wasn't ethical, who would give her a fake name and just keep the whole thousand.

  I convinced myself that taking the assignment was the only proper thing to do. I also was hungry, and I thought that I could get a good steak for ten or twelve dollars. “Where will I get in touch with you, Miss—Miss—?"