The Haunted House: Bequest</h1>

by Vaughan

----------

Sally rang me on Monday evening.

"Hi, John. I thought I'd better tell you that I've
made us an appointment with the lawyers on Wednesday afternoon at
two. So, if we were to meet at twelve for lunch at Green's
Café, I could tell what I have found out about the Plustards and
the inheritance."

"Slow down a bit!" I interjected. "You made an
appointment with the lawyers without asking me?"

There was a mumble of offended assent from the other end of
the telephone, which sounded to me like the prelude to some long-winded
legalese excuse. I cut it off before it began by saying, "Ok,
I suppose it is a good idea, not to let the proverbial grass grow
under our feet, and it so happens I'm free all that
afternoon. But did you consider that I might have something I
could not get out of then?"

"So, you'll be there?" Sally asked.

"Yes, I'll see you at Green's for lunch."
Changing the subject I said, "So, you've been doing
some research into our ghost and how much he is worth?"

Hesitantly, Sally relied, "Well, err..., not yet."
adding with more confidence, "I'm going to find out as
much as I can tomorrow. It took me all day to get the appointment
with the lawyers, between my two lectures today."

"I'm glad you are taking seriously the possibility
that this inheritance thing might come the nothing," I
commented.

"That's not fair!" she objected, "I went
to the lectures out of habit more than any other reason."

"All right, I'll see you at Green's at twelve
on Wednesday. Don't forget to wear the dress."

"See you, and don't forget to bring that cloth."

She hung up.

Reminded of the cloth, I decided to get it out and check it
over. The cloth was a pale blue, best described as azure, and
made of a fabric thin enough to make it incredibly light-weight,
but thick enough that you could not see through it. The cloth was
slightly over six foot square and was hemmed along each edge, in
each corner was a small sewn up pocket containing a small weight
that made the cloth easier to swing about and manipulate. I
practiced, although I don't knew why, throwing the cloth
over things and whisking it away again. In this process I did
make a non-obvious discovery, which was that the small weights
were magnetic. This intrigued me and I went to bed pondering why
I might want a large sheet with magnetic weights in the corners.

----------

On Wednesday, I arrived at Green's Café about five
minutes early and was shown to a table to wait for Sally and
peruse the menu. I was dressed smartly in jacket and tie.

As ever Sally was spot on time-wise. On the third stroke of
the church clock, the door opened and in she walked looking
stunning, if a little uncomfortable. I waved and she came over.
Before she sat down, I suggested that she twirled so that I could
have a good look at the dress that the shade of René Plustard
had selected for Sally.

The dress made of red brocade with gold flecks. It was just
short of knee length and the upper edge was just below her arms,
thus revealing an enticing amount of accentuated cleavage. As
Sally twirled the skirt flared exposing a fair amount of thigh.

I rose and held a chair for her. Sally with evident care and
discomfort perched on the edge of the chair.

I complemented her on how good she looked in the dress.

"I ought to look good, John. This dress is the most
uncomfortable dress I have ever worn, bar none. The waist pinches
and the sides dig under my arms. The worst part is that half the
seams seem to be made of Velcro, which is not only stiff, but
scratches. The only things that make it endurable is the fleecy
lining and the fact that this horrible dress will help me to a
fortune."

Sally's flow was interrupted, after a further minute of
vitriol directed seeming at random at the various components of
the situation, especially the ghost of René Plustard, by the
waiter asking if we were ready to order.

After a quick consultation of the menu, I ordered steak and
kidney pie and Sally asked for chicken salad.

"OK, Sally, spill the beans! What did you find out?"
I asked.

"Not a lot really. Besides the stuff we know already,
there seems to be a test that we must pass to prove we are proper
claimants. And, no, I don't know the details of the test. I
suppose it is kept secret by the lawyers to prevent some
enterprising fraudster from cheating the intended heirs of their
inheritance. I did find out that most of the money has been given
to the relatives, but the mansion is still waiting the true heirs
for at least the next three years, when the terms of the will
expire and it gets given to the state."

"So, all we're likely to get is a huge mansion that
we can't afford to keep and a cellar-full of magical props
that we won't be able to store," I demanded.

"Not quite. It seems there is some sort of trust fund for
the maintenance of the mansion," she informed.

"Well, that was certainly used," I said
sarcastically.

A silence fell over us until our food arrived.

Once we had our food, I decided to break the ice by asking,
"Do you have any idea what this test we are supposed to pass
is?"

"Of course, I don't. But knowing the ghost as we do,
I strongly suspect that we're going to be expected to
perform some more magic. And if what HE told us to take
with us is any guide, there won't involve being divided into
pieces or otherwise cutting up."

"Well the only things I can think of that you might use a
cloth for are vanishes, appearances and levitation," I
observed.

"You're not going to vanish me, because I don't
want to miss out on anything."

"Calm down," I soothed, "It was just a thought.
Don't go in off the deep end. I might have to produce a
bunch of roses for you. Lord alone knows how to do that."

"It just seems that everything we have done magic-wise
has involved doing something to someone's body, mostly mine,"
Sally observed.

"Well, that's the nature of grand illusion," I
pointed out.

"Grand illusion...?" asked Sally.

For rest of the meal we talked about the various genres of
magic. Sally seemed impressed by my knowledge of the subject. I
described the various types of magic and illusion, close-up magic,
stage illusion and grand illusion. Sally seemed to think that the
close-up magic would be the kind she would like to do, but I
pointed out that close-up requires hundreds of hours of dedicated
practice. She did not seem quite so enthusiastic, when I
explained that even if she were using real magic for close up
work, she would need to practice to make it look natural and
ordinary and that it would probably be easier to learn how to do
fake close-up.

After the meal, which I paid for, we walked to the offices of
the lawyers. The sun was shining, and early summer was in full
swing. We stopped for a while, and watched some birds skimming
insects from just above the river.

As we crossed the bridge, I held her hand, which she did not
object to. Emboldened I stepped in front of her, put my other arm
round her and tried to kiss her cheek. I failed to plant my kiss
on her cheek, because she deliberately turned her head so I
kissed the corner of her mouth. It would have been full on her
lips except for our noses getting in the way. We hugged and
giggled for a few moments, then Sally turned her head to the side
and kissed me on my lips.

"Why did you kiss me?" I asked.

"You did it first, so why did you kiss me?" Sally
countered.

"Well, um, err..." I extemporized, while trying to
gather my scattered thoughts, "I wanted to express the fact
that I like you." After a pause, I added, "a lot."

"I'm glad of that," she replied, "I like
you too."

We gazed into each others eyes for some wonderful moments and
the Sally double blinked. "Lovely though this scene is, can
we talk about it later, because we have an appointment in three
minutes."

We rushed through a number of alleys and arrived in a
courtyard panting. Sally went directly to a rather unimpressive
door, beside which was a highly polished brass plate announcing
it to be the offices of Feinmann and Associates. Pausing for a
moment to catch our breath, we entered and went up the steep
narrow stairs to a small waiting room, where a receptionist in
her late fifties regarded as if we were intruding.

Sally pre-empted the receptionist, by saying, "We're
here for a two o'clock appointment with Mister Derwent. I'm
Miss Philips and this is Mister Smith."

The receptionist regarded us over her spectacles, in a manner
that made it clear she did not approve of what she saw and
perhaps we would seem better if unfocused. She then inspected in
great detail the ledger on her precisely tidy desk and made a
muttering, which while I heard no words seemed to suggest that we
were an imposition on her time and goodwill. Having satisfied
herself that we seemed to be genuine claimants of an appointment
with one of her superiors, she reached a finger to the intercom
device and buzzed.

"Yes, Agnes?" answered a disembodied voice from the
machine.

"Mister Derwent, Your two o'clock appointment is
here," she informed the intercom.

The phrase, "I'll be right out," was cut off
when the receptionist lifted her finger.

"Take a seat!" Agnes instructed, "Mister
Derwent will be with you shortly."

We retreated to the row of chairs against the wall, which were
positioned in such a way that the receptionist could keep an eye
on us.

After about three minutes, a young man in a dark blue suit
appeared through a door. He glanced round the room and when his
look landed on Agnes, she gave a short nod in our direction. His
eyes focused on us and Sally stood up and stepped forward, hand
out-stretched.

"Hi, I'm Sally. You must be Mister Derwent. I hope
we can sort out this business easily." Sally and Mister
Derwent shook hands.

At this point I was directly behind Sally. I was at a loss as
to what to do. It seemed impolite to not offer my hand, but in
the confined room I could not easily go round Sally and to reach
past her would be equally rude. I was about just say hello, when
I felt the guiding hand of René. I reached forward to the back
of Sally's dress and inserted my finger into the slight gap
at the bottom of the Velcroed seam up the middle of her back and
raised it until about half the seam was undone. I reached into
the opened gap. I did not feel Sally's skin at all, only the
fleecy material that Sally had said lined the dress. When I had
reached in far enough that my shirt cuff had reached the gaping
seam, I felt the inside of another Velcro seam. My hand and wrist
felted as though it was reaching through a tunnel of the fleece.
Using my finger I undid the seam I had found, I heard the
characteristic rip of undoing Velcro. I thrust my hand out
through the seam.

At this point I realized what I seemed to have done. A quick
glimpse over Sally's shoulder confirmed my suspicion. I had just put
my hand through Sally. Both Sally and Mister Derwent looked
surprised, but in addition Mister Derwent looked puzzled, but
more ominously Sally looked annoyed.

It was a bit late to pull out, so I offered my hand to Mister
Derwent. Gingerly Mister Derwent took my hand and shook it. The
handshake was not really very good as my arm movements were
restricted by Sally.

I withdrew my hand and was about press the back seam back
together, when Sally turned on me, asking, "What did you do
that for?"

"Well, it seemed like the polite thing to do," I
protested.

"So, you think it's polite to stick your arm through
a person without asking their permission, Do you?" Sally
asked.

"Not really," I responded, "but I kind of felt
that I was being guided by René."

"And what if the seams had fallen apart?" she added.

I stood there going redder, unable to think of any answer,
except "Well, they didn't," which I was sure would
only enflame the situation. I began to stammer that I had not
thought of that, but was rescued by Mister Derwent saying that
standing there arguing was not getting the business of the
afternoon done and opening the door for Sally to go through.

Sally seemed to immediately forget our argument and led
through the door. Mister Derwent followed and I tagged along
shutting the door behind me. As I closed the door, I caught the
eye of the stony-faced receptionist, who before, I am sure, would
have held eye contact; she averted her eyes.

Beyond the door was a short corridor with four doors off. One
of the doors was open. We were ushered through the open door and
asked to take seats. We sat and he took a chair on the other side
of the desk.

"So, you are Sally Philips and John Smith?" asked
Mister Derwent.

I let Sally take the lead. "Yes," she confirmed. I
nodded.

"And you are here as claimants to the estate of Mister
René Plustard?"

We both nodded.

"You do know that there are certain conditions attached
to the will?"

I nodded, because I was sure that this was not going to be as
straightforward as it at first appeared. Sally's legal
studies had trained her mind to spot the hidden question in the
obvious question. "We knew that there were conditions
attached to the inheritance, but apart from a provision that the
inheritors should assist Mister Plustard's descendants
financially, if necessary, we do not know what these conditions
are. Would you please enlighten us."

Mister Derwent seemed slightly taken aback. He shuffled the
papers and extracted a sheaf of pages. There followed a
discussion in semi-comprehensible legalese of what the benefits
and conditions were.

The upshot of this discussion translated as: we were to
provided financial assistance for any Plustard descendant
reasonably requiring it (Sally seemed to think this was
discharged by the fact that a large proportion of the cash assets
of the estate had already been handed over to the Plustard family);
we were to learn and perform some illusions at least six times in
the first year to as large an audience as possible, it even
seemed that there was some clause allowing us to finish our
educations before the first year began; we would not be allowed
to sell any of the estate until the end of this first year. There
was plenty of devil in the detail, but that was about it in broad
terms.

After what seemed like hours of reading documents and asking
what Mister Derwent obviously thought were probing but naive
questions, Sally pronounced herself satisfied that we were not
trying to get an inheritance that had more cons than pros.

The next period of discussion centered around what the estate
was, which boiled down to the contents of two safety deposit
boxes and property and accounts for which the documentation was
held in those boxes. Mister Derwent did assure us that the title
deeds to the mansion and the information on at least one numbered
Swiss bank account were in the boxes, but what else might be in
them he obviously had as little idea as we had.

After that was cleared up, I asked, "Now we know what we
are committing ourselves to and what the likely inheritance is, I
suppose we are supposed to prove to you that we are the rightful
heirs."

Both Sally and Mister Derwent frowned at my directness. "Well
yes. There are a few tests to be passed."

"So," I interrupted, "What are these tests?"
I was a bit impatient after having spent the last hour barely
understanding one word in four of the conversation between
Derwent and Sally and being shushed by Sally every time I spoke,
because she was trying to concentrate.

Mister Derwent rummaged among the papers and produced a folder
containing a lot of documents sealed with sealing wax. "The
test comes in three parts," he said, "part one is a
feat of magic here, in this office. The second part is production
of the keys to the safety deposit boxes and part three is another
feat of magic. Having seen what you did in reception, I suspect
that the first part will not prove difficult. I understand from
what Miss Jones has told me that you think you have the required
keys. The only caveat is that if you manage to open the boxes,
but fail at part three, then the inheritance goes to the
surviving Plustard family."

"Let me get this straight, we perform some magic here,
then we go and open the boxes containing the inheritance and then
we have to perform some more magic to be allowed to take it with
us?" I asked.

"That sums it up quite succinctly," Derwent
commented, "except there is one more thing I forgot to
mention. These sealed documents describe a variety of illusions
and you have to pick blind the illusion you are to do."

"You mean that the illusion we are to do will be picked
at random?" Sally asked.

"Precisely," Derwent replied. He continued, "Do
you want to do it now or, perhaps, come back when you are better
prepared?"

Sally and I looked at each other.

"What do you think, John?" she asked.

After a short while, I replied, "We might as well get it
over with. We know we have the keys and we aren't going to
be any more ready for doing magic if we come back later, are we?"

"OK, we'll do it," Sally said decisively.
"Who picks the illusion to do and how do we know that the
selection will be fair?" she asked.

"I'll get Agnes to do the selection, because she has
nothing to gain either way, even if she could influence the
outcome, which she can't." Turning to the intercom on
his desk, he pressed the switch and said, "Miss Moorehead,
would you mind coming in here for a moment, please, Thank you."
Before the receptionist could reply, he had lifted his finger
from the switch.

The receptionist entered the room, giving the impression that
the summons had been an imposition. Mister Derwent made a good
attempt at ignoring the attitude and asked, "Would you pick,
at random, one of the sealed documents from this folder, Please?"
He handed her the folder and she looked inside. Each document was
a single sheet of paper folded in thirds sealed with a blob wax
into which was impressed an emblem, which I remember seeing on
the key to the door under the stair at the mansion. Agnes riffled
through the documents to see if any of them were unsealed or had
any other markings. Seemingly satisfied that a random choice was
all she could manage, she plunged her hand in and withdrew a
single document, then handed back the folder and the document.

"Thank you, Agnes. You may go now," said Derwent,
dismissing the receptionist. The receptionist closed the door
behind her.

"Are you ready?" Derwent asked.

"As ready as we'll ever be," Sally said.

Mister Derwent slipped his finger under the edge of the folded
page and broke the seal.

"Read this document to the prospective legatees one item
at a time." He read. "Do not read out the next item
until its preceding item is completed to your satisfaction. Allow
a reasonable time for the completion of each item. Item one: Ask
the potential legatees to decide between themselves who is the
magician and who is the assistant." He looked up and asked,
"Have you decided which of you is going to perform and which
will be the assistant?"

Not sure what to say I looked questioningly at Sally.

"What are you looking at?" asked Sally.

"Errm, I thought you might have some opinion on which of
us should be which," I replied.

"So, you're chickening out of asking me to be the
assistant?"

"Well do you want to be the assistant?" I asked.

"Not really, and any way it's your turn, after that
scene in the waiting room."

"What do you mean my turn? We aren't taking turns.
It just so happened that you looked better in the costume that
allowed that to happen."

At this point Sally must have pictured me in that dress as she
giggled. She then got serious again. "When I sawed you in
half, that proved that it does not have to be done in the old
fashioned sexist way."

"So what?" I retorted, "As a matter of fact the
first sawing in half was done on a man."

"And what does that prove?" she asked.

After a moments thought, I deflated and admitted that it
proved nothing.

We stood there facing each other. Mister Derwent gave a little
cough. We looked at him and he tapped his watch.

"It looks like I'm assistant for this one. I hope it
isn't too uncomfortable," I said.

Sally shot me a look that contained both surprise and smugness.

"I shall continue, then. Item two; The assistant is to
lie on the floor and be covered with a cloth, with head and feet
exposed," read Mister Derwent.

I took the chairs we had been sitting on to a corner to make
space for me to lie down. The polished wooden floor was covered
by Persian rug, which looked wonderfully soft.

"Since we aren't sure what we are going to do,"
I observed, "Shouldn't we roll up your carpet?"

Mister Derwent looked slightly surprised by the consideration
I was showing. After a moment of indecision, he perused the rest
of the paper. He smiled and said, "I don't think that
will be necessary, but if you feel you need to, go ahead."

I was quite relieved that Derwent felt that his expensive
looking carpet was unlikely to come to harm as a result of what
we were about to be asked to attempt. This was mainly due to the
feeling that he would have asked us to move the carpet if there
had been anything that might result in blood flowing in the event
of failure.

I opened the bag I had brought with me and took out the sheet
with the weighted corners. I tossed the cloth at Sally. Sally
caught it, perhaps I threw it wrong, because the sheet expanded
and enveloped her.

"John! What did you do that for?" yelled Sally from
under the sheet.

While she struggled from under the cloth, I took a moment to
think. "Errm, can you think of a better way to demonstrate
that it's just cloth?" She looked daggers at me. I felt
forced to apologize. "I'm sorry. I must have folded it
wrong after I practiced with it last night."

"You practiced?" she sounded astounded. "What?"

"Well, just swinging it about and draping and undraping
things. It's trickier than you might think, but the small
weights in the corners make it a bit easier."

Sally had the sheet gathered in a bundle in her arms. Derwent
seemed amused by this incident.

"Shall we get on with it?" I asked as I took my
place lying in the middle of the carpet.

It took Sally a little while to get the cloth prepared, but
once she was ready, she throw one edge, while holding the
opposite edge and spreading her arms. The cloth billowed and
floated down on top of me, covering me from head to toe. I moved
my arms to uncover my face.

"Your supposed to leave my head and feet exposed," I
pointed out.

"And how was I supposed to know that it was quite so big?
That's what I'd like to know."

After a minute, the adjustments that were needed had been made.
I was lying face up with my arms by my sides on Mister Derwent's
carpet under a pale blue cloth, which was folded down so my face
was visible and folded up so my feet showed. Unfortunately, the
comfort of the softness of the carpet was effectively negated by
the embarrassment of the situation.

"Is this to your satisfaction, Mister Derwent?" I
asked.

"Yes. Are you ready for item three?" he asked.

"Yes," replied both Sally and I.

"Alright here goes. Item three; The assistant will be
caused to float into the air vertically, to such a height that
the covering cloth does not touch the floor," instructed the
lawyer.

Sally looked at me with something close to panic in her face.
"How do we do that?" she asked.

Mister Derwent answered before I could open my mouth, "Of
course, you don't expect me to be able to tell you that,
even if I knew, which I don't."

"I'm sorry," apologized Sally, "but I was
asking the world in general, in a thinking aloud sort of way.
John, have you got any ideas?"

I thought for a moment, before answering. "Come to think
of it, I don't know, but just doing what a stage magician
seems to be doing seems to work well so far."

"Sounds plausible," commented Sally. "OK, Oh
Knowledgeable One, how do we proceed?" she said, poking her
tongue at me.

"Give me a moment to think!" I protested. I thought
for a short while. "My bit is the easy bit. I just lie here
waiting for something to happen, and hoping it does. Your part,
Sally, requires some dexterity and acting."

"Get on with it. We haven't got all day for you to philosophise," said Sally impatiently.

"I was about to tell you what you need to do, but you
interrupted."

"Well, get on with it!"

"Don't have a heart attack, I was just getting to it,"
I said. "You have to stand as close as you can, without
standing on the cloth, and reach over me making vaguely upwards
encouraging gestures with your hands and arms."

"Is that it?"

"I hope so."

"OK, so, I stand here and wave my hands over you,"
she asked, standing at my feet.

"No," I replied, "I don't think there is
right, I think you are supposed to be beside me rather than at my
feet, although at my feet would be good in other circumstances."

Sally kicked the sole of my foot and asked, "Which side?"

"The side away from the audience. You're not
supposed to get in the way of the audience seeing what they are
supposed to see, only the stuff they aren't."

She thumbed her nose at me and thanked me for pointing that
out. Having stepped over the corner of the cloth, She positioned
herself at the edge of the sheet and reached forward to make the
mystical passes.

After a few passes, Sally asked, "Is it working? Because
I feel a bit silly doing this."

I wondered if it should be working yet. A couple of passes
later, I felt something, but it was a bit too subtle to identify.
Knowing that Sally needed at least as much reassurance as I did,
I said, "I think I can feel something happening, but I can't
put my finger on what it is, yet."

Taking some heart from this she seemed put more effort into
her gesturing. The feeling of something happening increased.
"Something is definitely happening. Am I rising?" I
asked.

"If you are rising, you are doing it very slowly,"
Sally commented.

"Perhaps, if instead of making hurried gesturings, you
could make slower more positive gestures it might be more
effective." I suggested.

"Sounds good. I'll give it a go," Sally
conceded

Sally's gesturing slowed down, but had a more positive
and confident aspect. In response, the feeling I was feeling
became more positive. Suddenly I could make out what I was
feeling. The sensation was that of being lifted on a canvas
stretcher. The texture could not be felt, but there was
definitely the force there, slightly higher under my arms than
the rest of my body. While intellectually I knew my body was
unsupported, unless the carpet was rising, the feeling gave me
the impression that I was supported in such a way that I was not
going to fall off what ever was holding me up.

"Sally," I said, "whatever you are doing, keep
it up. It seems to be working."

Sally looked down at me, and stopped concentrating on the
mystical passes. Seeing me floating about six inches off the
floor, she gave a squeal and nearly stopped gesturing all
together. While to her this did not seem to make any difference,
to me the sensation did not seem so secure, like the sturdy
canvas being replaced by thin cotton.

"Keep concentrating!" I yelled, "I can feel the
magic weakening."

Sally's face was a picture of concentration and her
movements regained their certainty. The security of the magic
immediately returned.

"That's much better," I commented. Sally
cracked a smile. She continued to make upwards indicating
movements. I was rising at a surprising rate.

I was mostly concentrating on the ceiling, on the theory,
expressed in much literature on the experience of magical flight,
that if you think too much about things ground-based, while
magically in the air, gravity takes a sudden and painful interest
in you. I can not say I was enjoying myself, because while the
sensations were not unpleasant and the experience unique, in my
life to that point, I felt very vulnerable to any lapse in Sally
concentration.

I was slightly surprised, when Sally said, "The cloths
off the floor. What to I do now? Because I can't keep this
up forever; my arms are getting tired."

"Errm... I know. Make a complete pass in each direction
with arm the full length of my body. That should do it. Then you
can stop, I think."

"Ok, here goes." Sally made definite and positive
gestures the full length of my body from head to toe with both
arms and then back up to my head. Then, to my surprise, she
kissed me. She whispered, "Good luck," then stood back,
opening her arms to present our achievement. I was impressed at
her presentation skills and showmanship.

Mister Derwent came round his desk to check what we had done
and that the cloth really was off the ground. "Item four;"
he read, "The cloth shall be removed from the floating
assistant."

"That sounds easy," Sally commented.

"I'm not so sure that it is as simple as that,"
I replied.

"So, what's the problem?" asked Sally.

"I don't know, but it sounds too simple."

"What can possibly go wrong, John?" said Sally.

"If I knew that, I would have had a better answer to your
previous question, wouldn't I?"

Sally made a harrumphing noise, so I knew that answer did not
satisfy her.

"Look, if something goes wrong I end up falling, and we're
allowed a bit of time to work things out," I was glad to see
Mister Derwent nodding. "So I want to float here and take
some time to work out what can go wrong and how to get round it,
whatever it is," I continued.

There were a few moments of strained silence, until
inspiration hit me. "I know a potential problem."

Before I could expound further, Sally asked, "What's
that?"

"Well, I'm lying here in mid air, so whatever is
holding me up can't go on for ever, right?" Both Sally
and Mister Derwent nodded. "If you are careless or cavalier
with removing the cloth, it might get stuck or caught and pull me
off of what's supporting me."

"So you want me to be careful about taking the sheet off.
Anything else?" sneered Sally.

"Well, I have a feeling that you didn't ought to
cover my head or my feet in the process."

Sally looked puzzled. I grinned at her nervously, hoping she
would accept my feeling.

"Ok, I shall remove the cloth carefully and sideways,"
Sally declared. I nodded my gratitude.

With exaggerated care, Sally folded each end of the cloth to
the middle. She, then, folded the top edge to the bottom edge.
Sally leaned down, picked up the edge of the cloth and lifted it
allowing it to slip over my body. Once most of it was piled on
the floor, Sally flipped the end she was holding over me. I now
lay uncovered in mid-air.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" she enquired.

"Not really, but think of the problems if you had just
dragged the cloth off of me and one of those corner weights had
got caught somewhere, I would probably be in a heap on the floor
and bang would go our shot at the Plustard estate."

"Stop being paranoid!" laughed Sally.

"Mister Derwent, could you tell us what comes next,
before Sally gets any inappropriate ideas."

"All right, I'm not sure your taking this entirely
seriously. Item five: A hoop shall be passed over the floating
assistant, or the floating assistant shall be passed through a
hoop" read Mister Derwent.

"But we haven't got a hoop," protested Sally.

"You mean you didn't bring a hoop with you?" I
asked.

"Of course, a hoop is the first thing I pick up when I
leave the house," responded Sally sarcastically.

There was several seconds of tense embarrassing silence, until
Mister Derwent interjected with, "Well, you seem to be doing
so well that I think I shall accept any reasonable substitute for
a hoop."

Further moments of quiet contemplation followed as we both
thought about what we could possibly use as a hoop-substitute.

"I've got it," said Sally with a grin that told
me that I wasn't going to like whatever she had.

"So, tell me! What have you got?" I asked.

"I know what we're going to use instead of a hoop."

"So?" I enquired.

"You're not going to like it," she observed.

"Tell what it is, and I'll tell you whether I like
it or not."

"No. I'll give you a minute to think up something
and if you don't I'll do it. Ok?"

I muttered something that was obviously taken for assent and
began a minute of panicky thinking, which failed to produce any
positive result.

Sally tapped her watch and said, "Your minutes up. I'll
explain things as they happen, but first I need to blindfold you."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to panic," answered
Sally.

"Go ahead, but the explanation had better be good."

"Oh it's the best," said Sally. She opened her
handbag and pulled out a scarf, which she shook in the air before
tying it over my eyes. I could not see anything, because it held
my eyes shut.

"Ok," she said, while moving away, "I reasoned
like this. What is a hoop for in a levitation illusion? It is
there to surround the floatee on all sides, to show that there
are no supports, right? Then I thought about the rather odd
wording of the instruction, 'A hoop shall be passed over the
floating assistant, or the floating assistant shall be passed
through a hoop' which says in effect that either the
assistant or the hoop can be moved, but both. And what is a hoop,
but a hole surrounded by solid stuff. I got to thinking where is
there a hole that I could pass John through."

I heard the window opening and felt a movement in the air, which
I took to be a draught. The exterior sound became clearer. I
could hear vehicles on the nearby roads, ducks on the river and
conversation between two people in the courtyard. I could also
see that it had got lighter. Sally's voice from an
unexpected direction said that I could take the blindfold off now.
With care, born of not being entirely sure what the effect of
moving my arms or my head would be on the levitating force, I
reached behind my head and untied the scarf. I was about to drop
it when Sally sharply told me not to drop the scarf. I opened my
eyes and immediately discovered what Sally thought I would not
like, and she was right.

"You levitated me through the window into the open-air,"
I yelled.

The conversation in the courtyard suddenly stopped and I heard
a woman scream. I suppose it was only natural. It is not every
day you see someone floating in midair, which is not a naturally
tenable position.

"Get me back in before we cause a sensation." Then I
conceded, "Ok, you've proved your point. A window frame
as a hoop; very clever."

The next sound I heard nearly terrified me. It was the sound
of the window closing. Imagine my relief at hearing the window
next to it open. As I watched, I was floated back into Mister
Derwent's office and the other window was closed.

Before I could start berating her for the danger of what she
had just put me through, Sally came up to me and placed a kiss on
my lips. While I was trying to work out what my feelings should
be, Sally asked Mister Derwent if there was more to do.

"Yes, there is just one more thing. Item Six: The
assistant shall be returned to her former position on the floor."

Sally immediately picked up on use of the feminine pronoun.
"I knew he was a sexist. 'HER former position.'"

"Ok, what would you have put it, then?" I asked.

After a moments thought, she said, "Errm, I see what you
mean, but it is still stereotyping, the man does the magic, the
woman is the assistant/victim."

I agreed with her for the sake of getting it over with.

Her thoughts then turned to the problem at hand, "How do
I get you down?"

"I think it is as simple as gesturing over me with a
generally downward intent," I replied.

"Oh good," said Sally. She gestured and I sank
gently to the carpet.

I sat up. "That was quite an experience," I
commented.

Mister Derwent gave a soft cough. "If you will be seated
I shall ring the bank to arrange our visit to the bank."

While Mister Derwent was on the phone to the bank, I brought
the chairs back.

"That was a smart bit of thinking, using the window frame
for a hoop, but you could have warned me."

"And you would have let me do it?"

"I think I would have come up with some sort of
reasonable reason for not trying it," I admitted.

Mister Derwent interrupted us to ask if we would like to go to
the bank immediately or wait until tomorrow. We opted for now
rather than later.

Mister Derwent returned to the phone. I asked Sally how she
had got me out of the window. She explained that she had gestured
in the direction she wanted me to move and I had floated that way.

The Lawyer put the phone down and said "If you're
ready we can go to the bank."

The three of us walked to the bank, where we were met by a
woman, who introduced herself as Miss Dumphy. She led us to an
elevator, which took us down to the safety deposit area. After
the usual security checks, Miss Dumphy led us into a room with
its walls lined with security boxes. She pointed out the two
boxes that matched the numbers on our keys. They were the bottom
two of a column of five eighteen inch boxes. Each box had two
keyholes in it. When I asked about this I was informed that it
required both the customer's key and the bank's key to
open the box.

I took the first key out and we unlocked the lower box. The
door opened with ease, the reveal a black enameled metal box with
a handle, which filled the opening. I pulled on the handle and it
started to slide out, but was evidently very heavy. Miss Dumphy
told us to wait a moment while she brought a trolley, so we could
easily move the boxes. The trolley was a flat surface on four
large rubber-tired wheels with a handle sticking up at one end.
With some effort and a grunt I transferred the box onto the
trolley. The box was eighteen inches square and two feet long and
seemed to weigh as though it was filled with lead. I shifted it
to the handle end of the trolley, so that there was room for the
second box. I took the opportunity to open the lid. The box was
full of notebooks. Each notebook was labeled with René's
name, a date and words to the effect that he would sue anyone
reading their contents without permission. The hand-writing on
the labels I could see was the same as the writing of the ghost
we had encountered in the haunted house, so I was positive that
these were René's notebook, that would reveal his magic and
methods.

"You didn't ought to have opened that,"
commented Miss Dumphy, "It is against bank policy to open
boxes in the strong room for security reasons."

"Miss Dumphy is right also from the legal point of view,
because until you have passed test three the contents aren't
yours."

"I was just looking, in case there were any surprises. It's
not as if I was going to be able to make a run for it, is it?"
I protested.

We all calmed down as I produced the second key and we opened
the second box. I pulled out the lining box and placed it on the
trolley. I opened the lid of this one, too. The second box was
half full of notebooks. On top of the notebooks, were two bundles
of papers, labeled "title deeds" and "Banking
details," and two more keys. Before anyone could object, I
reached in and took these out. The numbers on the new keys
corresponded to the two boxes above the two we had already opened.
Miss Dumphy did not seem to object when I asked her to help me
open the two upper boxes. Having opened the boxes I took out the
liner boxes, which contained chemicals that looked like dried
paints and varnishes, with coded labels. I guessed, correctly as
it turned out, that these chemicals were in part the key to the
magic, but I now know that it is much more complex than that.

Miss Dumphy insisted we re-lock each box before we left. While
she and I were doing this, Sally asked Mister Derwent when we had
to do test three as it was clear we had passed tests one and two.

Mister Derwent replied, "As soon as you like, but before
we leave the bank. If you leave the bank before doing some feat
of magic, the contents of those boxes belong to the Plustard
family."

"Do we have to do a specific feat of magic?" asked
Sally.

"No," replied Mister Derwent, "but it must be
different to anything I've seen this afternoon."

Sally turned to me. "Do you think we can do some magic
here?" she asked.

"I don't see why not. Any ideas?"

"Not really. Maybe, if we can clear our minds, we can get
some inspiration from René," Sally speculated. "He
seemed to be with us at the law office. And knowing him I'll
end up victim again."

We stood for several moments with our eyes shut, then I felt
René's presence. I asked Derwent and Miss Dumphy to stand
back and move the trolley out of our way, and I asked Sally to
stand with her hands across her chest and her back to the
Plustard boxes. I got out the cloth and with a flourish, I am
sure I had not practiced, I threw the cloth at Sally. Sally
screamed for a moment. The scream was immediately cut off. The
cloth hit the wall of safety deposit boxes, totally spread out,
and landed with four clicks as the magnetic corner weights held
it in place. The sheet was now completely flat against the wall,
despite the fact the Sally had been standing in front of the
boxes when I had thrown the cloth.

I quick look round told me that Sally was not there any more.
I stepped forward and pulled the cloth from the metal of the wall
of boxes, but Sally did not reappear.

"Did you see where Sally went?" I asked the two
observers.

They both shook their heads.

"I think I vanished Sally," I said, unsure exactly
what I had done.

Mister Derwent seemed to consider this for a moment and then
said, "Well I think that certainly counts as passing test
three, but I also think that you should bring her back because
you will both need to sign the paperwork."

I was at a loss as to what I should do next, when we heard a
muffled voice yelling. I took us a few moments to realize that
the voice was coming from the top box. With Miss Dumphy's
help we opened the top box to reveal Sally's head and bare
shoulders.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I'm not sure, I threw the cloth over you and all of
a sudden you weren't there, then we heard your voice and
opened the box only to find your head and shoulders. I thought I
had vanished you, but evidently I was wrong."

She looked down and only saw the metal floor of the box.
"So, where's the rest of me?" Sally asked with a
sob in her voice.

"I don't know, but I can make a guess." I
turned to Miss Dumphy, saying, "Would you help me open the
other boxes?"

In short order the other three boxes were open revealing Sally's
corresponding parts in each box separated by the floors of the
boxes. The lawyer and the bank clerk looked unsure what to make
of this situation, and I have to admit I was feeling as bit out
of my depth. I told Sally what the situation seemed to be and she
asked what I was going to do to restore her.

I thought about the situation for a while. "I can only
think of two possible means of extricating you."

"Great! Spill the beans!" insisted Sally.

"Either, we close the boxes, hold the cloth up and hope
you appear out of there; or we take you bits out of the boxes and
reassemble you out here," I explained.

"I don't really like the sound of either of those,"
she commented. "Do you have any idea whether either will
work?"

"Not really, but they both have potential. Which would
you rather I try first?" I asked.

"How should I know. Try the one with the sheet first."

I asked Miss Dumphy to help me re-lock the boxes, then I gave
Mister Derwent a corner of the cloth and asked him to help me by
raising it to cover the boxes and then lowering it again. We
tried this three times, before we gave up and re-opened the boxes.

"Sorry, but using the cloth didn't seem to work, so
it's on to plan B," I said, trying to sound positive.

"That figures! Remember to be gentle, because I'm
very ticklish. How are you going to start?"

"I hadn't thought quite that far. Any preference?"

"Not really. Just don't get carried away!"

"Would I?" I asked in a tone of exaggerated
innocence.

Sally's response was "Yes, You would! Remember there
are people watching!"

While providing Sally with a running commentary, I removed the
torso section in the third box, which was in the upper half of
the dress, and positioned it upright on the stacked boxes on the
trolley. I took quite a bit of jiggling to extract it from the
box, which it fitted so tightly. The only problem with getting
Sally's head and shoulders out of the box was working out
how to carry her. With one hand under her chin and the other
under the base of her skull, I carried her over to her chest and
belly. With much care I placed the two parts of the torso
together. As the two sections touched there was a slight twisting,
then there seemed to be no cut. I ran my finger across where the
cut had been, and felt nothing that indicated there had ever been
a cut.

"Get your hands off of me!" Sally complained, "You're
supposed to be putting me back together, not taking advantage of
my predicament."

I made the excuse that I was just checking that she was
together properly. She told me to bring her arms so that she
could check for herself. I brought her left arm and fitted that.
While I was getting her right arm, she checked that her upper
body was put together correctly. I handed her right arm and she
fitted it to the stump hanging from her shoulder. If you could
have ignored the fact of her missing legs, Sally actually looked
back to normal.

"I think that the next thing to do is assemble you lower
half," I suggested.

"Ok, but don't get any ideas about 'accidentally'
putting your hand up my skirt," she warned.

"Spoil sport," I shot back with a smile.

I went to work, first extracting the lower legs from the
lowest box. I placed her feet so that they stood in front of the
trolley. I then set the brakes on the trolley. With some care I
covered the upper ends of the lower legs with the cloth. After
some struggle and several complaints about hand placement, I
managed to get Sally's hips and thighs from the box. It took
more care and some concentration from Sally to balance her upper
legs on her lower legs with her bottom resting against one of the
liner boxes on the trolley. I took a while to check and adjust
the alignment of her legs despite Sally whining about where and
how I was touching her. Finally I took up the cloth and gave it a
pull. My plan was that the cloth would slip from between her
sections and join, leaving her legs standing complete.
Unfortunately, the plan did not quite come together, because I
had forgotten the hemmed edge. I pulled the cloth which while it
was passing from between the two sections applied an
unanticipated forward force just above her knees, which in turn
caused Sally's legs to suddenly fall to their knees.

"Ouch! What did you do that for?" she screamed.

"Firstly, I wanted to be sure that your feet were
properly aligned. You would look very silly if you feet didn't
point the right way. Secondly, I remembered the old table cloth
trick and thought I would give it a go, but I forgot that you are
much heavier than crockery and I forgot about the hem on the
cloth."

I helped Sally's legs stand back up. The top of her hips
lined up with the top stacked liner boxes. Sally positioned her
hands on the edges of the liner boxes, lifted her torso and swung
herself forward onto the two stacked liner boxes her lower half
was leaning against. Carefully, she moved her upper body to the
front of the boxes.

She looked down and said, "I don't believe it. How
come the cut is covered in skin?"

"What did you expect?" I asked, a bit surprised by
her reaction, having expected this, because it was what most of
the stories I had read had indicated I should expect.

"I don't know, do I?" she whined, "Maybe a
cross-section of my guts, which I suppose would be kind of yucky,
or perhaps, Errm... How should I know?"

Unexpectedly Sally made an attempt to swing her top half
forward onto her bottom half. If I had not been there she would
probably ended up sprawled in two parts on the cold concrete
floor. It took me a very few moments to stabilize Sally.

"Let me help you get back whole," I offered, "but
first I want to be told at first hand what you can feel when that
cut section is touched."

"Ok," she said, "but be gentle."

I gently ran a fingernail across the exposed skin from hip to
hip. Sally described the sensation as being like I was dragging a
fingernail across the back of her waist. Further experimentation
brought us to the conclusion that sensation on the cut surface
was perceived as being at the nearest edge of the cut area.
Satisfied, because this matched up with my experience of being
sawn in half, I helped Sally get herself together, which required
that we hug. We carried on hugging and enjoying it after she had
been restored.

We were interrupted by Mister Derwent, saying, "When you
two are quite finished, I have some documents you really ought to
sign today. I don't know about you two but I have a home I
would like to go home to."

We apologized and taking the trolley went to sign the legal
documents, which Miss Dumphy witnessed. Once the documents were
signed, Mister Derwent left having said, "It has been a
pleasure, if unusual, doing business with you. Don't
hesitate to call me if you have any legal stuff to do, which I'm
sure you will, Good bye, for now."

It took us a little while longer to arrange that the bank
store the stuff we had just inherited. I asked about getting
access to the money, but Miss Dumphy said that it was too late
today, but we should come back tomorrow.

----------

We went back the following day and opened a joint account,
with what was left of the Plustard fortune and set the process of
accessing the numbered Swiss bank accounts.

When all the money was gathered in, we started the renovation
of the mansion, meanwhile we continued our educations. We both
got our degrees, both felt if we had not had the distraction of
the inheritance and each other we might have both got better results.
During that last year we spent a day most weekends in the
basement studying the notebooks and the equipment. Each weekend
would end when each of us had been the assistant in some illusion.
I never did manage to vanish Sally, but we were getting to be
quite close.

After the summer when we got our degrees, we embarked on our
first year of magic. Designing a show was a lot more difficult
than we originally anticipated, but we filled in by doing
illusions on local television news programs. Our first full
performance we did on a side stage at the local rock festival. It
was well received, but we both felt dissatisfied with it from a
technical standpoint. The other shows that year seemed to improve
as we felt more comfortable and at home with the equipment.

During that year, Sally also studied the techniques of close-up
magic and became very good. I reading a lot about the mentalism
magic genre and became proficient. These new skills we added to
our act.

After the first year of performance, we had realized that we
loved each other and made preparations to get married. We also
saw René's ghost one last time. He asked if we were going
to carry on with the magic or give it up. We told him that we
would continue to perform the magic. He said that he was happy
with the outcome and he knew he had chosen right when he had
chosen us in the first place. We never saw him again, although we
felt his presence occasionally.

We went on to become a well-known magic act, including a
series of specials. We had to give up for two years while we had
our children, two twin daughters, Fiona and Jenny, and a son,
Michael.

During this time off I made a detailed study of the notebooks
and managed to repair and maintain the props we had and create
new props to replace the ones we had worn out. I am also proud of
the new illusions I created during that rest period.

When our children were old enough to keep the secrets we
taught them the magic and they greatly enjoyed being part of the
show. We made sure that they had a good education. When they were
ready they made a show of their own.

Each year we have also done a magical show the profits of
which along with our performance fee, we donate to the rag-week
fund of our old college.

The End