After the Charity Dinner: Challenge 3

By Vaughan


As I replaced the empty mug on the table, I said, "OK, Jack, which challenge do you want to do next?" The thought occurred to me that while I had survived being squished to a few inches tall and being vanished, now was asking whether he wanted to stab me multiple times or chop me to bits; it was not the first time I had questioned my sanity that evening.

"I reckon that we should 'run you through with sharp objects' first, mostly because I'm still trying to work out how to divide you into more than about a dozen pieces; but I'm sure it'll come to me."

I was torn between asking how he was planning to cut me into twelve pieces and how many sharp objects he was intending thrust through me. I finally my mind decided that it was more willing to contemplate a more distant peril.

"How were you planning to divide me into twelve? 'Coz I don't remember any standard illusion that went that far."

Jack smiled, he seemed pleased to have thought of something I had not. "You know the slicer that Harary designed? I was thinking of using that."

"But isn't that just nine slices?" I queried.

"Yes, it's nine slices, but some of the slices contain more than one part."

I cottoned on immediately, "The bottom three slices have a part of each leg each, right?" He nodded. "That makes twelve, then carrying on up the hip slice is one piece, but the middle belly slice in the centre also has the lower hand and the next one has the arm connected to that hand. That's fourteen. The chest section is one piece, but the head section has the arm connected to hand that shows in the top section. A grand total of fifteen pieces."

"I hadn't realized there were so many pieces; I'd completely forgotten about the hands and arms. And now I've mentioned it, I guess, you'll expect me to top that, right?"

"Of course, I will. And I'd like to check that I am really in however many parts you end up with me in. But both of us can be thinking how it might be achieved. Although to tell you the truth, I am a bit disappointed that you don't have some dastardly invention waiting in some dusty corner of the store for someone to try it on."

"If I have, I've forgotten about it; but I have just had an idea. I'll put it into practice while you are reviewing your spiking. I've just got to send a quick e-mail. Would you mind tidying up the cups?"

While I rinsed the coffee mugs in the sink, I thought I stood a chance of leaving here only three, possibly even two, thousand poorer, if he could not slice me up as much as he had been challenged to.

I also review my experience and was relieved to remember no pain and only minor discomfort. I wondered what being penetrated felt like, because Mrs Archer from the charity dinner had not exactly given a detailed description; in fact she seemed to have slept through it. Then I remembered that Jack had mentioned something earlier; what was it? That was it; 'Ticklish, but cool'. I thanked my lucky stars that I'm not greatly ticklish and wondered whether 'cool' meant 'not very cold' or 'pleasant in a hip kind of way'.

As I exited the bathroom, I heard the whoosh of an e-mail being sent. "Who are you sending e-mails to at this time of night?"

"Just some friends from Magician's College, to ask if they had any ideas on how to cut you into at least sixteen pieces; we tend to be night owls; it comes with the job."

"You didn't tell them about me, did you?" I briefly had a vision of a queue of magicians waiting to experiment on me.

"No, of course not! They're used to me having ideas and asking for their thoughts and suggestions. Usually they reply that even if I can work out a method of doing it, I'll never get anyone to be the assistant for it, especially if they knew what I planned in advance. But sometimes they'll say something that helps, in which case I thank them and invite them to the first show where I do whatever it is."

"So you expect your friends to check their e-mails when they get in?"

"Yes, of course. We all let each other know if we've had problems, so our friends can avoid them; that's how I found out about the mobile phone thing. We look out for each other, but we also like to brag about anything that went particularly well too."

"So, have you been bragging about getting a girl to come home with you, and what you've done to me since?" I asked in a slightly hostile tone.

"No, that's entirely between you and me, until I work out what to do with what I have been learning. I did however tell them to look out for the reviews of the show this evening; I saw at least a couple of reporters in the audience (they're the ones making notes instead of enjoying the show); I reckon I'm a dead cert for a favourable mention."

"Once you've finished stroking your ego, shall we talk about the next challenge? While I'm not totally sure that I want you sticking swords in me, I don't want to forfeit the challenge either, even though I know you'll win; I think you ought to work for the money."

He got up from the computer desk and we both returned to the couch.

"So, how do you plan to do this and how do we know when you've won?" I asked.

"My plan, such as it is, is you put you in as small a box as I can get you in, but with your head outside, then stick everything I've got into the box, and, of course, you. I'm assuming that not everything has to go right through, so long as it penetrates?"

"What's 'everything you've got'?" I asked, not at all confident I would like the answer.

"Let's see. There's plenty of swords, quite a few daggers, some wooden stakes (really sharpened wooden sticks), and a few sets of spikes, which I hope will count for each spike that goes in. That's why I want you in as small a box as possible, so that anything that enters the box, enters you."

I was right; I did not like the answer, but I was committed to this, as the challenger. I asked, "And do you have a suitably small box?" hoping that he would not.

"Not ready, but I was going to take a few measurements and then go and make one up, while you check out all the pointy things that I plan for you becoming very well acquainted with."

He stood and having made a point of showing his hands to be empty, immediately dropped a tape measure, holding one end between thumb and forefinger, so that it was ready for use. He was serious about really taking some measurements.

I rose taking up the post-it pad and pencil. And he made measurements which I took down; shoulder width, back length, lengths of both upper- and fore-arms, upper and lower legs and finally he asked me to note down my cup size; I guess he wanted to gauge how thick I would be with my knees up against my chest.

He took the scrap of yellow paper and complimented me on my hand-writing. He went to the lift, saying that he would send up the rest of the sharp things for the illusion and asked me to move them to the performance area while I checked them over and that he'd be back when he had made my made-to-measure box.

Jack walked over to the lift and with exaggerated care demonstrate how to open gates, before descending. It was not long before it returned without him, but with his collection of sharp implements. Having seen how it was done, I quickly had the shutters open again. There were five sets of spikes of various numbers and arrangements, a pot of pointy wooden sticks, fifteen daggers and I lost count of the swords; everything from three samurai swords and several cutlasses, to a pot of wooden swords painted silver and a claymore. By the time I had emptied the lift, Jack was back with a medium-sized flat piece of card.

"Oh good, you've got everything out and arranged so nicely; so I can find everything when I need it. Because you won't be outside the box to help me," he added with a smile. I had forgotten in my wonder at the variety of swords and sharp things that their intended resting place in the next few minutes was my body.

I swallowed hard to make sure my voice did not come out squeaky, before saying, "You've arrived, at last, just when the hard work is finished." I felt that attack was the best means of defence.

He seemed un-phased by this and dropped the flat box on the floor. He went to get something to put it on, while I went to look at the box I had an appointment with.

The box looked a lot like any box that had been flattened, except the were a few holes cut in certain places, but at the time I could not work out how the holes would go together and therefore what they would be for.

I picked the box and opened it out; partly to see how it went together and partly to help the magic along. It became obvious which of the open ends would become the base, so I began to fold it; each flap in turn, then tucking the free corner of the fourth flap inside the corner of the first.

By the time I had finished this operation, Jack was back with an open frame on casters with a loose metal plate in the bottom; forming a low wheeled tray. He invited me to place the part-formed box on this. As I positioned it on the tray, I tried to work out which way round it went and what the holes were for. I quickly surmised that the two semi-circular holes at the base would be to show my feet, and the two holes in the sides would be for my hands, but the reason for their positions was not at the time apparent; in the middle on what would be my right and top front on my left. The final hole would come together when the top was folded shut and accommodate my neck; this would be close to the rear of the box.

Having deduced where my extremities would be, was a short leap to having a good idea of how I was supposed to be folded once I was in the box; sitting with my knees to my chest and my hands out the sides, somehow. I could not see how I was going to get into the box without distorting or breaking it; because the front to back dimension was shorter than my thigh, so stepping in and sitting was not an option and neither was sitting in and then folding in my feet.

"That's a pretty small box," I commented. "How am I meant to get into it without bursting it open?"

"My thought was that we'd get you into position and I'd lower you in, but there is something more important than that to start with; the rules for this challenge."

"Is there much point? You get me in the box and stick this lot through the box and you win. If I say 'Pineapple', because I want out before the end, you win. Only if you can't or don't dare stick something in before you run out of things to stick in do I win; and that hardly seems likely, right?"

He smiled at my summary of the situation. "I propose if I get everything here penetrating you and have nothing left, we call it a draw; ok?"

I nodded, thinking there must be some catch I had not spotted, but not seeing it, I said, "Seems fair enough to me. Shall we get on with it before I chicken out and ask you to call me a taxi? Um, by the way does being stuck with a sword or whatever hurt."

"This one I can answer from experience (we practised penetrations on each other at Magician's College). The first part, where the sharp thing is pressed against you, feels exactly as you might expect; like a sharp thing pressed against you. The moment the item penetrates is like a well administered injection; a sharp pricking that does not last long. I found that it tickles a bit as the implement goes in, but that stops once it stops. And then you notice that there is a cool feeling where it is in your body, like touching something metal, but inside you." He seemed almost proud of knowing this from direct experience; it made me wonder what else he may have done.

"So, how come you practice penetrations on your friends at Magician's College, but need to try out your vanishing skills on volunteers?" I asked.

He seemed initially surprised by the question, but soon recovered. "Honestly, I don't really know." It must have taken some courage to admit there was something he did not know, especially in his chosen field of expertise. "I never even thought to ask. I know why we were allowed to practice penetrations on each other; it's so that if it starts to go wrong, the stickee could take control of not getting hurt and give the novice some advice on what he or she was doing wrong. It was a strict rule that you were not allow to practice on anyone who had not passed the first year penetrations course."

"Go on!" I said, hoping that he might continue his reminiscing and thus delay my appointment with the huge array of sharp implements I had just been laying out.

Instead it reminded him I was there. "Are you stalling by any chance?" I shrugged, not willing to admit that was exactly what I was doing. "Go and take your shoes off and sit on the arm on the end of the sofa."

I moved to comply and he carried on talking. "I guess, we weren't allowed to try sticking swords in non-magicians (except under very controlled circumstances), because the College is a bit of a secret and if students routinely went around stabbing members of the public, it wouldn't remain a secret for long."

He paused as I began to perch on the nearest end of the sofa. "Now put your left arm across the top of your belly and bring your knees up." This I did as he approached. "I'll take hold of you and you put your arm around my neck, got it?"

Jack squatted slightly and put his left arm across the base of my ribs at the back, while he put his right arm across my shins. He squeezed, gently, but firmly, and pulled me against him, so that my left hand was pressed to his abs. I cooperated and put my arm so that my elbow was hooked round the back of his neck. Straightening his legs, he lifted me from my position on the end of the couch; I felt safe in his arms, which felt not quite right as I knew his intention was to run me through with an, as yet, uncounted number of sharp things.

A few steps later, I was being held above the 'Box of Doom'. "You'll need to point your toes a bit, so you'll fit easily." His voice only showed slight strain from carrying me. With my toes pointed, he lowered me into the cardboard box, until his arms touched its rim. "I going to have to let go," he said, "but I'll finish lowering you by the arm 'round my neck. You ready?"

I nodded. He finished sliding me into the box. As I felt the bottom of the box under me, the toe holes in the front of the box lined up just right; as did the hole in the right side of the box, which turned out to be for my left hand.

"You can let go, now," he whispered, a few seconds after it was obvious that I was securely, if not totally comfortably, sat in the carton. I released his neck and as he unbent, he said, "Your hair smells nice."

That sent my mind whirring. What did he mean by that? Was he just being polite, because at the final stages of the lowering his nose was nearly buried in my hair, or did he mean more? Was he flirting with me? I tried to think which shampoo and conditioner I had used when I was preparing for the evening out with Linda. Did I mind if he was flirting with me? Was he my type? Was my interest in him for more than just the magic? Would I like to see him again after the challenges were complete and dues paid?

My fruitless speculations were interrupted, when he asked me to put my right arm in, so that the hand appeared through the hole in the front left of the box and my forearm was across my knees. He tucked the front flap over my arm and the two sides of the back flap over my shoulders. When he folded down the side flaps, he asked me to turn my head to the sides so that the edges would not collide with my nose. Finally, he produced a strip of heavy-duty tape to hold the top of the box fast.

"Do you have any preference for the order in which I put the spikes and swords and stuff in?" Jack asked.

"I assumed you'd be pushing in the sets of spikes and then the rest in whatever order you wanted. I guess that's just me thinking that any swords that go in before the spikes will be in the way of putting the spikes in. Listen to me! Talking like it was normal to discuss, and calmly by the way, which order you are going to be stabbed by multiple deadly weapons, when some part of me wants to run away. Am I nuts?"

"From what I've seen, you are much saner than a lot of people I know. But then I know a lot of magicians and we don't drink deep of the milk of common sense. Anyway, I was interpreting the chattering about stabbing order as a perfectly natural stalling tactic; you wouldn't try it with a mugger, would you?"

"Was that meant to be a compliment? If so, it wasn't the best I've ever received."

"What I really meant by the original question was, would you like to be pierced by a single item before the spikes, so you know what to expect, or should I just get on with in the best practical order I can devise?"

I considered the offer briefly. "A bit of prior experience would be great, now that you offer. If I'm going to chicken out because I find the feeling of being transfixed much worse than I anticipate, I'd rather save myself the problem of having it done multiple times before I discover it is a problem."

"That's very sensible, if a little defeatist. So what would you like for your first time?" He seemed to smile to himself. It took me a little while to get that he had amused himself with the obvious innuendo of penetrations and first times.

"When you can get your mind out of the gutter, I think I'd like to lose my piercing virginity to one of those samurai swords."

Jack made a valiant attempt not to laugh, but forgot I could see him grinning via the wall mirror as he turned his back to fetch a sword. He had schooled his face to appear serious, but nearly broke again when he said, "Where do you want it?"

I almost broke myself, before I realised that he was serious about offering me the chance to determine where this sword went in. I considered saying, 'Where-ever you like' to see if his calmer exterior cracked, but decided to take this seriously. I know it seems stupid given what I had experience so far this evening, but I was trying to think where would cause me least injury if it should go wrong.

"I think through a shoulder would be best," I said, as he turned wielding one of the samurai swords. I admit that I gulped at the sight.

He walked round behind me. I followed where he was by looking in the wall-mirror. As I watched he levelled the sword to line up with my right shoulder. I felt a slight nudge as the tip of the sword touched the box.

"I'm going try to insert this sword so that you feel each of the stages of penetration separately. So first, 'contact'." I heard the sword pierce the box behind me and felt the tip touch my back just at the top of my shoulder blade. As promised it felt exactly as described, a sharp thing against my skin with only the thin fabric of the T-shirt in the way, but with the added apprehension that I did not know if or when the pressure would increase to be enough to cut and cause pain.

I was about to comment that it felt just how he had said it would, when he said, "Second, the pierce." Moments later, I felt a sharp jab where the pressure had been before, this was only for a fraction of a second, then it quickly faded to the minor discomfort of feeling that I could not move that point, because there was something there.

"Third, the insert." I felt the point of immobility spread forward and as it did, the entire surface of the sword blade within me rubbed in a teasing way that if it had been applied to feet or under my arms would have produced laughter and automatic twitching to evade it. It was like a tickle, but one targeted at the fore-arm rather than somewhere more sensitive.

Much to my surprise, he stopped just before skin at the front of my shoulder. "And fourthly, the penetration." He held the sword in place and after about three seconds I could feel the cold of the metal through my shoulder; it seemed just like touching cold metal, but on the inside.

I was preparing to say, 'this doesn't feel so bad,' when he added, "And finally, the exit." As he pushed the sword another inch further. I felt some more tickle sensation as the blade moved and I knew where the tip had left my shoulder, because of the constrainedness at that point and nothing else.

"You didn't tell me about 'the exit'," I accused.

"I didn't think it was really necessary, because, as you now know, there isn't any particular feeling associated with it, right?" he countered. I nodded and as I did so, I could feel the sword through my right shoulder hindering my movement a little. "I've still got half a sword outside the box, so I shall continue and you can feel how the whole thing feels when done in one movement."

As the sword began move forward once more, I hurriedly tried to work out where it was going so that I could brace for what was about to happened. I calculated that it would go through my upper right fore-arm just as it arrived, bringing, in rapid succession, the feelings of pressure and injection which was instantly rubbed away by the tickle of the sword's transit and the restriction of being transfixed. Then I heard and saw the sword exit the box, before the cooling touch of metal through my arm made itself felt.

Jack lifted his hands from the sword handle, but the feeling of restricted movement remained. It occurred to me to wonder if it was the box, my body or both that were supporting the weight of the sword. "How does that feel?"

"It feels, oddly, OK, apart from the fact I can't move my shoulder or fore-arm now. Not actually uncomfortable, but will become so if it goes on too long, if you see what I mean."

"I know exactly what you mean. Being stuck in the same position for too long can be ache-inducing. By the way, let me know if you start to feel crampy, because that is the biggest danger; if you do a strong movement, like a cramp induced twitch, against a sharp edge, it can cause severe added discomfort, if the magician is not prepared for it."

"Now you tell," I said. Out of curiosity, I asked, "Do different items feel any different when they go through?"

"I guess they will, a bit, but I don't remember noticing any particular difference. But then again, I only remember being penetrated by swords at college. I guess it was a macho thing with us boys; we tended to practice together and the girls practiced with each other. Most of us were more interested in the magic than the opposite sex. Come to think of it, no-one got together at college and only one pair became a couple afterwards. We just, kind of, went our different ways, but kept in touch."

"Sorry to interrupt your trip down Memory Lane, but could I try one of your blunter weapons, to make sure that it doesn't feel too different or too much worse."

"Of course," he said as he darted toward a pot of wooden rods and pulled one out. "This one I'll do the same way, for a comparison?"

"I guess," I said, in a manner that suggested that while I was not sure that it was exactly what I had thought of, it would have to do, because I did not have any better ideas at the moment.

He returned to behind the box and lined the sharpened dowel up. "I'll do it exactly like last time, so you can compare properly." With no further word of warning, he pressed the sharper end through the cardboard at my left shoulder and pressed it against me in the mirror position from the sword. The stabbing the stake through the card made more noise than the sword had, but the pressure against the back of my shoulder did not seem so dangerous as it was spread over a wider area. The pressure required to get it to pierce me was quite a bit higher and when the tip did enter me the jab was a tiny bit more long lasting. The pushing through was a bit more tickly, but I guess that has to do with the wood being a rougher in texture than the steel. The exit was a similar non-sensation except for the cementing of the feeling of restricted movement. Jack soon had the rod shoved though my fore-arm, just above my wrist and out of the box's front. I came to the conclusion that the tickle's pleasantness compensated for the rough feelings produced as the wood entered my body.

"How was it?" he asked, having given me a few moments to gather my thoughts.

I tried to turn my head to address him directly, but found that I could not move enough, so I addressed his image in the mirror. "The entry is a bit rougher, but the tickle as it goes through is pleasanter, so I guess it averages out at about the same." Then a thought hit me. "Hey! I've just noticed it doesn't feel cool in the same way as the sword does; kind of, like touching wood really, but on the inside. I suppose the cool feeling from the sword is just the metal conducting away the body heat of the bit of me that it's stuck through, like it would if I was touching it normally, right?" I had amazed myself, by the fact that I was analysing my situation while twice impaled, when common sense would suggest that I should get out of there with all speed.

"I reckon, you're right," he replied. "I always thought that that was the explanation, but never thought to try and find out. Maybe it's time someone did some research into how assistants feel during various illusions and the causes of those feelings." He paused long enough that I knew he was really thinking that some scientific research into magic might be something to do; I coughed to remind him I was still here.

"Oh sorry, Abi, sometimes I go off on a thought and forget what I was doing. I take these two out and then we can start on the challenge proper."

He grasped the end of the stick and pulled. There was the tickly sensation as the wood was withdrawn from my shoulder and fore-arm, but there was something else. I do not know if penetration pushes the flesh aside to get through or vanishes a path to follow, but the return of muscles and sinew to their proper places feels good, giving the tickle of the moving rod an added pleasantness that might be likened to massage. When the sword was pulled free it was similar but not as intense.

He returned the two implements to their previous places and picked up a set of spikes. "As you surmised, my plan was spike sets first, then the rest. After your sample penetrations, are you ready to begin with the challenge? Or are you going to give up now and defeat the purpose of me making an Abi-sized box for you?"

I wondered whether the pricking sensations and the discomfort of not being able to move as normal, were sufficiently outweighed by the pleasant tickle of the transit of the intruding objects and the good feelings when they were withdrawn. I decided that I would lose least in both money and pride if I went ahead.

"Go ahead," I said a bit begrudgingly.

Jack smiled and asked "Which way do you want to be pierced first?"

"From behind, I think. I have some idea what to expect."

He went behind me and moved the set of spikes so that they all touched the rear face of the box. I could feel the pressure of the tips against the box through the parts of my back that touched the rear of the carton.

"Fast or slow?"

"I think fast is best. I don't think I want to be anticipating the pricking, which seems to be the worst part of being penetrated by a magician's sword."

Before I had finished the sentence, he pushed the spikes through the carton and me. I could see the pattern of spike tips in the front face of the box. I felt the pricks as the spikes entered my back and then more pricks as they went into my thighs and another set in my lower legs and right forearm. The spikes seemed to have missed my left forearm even though it was trapped between my body and my thighs.

It took but a few heartbeats to explore my lack of mobility; everything was pinned in place, unable to move until this set of spikes was removed, except my hands, feet and head, even my left arm could not move, but that was because of its position rather than skewering by the spikes.

"If I was a masochist, I might have really enjoyed that," I commented. He was already heading towards the next spike-set he planned to use. He paused in case the next words were a plea to be let out of the box; he looked like he hoped that they would not be.

"If you're planning to get all this stuff through me, you had better get on with it, because I can already feel that I'm losing heat and I guess that'll only increase as you stick more stuff through me. I don't want you to have to take me to hospital with hypothermia."

Jack took this as permission to continue and a suggestion that he do it quickly. It also resulted in a slight change of his original plan, he later admitted; he decided that the wooden items would go in before the metal swords, instead of after, to minimize the heat loss. The next two spike-sets went in from the left and the right.

As the fourth set of spikes was thrust through me, from in front, I said, "That was probably the most intimidating thing I've even seen; those spikes coming straight at me, and me with no ability to even try and dodge them. I now have much more respect for those people who brave the magician's guillotine face-up."

Jack was going for the fifth and final remaining set of spikes; it resembled a sparse bed of nails, but with the nails two feet long. He hesitated when the computer in the office area made a quacking sound.

"What was that?" I asked, while Jack returned to his mission by dragging the over-tall bed of nails directly in front of the box.

"E-mail," said Jack, "from Charlie; I have some alert sounds that are specific to particular people." By then he was behind me again.

The next thing I felt nearly frightened me half to death; if I had not be so terrified I feel sure that I would have said 'Pineapple'. I felt him pull upwards on the rear set of spikes, so that the entire box with me in it tilted forward toward the over-grown bed of nails in front of me. At an angle of about thirty degrees the tilting stopped and I heard a metal-against-metal scraping. I turned my attention from the ominously waiting bed of nails to the mirror to see, indirectly, what Jack was doing.

I was just in time to see him drag free the plate that made the base of the wheeled tray.

As he lowered my box back to the tray, I could feel different pressures from the various spikes that transfixed me; put these feelings away for later analyse. "You could have warned me," I protested, "I thought for a moment you were going to tip me forward onto that the spikes in front."

"Sorry," he said, more from politeness than contrition. "I needed to get rid of the base plate, for the next stage."

"Then why was it there in the first place?" To me it looked like a failure of planning on his part.

"When you first went in the box, your weight was supported by the base of the box, which being just card would not support your weight, so it needed some help. Now most of your weight is carried by the spikes to the walls of the box, so the bottom does not need to be reinforced anymore." He squatted down behind the box, so I could not see him anymore.

"In that case, why remove it?"

"Because I wouldn't have been able to do this." Suddenly I felt myself rise. In the mirror I saw he was lifting the box, me, the tray and the four sets of spikes. He grunted as if this was a huge effort. Once he had the whole assemblage stable and his legs straight, he took a step forward and lowered me onto the waiting bed of nails. He released the tray and that fell down the outside of the nail-bed.

I anticipated the pricks as the nails penetrated the card of the base of the box and then me, but they did not come.

"Damn," he said, "I was afraid of that!"

"What?" I asked, a bit panicked that something had gone disastrously wrong.

"The bed of nails is acting as a bed of nails instead of a bed of spikes."

"Come again?"

"The point of a bed of nails is that it support the person lying on it, because the weight is distributed over many points so that the pressure isn't enough the pierce the skin. I thought with the extra weight of the other spikes it would be enough to cause it to pierce. I didn't figure on the cardboard being tougher and flatter so that it was supported by more points. I'll just have to make you heavier."

"Heavier? How?"

"It's like the reverse of levitation," he said. I did not fully understand, but I, somehow, accepted that he did.

His face took an expression of intense concentration, then suddenly with a snapping sound, the nails pierced the double layer of card that formed the box base and straight into me and onward. I continued settling onto the oversized nails until the box returned to resting on the wheeled tray. I felt the pricks of piercing in all my lowest parts (buttocks, upper thighs and heels) and my left forearm.

Jack visibly relaxed and took a deep breath. It seemed like it had been a huge effort for him, even though he had not moved a single muscle during the entire process. "Alright, that's done. Now for the rest."

Starting with the sharpened wooden rods and the painted wooden swords and then moving on to the huge variety of swords and spears. The box was soon bristling with the ends of sticks and sword hilts. I felt every single one of them as it went in. It seemed easier on me than spikes, because there was only one prick at a time, instead of a cascade of seemingly randomly positioned pricks.

As the final sword went in, Jack said, "only fifteen more to go."

"But there are no more swords."

"But there is that rack of daggers." He point to a stand with a metal loop through which were daggers mounted through slots.

"And where are you planning on inserting them?" I asked, being fairly sure that were very few accessible square inches left on the outside of the box.

Instead of answering straight away, he stepped out of my sight, briefly, and returned with a head sized red box covered with golden Chinese symbols. "I thought I'd be traditional about this bit," he said as he put the head-box over my head, then went to fetch the dagger stand.

"Open or closed?" he asked as he placed the stand within easy reach of his position behind me.

"I guess 'open' or you could be doing anything."

He unclipped the panel that would usually have hidden the nitty-gritty of what was happening inside the box and then stabbed the daggers symmetrically into my head.

My thoughts seemed to be taking many detours while this was happening, as if they had to go round the intruding blades.

"Ok, final item," Jack announced.

He inserted the final dagger through a slot in the front edge of the box and I felt a sharp object pressing against my forehead just below my hairline. A heartbeat later the prick occurred and the blade slid in. This feeling stopped as I heard the hilt touch the box.

"That looks like a draw to me," he remarked as he picked up his hand-held camera and did a tour of the skewered me in my box.

"What are you filming me for?" I demanded.

"I thought you might, one day, want to know how many sharp things you survived in one go, so I am making a record of it. There, that's done. Now to get you out of there."

While he extracted all the swords and daggers and sticks, I had the leisure to think of a few questions and wonder what havoc all the sharp things had done to the T-shirt and shorts. I had a hard time trying to concentrating, partly due to the good feelings that each item imparted as it was removed and partly because the computer on the other side of the room made a series of animal noises alerting Jack to the arrival of emails from various of his friends from magician's college. And I was feeling colder than I had ever been in my life.

Once all the single blades were out and the four sets of spikes had been removed from their respective sides, Jack began to open the top of the box.

"Don't you need to take me off the spikes through the bottom of the box first?" I queried.

"That might work, but it probably wouldn't. 'Coz, once you were clear of the spikes, you'd most likely fall through the bottom of the box, back onto the spikes. So put your arm round my neck and I'll lift you out like I lowered you in."

"What about my costume?"

"I'm sorry, but I almost forgot about your modesty in my urgency to get you out. I'll only be a mo."

He returned quickly with a large cloak which he fastened round my neck and held out a sleeve so that I could put my right arm through it to hook round his neck. The black cloak nearly swamped the box.

He started to lift me, but I told him to stop. "I can't get my toes inside the box, because I can't move my ankles to point my toes."

He fetched a sharp knife from the kitchen and cut two slots in the front of the box, so that I did not have to draw in my toes to be lifted from the box. This attempt at extricating me from the 'Box of Doom' was successful and I was soon perched wrapped in the cloak on the end of the sofa.

"You feel very hot," I commented as I released his neck.

"No, it's you being very cold; you've lost a lot of body heat. I reckon you should go and have a good hot shower and I'll make sure there's something for you to wear when you've warmed up. I keep a short bathrobe in there, which you might find a bit short for your comfort, but I can always pass you something when you're ready."

I slipped off the arm of the couch and staggered towards the bathroom cubicle. Until then I had not realised how cold and unwell I was feeling.

In the bathroom, with the door locked, I shed the cloak. It did not take much to remove the T-shirt and shorts; just a couple pulls to join up the multitude of rents caused by the many blades that had been through them.

The shower felt scalding hot initially and soon became just gloriously warm. When I stopped shivering, I left the shower and towelled myself dry. I checked out the bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. Jack was right; was not going to cover enough to feel comfortably modest, but it would do for leaning out of the door and calling for some clothes.

"They're in the basket outside the door," he called back. "I'm making you some soup to warm you up on the inside. I hope chicken's alright; you aren't a vegetarian, are you?"

"Chicken sounds great. Until you mentioned it, I hadn't thought about warming internally." I leant down and hooked the basket over the bathroom's threshold. Once I had closed the door, I looked at the contents of the basket and was disappointed. I was not any more impressed when I took the individual items from the basket.

The first item was a bikini in a shiny and stretchy fabric in an orangey red; the top was a band that would go round my chest just under my arms and the bottoms had a built-in skirt that hardly reached mid-thigh (or was it a short skirt with built-in knickers?). Added to that was rectangle of cloth so garish that it would have made a maker of tasteless Hawaiian shirts pause; this I assumed was meant to be wrapped round my waist to cover my legs. The next item was some sort of hybrid between a blouse and negligee; it covered from my shoulders to my hips, but had no means of doing up at the front. The final item was a pair of flip-flops that seemed to be a couple of sizes too large. Having no other options, I put them on.

I opened the door, stepped out of the bathroom cubicle and asked, "What twisted thinking made you choose this outfit?" I stood there and spread my arms to display the sartorial horror he had supplied. Of course this caused the top to gape, revealing more than I had intended.

He looked up from the pan he was stirring. "I agree, it looks hideous, but I thought you'd not want to change again for the final challenge, hence the bikini. The other stuff is to cover you until then. If I remember where I got them, I promise I'll never go there again." He stirred the pan, then said, "Soup'll be ready in a few minutes, so if you want to review your previous challenge, it's cued up on the TV."

I flapped across to the couch and tried to arrange myself so that I was covered and took up the remote. I watch myself being on what is usually considered the wrong end of so many sharp items. The only interruption was Jack bringing the soup. He took his bowl to the computer and began looking at his farmyard of e-mails.

I started off trying to count the number of penetrations, but quickly lost count. I concluded that it did not matter what the number was; just that I was never going to do that number again. Then I realised that I was actually considering being in a box again. Was this an after-effect of near-hypothermia? Or was I going nuts?

When the soup and the replay of my ordeal were both finished, I looked round to ask if any of Jack's friends had anything interesting to say, but he was not there. I was about to call out to ask where he was when the elevator juddered into life and descended. I assume he finished his e-mails and went to fetch something from his store. I heard the clatter of something heavy being loaded into the lift and the motors bring whatever it was to this level. As the elevator shuddered to a halt, Jack came back through the door.

He headed for the kitchen asking me if I like another coffee, or a fruit juice or a cocoa. He also asked if I had any questions about what we had done already.

I told him that a cocoa would send me to sleep and fruit juice would be cold, so I would have coffee unless he had some tea about. He went about making a fresh flask of coffee.

The only question I could think of that related to what we had just done was, "How come I didn't hear or feel any of the swords and things scraping against each other?" Because with that many things in the box they must have made contact somewhere. So I asked it.

"That's easy to answer. If I can get at those things to penetrate you unharmed, isn't it obvious I just made them penetrate each other when they met?"

"I suppose it is, when you put it like that," I admitted.

Then he made an admission of his own, "To be totally honest (not a phrase you'll hear a magician utter often and mean it) I hadn't thought about it either; I, kind of, do it by instinct. Until you asked the question I did not have an answer, because the question was, just, unthought-of."

"So, you're making this up as you go along?"

"Not exactly, it's I know how to do it without thinking too much about it. Can you click your fingers?"

Not expecting this change of tack, but following to see where it lead, I clicked my fingers and said, "Yes."

"Now without doing it again, can you tell me how you did it?"

I considered telling him exactly how I had clicked my finger, but suddenly realised that I had not the slightest idea.

He saw the combination of comprehension and puzzlement cross my face as I raised my hand to watch what happened as I clicked the fingers, then the frustration when I noticed that I was instinctively trying to do it again to observe the process.

"See," he said, "it's something you just do without any real idea of how you do it; it's like that with some aspects of magic. You just do it, without giving it any thought."

"And suppose it becomes second nature as you practice too?" I suggested.

"Precisely," he agreed.

The coffee was ready, so another mug was brought to the coaster on the coffee table.