Mad Magician 3

On the return journey home, Dot thought about what had happened to her that morning. She had met two strangers and agreed to be employed by one of them, but given that he was an inmate in a mental institution, was he really in the position to give her work or pay her?

During their meeting she had been floated in the air and had her head chopped off, neither of which she had felt was particularly wrong or right; the fact that her head had been reattached to her body made it alright, but for the rising opinion that it should not have been removed in the first place.

Dot was confused about what she had agreed to. Nothing was signed; specifying moneys to be paid, hours to be worked or any other terms and conditions. Had she been offered a real job at all?

If she was confused about her employment status, her feelings about the magic she had experienced were a disaster at a spaghetti factory; threads of thought going in every conceivable direction, meeting, joining, separating, tying themselves in Gordian knots beyond the power of Alexander. She found the little magic she had experience at the hands of Arthur and his lead psychiatrist, Simon, to be calming and terrifying, relaxing and exciting; it felt right and wrong.

To her relief and horror, she realised that she had several days to get used to the idea of being employed by a mental patient and magician, who seemed to think that she was his panacea. The horror part was that she knew that her sister, Jenna, would want to know every detail of her audition and that if she was told the truth, she would not believe it.

The second half of the journey home was spent planning what nearly lie to tell Jenna.

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As she came in the door, Jenna called from the kitchen. "That you, Dot? How did it go? The audition, I mean."

"Give us a chance to get in the door and unpacked; it feels like it's been a long day."

Despite this request, Jenna, as expected, followed her up to her bedroom and leant in the doorway, while her sister unpacked the bag she had taken. Jenna peppered Dot with questions, which Dot did her best not to react to, except to laugh when she was asked if the magician had sawn her in half.

Dot lay on her bed and invited Jenna to sit on the bedroom chair. "As you're so curious, I'll tell you. I got the job, but it isn't as exciting or glamorous as either of us thought it might be from the job title. Magician's Assistant is really a ordinary and dull job; it's basically being secretary and personal assistant to a magician. While he's out of town, I'll be doing things in town for him, like getting his equipment overhauled and occasionally going to visit him to help with other things that can't be done at the end of a phone. I think that he advertised the post as 'Magician's Assistant' in the hope of get a more glamorous set of applicants, not that I saw any of the others."

"But you got the job, well done you!" Jenna tried to sound upbeat, despite her disappointment that the job was not what she had thought it was.

"It won't be much to begin with either; just small errands until he gets to trust me and my judgement, but I guess I've got to start somewhere, right?"

"So, why is he out of town, any way. You'd have thought that he'd want to be near where things are going on and keeping his finger on the pulse."

"He said that he was working on a new trick and it would be difficult to keep it under wraps if he was practising in town. I think it's something like walking through a wall, but you've got to keep quiet about that, because he doesn't want his rivals to know he's coming up with something new."

Dot did not know where the idea that Arthur was working on a walking through walls trick had come from, but she felt in her gut that it was the right thing to suggest, because she was all but certain that it would be blabbed to someone in the next week, despite Jenna's 'my lips are sealed' gesture.

"So, do you know when you're starting?" asked Jenna.

"Not exactly," Dot admitted. "I guess when they can get some employment contract together for me to sign; probably next week sometime."

Jenna lost interest and drifted off.

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Arthur arrived at Simon's office at the appointed time and took up his place on the couch.

"You do realise that you have created a ton of paperwork for me?" commented Simon.

"Maybe, I could help; after all it is for my benefit," offered the magician.

"What would you know about paperwork? You're a performer, not an office clerk."

"You would be surprised that it takes a sea of contracts, waivers, environmental impact statements and lots of stuff I've forgotten the names for, to do a big stunt. I had the idea for the explosive truck escape nearly three years before I got to do it. It took about three months to work out all the wrinkles so that I knew I could do it safely. It took another three months to secure the funding from a TV company to come and film it and the rest of the three years to complete the forms that came from every interested body and office, some of which I didn't even know existed before I started the project. Rest assured that I know a lot more than I really want to about how to complete forms and to avoid them coming back stamped 'refused'."

"I assumed that you had people to do that kind of thing for you."

"Admittedly Alice helped; mostly writing the fair copies to actually send in, but a magician can't exactly discuss his trade secrets with 'someone from admin'. I became an expert on ticking officious little boxes, without telling to whole truth or directly lying."

"So, how do you suggest I answer the question about what role Dot will play in you treatment?"

"I think you had it right yesterday, when you, I think jokingly, referred to her as an 'external specialist'. That is just the kind of thing that committees like to see. And if you add somewhere that, 'She is willing to continue the patient's treatment, after what I hope will be a short period of treatment leading to the patient's discharge, at no extra cost to the institution.' I'm sure that you'll find in amongst all those forms something that asks how much this is going to cost. You'll need to put on that one that 'the patient will self-fund the treatment and reimburse the institution for any additional expenses associated with security and supervision of the sessions'." They'll eat that up."

"So you want to be supervised when Dot comes?" questioned Simon.

"No. I don't want any more people than necessary learning my secrets, but I am a realist. I don't expect the 'powers that be' to sanction unlimited access for Dot or me to come and go as we please, but I hope that offering to accept some supervision will minimise the supervision I get. I also hope that you will do most of the supervising yourself. I know that will rack up the supervisory expenses a bit, but I trust you not to divulge my secrets as psychiatrist and client. I might even teach you a useful trick or two."

"Such as?"

"Well, I know a few tricks with a kind word and a shiny thing on a string. And you might want to know where 'Byronic Brian' disappears to on Thursday evenings."

"How do you know about that?" the psychiatrist asked sharply.

"I think you forget that despite appearances I have nearly free run of this place, even when you think we are all safely in our beds behind locked doors. I hear things that you don't intend to be heard by inmates. I shall not be breaking Brian's confidence just yet though, but you can be certain that if I thought his Thursday evenings were harming anyone, I would tell you straight away. In my opinion, it is doing him more good than harm too."

"Ok, if you say so, I had noticed an improvement. I put it down to the change of drugs."

"It can't be, because he's not taking them; a little trick I taught him. His absences are the source of his improvement and when I tell you, I think you'll agree. And I'm not planning to break that confidence until I feel I can convince you that what he is doing is harmless, but you might as well stop those pills, because they're going down the pan without passing through him first."

"I shall look into this."

Arthur turned to look at Simon. With a serious expression on his face, he said, "I suggest that you don't investigate too hard or you might set back what improvement you feel he has made."

Simon considered Arthur's unusual use of eye contact as a signal that he was serious about his warning.

"What if someone looks into Dot's qualifications and finds that she isn't a specialist in anything?"

"You sound like the committee don't trust you to give an honest recommendation for my treatment. If we leave a few small, easily-filled holes in the story told by the forms, they won't notice the bigger holes, if they like the story. The story is that a few sessions with Dot, cost-free to them, will likely make me no longer their problem."

Their discussion continued, mostly centred around the details that would be needed to allow Dot access to attend rehearsals.

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On Thursday a package arrived for Dot. It contained two copies of an employment contract, a mobile phone and a request to return a copy of the contract to the lawyers as soon as possible and be available to receive a call that evening.

Dot put the phone on charge and read through the contract. She found nothing that concerned her and popped the signed copy into the return envelope.

----------

Dot did her best to be alone in her bedroom, when the phone rang; this consisted of putting the door wedge that usually held the door open in place, holding it shut, and the desk chair under the door handle; she did not want Jenna interrupting the call. While she waited, she took her tablet to try and find out more about her employer. She knew the call was about to arrive by the clicking from the speakers of the tablet, before the phone itself chirped. She grabbed it up from its resting place beside the tablet, pressed the 'pick up' button on the touch screen and said, "Hello!"

Arthur replied, "That was quick!"

"Well I knew you were going to call, so I had the phone to hand and the noises it made on the speakers of my tablet warned me that it was happening."

"Good! So, how have you been?"

"Ok. This phone and the contract arrived this morning. I've already put the contract in the post. Other than that nothing much has happened. My sister was very curious to hear what had happened at the audition, erm, interview, so I told her that the job was really more a personal assistant type of role, rather than a magical assistant and I would be running errands while you were out of town developing a new trick. I told her it was something like walking through a wall. I hope that was ok, because she hasn't got the first notion of keeping a secret."

There was a pause while the magician get his head around this sudden flood of information. "That's fine, because for the next few weeks you will be running errands and meeting a few people; I don't expect it to be less than three weeks before the people that need to say 'yes' to you coming to visit for rehearsals, actually say 'yes'. As to you potentially starting a rumour that I am developing a new 'walking through walls' trick, that is probably a good thing; I'm already getting better at it. In fact I'm talking to you on a mobile phone that Simon is keeping for me in his safe, although he doesn't known I have access to it."

"Should you be doing that? He seemed to be trusting you; aren't you breaking his trust, and don't you need his trust to get out of there?"

"What he doesn't know won't worry him; besides he is getting a feel for how dangerous it could be if I was to remain incarcerated for too much longer, especially without any way to move the magic on."

"So, why the cloak and dagger stuff?" Dot asked.

"Well, most of the time, until we can get you access for 'therapy sessions' you will be receiving your instructions by text from this phone; I'll be writing messages and Simon will be sending them, because he does not think I can get at this phone. But once in a while, I'll feel the need to vent a little magic and I'll need your help with that."

"I'm not sure how that makes sense, but ok." Dot sounded doubtful.

"I'm going to need you to do some things that I hope you wouldn't normally do, but because I'm in contact with you, you will not come to any harm and it'll probably feel similar to the sensation of being beheaded, but to a lesser extent."

"That sounds a bit ominous, but ok, what do I need to do?" She was still a little uncertain.

"Have you got something sharp in the room with you?" Dot tried to think what Arthur meant and was looking round the room, but he was already moving on. "Great! Nail scissors will be ideal."

"Wait! how did you know I had nail scissors?"

"Don't all well-groomed young women have nail scissors?" replied Arthur; his tone included a hint of mock innocence.

"There's more to it than that. You only mentioned the nail scissors after I had seen them on the dressing table. Are you reading my mind, because if you are you can stop right now and I resign."

"I'm not exactly reading your mind; not only would that be unethical, but there would be too much information to process."

"Then what are you doing? Because it seems more than just guesswork."

Arthur paused, as if deciding how far to stretch the truth and far it needed to be stretched to calm his newly appointed assistant. "It's part of what makes us so compatible, Dot. I definitely cannot read your thoughts, but the connection caused by our compatibility, the fact that we have met and that I am in touch with you now, means that I can mentally ask a question via our connection and get an impression of the answer. Of course, at the moment it isn't 100% reliable, but getting a mental response is easier if you are thinking of the topic I ask about."

"Is that how you knew about the other photo when you called, that first time?"

"Yes, and that's what convinced me that you were the best one I had ever encountered, because I could do that without having met you in person. But I have to admit, I was mainly picking up the existence of the photo and your embarrassment that it existed. If you had challenged me, at the time, to describe it, I couldn't have; but now I know the details and I reckon that you're right that it should not have been taken, and still less posted on Facebook."

"How do I know that you're telling the truth and not reading my mind and telling me what I want to hear?"

"Fair point. But we have to start building trust sometime, because soon enough (by which I mean a few months time) we will need to trust each other with our lives on an almost daily basis."

"Ok, I think. What were we talking about?"

"You were looking for something sharp and I suggested that your nail scissors would be ideal."

"Oh yeah. And why were we looking for something sharp?" Dot got up from her bed and stepped over to the dressing table which did duty as a desk too. She had her head to the side holding the phone in place on her shoulder.

"That was so that we can do a small piece of magic; that way I am less of a danger here and you start to get used to what it feels like to do magic."

"Ok, that makes about as much sense as the rest of this does, but why do we need the scissors. You could just tell me what card I'm thinking of, couldn't you."

"Three of Hearts," Arthur responded automatically. "Because while that expends some of my surplus magic, it does not help you with what it feels like to receive magic."

The fact that Arthur had named the card Dot had been thinking of unnerved her slightly, but she was puzzled by what Arthur had said about receiving magic. "What's that about?" she asked.

"I may have mentioned it during the audition, but it is forgivable if it slipped your mind, because a lot happened then. But the nub of it is; as a magician I accumulate magic, which can be dissipated by doing magic stuff. If I have too much magic in me, it starts to be released in unexpected, uncontrolled and potentially dangerous ways. You, on the other hand, have the special talent of being a magician's assistant; that is you absorb magic. You may until very recently have felt that life was a bit flat, shall we say. That is because without magic to absorb, you, kind of, absorb the fun from your life."

"My sister does say that I take life too seriously; is that the kind of thing you mean?"

"Given the impressions of the situations she says that kind of thing in, I think that's exactly the kind of thing."

"So, you're saying that I'll be more fun once we get started actually doing magic?"

Arthur paused. "Well, most likely you will feel more fun to be around, which will probably manifest in other people feeling you are more fun to be around. But there is also the fact that once we start practising and performing, you will become more confident, which will have its own knock-on effects."

"I think I get that, but what has all that to do with the feeling of receiving magic? And more to the point, nail scissors?"

"Well, sadly, there is such a thing as too much magic. If you have absorbed too much magic, you become like a saturated sponge, you can't absorb any more, which depending on the situation can range from being mildly uncomfortable to, in extreme cases, being positively dangerous. So we need to get you used to what the normal absorption of magic feels like so that when we get together for rehearsals, once I'm free of this place, I can help you find out what it feels like to absorb an excess of magic, under controlled and safe conditions, so that you can tell when you have had enough and need a break to deal with the magic you already have."

"Ok. And the nail scissors?" asked Dot.

"We are going to do a small piece of magic. But because we are at such a distance, I'll have to provide the magic, but you'll have to provide the doing."

With the scissors in one hand Dot had returned to her bed. "Can you do magic with non-magical stuff? I mean there's nothing magical about these."

"Of course, I can. Or more to the point, we can; it's just takes a little bit of extra magical power, which in my current situation is a good thing, but in the context of a show is a bad thing, because in the same way that you will only be able to absorb so much magic at one go, I can only produce so much magic, or it starts to leak in unexpected ways. The point of magical props is to minimise the magic required so that the magician does not run out of magic before the end of the show."

"So, I've got the scissors what am I meant to do with them?" asked Dot.

"That depends on what you're wearing, but what I want you to do is stab the scissors into a muscle; calf or fore-arm would be ideal, but I'd avoid the thigh for the moment, because severing the femoral artery could be fatal if it goes wrong."

Before the magician could continue, Dot intervened. "I thought you said (or implied somehow) that magic was safe. And now you're saying that there is danger. I'm not sure if I care which it is, but at least do me the favour of getting your story straight."

"Magic is like most things in life; whether it is safe or dangerous depends on how you handle it. I'm an experienced professional, but in my current situation if there is too much magic accumulated, it becomes a hazard. On the other hand, you are a novice, so need detailed guidance, to avoid the potential pitfalls, so under the supervision of a knowledgeable magician you should not come to any harm, as long as you follow the instructions carefully."

"I was kind of guessing it was something like that. So what do you want me to do?"

"Open the scissors and stick one of the blades into the muscle; but be careful not to twist the blade, because that will let blood out," instructed Arthur.

"Will this hurt?" asked Dot recalling the capsicum sting she had felt when Arthur had cut her head off.

"It could do a little, but that's another good reason to use your calf or fore-arm; there are fewer touch sensitive nerves in the skin there so you are less likely to feel anything. Have you decided if you're using your arm or your leg?"

"I think I'll be using my arm. It would be awkward to get at my calf and if this goes wrong, I'll be limping for days."

"I knew you'd be the right kind of assistant for me; always thinking through things, not wanting any unexpected surprises."

"So, given that I'm doing this, where would be best to stick in the blade? I'm thinking that too close to my wrist would be a bad idea; too many blood vessels and if there is a scar, it might look like I attempted suicide."

"I was going to suggest about a third of the way from your wrist to your elbow and in such a way that it passes between the bones, because at this distance I don't think that I can ease the blade's way through bone."

"Alright, I'll do it on three." The grunt from the end of the phone sounded sufficiently positive that Dot began counting, on the assumption that if she had heard wrong that Arthur would stop her.

Dot reached three uninterrupted. She pressed the tip of the scissor blade against her forearm. She was glad that she did not feel the sharpness of the blade; she felt the tension the pressure that the blade tip created in the skin surrounding the point of contact.

Then the pressure against her skin vanished. The hand holding the scissors jerked forward until the crosspiece formed by the other blade and handle touched the forearm.

"I've stuck the scissors into my arm." Her voice was full of wonder; the wonder of having a magic trick happen before your eyes and the wonder of 'How could I be so easily influenced to do something so stupid?'

"I know. I can feel that you are absorbing the magic needed to keep you safe. Now I need you to concentrate on what the feeling is of absorbing the magic is. After a while, by which I mean a few rehearsals, you will know what it feels like to absorb magic normally. When we get to rehearsing on our own, once I'm out of here, then we can get you experiencing how much is too much and work on designing an act from there."

Dot turned her attention from the conversation that they had been having and tried to feel what it was like to have a scissor blade in her arm and differentiate the sensations caused by the blade from those caused by the magic. Taking Arthur's warning to heart she did not move the blade to avoid any bleeding, despite being surprised that the mere act of piercing her arm had not produced even a bead of blood. The feeling of the scissor blade in her arm defied comparison to anything Dot had previously experienced, except the feeling of having her head cut off, from the week before. It definitely felt that it was not right; this sensation should not be. It also did not feel wrong; it was not a bad thing to have a scissor blade jabbed into your arm in these circumstances.

"I don't know how to describe how this feels."

"That does not matter, just so long as you know how it feels and can recognise it in the future."

Dot replied, "I guess I can. It feels a bit like it felt when you beheaded me, but smaller and without the scratch or stinging."

"That's good enough for the moment. I don't expect you to be able to express how it feels any more than I can express how it feels to do magic. I know I enjoy it, but I couldn't tell you what it feels like. When we rehearse some more, you will get a better handle on what having magic done to you feels like, but until then just try to remember the feeling so you can make comparisons with other magical feelings.

"It's time to take the scissors out of your arm," the magician stated.

"Why?" Dot asked. "Is there some kind of time limit on using magic?"

"No, but as I said at the beginning, I'm out and about without permission, so I had better get back to where I'm supposed to be before too long and I don't want to risk injuring you by hanging up on you before you are back to normal; keeping you safe over this distance might be too much, even for my overloaded magical reserves, without the connection we have via the phone.

"Pull the scissors out gently; that will allow the flesh and skin to knit together without forming a scar. You are a novice at this and your body will need to get used to it before we can go too fast."

Dot put a small amount of tension on the scissors' handle and could feel the pull in the forearm. "What about when you put my head back on? That seemed to be very fast, but I can't find or feel a scar to tell me that that really happened."

"There were two factors there; the first of which was that the distance was so much smaller; in fact there was no distance, because I was in contact with you."

Dot felt this explanation had merit; thinking back to the physics classes and the inverse square law. "And the second?" she prompted, feeling that Arthur was going to be happy enough to skip over this second factor, given the chance.

"That is that the body is always more happy to deal with a potentially fatal wound than a mere scratch. Think about how often you see a magician do stuff that should kill his assistant, compared to stuff that might cause a small scar. Ok, for illusionists this is mostly down to these things being more attention grabbing, but for us magician's it's because they are easier to undo, because the assistant's body is much more cooperative when the alternative is death, than when the result will be a small scar."

As the explanation ended, Dot looked at her forearm. The blade of the scissors was out and the only evidence that anything had happened was a small area where her skin seemed a bit pinker, as if she had pressed something against it for a while.

"The blade is out," said Dot.

"Good. Now I had better hang up, put the phone back and get back to my room."

"But weren't you going to tell what to do? or something?"

"I don't think so. I needed to pass on some magic, so I don't feel so tense from it, and to make sure that you are alright. And make sure that I could do this, accessing the phone, without too much trouble."

"But what about giving me some instructions?" queried Dot.

"I think I had better leave that to Simon, because it is better for all concerned if he has some illusion that he is in control of the situation. I'll make sure he has some instructions to send you on Monday, so enjoy your weekend, because it may be your last chance." The magician hung up.

Dot sat for a minute or two and watched the pinkish area where she had stabbed her forearm faded to match its normal tone. Why had she done something so idiotic? What kind of work would she receive on Monday? Was this all a dream? or perhaps a nightmare in the making?