DEIRDRE AND THE VASE

The inspiration for this story is the picture Good Things Go Into Small Packages by Esnredshirt, here, who has kindly agreed to me posting this story based on his image.

Content warning: this story is based on the fantasy that stage magicians with real powers are - without most of the audience realising - actually sawing and slicing their assistants and volunteers into pieces for real, but with the aid of magic that prevents them suffering any lasting harm and which transforms their experience into one they can even enjoy. And of course they’re all restored at the end (eventually, anyway!). If you find that fantasy distasteful, do not read on.

Chardonnay looked round the thirty-odd men and women seated in front of her, the men in tuxedos and black bow ties, the women in a variety of expensive evening gowns that together probably added up to more than Chardonnay could earn in several years. But then you had to be pretty wealthy to be a patron of the Oakmolean Museum. And despite their pillars-of-the-community appearance, you had to have some pretty... well... unusual interests to be invited to the annual after-hours magic show.

Behind this select audience was a long table, set with rows of wine glasses and bottles, flanked by several waitresses in black trousers and waistcoats. Chardonnay’s eyes fell on a brunette with her hair in a ponytail. Might she be persuaded to... No. Better to stick with the plan. Later though, just maybe...

A cough from the event director off to the left brought Chardonnay’s attention back to the here and now.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” she began. “Your donations last year allowed the museum to fund field expeditions to Italy, where two previously undiscovered Etruscan tombs were excavated and several priceless artefacts were recovered. Tonight you will see one of them, presented by the restorer who has spent the last month piecing it back together again.”

She gestured to her left from where, exactly on cue, a redhead in a lab coat appeared from the gloom of the unlit museum gallery, holding a large vase ever so carefully in her white-gloved hands. The woman carried it over the table Chardonnay indicated, a round-topped table about three feet across covered with a black cloth, and set it down.

“You are Doctor Shard, is that right?” Chardonnay said, “And you’ve been on the staff in the museum’s conservation unit for six months now, the last month of which has been spent restoring this magnificent vase for the new exhibition which is due to open in a week?”

“That’s right,” the redhead replied. “And you can call me Deirdre if you like.”

Chardonnay smiled. “Well, Deirdre, you’ve certainly done a good job. Can you tell us how old this vase is?”

“It’s seventh century BC,” she replied. “Maybe a little over twenty-six hundred years old.”

“And it’s very rare?”

“Oh, extremely. One of only three in the world.” The redhead looked nervously at her, and Chardonnay could understand why. Magicians did have a habit of breaking valuable items.

“Don’t worry,” Chardonnay told the young conservator. “I don’t have a hammer hidden under the table. In fact all I’m going to do is ask you to fetch a red cloth from the Director.”

One of the men in the front row - the museum director, actually - produced a scarlet cloth from the inside pocket of his jacket and held it out. Chardonnay let Deirdre turn her back on the table, then immediately whisked off her top hat, produced a hammer from inside it, and smashed the vase into a dozen or more pieces!

Deirdre span round, a look of horror on her face.

“I didn’t lie,” she said, shrugging. “The hammer wasn’t under the table. It was under my hat.”

“But... but...” The young woman was aghast, lost for words.

Chardonnay put an arm round her shoulder. “I’ll restore it of course,” she said. “It’s what we magicians do. But you need to help.”

Deirdre looked uncertain, but she agreed.

“Good.” Chardonnay gestured to the black cloth draped over the table, now covered with fragments of the priceless vase. “That cloth is actually a bag, inside out. There’s a drawstring around the hem. Just take the edges, lift them up, then pull the string so that the bag closes over the pieces. When you undo it again the vase will be as good as new.”

Deirdre complied, but when she opened the bag again all was not well.

“It’s still broken,” she accused.

Chardonnay made a pretence of thinking hard, hand on chin.

“Hmmm...” She paused. “The magic feeds on strong emotion. You need to really want the vase to be restored. Try again, but this time focus all your desire for that vase to be back to normal and project it into that bag.”

Deirdre looked uncertain.

“If it helps,” Chardonnay added, “imagine how you’ll feel telling your boss tomorrow morning about what you let happen.”

Deirdre blanched. “OK.” She took hold of the cloth and tried again.

“It’s still not working!” she said when the bag opened a second time to reveal still-broken pot. There was a catch in her voice as if she was about to cry.

“Don’t panic,” Chardonnay said. “Physical contact helps too. So this time put your hands onto the pieces and keep them there. Then I’ll close the bag.”

Deirdre nodded. She reached out.

“Gloves off,” the magician advised.

Deirdre removed her cotton conservator’s gloves and placed her hands carefully, palm down, onto the pile of shards. Her red nail polish gleamed in the lights and a silver ring on her pinkie flashed.

Chardonnay carefully lifted the hem of the cloth and closed the neck over the pottery shards and the young doctor’s hands. The bag shook, went still, then shook again. Then the centre started to rise, slowly, until it reached the original height of the vase. Chardonnay tugged open the bag and let it fall, revealing the intact vase between the shaking hands of the astonished, but very pleased, conservator.

But as soon as Deirdre took her hands away, cracks appeared across the vase, and it tumbled back down into pieces.

Deirdre blurted a very unladylike word, earning a loud ‘tut’ from one lady in the audience. The conservator balled her fists and stared accusingly at Chardonnay.

Chardonnay looked unaffected. “Close,” she said. “Very close that time.” She paused. “We just need more physical contact and some even stronger emotions.”

She looked Deirdre right in the eye. “Deirdre - Dr Shard - are you willing to do anything to restore this vase?”

Deirdre nodded.

“You give your word? That you’ll do exactly as I say without hesitation or demur?”

Deirdre looked cornered, but she agreed. “I give my word.” She gestured across her chest. “Cross my heart.”

“A dangerous promise to make to a magician, Deirdre,” Chardonnay said, “but a powerful one. Now take off your coat.”

Deirdre’s eyes opened wide.

“I’m not asking you to strip,” Chardonnay reassured her. “Just your coat.” Then she put a hint of steel in her voice. “Remember your promise.”

Deirdre flushed, but complied. She carefully rolled up her white lab coat and placed it on the floor beside the table.

“Roll up your sleeves and kick off your shoes.”

This time the young doctor obeyed immediately. She unbuttoned the cuffs of her plain russet blouse and rolled them up to her elbows, then kicked off her low black pumps, leaving her standing there in black slacks and top.

Chardonnay brought out a low stool. “Clear the pieces away from the middle of the table then sit up on it. Kneel right in the middle, your hands together on your tummy.”

Deirdre’s eyes widened. Chardonnay decided that more ‘persuasion’ was needed.

“What’s the name of the most prestigious academic journal in your field?” Chardonnay asked.

“Why, um, the Journal of Ancient Ceramic Conservation,” the girl replied.

Time to turn the screw. “And what do you think will happen if a video of tonight’s proceedings got, well, ‘accidentally’ uploaded to their website?” Chardonnay said, making finger quotes around the word. “What do you think would happen to your career?”

Deirdre flushed then looked daggers. “I was told no-one was allowed cameras,” she accused.

“No-one but me,” Chardonnay countered.

The two women glared at each other for several seconds, then Deirdre gave in. She stomped to the table making more noise than her stockinged feet would seem to allow, and started to shift the pieces of broken pot to one side. Chardonnay noted, though, that however angry the redhead might be, she was still exceedingly careful with the fragments. Her professionalism impressed the magician, who almost decided to go easy on her. Almost, but not quite.

Chardonnay adjusted the redhead’s pose slightly. She made sure the girl’s hands were together over her midriff, then reached into her hat to produce a roll of duct tape.

Deirdre’s eyes flashed, but the anger quickly died to acceptance. “Just get on with it,” she said.

“Whatever you say, Doctor,” Chardonnay replied. She unpicked the end of the roll and approached the girl’s right side.

First, she bound her ankles together, over the top of Deirdre’s slacks. Then she extended the length of tape and manoeuvred it under the girl’s calves before wrapping it round over her thighs. From there she zig-zagged the tape around Deirdre’s belly, wrists, arms and chest, before ending with it over the woman’s mouth, making sure first to lift her hair so that the red locks didn’t get stuck to the tape.

That done, Chardonnay took the pieces of broken vase and one by one taped them to Deirdre’s restrained body, in roughly the same relative positions as they’d been when the vase was whole. The base of the pot she eased underneath Deirdre’s legs.

Without further ado, Chardonnay grabbed the edge of the cloth, lifting it until it covered the helpless Deirdre completely - despite the cloth previously not having seemed large enough to enclose anything larger than about two feet high. Chardonnay pulled the drawstring closed, then tapped the now-hidden Deirdre on the head. Finally, she yanked the drawstring back open.

The cloth fell, revealing the ancient Etruscan pot, intact and undamaged, not even cracked. And of the young post-doctoral conservator there was no sign!

The audience clapped enthusiastically. Chardonnay bowed, then paused as if she’d remembered something.

“Deirdre?” she called out softly. “Where are you? Can you hear me?”

The only reply was a faint mmmph noise, echoing, seemingly coming from inside the pot. Chardonnay feigned surprise then reached in, pulling out the first two feet or so of the duct tape.

“I’m in here!” Deirdre’s voice was clearer now, and undoubtedly coming from inside the vase - a vase that was too small to hold a child, let alone a full-grown woman.

Chardonnay pulled out some more of the tape. A hand appeared from the neck of the vase, then a wrist, then a forearm. Deirdre’s nail polish, pinkie ring and wristwatch were clearly recognisable. The hand waved, before returning inside.

The magician kept pulling out the tape, until there was no more. At one point a black lacy bra and some rather racy lacy knickers came out with it, stuck to the tape. Chardonnay simply pulled them off and stuffed them under her hat with a ‘she probably didn’t even notice’ shrug.

As the end of the tape left the vase a sigh came from within, along with a muffled, “Ah, that’s better. I was beginning to get cramps.”

The audience were laughing now - laughing and clapping. Chardonnay bowed again, and the hand appeared again to wave once more.

Once it had disappeared for a second time, Chardonnay addressed the vase and its occupant. “I suppose you want out now?” she asked.

“You won’t need to break the vase again?” came the muffled voice.

“Oh no, not at all,” Chardonnay replied. “I have a better idea.” She removed her hat once again, fished around in it and pulled out an outsized hand-held electric blender, garnering a mixture of gasps and sniggers from the audience.

“Well, actually, no,” came the voice from within the vase. “I’d like to stay in here a little while.” Chardonnay knew Deirdre couldn’t have seen the device, so she wondered what the reason was for the woman’s reluctance to be freed. She wasn’t left wondering long.

“I can see a few cracks in here that I missed when I was doing the original restoration,” Deirdre’s voice echoed from within. “I’ve got, well, a rather unique view from in here, and I’d like to take advantage of that. So if you’d just get someone to fetch me a small torch, a miniature spatula and some putty?”

Chardonnay was astonished, but agreed, again surprised by Deirdre’s professionalism. Once the asked-for tools had been sourced and carefully passed inside the vase, she had one more thing to say.

“I do need to get you out before the evening’s over. I can give you one hour, so work quickly. Then you’re out of there, like it or not.”

There was no reply. As a member of museum security came to pick the vase off the table and place it carefully on a shelf all was silent from within, except for the careful scrape, scrape, scrape of renewed restoration work...


EPILOGUE - 2 HOURS LATER

Chardonnay cleared the remaining props away. The other tricks had gone down every bit as well as the first one, and the museum would benefit greatly from the extra donations the pleased patrons were sure to give. The brown-haired waitress had proved every bit as willing as Chardonnay had suspected, though she did wonder how the girl would explain the bandages she’d need to keep over her now-wizened, mummified head for the two weeks it would take the magic to wear off.

There just remained one loose end to tie up: the vase containing the hard-working Dr Shard, whose restoration work on the interior of the vase could still be heard.

Chardonnay rapped on the outside. “Are you nearly finished in there, Deirdre?” she asked.

“Actually, yes.” A couple more scrapes sounded from inside. “There! All done. Can you get me out now, please? And remember you promised not to break the vase again!”

“No problem,” Chardonnay reassured her. “I’ll just have you carried over to the table, then I’ll have you out in the blink of an eye.”

Chardonnay had one of the security staff carry the vase from the shelf to the table and set it down carefully onto the cloth. She held out her hand to receive the tools the conservator had been using inside the vase, then set them down before retrieving the hand blender and a tightly-rolled item of shiny black plastic.

Without further ado, she plugged the blender in, removed the guard around the blades, and plunged the neck down inside the vase.

“Hey!” Doctor Shard’s cry of indignation echoed through the museum gallery. But her complaint was cut off the moment Chardonnay flicked the on switch.

“Ow!” The motor stuttered, then picked up speed. “What the... the... th... t...” The young doctor’s voice trailed off for a moment and the whine of the blender rose in pitch.

“You’re... I’m...” A longer silence this time. Then a low moan that began as pain but quickly transformed into pleasure and then into outright ecstasy before being suddenly cut off.

Chardonnay cut the power and withdrew the blender. It was coated in something that looked like chopped tomato, with a couple of fragments of black and russet cloth. She set it to one side, then tilted the vase, rolling it gently. A faint gloopy sloshing noise came from within.

Next, the magician unrolled the plastic bundle. It proved to be a full-body PVC fetish suit with integral feet and gloves. Even the face was covered, though there was a zip round it. Chardonnay laid it out flat, front side upwards, on the other table, then undid the front zipper a mere half inch, creating a tiny hole at the belly, through which she inserted the spout end of a funnel. She got one of the audience to hold this upright, while she and the security guard tipped the vase up and poured the contents carefully into the funnel.

Slowly, the PVC suit seemed to inflate, taking on the shape of a woman. When it was almost full, the fingers started to waggle and the feet flexed. When the costume was stretched tight all over, and every drop of the liquidised ‘volunteer’ had been poured out of the vase, Chardonnay took hold of one hand and helped the now-animated suit to stand up.

A voice came from the small mesh section over the mouth. It was Deirdre.

“Why’s it dark?” she asked. “And why do I smell plastic?”

Chardonnay undid a zip that went all the way around the neck of the costume, then tugged the top of the head. The entire head section came off with a pop.

Deirdre shook her head to let her hair fall back, then blinked. Her skin was flushed, but otherwise she seemed unharmed.

Maybe a little annoyed, though.

“What did you do to...” she began. “And what am I wearing? Get me out of this!”

Chardonnay sighed. “If you’re sure.” She reached for another zip, at the front of the high neck, and started pulling it down.

The zip got almost as far as Deirdre’s belly button before the woman realised what everyone in the audience had worked out at least nine inches earlier, that is that she was naked under the black PVC.

“Stop!” she shouted.

“OK,” Chardonnay replied, to cries of disappointment from the audience. She removed her hand from the zip and pointed to the vase.

“You’d better get that back to its place in the conservation lab,” Chardonnay commented. She let the young doctor pick the vase up and turn back towards the audience before she clicked her fingers, disappearing Deirdre’s costume in an instant and leaving the poor woman to edge away sideways, doing her utmost to cover her modesty with the precious vase and blushing violently as she exited to thunderous applause.


The end