“Aha, so it was your arm!”
Eliza stood in the door. In her left hand she held the severed arm of Ms. Annabelle Harby, in the right a clay mug with a bit of warm lager. The sun behind her was nearly set, gleaming harshly off the chromeplated automatic carriage. Eliza held up the borrowed hand to block the glare as the two passengers approached through a could of sunlit dust.
“The boiler,” Charles said, “You should check on it when the engine cools. And perhaps the tension straps beneath the hull.”
“And perhaps,” said his companion, “you should be more careful at the helm. Hello Eliza.”
“Churs.” She took a long sip of beer, before Charles snatched away the mug.
“Now, now,” he raised an eyebrow at her, then tossed back what was left in the cup. “We must act civil, we have a guest from society.”
Eliza giggled while Anna flushed pink. “Er’ya go,” she said tossing Anna’s hand and wrist back to her, “Anna’s no guest, she’s a friend. Now, whatsurdrink?”
“Oh, it’s still early,” started Anna, her voice sweet as honey.
“Ay didn’ask you the time, sweetie.”
“Gin with tonic water then, if you have some.” Anna flexed her reattached arm, following Eliza in to the parlor. Charles made for the hallway, depositing his gloves and goggles on a hook by the door.
“So,” said Eliza, dropping icecubes into a glass. “Whatd’ya think?”
“Think of what?” asked Anna.
“Of Charles’ idea.” Eliza turned to look over her shoulder at Anna’s blank, confused expression. “Oh, wait. He hasn’t told you. Forget I said anything.”
“Hasn’t told me what?”
“Drink! Drink up, dearie.” Eliza thrust the glass into Anna’s hand, then looked concernedly down the hallway towards the main laboratory. “Now where has he gotten to? One moment.”
Eliza quit the room, leaving Anna alone. Down the lightless hallway, into the yellow gaslights, the smell of coalsmoke and iodine, Charles at the far end of the room, exhaling cannabis smoke. A doctor had long ago prescribed the indian weed as a way to calm his neuroses. It hadn’t visibly worked a bit, but Charles enjoyed the drug such that he’d go to extraordinary lengths to procure a steady supply, insisting the herb helped him concentrate, even when it quite visibly stymied his wit.
“You didn’t tell her? On the ride over, not even a mention?”
“I— What? Oh, heavens no, you can never get a word in over that blasted turbine. We could dampen the noise with cotton you know, that’s what they’ve begun to do in some parts of America.”
“Charles, you havta tell her. After cartin her all the way over ‘ere, the least you shoulda done was run the idea behind her first. After all, what if she don’t like it? What’s the use of gettin her out here then?”
Charles wordlessly walked past Eliza with a bit of irritation, before nearly colliding with Anna, who was entering the room. A bit of her drink spilled, but she managed to catch the glass. Charles drew back, laughing for the first time since returning home. A moment later, Anna joined him.
“So what is it?” said Anna. Her cheeks were already reddening, Eliza noticed. Perhaps, she reflected, Charles was only waiting to get a bit of drink in her. Her humour were ever so susceptible to gin.
“Well, I’m sure you remember the visit of Henri Trustunne.”
“He came the year before last to the theatre and gave a show of sleight of hand.”
“But, if you’ll remember, that’s not what he termed it. He advertised a ‘magic’ show, and you and I had a bit of a spat over whether he ought to call it such, no? In any case, I remember the whole affair with great clarity, how the charlatan had used deception and smoke to make mere dexterity and obfuscation appear to be supernatural powers.”
“And you wish to resume the argument. Really Charles, why would you—”
“Not at all, my dear. I’m willing, in fact, to concede the matter entirely.”
“Oh are you,” Anna’s eyes narrowed at Charles, and she was clearly losing a bit of her dignified composure, allowing herself to go so far as to bite her lip. Charles turned aloofly and picked up a pile of documents from the workbench.
“Absolutely. The act we saw was complete deception because it was designed to be as such, a performance, an entertainment, a diversion. But now, our friend Mister Trustunne, has taken his art in a new direction—look!”
Charles foisted the packet into Anna’s free hand, and pointed to the article circled in graphite pencil. It read:

A CARNIVAL OF ODDITIES AND WONDER
Will visit the steads of Heathshire, Whitun, and Berkile
Featuring the UNEXPLAINABLE Powers of Famed Magician HENRI TRUSTUNNE of Belgium.
BEHOLD a Series of Miraculous illusions that SCIENCE AND RELIGION CANNOT EXPLAIN
SEE BEFORE YOUR EYES a young woman sawn into two and restored!
WITNESS FOR YOURSELF a Volunteer from the Audience Mesmerized!
GAZE ASTONISHED at the living headless girl, Beruta of Siberia!
ALONG WITH MANY OTHER SPECTACLES AND MIRACLES!
ONLY TWO SHOWINGS
THIS NOVEMBER

“Well,” said Anna upon finishing, “it’s long too late to go see it, why it’s already March.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. Look through the rest of it - it’s a hit! A smashing success! Englanders can’t seem to get enough of this Belgian and his deceptions and he has made himself a respectable fortune for a man without title. And I, indulging a dark curiosity, went to see one of his shows. As I can personally attest, it is much like the supposed ‘sawing in half’ of the young lady we witnessed at the show’s conclusion, in that the solution to the illusion was so astonishingly simple — that two women were used, or in the case of the ‘headless’ siberian, a mirror reflecting what appeared to be the background.”
“So you’re proposing,” Anna said, “to start a magic show.”
“Yes! Well, somewhat. I shan’t use the word ‘magic’ anywhere near my research, for it’s far too important to get muddled around with such terms. But I propose, rather, a performance using Hobson fields in the same way to amaze and astound. Only the difference will be that I know how to actually do everything Trustunne claims he can do.”
“I’m surprised Charles,” said Anna, “You don’t seem to be much the performer. You once told me, the few members of society know the name of Charles Yaewer, the happier you’d be.”
“That is why, this performance, hosted by the generous and charitable Miss Annabelle Harnby, will feature the legend Orhan Yyutich, the famed Finnish explorer, inventor, and arcanist.”
“I’m sorry, Charles, I don’t think I’m familiar with the man.”
“Quite natural, really, since he’s another, shall we say, ‘invention’ of mine, only this in the more literal sense. You see, I’m not nearly so socially marooned as your well-bred friends would have you believe. It’s been some time now that I’ve been telling the city-gents of the famed exploits of Sir Yyutich, climber of mountains, tamer of lions, sailor of the seven seas and more. His appearance in the great city of London will, I can assure you, result in quite an uproar.”
“And if you’re all set to do it yourself, dear, then why should I get in your way? You can have your magic act, I’ll be sure to attend.”
“Certainly my dear, I could assemble a circus of tinkers, arcanists, and philosophers of all types, but why, as you point out, would I want to? I don’t desire their acclaim, or even their wealth, but rather, their means. But I digress. Perhaps I should just say this - I know of what tragedy has just befallen you, and you stand to benefit more than anyone from such an entertainment.”
Anna held silent, her face flushing red with rage. Then she turned and left the room.