Zigzag Effect Read online

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  Sage stared through the viewfinder at Armand, astonished. He’d walked onto the stage a bitter and resentful old man, but as soon as Sage had turned on the stage lights and started snapping photos, he’d morphed into something else entirely. Dressed in a long black cloak, Armand prowled about the stage like a jaguar. His movements were powerful and precise. Sage stepped forward for a close-up, and Armand turned to look at the camera. His piercing gaze made her shiver. She’d never felt such a strong presence before – she hoped she’d been able to successfully capture the sheer strength of his performance.

  ‘I think I’ve got enough,’ she said after about twenty minutes.

  ‘Very well.’ Immediately the powerful magician vanished, and was replaced with Armand’s usual sour, unhappy self. ‘If you see Bianca, can you please ask her to step into my office for a moment?’

  Sage nodded. ‘Um,’ she said, trying to pluck up a little more courage. ‘I wanted to ask you … whether you think the theatre is haunted.’

  Armand curled an eyebrow disdainfully. ‘Haunted?’

  ‘Bianca says there’s a ghost.’

  ‘A ghost?’ Armand’s face seemed to sag a little. ‘There are many ghosts in this theatre,’ he said. ‘Ghosts of lost careers and long-dead friendships.’

  His face took on a stony blankness, and before Sage could say anything else, he slunk off into the wings and disappeared.

  Bianca and Herb had a regular Friday post-show dinner at a nearby Vietnamese restaurant, and they’d invited Sage to join them. She was pleased to be asked, but was also sure that she’d be a third wheel. After all, usually it was just Bianca and Herb. It sounded like a date night to Sage. Maybe they’d just invited her out of politeness. Still, she wasn’t going to turn down dinner.

  After the show, Sage scrolled through the photos she’d taken of Armand, while she and Herb waited for Bianca to get changed. It was hard to tell on her digital camera’s low-quality display, but Sage was almost certain that the photos were going to be amazing. Her favourite was an extreme close-up that captured every stern line on Armand’s face. His eyes glowed with energy, and his mouth curved in a hint of a proud sneer. Sage suddenly realised that she’d forgotten to properly thank Armand for taking the time to be photographed.

  ‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ she told Herb, and headed down the corridor to Armand’s dressing-room, only to bump into Bianca coming out.

  ‘Great show tonight,’ said Sage.

  Bianca looked paler than usual. Her eyes were wide and blank.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Sage.

  Bianca looked at her for a moment, as if she’d forgotten who Sage was. ‘I’m fine,’ she murmured. ‘I’m not sleeping very well, is all.’

  Sage remembered the bruises on Bianca’s thigh. The shows must be so draining for her. She’d probably been in Armand’s dressing-room to ask him if they could cut the Zigzag Effect, and he’d said no. That was why she looked so upset. Sage felt indignant on Bianca’s behalf, and resolved not to thank Armand after all. Impulsively, she stepped forward and gave Bianca a hug. She felt the taller girl’s shoulders stiffen under her arms. She was so slim, it felt like hugging a bird. Bianca took a deep breath, and pulled away.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’re lovely.’

  There was a little catch in her voice, like she was trying not to cry.

  ‘Don’t worry about Armand,’ said Sage. ‘You’re amazing.’

  Bianca smiled weakly. ‘I think I’m just tired. I’m going to go home.’

  ‘Oh.’ Had she forgotten about Friday-night Vietnamese?

  Sage watched her go, her heart sinking. No Friday-night dinner, then. Looked like another greasy generic-brand peanut-butter sandwich on stale bread when she got home.

  ‘Where’s Bianca?’ asked Herb, getting up from his desk and stretching as Sage returned to the office. ‘Is it dinnertime?’

  ‘Bianca went home,’ said Sage. ‘I don’t think she’s feeling very well.’

  ‘Her loss.’ Herb picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. ‘Lucky I’ve got you. Otherwise I’d be eating on my own, and that’s always a classy move on a Friday night.’

  ‘You … you still want to go?’ Sage felt a little spark of happiness.

  ‘Of course! I’m not letting Bianca’s lameness get in the way of my cá kho to. Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  A strip of light still shone under Armand’s door. ‘Does he usually stay so late?’ asked Sage as they left the theatre and stepped into the freezing night.

  Herb nodded. ‘This show is his whole life,’ he said. ‘When he’s not onstage, he’s holed up in his dressing-room reliving his glory days.’

  ‘Armand had glory days?’ Sage rubbed her hands together to try to warm them up.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Herb. ‘He used to be one of Australia’s leading magicians. Top billing. He did European tours and everything.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Herb shrugged. ‘Traditional stage magic fell out of fashion. Now it’s all about the flashy Vegas style stuff. You know. Derren Brown, and the ridiculous one who wears eyeliner. That’s why Jason Jones is so big right now. It’s all that mentalism garbage.’

  ‘What’s his show like?’ she asked, as they passed boarded-up shopfronts covered in graffiti. ‘Jason Jones’s, I mean.’

  Herb closed his eyes and sighed. ‘Really, really good. It’s disgusting. As I’m sure you’ve inferred, I’m not a massive fan of mentalism, but his routine is truly excellent. A perfect blend of misdirection, sleight of hand and brilliant design. It makes me hate him even more.’

  The restaurant was wedged between a grotty twenty-four-hour laundromat and a hairdressing salon that looked as if it had closed its doors sometime in the 1970s. Sage thought calling it a restaurant was a bit of a stretch – it was just a handful of laminex tables, rickety chairs and no customers. Herb pushed open the door. Sage glanced at her phone. It was just after nine.

  ‘Is it still open?’ she asked.

  Herb laughed at her. ‘It’s Friday night,’ he said. ‘You clearly haven’t been in town long.’

  A middle-aged man bustled out from the kitchen to show them to a table by the window.

  ‘Hey, Mr Pham,’ said Herb.

  ‘Where’s Bianca?’ replied the man. ‘Scared her off, have you?’

  Herb shrugged. ‘She got a better offer. But I brought a worthy replacement. This is Sage. She’s helping out with the show.’

  ‘Very pleased to meet you,’ said Mr Pham, shaking Sage’s hand. ‘Please sit down.’

  He plonked a pot of green tea and two little cups on the table, then disappeared into the kitchen. Herb poured the tea and pushed one cup towards Sage.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘Welcome to Friday-night dinner.’

  They clinked cups. The tea was hot and pleasantly bitter. Sage wrapped a hand around the little cup. ‘Is there a menu?’ she asked.

  ‘Not for us,’ said Herb. ‘We get what Mr Pham gives us. You don’t have any allergies, do you?’

  Sage shook her head.

  Mr Pham reappeared with a plate of spring rolls, a giant curl of lettuce, a few sprigs of Vietnamese mint and a little bowl of dipping sauce. Herb tore off a piece of lettuce and wrapped it around a spring roll and mint leaf, and then dipped the whole thing in the sauce. Sage cautiously followed suit.

  ‘So tell me about you,’ said Herb, between mouthfuls. ‘Actually, let me tell you about you. It’ll be more fun.’

  Sage raised her eyebrows. ‘Okay,’ she said, biting into her own spring roll. The pastry was just the right kind of crispy, and the lettuce around it added an extra layer of cool crunch that was extremely pleasing. The soft, steaming inside was a burst of garlic and ginger and chicken. Sage closed her eyes for a moment and chewed happily.

  ‘Well,’ said Herb, after a moment’s thought. ‘I already know you have a little brother. I’m guessing no other siblings. I know you just moved here, and from you
r tan and freckles I’d say it was from either Perth or Queensland. I’m going with Queensland – you have a very particular way of shaping your vowels. You moved because one of your parents got a new job here. Statistically speaking, it was almost certainly your dad. Some kind of office job. Financial sector, maybe?’ He glanced at her for confirmation.

  ‘He’s a credit analyst,’ said Sage, reaching for a second spring roll and trying to hide how impressed she was. ‘Keep going.’

  Mr Pham came to the table with rice and a hot plate sizzling with chicken. Herb ladled rice into a bowl and grinned at her.

  ‘You told me last week that your birthday is in May, which makes you a Taurus. Because you didn’t wholly side with me in that ridiculous psychic argument with Bianca yesterday, I suspect that you read your horoscope and tentatively buy into all that hippy bullshit. Taureans are supposed to be patient, warm-hearted, persistent and placid. You identify with all these traits, even though in fact you are prickly, argumentative, introverted and creative.’

  Sage blinked, not sure whether to be surprised or insulted. Mr Pham returned with a noodle dish bursting with prawns. She filled her bowl as Herb watched her carefully.

  ‘You’re not a painter,’ he said. ‘Your fingernails are too clean. Possibly a creative writer. Definitely not acting, dance or any kind of performance – you’re not confident enough. Maybe music … but I wouldn’t bet on it. No, it’s definitely a writer, or …’ He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Photography. It’s photography, right?’

  Sage choked on a prawn.

  Herb let out a triumphant laugh and slapped the table. ‘I’m awesome.’

  ‘How did you do it?’

  He gave her a sly look. ‘I knew all along. You were reading a book by Yoshi Lear backstage the other day.’

  Sage nearly spat out her prawn. ‘That’s cheating!’

  ‘It’s all cheating,’ said Herb, chuckling. ‘Haven’t you been paying attention?’

  He was flirting with her. Or, at least, it certainly felt like he was flirting with her. Here she was, with a cute guy, alone in a restaurant late on a Friday night. Was this … a date? She covered her awkwardness by filling her bowl again. It couldn’t be a date. Herb liked Bianca. Didn’t he?

  ‘These prawns are amazing,’ she said.

  Herb nodded. ‘It’s all about the lemongrass,’ he said. ‘Mr Pham is a genius. I seriously go into withdrawal if I don’t eat here at least twice a week.’

  Maybe that was it. Maybe he just didn’t like eating alone.

  ‘Tell me about the new trick Armand put in the show.’

  ‘The Zigzag Effect?’ Herb shrugged. ‘It’s a classic.’

  Sage had watched the effect that night. Bianca climbed into the zigzag cabinet, a panel in the top box sliding open to reveal her face. Her left hand poked out of a hole in the middle box, waving a red handkerchief. Her bare left foot emerged from the bottom box, her toes wiggling. With a great deal of drama, Armand inserted two wide, flat blades into the cabinet, at the points where the three boxes met each other. Bianca continued to smile, wave the handkerchief and wiggle her toes. Then Armand pushed at the middle box and slid it over to the left, making it look like Bianca’s torso had been severed and pushed to the side. When Sage had seen Bianca’s hand still waving the red handkerchief, she’d felt sick. With the middle box to the side, the cabin looked like a sideways V, giving the trick its name.

  ‘Did you fix it? So Bianca won’t get hurt?’

  Herb nodded. ‘I did what I could,’ he said.

  ‘I suppose you can’t tell me how it works? The trick?’

  Herb clicked his chopsticks together. ‘It’s a pretty old effect,’ he said. ‘The secret is all over the internet if you really want to know.’

  ‘Why don’t you save me the bandwidth,’ said Sage with what she hoped was her most persuasive smile. ‘And just tell me.’

  Herb chuckled. ‘It’s all Bianca,’ he said. ‘There are black panels at the sides of the cabinet to make it look slimmer than it is. Once she’s in, she sort of turns her body to the side. The handle of the blade is as wide as the cabinet, but the actual blade is about twenty centimetres shorter. She has to be careful, but she’s skinny. So the blades miss her completely.’ He paused here with a frown. ‘Most of the time.’

  Sage felt a little sick again. She put down her chopsticks. ‘Then what?’

  ‘Then she reaches over with her hand as Armand pushes the middle box sideways so it looks like her whole body is moving, but it isn’t. That’s basically it.’

  ‘It sounds very simple.’

  ‘The good ones always are. But it takes a lot of physical strength from Bianca. She basically has to have the skills of a contortionist. Armand is just there to add some drama.’

  ‘So you think it’s a good trick?’

  Herb made a face. ‘It’s effective,’ he said doubtfully. ‘But I’m personally not crazy about it. It requires nothing from the magician at all, and on the whole I’m not big on the cut-up-the-pretty-lady genre of magic effects.’

  Sage felt a strange sense of relief. ‘Thank goodness it’s not just me,’ she said. ‘Some of those tricks are so creepy! I just can’t stop thinking about what would happen if those blades really did slice her up.’

  ‘It’s old-school stuff,’ said Herb. ‘The best magicians working today have moved on.’

  ‘Do you think Bianca minds?’

  ‘Getting cut up?’

  Sage nodded. ‘All those creepy tricks. And the fact that she does all the work while Armand gets the credit.’

  ‘Nah,’ said Herb airily. ‘She knows it’s all part of the gig. And you know Bianca: she’s pretty cheerful when she’s not freaking out about superstitions or her horoscope.’

  Sage picked up her chopsticks again, finding her appetite had returned. ‘So what about the trick you’re working on?’ she asked. ‘Can you tell me about that?’

  Herb refilled their teacups. ‘It’s an escapology routine,’ he said. ‘With a historical lesson thrown in for fun.’ He saw her dubious look and grinned. ‘I really, really love the history of magic. It’s fascinating. And it’s one of the oldest forms of entertainment we have.’

  ‘If you say so,’ said Sage. ‘So what’s the history of escapology?’

  ‘Mostly Houdini,’ said Herb, through a mouthful of broccoli. ‘He turned escapology into what it is today. I’m also thinking of adding an homage to the whole locked-room mystery genre.’

  ‘Someone is murdered inside a locked room, there’s no sign of the murderer or weapon, and the key is in the lock, on the inside?’

  Herb looked impressed.

  ‘I read,’ said Sage, helping herself to more rice. ‘So how will this trick work?’

  ‘Effect,’ Herb corrected her with a slight frown. ‘I’m not sure, yet. Escapology routines are usually death-defying – suspended from the Golden Gate Bridge, or trapped inside a block of ice, or sunk to the bottom of the ocean. All of these things are hard to do in a theatre, they work better on TV specials.’

  Mr Pham reappeared with a steaming claypot.

  ‘Cá kho to,’ he said. ‘My specialty.’

  ‘I’m so full!’ Sage protested. ‘I’m sure I couldn’t manage another bite.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Herb. ‘You have to try this. It’s caramelised fish. It’s amazing. It will literally change your life.’

  Mr Pham grinned at him. ‘For that, you get a twenty per cent discount.’

  ‘You always give me a twenty per cent discount,’ said Herb.

  ‘Well, tonight you earned it. Usually you’re just a freeloader.’ Mr Pham cleared their empty dishes and went back to the kitchen.

  Sage let Herb spoon some of the fish into her bowl. She took a bite.

  ‘Holy crap,’ she said, her mouth still full.

  ‘Don’t you mean holy carp?’ Herb chuckled. ‘But I know, right? It’s like Mr Pham takes the happiest fish in the world, caramelises it in pure undiluted joy, and then smothers
it in love-sauce.’

  Sage choked out a laugh, and Herb’s ears went pink. ‘That came out a little dirtier than I’d intended,’ he admitted.

  Sage helped herself to more. ‘So what kind of magic do you want to do?’ she asked. ‘Be a TV magician, with occasional shows in Vegas?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Herb. ‘There’s something very special about performing in a theatre that you just don’t get on TV.’

  Sage nodded. ‘So what are you going to escape from? A locked room onstage?’

  ‘I think so. I like the idea that an audience member and I will get locked in the room together, by a second audience member. It’ll be a real lock – a padlock or something, on the inside. I’ll get tied up first, with chains and more padlocks. Maybe a straitjacket and a hood over my head. The second audience member will lock everything, then slide the key out from under the door. They’ll also make sure I’m not cheating.’

  ‘But you will be cheating.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Herb looked slightly put out. ‘But not in a sneaky way. In a skilful and secret way. And then at the end I’ll not only escape and open the door, I’ll also reveal some clever twist, like I swapped clothes with the audience member without them noticing.’

  ‘Can you do that?’

  Herb shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve seen it done before. I just have to figure out the logistics. That’ll be the tricky bit. Escaping and unlocking the door is easy.’

  ‘I look forward to seeing it.’

  He considered her for a moment, and the wide smile crept across his face. ‘Do you want to see it now?’

  ‘Now?’ Sage looked at her phone. It was just after ten.

  ‘Sure,’ said Herb. ‘My stuff is in the theatre. It’ll only take five minutes to get there, and five minutes for me to show you the effect. You’ll be on your bus by ten-thirty.’

  His eyes were full of boyish excitement. It wasn’t as if Sage’s parents would mind if she was half an hour late. She could text them to let them know. It was Friday night. And she didn’t want to go home yet.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s do it.’

  Herb practically sprang from his chair. ‘Let me pay for dinner,’ he said. ‘My treat. To welcome you and everything. Mr Pham!’