The Confabulist Read Online Free Page B

happened between him and Harold Osbourne. No one wanted to become involved. That was how things worked. They were a troupe, but really it was every man for himself. Dr. Hill’s California Concert Company wouldn’t last forever, or likely much longer. Friendships were as much an illusion as any stage magic.
    When he reached their room Houdini paused. He and Bess had a system for dealing with these matters, which he disliked but found necessary. He opened the door slightly, about a foot, and tossed in his hat. He then opened the door all the way but stepped out of view.
    Almost immediately he heard a shuffling of feet, the snap of fabric, and his hat flew into the hallway. He closed the door and bent down to retrieve it. Fine. If that was how she was going to be, there were better things to do, even in this nowhere town, than sit and listen to his wife tell him all the many ways he was a failure.
    He checked his watch. It was just after midnight. A walk was an idea. His overcoat was still inside the room but it wouldn’t be cold out, and if he kept the brim of his hat low he wouldn’t be recognized by the few who would be out at this hour.
    The back door of the theatre led into an empty lot. He could see his breath, and he walked briskly through the lot and down the street, away from town, his head down and his hands in his pockets.
    He’d backed off doing the escapes for a reason. He doubted there was anyone around as good at them as he was, but escapes were difficult and dangerous. This worried Bess to the point of sleeplessness and he’d calculated that it was wise to appease her. Besides, escapescould quickly go wrong. When they did, the stakes were a lot higher than in tricks like the Metamorphosis.
    The last time he’d done a handcuff trick was six weeks earlier in Halifax. It was a publicity stunt for that night’s show, where in front of a crowd he was handcuffed and tied to a horse. The plan was to have the horse trot out of sight, where Houdini would free himself and ride back, triumphant. But the horse had other ideas. The second it was able, it took off at a full gallop toward the outskirts of town. Houdini managed to get himself free of the ropes, but he couldn’t hold on to the horse and pick the cuffs, so he had no choice but to let it run itself out. It was a full half hour before he returned and most of the people had left, except for the newspapermen. Because of the amount of time he’d been gone, it was generally assumed that a confederate had freed him. He was about to explain the truth when he realized that what had happened was worse than what they thought. He’d been outsmarted by a horse, so it seemed preferable that they think him incompetent. His show that night was one of his best, but it didn’t matter. The feeling of helplessness that overcame him while at the mercy of the horse was the worst thing he’d ever encountered, like a noose tightening around his throat.
    A man passed by him on the street, and he worried that he might be recognized, but if the man knew him, he didn’t show it. Houdini veered away and headed south, toward a small lake that was most likely deserted.
    Since he was a boy he’d been good with locks, a talent discovered when his mother tried to prevent him and his siblings from eating a pie by locking it in a cupboard. He was so adept that at the age of eleven he’d been apprenticed to a locksmith named Hanauer inAppleton, Wisconsin. At first Hanauer wouldn’t let him near anything but the simplest lock, and even then only to clean it. It seemed that all he wanted was someone to sweep up and watch the shop when he was out. Then one day the sheriff, a perpetually winded baby face named Shenk, came in with the largest man Houdini had ever seen. The giant was nearly seven feet tall and must have weighed at least two hundred and eighty pounds, most of it muscle. He was unshaven, his hair was mussed, and his hands were shackled in front of him.
    “Afternoon, Sheriff.