Chapter 36
The Pandolini Transformatorium
Shortly after dawn, town criers trumpeted the Necromancer’s prophecies. Waves of gossip roiled Market Square: Archduke Arnulf was destined to reign forever; resistance was futile.
Inside the palace, soldiers escorted Hans, Angela, and the Pandolinis to the banquet hall to rehearse the evening’s entertainment. A platform had been erected on a dozen trestles opposite the archduke’s massive mahogany table. The bear cage had been rolled up the rear circular ramp and braced beside the stage.
The company warmed up. Pandolini performed a series of hums, tongue rolls, and facial contortions; his wife rigged his magic coat with cards, scarves, and collapsible props; Maria, Giuseppe, and the Etceteras did stretching exercises; Hans and Angela laid out the marionettes; and Bruno, Balthazar, and Bianca groomed each other’s ears.
Without warning, there was a fanfare of trumpets and Arnulf and the Necromancer were carried into the hall on golden litters. The company dropped to the floor. Arnulf clapped his iron hands. The boards shook on their trestles. “Rise.”
Signor Pandolini bowed low. “Ciao e buongiorno!” he said with a sunny smile. “I am Signor Pandolini! May I present—”
“No,” Arnulf interrupted coldly. “Unless you mean to present the two new additions to your troupe: a grave robber’s apprentice and a countess.”
Hans, Angela, and the Pandolinis looked at each other and bolted for the doors. Guards leaped into position, swords drawn. The company jumped back.
“There’s no escape,” Arnulf advised calmly. “Soldiers are double-ranked behind the curtains that circle this room, and an entire garrison is stationed at both front and rear entrances to the palace. Should you dream of leaping from windows or turrets, know that the windows are barred and the lowest turret is over one hundred feet above hard cobblestones.”
Hans stepped forward. “I’m the one you’re after. These good people knew nothing of my past. Whatever you do to me, spare them.”
“And your little friend, too?” the Necromancer asked slyly.
“No,” Angela said, stepping to Hans’ side. “Do with me what you will as well, but release my parents.”
“It’s rather early in the day for pretty speeches,” Arnulf replied. “And rather late to be giving orders.”
Signor and Signora Pandolini knelt before the archduke. “Our children. Spare our children.”
“That’s what they all say,” Arnulf yawned. He stroked the reliquary box on the chain around his neck. “Cheer up. I’d intended to kill you all before breakfast, but since I love the circus, I’m letting you live till after the performance. How fitting—the final curtain will be your own.”
Pandolini leaped to his feet. “O Mightiest of the Mighty, if we’re to die, let our final act be the Pandolini Transformatorium!”
“What, pray, is the Pandolini Transformatorium?”
“Only the greatest circus act the world has ever seen!” Pandolini declaimed. “And yet . . .” He paused dramatically. “I must deny you.”
“Who are you to deny me?”
“Alas, Your Highness, the Transformatorium must be constructed. We lack both tools and materials.”
“What do you need?”
“Two dozen wooden slats, a bolt of cheesecloth, a hammer, a saw, and nails.”
Arnulf laughed. “That’s nothing.”
“Please, Your Highness, refuse him,” Signora Pandolini pleaded. “Let us die in peace. Spare us the terror of the Transformatorium!”
Arnulf cocked an eyebrow. “I delight in terror.” He turned to a soldier. “Bring the materials forthwith.” He snapped his fingers. The clang reverberated around the vaulted ceiling. Attendants sprang to the litters and conveyed the archduke and the Necromancer from the hall.
Pandolini winked at Hans and Angela. “Remember we said we once turned a Hapsburg prince into a parrot? The Tranformatorium did the trick. Tonight, it will do one better. At my signal, our entire circus will disappear!”