Forty-Two

paris, 1871

Sleep was not a necessity for the gargoyle. Without knowing any other state of existence, Dorian thought this neither a blessing nor a curse—until his father died. Jean Eugène Robert-­Houdin passed away from pneumonia, not long after the tragic news of his son’s death due to injuries suffered in the Franco-Prussian War. Dorian found himself more alone than he imagined.

His new employer, the blind chef, understood Dorian’s grief at his relative’s death. But Dorian could not tell him this was the first person in his life he had lost to death. He had been brought to life only eleven years before, yet with his deep voice and keen intellect, it was important for him to maintain the illusion that he was a much older man. And a man, not a gargoyle, of course.

Luckily, Dorian found himself without much time to be maudlin. Between the distractions of Paris and the cooking lessons from his employer, Dorian could have filled more than a twenty-four-hour day.

At first Dorian objected to the part of the agreement that involved cleaning, but after some grumbling, he found washing dishes and dusting could be contemplative exercises. It was but a small price to pay for the lessons in French gastronomy he received.

The chef could not have been more pleased with how well Dorian took to the demands of French cooking. Dorian did so well that the chef pleaded with him to allow some former friends to come over for dinner parties, as he wanted very much to showcase the gourmet cooking of his successor. Yet Dorian was resolute. He had been traumatized by his disfigurement, he said. Nobody could be allowed to see him.

To keep up the pretense, Dorian pretended to wear the clothes his father had given him for the charade that was to be his life. To add verisimilitude, on his nocturnal explorations Dorian would bring a handful of clothes with him, which he would toss in the dust. Therefore he was able to have his clothing laundered with the chef’s clothing without raising suspicions.

Dorian learned not only how to cook everything from creamy aligot to succulent magret de canard, but also how to find his way through the world without being seen. He learned through trial by fire, as he was in Paris during the short-lived War of 1870.

While the chef slept, Dorian pretended to use the very nice bed chamber created for him, when in truth he was exploring the City of Lights under the cover of darkness.

paris, 1881

Ten years later, when the chef approached the end of his life, he wrote Dorian Robert-­Houdin a reference so he could be a home companion to other blind people who did not have families to care for them.

Upon Martin’s death, a small inheritance was bequeathed to Dorian. The gargoyle was unaware of the money until a letter reached him at the home of his next employer, an avocate who had long ago retired from practicing law and had recently been widowed. Not realizing the true form of his disfigured friend, the chef did not have the foresight to give Dorian his gift in person. Now, it seemed Dorian would not be able to claim his inheritance without being seen. But all was not lost. By that time, Dorian, even more than his father, was a master of illusion. His greatest skill was not being seen.

Dorian’s penmanship was superb. This was not an easy feat, considering his clawed hands, which Viollet-le-Duc had never intended to hold a pen. Holding a whisk and beating eggs was one thing. But it was important for Dorian to rigorously practice writing, for written correspondence was his connection to most of the world.

Upon receiving news of his modest inheritance, Dorian asked his new employer, the barrister, for counsel. Explaining that he was far too embarrassed to show his disfigured face to anyone, Dorian gave the barrister permission to act on his behalf, and the lawyer declared under oath that the tragically disfigured Dorian Robert-­Houdin lived at his home and was who he claimed.

It was with methods like these that Dorian made his way in the world.

He moved from place to place with only a small travel case in which he kept a few remembrances of his father, including Non Degenera Alchemia. Dorian appreciated art, but he didn’t especially care for the illustrations inside the alchemy book. He kept the book because it reminded him of his father, but whenever he opened the book, he felt a strange sleepiness overcome him. He suspected it was his imagination, that it was sadness he was feeling as he thought of the man who gave him life and raised him. The man who was no longer on this earth. His father had explained to him that something in this book had brought him to life, but Dorian was not a philosophical creature. He was a gourmand who appreciated the finer pleasures in life, not a philosopher. If it had been a cookbook, he might have spent time unlocking the book’s coded messages. But why dwell on things that had no bearing on his life?