Phyllis leaned closer. ‘How?’ she asked urgently.
‘What did Hercule Perkus do?’
‘It was almost magical, Phyllis,’ Wallace told her, his eyes green-throbbing and twinkling.
‘Magical?’
‘Oh, yes, but in a different sort of way to our magic. Perkus had a dummy named Jasper. Jaunty Jasper. A dapper little chappie. Nothing like Narky Norman—no, Jasper was almost normal-looking, apart from the bulging eyes and the hinged mouth, of course. I remember, the first day I met Hercule S. Perkus, I walked into the wings and I saw a young, dark-haired boy sitting quietly on a chair, and I went up to him and said hello—I needed to get past to fetch my Japanese Inexhaustible Box from a skip behind him—and he didn’t answer. So I said hello again, and still he ignored me. So I said hello a third time . . . raised my voice a little, thinking that perhaps the young chappie was a bit deaf, or daydreaming or something. Still no answer. Then Hercule S. Perkus appeared and introduced me to Jaunty Jasper, picking him up as he did so. Well, when Jasper’s eyes swivelled towards me, and he greeted me in his squeaky voice, I realised exactly what he was. Hercule Perkus and I had a good chuckle, and he told me that it happened all the time . . . that Jasper was so lifelike, people often treated him like a real boy.’
‘And Alexander Sturdy felt jealous, because Jaunty Jasper was a better dummy than Narky Norman?’
‘Oh, you ain’t heard nothin’ yet. The first time we saw Perkus perform with Jasper, as I mentioned, we were amazed. This is what happened: Perkus opened his act with Jasper singing a song, a very funny song called “But Now She’s Fully Recovered”—and then they did a routine where Jasper was incessantly cheeky, always answering Perkus back. Eventually Perkus got fed up with Jasper. He put him on a chair, centre-stage, and then left the stage in a huff.’
Wallace paused, and his face filled with wistful wonder.
‘And?’ said Phyllis. She took another sip of her hot chocolate, waiting.
‘And then, just as the audience began to grow restless, and all eyes were fixed on the huge stage, empty as it was except for Jaunty Jasper on the chair, the amazing occurred. Jasper’s head turned. He looked off into the wings, where Perkus had exited. Then he turned his head back to the audience. And he opened his mouth and spoke!’
There was a short silence. Phyllis looked at him, expressionless. Although she felt bad to disappoint her great-grandfather, she didn’t feel as amazed as Wallace clearly expected her to be. ‘He was mechanical,’ she guessed. ‘He was one of those automatons, those little wind-up mechanical people who could do things like write or draw. Yes?’
‘No.’
‘Huh?’
‘No, I don’t believe he was. I was standing in the wings next to Perkus—my spot was coming up later—and I observed Perkus closely. I’m convinced he wasn’t throwing his voice out into that dummy. Nor was he working any remote-controlling device; he had his hands clasped gently before him, and no movement came from any of his fingers.
‘And then, things got more amazing. After Jasper made his speech, he got down off the chair, completely unaided, and walked to the front of the stage. There, by the footlights, he stopped and stared out at the audience, his head turning from side to side. Then he placed his hands onto the stage and stood on his head, before doing six stunning cartwheels across the entire stage!
‘Oh, Phyllis, you should have heard the gasps from the house! An enormous, thrilling surge filled the theatre and the wings. Maracas Estevan gasped louder than anyone, I think. Everyone present that night was truly amazed and astounded!
‘Everyone except Alexander Sturdy. He was watching from the wings, standing next to the Whistling Ottersoff Brothers, who had already performed. I could see the glaring hatred in Sturdy’s eyes. He was convinced that Jasper was the result of some new sort of technology, some undiscovered kind of mechanics, and from that day I think Sturdy became completely hateful—almost derangedly hateful—to the idea of anything new, whether it be scientific or technological or whatever.’
‘How do you think Jasper was done?’ Phyllis asked, intrigued.
Wallace Wong smiled. ‘Ah, my dear, I have often wondered. But, even though I know so much about the workings of our stage magic, I really have no idea how Jasper moved of his own accord. It is as puzzling to me as the abandoned jellyfish in the unremembered hatbox of Lost Property—’
‘How did the act end?’ Phyllis interrupted him.
‘Ah. After Jasper had stopped cartwheeling, Perkus strode onto the stage, clicked his fingers loudly, and Jasper collapsed into a heap. Perkus picked him up, took a bow and then exited to his dressing room. The applause was thunderous!
‘The next day, Alexander Sturdy was sent a letter from the management, telling him that his act was no longer required. No one saw Sturdy or Narky Norman at the theatre again.’
Wallace stopped and leant back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head and staring up at the fluffy white clouds.
Phyllis, stroking Daisy’s back—Daisy had fallen asleep in the warm sunlight—reflected on all he’d told her. Then something occurred to the young conjuror. ‘Do you think,’ she suggested, ‘that Sturdy thought that you had anything to do with it? You and he had been going to listen to Einstein and finding out more about Spacetime together . . . maybe he connected you with Jasper?’
‘Ah. The idea had shown itself to me too, my dear. It could perhaps be why Sturdy has been pursuing me and trying to do away with me. A haunted, unhinged man will stop at nothing, for he knows no reason . . .’
Phyllis said, ‘Hmm.’
‘So, Phyllis, now you know what I am looking for and what I am having to deal with in my search for the great Myrddin. What do you think?’
‘What do I think?’ she repeated, puzzled.
‘I mean, do you wish to be my co-investigator? Do you want to help me to find the wizard?’
Phyllis didn’t need to think twice. ‘You bet your wand I do!’
Wallace Wong smiled. ‘It may be dangerous, Phyllis. And you will find yourself searching without me, for I cannot guarantee to be with you at all times. But, rest assured, I will do my best not to be far away. And you will have Daisy, who is a superb watchdog.’
Phyllis nodded. ‘I’ll be careful,’ she told him.
‘I’m sure you will,’ her great-grandfather said. ‘Now, I had better get you home. I think there has been enough excitement for one Transit today.’
Phyllis sighed. ‘Okay. But before we leave . . .’ She reached down and took out her Transiting journal from the bag at her feet. ‘Do you mind if I copy that information you read to me? What that monk wrote?’
‘Certinus of Alsace?’ asked Wallace, taking his own journal from his pocket.
‘He’s the one.’
‘Not at all. A capital idea!’ He flipped open the book and slid it across the table to her.
Carefully, in her neat writing, Phyllis transcribed the words. She concentrated especially on the last paragraph.
‘The truth is something different. The truth is that the wizard has not left us. He still resides in our world, and he will for another millennium. The wizard may appear to have gone, but he will dwell near the minds of men for another thousand years. He will always be needed. He will be closer than he seems.’
When she’d finished, she closed her journal and slid Wallace’s book back across the table.
‘It is wise and wonderful to be equipped with words,’ he told her. ‘And there are two other things I want you to have.’
He produced the Sphere of Greater Temposity and the Date Determinator and placed them before Phyllis.
Phyllis’s jaw dropped open. ‘But . . . won’t you need them?’ she asked.
‘Ah, I have some more experience in Transiting than you, my dear. I have quite a bit up my sleeve. I can rely on that, and on my wits. No, I think these two items will be far more valuable to you, and what you may be about to face . . .’
Phyllis didn’t know what to say. She picked up the objects, one in each hand, and closed her fists gently around them.
At that moment the waiter returned, wearing a suspicious gaze. ‘Will-a there be anything else-a?’ he asked, his eyes fixed on Phyllis in her chair.
‘No,’ said Wallace. He fished a wallet from his coat, took out some Italian lire and placed the notes on the waiter’s gleaming silver tray. ‘Grazie,’ he nodded.
‘Prego,’ replied the waiter. He eyed Phyllis one last time and then hurried off to the cashier.
‘Now, my dear,’ said Wallace, ‘it’s time for you to return. And I need to be moving, myself.’
‘Aren’t you coming with me?’ she asked.
‘No. Not this time. But do not worry; you will be safe and swift. Over on those stairs by the carnival mask shop’—he gestured back over his shoulder—‘there is an Andruseon. I glimpsed it as we came into the piazza. It will give you a fairly smooth, if gusty, Transit home.’
‘What are you going to do?’
He put his journal back into his coat. ‘Keep searching,’ he replied. ‘Myrddin is somewhere, and it can only be a matter of Time before our encounter occurs. And if, perchance, you come across him before I do, please let him know I am seeking him. Tell him I mean him no harm.’
Phyllis nodded. She tingled at the prospect that she was going to be part of this great search.
Wallace Wong stood, and Phyllis did likewise. She deposited Daisy at her feet and slipped the Sphere of Greater Temposity and the Date Determinator into her bag. She picked up the bag, slipped the strap over her shoulder and hurried after Wallace, who had already started off across St Mark’s Square. Daisy scampered along beside her.
‘Great-grandfather?’
‘Yes, my dear?’ He ushered her towards the stairs.
‘Will you promise me you’ll be careful?’
He smiled, and the corners of his thin moustache splayed upwards. ‘I promise you I’ll be careful. Whatever will happen, will happen. Now, come. Your Pocket awaits you.’
Back near their table, their waiter was standing with his co-waiters, gesticulating as he described how he had seen the young girl rising from her chair and hovering in the very air above it.
The other waiters were listening, wide-eyed. Some of them wondered whether perhaps their friend had been drinking on the job. So engrossed were they in his story that none of them noticed Phyllis, with Daisy in her bag and her great-grandfather watching on, ascend the stairs at the eastern corner of the piazza and then, in a sudden rush, disappear into the shimmering, dark nothingness at the top.