The Glasgow Empire was full. The Scottish Entertainer had departed after reprising ‘I Belong to Glasgow’ three times. At least he’d pleased the crowd. Callimachus had thought the man’s performance remarkable, if one-note. The American pianist had been jeered from the stage, though perhaps this had been due to his colour. Certainly he had played very well. Callimachus hummed a few bars of Honeysuckle Rose, as he listened to the master of ceremonies’ introduction;
‘Aw the wey fae the Levant, the stew-pendous, the must-eerious, the … furreign Cally Muckes the Great!’
He gave a wry smile, strode out to the spot and bowed. The tails and trousers shone satin under the kliegs. He began with a simple production: a fan of cards from thin air. A beautiful Visconti-Sforza Tarot although the audience could not know this. A quick vanish and another bow to a silent audience. Time for the patter. The hardest thing to learn. The magician had almost eradicated his accent altogether; a vanish better than many skilled conjurors could achieve. A line of willing volunteers mounted the stage, transformations, restorations, penetrations. As each victim returned to their seat whispers spread outward, the words ‘Ah dae ken how!’ as transformative as a pebble in a pool. The Illusionist saved the Vanishing Lady until the end. She wasn’t even a glamorous blonde. A dumpy matron from Dundee.