“It’s mine,” he ground out. “And I’ve not stolen anything, Mr. Cresswell.”
I removed my arm from Mephistopheles’s. I didn’t question how Thomas had sorted out whose ring it was; I knew if he was certain, then I was as well. “Did you place your signet there for me to find? What sort of game are you playing?”
“I may play the role of villain,” he said quietly, “but that does not make me one. Perhaps you ought to ask yourselves this: If not me, then who? Who else would wish to set suspicion on me? Who might benefit from the carnival being cast under scrutiny?” He shook his head, light glinting off the mask. “Making up your mind about a person before getting to know them makes you susceptible to true evil. I am not the villain of this story, no matter how hard you try to cast me as such. My signet was stolen at the start of the week. I didn’t wish to share the information.”
He was right, regardless of how much I wished to dispute him. We were quick to blame him, think the worst of him, based on our emotions, not facts. It was the first rule of being a decent scientist and investigator, and we’d broken it.
“Can either of you think of someone who might seek revenge?” he pressed. “I certainly can. But then I’m not the one wasting time crafting a narrative to explain away evil deeds. I’d suggest you turn your critical lens on the upper class. Where is Dr. Arden? He disappears for the majority of the voyage, and yet all you do is knock on his door a few times? And what of Miss Crenshaw’s father? Would a man that powerful simply accept his daughter’s fate? Would a lord sit politely back, knowing his precious girl had chosen a lowly carnival performer over her family and paid the ultimate price for it? Or would he destroy that which had destroyed him?”
“So you did carry on a secret affair with her?” I asked, troubled by the uncomfortable feeling in my center.
“She was a lonely girl in want of a friend, and I, too, was tired of being alone,” he said. “I listened to her fears. But that’s all that passed between us.”
He eyed his signet but didn’t make a move to take it back. Another surprise. Without saying another word, Mephistopheles brushed past Thomas, leaving us both to silently rethink our list of suspects. It was a passionate speech. The sharp words chosen with the eye of an expert marksman, one who knew how to both aim and strike his target. Whether it was a shot meant to distract or disarm, I couldn’t be sure.
Harry Houdini with wife, Bess
TWENTY-EIGHT
MILK-CAN ESCAPE
DINING SALOON
RMS ETRURIA
6 JANUARY 1889
Chandeliers flared brightly, then dimmed, our not-so-subtle clue the show was about to begin. Most of the chatter in the saloon halted, though the din of conversation never fully stopped. My heartbeat nearly tripled, though I couldn’t tell if it was fear of what might happen. The murderer hadn’t announced his last victim in a grand way, and I knew deep within my bones it was only a matter of time before horrific carnage was unleashed in sinister fashion.
One glance around the noticeably smaller crowd confirmed I wasn’t the only guest who worried about what might happen next. Empty seats stuck out like missing teeth in a forced grimace. One more night of terror and the audience might disappear altogether.
“I can’t believe your uncle insisted we spy on this show,” Thomas whispered. “Not that I’m complaining. This entrée is infinitely more pleasant than spending an evening with my nose in a severed limb. Or listening to Norwood bark at crew members.”
I sighed. Leave it to Thomas to break the heaviness of the night by comparing our supper to a postmortem. He hadn’t mentioned a word about my morning activities, and I decided to let it go for the moment. I was also grateful Uncle would miss possibly seeing Liza onstage again. Once she’d discovered he’d be sitting dinner out, she’d quickly made plans to assist with Harry’s act. Worry wedged itself between my shoulder blades. I hoped she wasn’t planning on creating her own theatrics tonight. Thomas cleared his throat, and I shook myself free of thoughts.
“Yes, well, when one must choose between herbed squab and putrid flesh,” I said, “it’s such a difficult decision.”
“Don’t worry.” Thomas flashed a mischievous grin. “There’ll be plenty of time for rotting flesh after dessert. I promised your uncle I’d assist directly after the show. You’re more than welcome to join, unless you’ve got more nefarious plans to attend to.”
Thomas’s tone was light, but I still saw shadows of doubt creeping across his expression. I did my best to smile, though I suddenly felt as if I were drowning. I had to practice for the finale and meet with the ringmaster for yet another lesson. Hopefully I’d gather more information regarding the murderer to make it all worthwhile. “Of course I’ll assist tonight.”
Uncle seemed to have forgiven me for rebelling against his one rule, his focus now entirely on the mystery of this ship. He believed—though others in his profession scoffed at the idea—that murderers frequented their crime scenes. Since someone was targeting members of the first-class passengers, he’d instructed us to continue being social. Take note of anything even slightly amiss. We were to be spies and apprentices and detectives in one—a challenge we were both eager to accept.
Mrs. Harvey cut into her roasted squab, either purposely not listening to our less-than-savory dinner talk or happily lost in her own thoughts. I sipped from my water goblet, focus straying to the stage as the lights dimmed and stayed that way. A moment later Mephistopheles appeared, rising from the dark pit beneath center stage, surrounded by the usual cloud of smoke. Against my better judgment, my heart gave an excited jump.
For the first time I realized he was similar to a phoenix rising from the ashes. While I’d been working to unravel the mystery surrounding the murders, I was no closer to unearthing any clues about him or who he’d truly been before taking his stage persona. Perhaps he had burned his old life to the ground and emerged into something untouchable.
“Welcome to the sixth evening of the greatest show from sea to sea,” Mephistopheles said. “Tonight you will bear witness to the most magnificent escape of our time. Or perhaps… perhaps you will see a young man’s life ended before your very eyes. I make no guarantee that the next performer will survive. Victory will make him a legend, but failure means a drowning death.”
The silence that followed his opening statement was palpable. No one wanted to witness a man drown, especially after the last few nights. I knew the importance of carrying on after death, but this seemed a bit crude considering the circumstances.
Mephistopheles clapped his hands twice, and assistants rolled something onto the stage hidden by a velvety curtain. It took a great effort by my cousin and Isabella to push the massive object to the center of the floor. Trepidation wound its way through my body.
“What you see here is a galvanized-iron vessel filled to the brim with water.” Mephistopheles nodded toward Isabella and Liza. They yanked the curtain off, revealing the large milk can. “Not only will Houdini submerge himself in this milk can, we will secure it with massive locks, ensuring that not even he can escape.”
Murmurs broke out, and the room seemed to take a collective breath. Climbing into a can full of water was dangerous enough, but locking it was a new level of madness. Mephistopheles allowed worry to simmer, enjoying the bubbling torment of the carnival’s patrons. I could have sworn his eyes twinkled a bit more at their distress.
“There, there, everyone,” he said in a soothing tone. “I’ll allow Houdini the honor of announcing the rest.” Mephistopheles threw his hands out to either side, welcoming his star to the night stage. “Behold the incredible, the impossible, the intoxicatingly terrifying escape artist of the nineteenth century! Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Great Houdini!”
The crowd was mostly quiet whenever Mephistopheles took the stage, but when Houdini entered the room this evening, the hush that descended was a living, breathing thing. Darkness and density and the throbbing beat of one’s own blood pumping in
the void of outward noise. I’d heard people remark on being able to hear a pin drop, but the truth of Houdini’s presence was so much more than that. I could have sworn I heard each contraction of my heart, each molecule of oxygen I barely breathed in, all of it so loud within my head it had to be heard across the sea to London.
Mephistopheles was correct once again: Harry Houdini was destined to become a legend, if only for the magnitude of his presence. He was a man of modest stature and extraordinary might. At least on this night, after we’d all seen death made into a spectacle.
“A bit dramatic for my taste,” Thomas whispered, leaning in. “How many adjectives can one use in a sentence? Mephisto might be in want of a thesaurus. Perhaps I’ll gift one to him.”
“Hush,” Mrs. Harvey scolded, her attention riveted on the dark-haired young man wrapped in a plush robe. Without preamble, Houdini dropped the robe. Heat flooded my cheeks; women and men gasped around the room. I’d never seen a man in his smallclothes, and Houdini was practically naked.
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Harvey said, then took a long pull of ice water. “It’s been a moment since I’ve seen a man in his underthings. Poor Mr. Harvey, Lord rest his soul. He—”
“Please, I beg of you, do not elaborate,” Thomas interrupted, giving her a look of pure dread. “Some things are better left to our imaginations. And even then we might not wish to go down that creative route.”
“Humph.” Mrs. Harvey picked up her fan, waving it steadily about. I’m sure it had nothing to do with being upset and everything to do with being once again riveted by the young man parading around in his smallclothes. He seemed to soak up the attention.
Liza, ever the daring assistant, kept the smile on her face, though I could see the strain. I hadn’t yet spoken to her to see how she was faring, interacting with Houdini after the love letter revelation, and would do so immediately following the show. If she made it through this act without letting on how upset she was, she might make it to New York without dunking him in the ocean yet.
“The clock, if you please!” Houdini’s voice boomed out with the command. The assistants rolled a massive timepiece a few feet from the milk can. His gaze strayed to Liza, then quickly moved on. “Now,” he addressed the audience, “I need a volunteer. Who will come up and inspect my prison for any defect?”
Thomas’s arm shot into the air. I kicked at him under the table but missed, judging from the way he waved his arm around. The escape artist passed over my friend in favor of a robust man of around forty-five years. The man banged a cane on the side of the can, the clang proving it was no fake. He did a thorough job of walking around, tapping each side of the milk can. He even lifted the lid, inspecting it for who knew what. Satisfied, he gave a curt nod, then returned to his table.
“As you have witnessed, there are no tricks involved,” Houdini called out, voice clear and loud. “I want you all to hold your breath and watch the seconds tick by.” He motioned toward the stopwatch. “Begin the count… now!”
Mephistopheles hit a button on the side of the clock, setting the second hand in motion. He’d never remained onstage to assist before, and I wondered if he was only here tonight to watch for anything amiss.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Everyone inhaled deeply, then held their breath for as long as they could. Most exhaled by thirty seconds.
Tick. Tick. Tick. A few more after forty. Almost all were dragging in breaths before a minute had passed.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Thomas’s cheeks remained puffed out, and he seemed no more distressed over the lack of oxygen than he did by the sight of the half-naked young man onstage. Houdini grinned when my friend finally released his breath.
“Now, I ask that you all hold your breath once more. But first…” He strode across the stage, completely unconcerned about the death trap lurking behind him. Without further discussion, he climbed into the milk can. Water sloshed over the sides, forcing his assistants to back up or stand in the growing puddle. “I wouldn’t feel right being called the King of Cuffs without my bracelets, now, would I? Liza, please bring my handcuffs.”
His use of proper manners brought on the ghost of a smile to Mephistopheles’s otherwise blank expression. He was a quick learner, something highly valued in this business.
Liza, smile still in place, stepped forward, cuffs in hand. At this the crowd turned indignant. Someone yelled out, “This is madness! No one wants to see a man drown. Where’s the fire act? Bring out the fortune-teller!”
Mephistopheles, still posted near the giant stopwatch, cocked his head. “If you’re afraid of death, you ought to leave now. Neither Houdini nor I can guarantee his survival. Smelling salts are available to any and all who may require them.”
“People have died! This is unacceptable.” The man shook his head at his table and stormed from the room. No one else protested the idea of witnessing a man possibly drown before their eyes. Which was unnerving. Any one of these passengers, eager for death, might be involved with the murders. Or become the next victim.
My gaze drifted back to my cousin, who was still smiling behind her mask. Angry though she might be with Houdini, if there was even a hint of this act going wrong, she wouldn’t be able to maintain her cool stance. I hoped.
Unease crawled along my thoughts. If anything were to go wrong, it would be easy to claim faulty equipment. However, would that be too quiet of a murder for a killer who enjoyed theatrics? Or would the thrill of taking out a legend in the making be enough of a draw?
Houdini held his arms up, waiting for the cuffs. Liza clapped them onto his wrists a bit too exuberantly, the sound near echoing in the quiet. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, but lifted the cuffs up proudly.
“These are regulation police handcuffs.” He tugged on them, proving how real they were. “Once I submerge myself underwater and my assistants have replaced the lid, I ask that you all hold your breath along with the clock.”
A long look passed between Houdini and Mephistopheles, and the ringmaster finally nodded. Despite logic telling me all would be well, my palms tingled when Houdini maneuvered himself into the vessel. Either for our benefit or his own, he took a large breath before submerging himself. Liza and Isabella were on the can in an instant, securing the lid in place. At the same moment the lid clanked down, Mephistopheles started the clock. It seemed they’d practiced quite well. This was one science experiment they could not get wrong. Not only for Houdini’s sake, but for the fate of the carnival.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Once more, I dragged in my breath along with the crowd, holding it until I convinced myself my eyes would burst from my skull if I didn’t release it.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The second hand echoed like a gong, all the while Houdini remained below water.
Tick. Tick. Tick. More gasps burst forth from people in the dining saloon. Forty-eight seconds had now passed with the escape artist still submerged. Liza and Isabella shifted, their pretty smiles frozen in place.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Mephistopheles called out, “One minute.”
Thomas tapped along to the ticking of the clock, the sound setting my nerves into more of a tizzy. I clamped my jaw together until it ached. At the minute-and-a-half mark, Liza and Isabella casually lifted the domed lid. Houdini burst upward, hands still shackled, and drew in a ragged breath. Water splashed onto the stage, the sound not even close to as lulling as the waves outside.
Houdini drew in a few more deep breaths, eyes twinkling. “This time, instead of just a demonstration, my assistants will also padlock the lid, making escape nearly impossible. I'll either set myself free…”
Mephistopheles walked over and patted his shoulder. “Or we shall set your corpse out to sea.”
A few patrons stood and quietly left the room. Light from the corridor flashed each time the door opened and closed, the illumination adding to my twisting worry. Houdini dunked underwater, and Liza and Isabella secured the lid, this time padlocking it in two places. While the
y did that, the ringmaster started the ticking of the clock—it took nearly thirty seconds for the lid to be locked. Surely Houdini would be exhausted after already demonstrating the act. It was beyond madness to do it again so soon; this was a death wish.
My heart knocked frantically, searching for a way out. There had to be an explanation for the trick, but I couldn’t locate one. This time, Liza and Isabella covered the milk can with a curtained screen. It was midnight-blue velvet with a thousand silver stars embroidered onto it.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I couldn’t decide if Thomas’s tapping or the incessant ticking was worse. Mrs. Harvey twisted her napkin in her lap, eyes fastened to the starry curtain.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I moved about my seat; there were so many more-pressing things to be concerned with. The severed limb. The slain women. The identity of the murderer who might be in this very room… yet my pulse roared at the possibility of what was happening behind that curtain.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“One minute, thirty seconds,” Mephistopheles said. I had no idea if I’d imagined the strain in his tone. Passengers grumbled as the clock ticked on. What had started as good fun was turning into panic. A few people pushed back from their seats, fists clenched at their sides.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Two minutes.” Mephistopheles’s foot tapped faster than the clock. Both Liza’s and Isabella’s arms began trembling, the curtain wavering with them. “Two minutes thirty seconds.”
“Help him!” a man cried, followed by another. “Release him!”
“Something must be wrong!” another passenger yelled. The crowd grew uneasy. More pleas cropped up. Still, the ringmaster kept his focus stuck to the ticking second hands.
“Three minutes!” he nearly shouted. Sweat beaded his hairline. Either he was the most talented actor the world had ever known, or something was going dreadfully wrong.