The czar nodded. “I would think that the ropes have long since rotted away. I’m afraid it’s quite impossible.”
Houdini frowned, though he knew full well that twenty years earlier the clapper from one of the bells had fallen onto a crowd of worshippers, killing nearly a hundred people, after which it had been decreed that the bells not be repaired. “Oh dear. That’s too bad. Well, let’s have a look anyway.” He smiled at Grand Duchess Elizabeth. “Which of these windows faces the Kremlin?”
Grand Duchess Elizabeth led him to a set of large double doors which gave onto a balcony. She opened them and stepped outside. Houdini followed her, with the czar, czarina, and others close behind. The Kremlin was visible, far in the distance, illuminated by moonlight. It had begun to snow. Houdini frowned.
“This will indeed be a difficult feat. But I must try.” He bowed his head in concentration and removed a handkerchief from his pocket. He waved it back and forth in the air, slowly at first, arcing his arm until his hand was above his head. He held it there, motionless, until he was sure every eye was locked onto it. Then he let the handkerchief go and the entire assembly of Russia’s most powerful family watched it fall to the ground.
It lay on the floor for a second, and it seemed as if this was all that would happen. Then, muffled by the falling snow, the sound of a bell ringing could be heard, followed by another, until the clamouring of bells punched into the room.
The czar’s eyes widened, his mouth half open with shock or incredulity or both. Someone cheered and people began to clap. The czar grabbed Houdini’s hand and raised it in the air in triumph. Bess beamed at him, and from the other end of the world Houdini could feel his mother’s pride. The czar leaned toward him, his lips close to his ear.
“I have been waiting for you, magician. Welcome to Russia.”
It snowed heavily throughout the night in Moscow. In the morning Houdini snuck out of bed, leaving Bess asleep, and went down to the lobby of the hotel to get breakfast. There were a dozen or so people in the restaurant, and he tried to determine which if any of them were Okhrana. There was no way to tell. Everyone seemed suspicious but no one stood out as exceptional. He shook his head—he was becoming paranoid.
His food had not yet arrived when Grigoriev sat down at his table without acknowledging him or asking permission. As usual he was dressed in black and his pale hair was impeccably neat.
“Well, Houdini, you’re extremely fortunate you’re not in jail right now,” he said.
Houdini smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Was last night not to your liking?”
“I don’t think you do understand. You were there last night as a guest of the Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich. The governor-general of Moscow, the man who directly controls Chief Zubatov. The purpose of your visit was to put on a show that made the point that you do not possess magical powers. Instead you managed to convince the czar that you are some sort of wizard.”
“I never told the czar I had any occult powers.”
“Don’t be coy with me. You know what you did.” Grigoriev hailed a waiter and ordered coffee.
“I’m sorry for any trouble.”
“Sorry doesn’t matter. I was up most of the night attempting to convince the grand duke not to have you sent to Siberia.”
Houdini took a sip of his tea. “I’ve already escaped from your wagon.”
The waiter returned and set down the coffee. Houdini could tell that he’d misplayed this situation.
“Should it be wished that you were to be contained,” Grigoriev said, ignoring the coffee, “you would be placed in the Black Maria with only five digits on each hand to help you. You’re a clever man, Houdini, I give you that. When your wife palmed everyone’s slips of paper I wasn’t sure what you were up to. I assume all of the papers in the hat read the same thing. You’re lucky the snow didn’t stop you from signalling your confederate with your handkerchief. The same confederate who fired a series of gunshots at the bells of the Kremlin.”
Houdini said nothing. He didn’t know how Grigoriev had ascertained his secrets, but it was remarkable and frightening.
“In the end, I was unsuccessful in convincing the grand duke. The grand duchess attempted to intervene as well, also without success. Fortunately for you, as the sun rose the czar demanded an audience with the grand duke, during which he made a request that rendered the grand duke’s wishes inconsequential.”
“A request?”
“His Imperial Majesty wishes you to become his spiritual adviser.”
Though his initial impulse was to laugh, Houdini realized at once that Grigoriev wasn’t joking. But what could he possibly have to offer the czar of Russia in the way of spiritual advice? And what would happen when the czar discovered that he was a Jew and that he did not possess magical powers?
“This request has, obviously, changed the grand duke’s disposition. We have been hoping for a long time to have someone of your nature advising the czar. After a series of swindlers and imposters, it would be an advantage to have you guiding Nicholas.”
There was no question in Houdini’s mind that he did not want to accept this offer.
“I don’t think this wise. I have no ability or interest in matters of state.”
“You do not need these abilities. We will tell you all you need to know.”
“I have ambitions that go beyond being a servant, even to a man such as the czar. In America and Europe I’m rated as a star.”
“You would be well compensated. I’m not sure you understand the gravity of the situation, Houdini. Russia is on the brink. Anarchists and leftists threaten us at every moment. They assassinated the czar’s own grandfather twenty years ago. We will soon be at war with Japan. Without stable leadership and wise counsel we could lose everything.”
Houdini rubbed the back of his neck. “I understand the situation. Perhaps I can help you. I will need to discuss this with my wife, and of course I will have to play out my existing engagements on the Continent. But you seem to me to be a man who can be trusted, as is Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich. If I can do more here for the good of the world than I can do as an entertainer, then I must consider it.”
Grigoriev did not react. It was hard to tell if he believed him, and after a long silence Houdini became nervous. The waiter arrived with his breakfast, and Grigoriev stood.
“Very well. I cannot ask you to do more than consider our offer. In a few days the czar and most of the other members of the royal family will return to St. Petersburg. The grand duke will remain to fulfill his duties as governor-general of Moscow, but I will travel with the court. Please let me know your decision at your earliest convenience. I will in the meantime promise you that neither the grand duke nor Chief Zubatov will hinder your movements.”
Grigoriev bowed slightly, turned, and left. His coffee remained on the table, untouched. Houdini looked at his breakfast. He’d lost his appetite.
Staying in the cabinet was not an option. The band had begun yet another song, and he could hear that even their enthusiasm was waning. He knew he was on a precipice. If he remained in the cabinet, people’s minds would turn suspicious. It was now or never.
He picked up the Mirror cuffs and pushed the cushion to the back of the cabinet. It would be discreetly retrieved later and the dummy cuffs destroyed. That was the plan, at least. He would have to make certain it happened. He no longer knew who could be trusted.
After one last deep breath he pulled open the curtain and stumbled out onto the stage. At first it was unclear to the audience whether or not he still was contained by the cuffs, until he thrust them at Kelley. Kelley, fumbling, took them and at once dropped them. The sound of them hitting the floor ruptured the crowd’s incomprehension. Four thousand people leaped to their feet and bawled their delight.
The suddenness with which Houdini emerged from the cabinet left him light-headed, and he keeled forward. The hands of the onstage committee members reached out to him and stopped him from toppling. Bess
rushed toward him and arrived just as he was about to lose consciousness. She cupped his face in her hands.
“Fight it,” she shouted, her voice nearly lost in the din. “I will get you backstage, but you need to hold on a bit longer.”
With her help he was able to make it across the Hippodrome’s vast stage and into the wings, and from there to a small dressing room. He collapsed into a chair. The crowd in the theatre had begun to chant his name.
Harmsworth and Kelley rushed into the room, obviously concerned, but Bess shooed them out and shut the door.
“Someone drugged the water,” he said.
Bess nodded and held out a small box of smelling salts. Houdini took it and inhaled deeply. As the sharp scent of ammonia dissipated, his head cleared a bit.
“There was a man onstage who inspected the water,” he said. “Did you see him?”
“I did. He left after that.” He could see she was concerned, though she was trying to hide it. He had forgotten how she did this—when he was weak, she became strong. It was one of the things he loved most about her.
“Have you seen him before?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Houdini took a slow breath, then another. He felt a little better.
“You need a doctor.”
“I know. But first I have to go back out there. Just give me a second.”
Bess stepped back. “You can’t be serious.”
“They need to see I’m okay. Otherwise this was all for nothing.”
She crossed her arms and then she embraced him. He took one last breath and pushed himself to his feet. He kissed her.
“You ready?” he asked.
Houdini knew they couldn’t summarily leave Russia, but he had no desire to stay a moment longer than necessary. He finished his engagement at the Yar and did a few shows in neighbouring cities. He knew he was being watched, and he’d had to part with a significant amount of cash to secure the passage of his baggage across the border, but neither Grigoriev nor the grand duke made any visible attempt to prevent him from leaving the country. He supposed it wasn’t in their interests. They required him to be an ally, and so it only made sense that he should be free to leave. In London he received several telegrams from Grigoriev, and finally he responded.
I AM VERY SORRY. I WOULD LIKE TO BE OF SERVICE BUT CANNOT AT THIS TIME ABANDON MY CAREER. YOUR FRIEND, HOUDINI.
Soon after, he awoke one day to a summons from Melville to come to Scotland Yard. Melville was particularly interested in his assessment of various members of the Russian royal family. When he asked about Grand Duke Dimitri and Prince Felix Yusupov, Houdini relayed the rumour that they were lovers. Melville snorted.
“Oh, don’t worry, we know all about those two. We once caught Yusupov, dressed as a woman, flirting with King Edward. But he may yet have his uses.”
Houdini then told him about Grigoriev’s offer.
Melville’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. I turned him down, of course.”
Houdini was entirely unprepared for the force of Melville’s vitriol. He leaped to his feet, unleashing a profanity-laden harangue that Houdini could barely understand.
“An opportunity to control the Crown of Russia and you say no? I’ve sent men to their deaths for a fraction of the information you would have seen on a daily basis.”
Houdini sat still until Melville’s rant had run its course. “I agreed to send you what information I could,” he said, his voice low and calm. “What you ask of me is beyond what I can do and beyond the scope of our arrangement. I’m sorry.”
A muscle in Melville’s neck pulsed. Houdini picked up a water glass, found it empty, and set it back down.
“You are dismissed,” Melville said.
Houdini rose and went to the door.
“If I were you,” Melville said, “I would be very careful how I inform Wilkie about this situation. I think you will not find him as forgiving.”
Houdini had the day before sent a coded letter to Wilkie, briefing him on the entire Russia trip. In the coming weeks he waited for a reply. He began a series of engagements and life returned to normal, more or less. Eventually he received a telegram.
INFORMATION RECEIVED
Nothing more. These men were beyond him, beyond what he wanted to know. He was foolish to have ever become involved with them.
He linked arms with Bess and stood in the wings, determined not to faint. The theatre manager saw them and hurried over, handing Bess a note.
You work for us. Always remember that, Mr. Weisz.
“Who is us?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. He knew she didn’t believe him.
He squeezed her arm, smoothed his hair down, and stepped back onstage. Though it seemed impossible, the ovation grew louder. The assembly of men and women onstage reached out eagerly to shake his hand. He looked into the seats and saw a woman crying, though her face gleamed with a broad smile.
Harmsworth came up beside him and shook his hand. Houdini grinned at him, but he had not forgotten the man who’d spiked his water. Was Harmsworth involved? It seemed unlikely. A defeated Houdini would cease to sell future papers.
“They want you to speak!” Harmsworth shouted into his ear.
Houdini stepped forward and raised his arms. The crowd became marginally quieter.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. Where had he seen that man? He knew him. “I entered this room feeling like a doomed man. There were times when I did not believe I could get myself out of those handcuffs.”
It came to him. Like a name that’s been forgotten, or a word on the tip of his tongue, the face came rushing back.
“But your applause gave me courage. It gave me the strength to do or die. These handcuffs were the hardest I’ve ever seen, with locks inside locks.”
San Francisco. The gamblers. Houdini had seen his eyes. It was Findlay. Wilkie, the head of the Secret Service, had sent him.
“I thought this was my Waterloo, after nineteen years of hard work. I haven’t slept for nights. But I will sleep tonight.”
He bowed to the crowd and left the stage, leaning on Bess. It was time to return to America.
MARTIN STRAUSS
1927
IT WAS A LIFETIME AGO. I WAS TRYING TO OUTRUN THE consequences of a mistake made in a moment of weakness. My days were long, my nights were long, and the weight of what I’d done kept finding me no matter how much I tried to hide from it. Like any burden, however, I was beginning to learn how to bear it. Then one night, months after I killed Houdini, everything changed.
As I lay in my boardinghouse room, sleep did not come. Insomnia made me a bit too philosophical, and there’s almost nothing more dangerous than the combination of metaphysics and the dark.
The night wasn’t anywhere near as quiet as I’d have liked. Darkness has a way of making everything louder. There’s no way to identify the sounds coming at you. You can imagine what they are, but it’s always a guess, based on what you remember about the world before the light went out of it.
There was the perpetual hiss of the radiator. I pulled the blankets tight to my chin and wondered how certain I could be that what I was hearing was in fact the radiator. It sounded like the radiator. Possibly my brain was misidentifying the hiss of, say, an inland taipan, the world’s most venomous snake. The stairs—can snakes do stairs?—or the Canadian winter or the double-locked door or any one of a hundred factors made it improbable I was hearing an inland taipan. But if someone had managed to plant one in a corner of the room, I would have no way of knowing what to listen for. Such were the thoughts of a man who had recently acquired a great many enemies.
I tried to calm myself. There was no way someone had placed an inland taipan in my room. I had gone to great lengths to disappear, and anyone capable of having found me would have more sense than to employ a cold-blooded reptile in winter.
My departure from Montreal had been swift; I was gone less than an ho
ur after receiving the note warning me that I was in danger. I was surprised by both the courtesy of my potential assailant and my own sense of calm. I had been so uncertain about what would happen next that finally having a direction was a strange relief.
A car drove past my window, its tires cautious on new snow. I’d chosen my lodgings with care, one street back from a main artery. I’d be able to recognize anything out of the ordinary, but the safety of crowds was close enough. I listened to the car disappear into the night. Had it slowed down as it passed my address?
I had taken all precautions possible. There was no way for me to disappear more fully than I had, or if there was, I didn’t know how to do it. I rolled onto my side and reminded myself that there is a fine line between vigilance and insanity. What I needed most was sleep.
When I was a child I hated going to sleep. Most children do, I think. It would make more sense for adults to resist sleep. As life progresses it is less and less likely that you will wake up. The more sleeps you have behind you, the fewer you have in front of you. But children, who have no need to count out their days and nights, fight the end of each day as though their lives depend on it, while adults seem almost grateful to get into bed and fall off without effort.
My mother would come and sit beside my bed whenever I was against the idea of sleep. Our deal, she said, was that as long as I lay down and kept talking to her, she would stay. This always seemed a wonderful compromise to me, but it was a rare night where more than a few minutes passed before my eyelids dropped and sleep claimed me.
This night, alone in the dark in a strange room, the thought of my mother was enough to quiet my mind, and after a few false starts where the abrupt and terrifying sensation of falling jerked me away from the precipice of sleep, I was able to rest. The myriad whisperings and rattlings of the night no longer demanded parsing.
“And how, my dear Martin, are you? What did you do today?” my mother asked me. I couldn’t see her clearly—my eyes were fogged in, and after a moment I gave up trying to open them.