'You know them?'
'Justice Evans is a friend of my father.' Aubrey paused. 'A proper friend, not a political friend. They knew each other in the army.'
George was nodding at something Mrs Evans had said, but Aubrey could see that it was taking him some effort to stop himself orienting on Jane. It was as if a compass point was trying to stop centring on north.
Aubrey waved. Despite George's focus, he caught the gesture. With some reluctance, he made his apologies to the Evanses and eased his way through the crowd.
'Hello, Caroline,' he said. 'Nice hat.' He rubbed his hands together. 'Cracking girl, that Jane. Dab hand at croquet.'
'You hate croquet,' Aubrey said. 'You always call it the lazy man's hockey.'
'I may have been hasty in that judgement. Time to reconsider.'
'You have the tickets?'
George looked blank for a moment, then brightened. 'Of course. Good seats, I think.' He plucked them from the inner pocket of his jacket, just as the doors opened to the auditorium.
Aubrey was decidedly ambivalent about sleight of hand. When younger, he'd desperately wanted it to be true. He wanted such deftness to be real instead of simple magic masquerading as prestidigitation. What a world it would be, if a person could make a ball vanish into thin air, just by clever manipulation and misdirection.
But with every sleight-of-hand artist he'd ever seen, the illusion didn't last. He soon saw the spells that were used to make scarves dwindle and disappear, or doves reconstitute themselves inside top hats, or pretty assistants hover in thin air, which was a great disappointment.
He settled in his seat, willing to be deceived but knowing he wouldn't be. The critical part of his brain never slept. It was always ready to squint, mutter and prod him into asking why, or how, or what.
The curtain was down. A four-piece string ensemble played in the pit – something Holmlandish, Aubrey thought, but thankfully it was something danceable rather than one of their galumphingly serious compositions.
Caroline had chosen to sit between George and him, and immediately Aubrey had the Great Armrest Issue to contend with.
In purely economic terms, he knew half the armrest was his. His ticket entitled him to it. In personal terms that could be a good thing. If he took half the armrest, and Caroline took half, his forearm – and elbow – would be close. An altogether satisfactory arrangement from his point of view as it could lead to an accidental touch or two, when he shifted position – which would be only natural.
But what if she wanted more armrest space? The courteous thing would be to concede the entire plush territory to her, for her comfort. Then he could miss out on the nearness.
The possibilities made his head spin.
In the end, he sat back, crossed his arms on his chest, and settled for simply enjoying the beguiling scent of her perfume. He made a note to himself to research perfume, so he could speak with some knowledge about it instead of the total ignorance he currently had. He imagined himself greeting her with a 'Lovely scent. Madeleine, isn't it? I do enjoy the floral topnotes balanced with the myrrh-like warmth.'
He settled back with a smile.
The quartet brought its playing to a conclusion. Lights dimmed and the curtains hissed back. A small square table stood alone. At the four corners of the stage stood tripods, each surmounted by featureless, black metal boxes. Aubrey's eyes opened wide, his professional interest suddenly piqued.
The boxes looked like magic suppressors.
The Great Manfred strode onto the stage to the applause of the audience. His face was grave and he did not acknowledge the plaudits. His attention was on the table.
He went and stood next to it, frowning, as if troubled. He tilted his head and, keeping the table firmly in his gaze, walked right around it. Then, with a flourish, he shook his right hand in the air above its surface. To his evident surprise, a small red ball appeared in his fingers.
Aubrey blinked. It was a simple thing to do. Any young magician learned how to materialise small objects through applying the Law of Displacement. Moving a small ball from a pocket to a hand situated hardly any distance away? Routine.
Except he'd felt no hint of magic at all.
The Great Manfred stared at the red ball, then at the table. He bent and put his left hand under the table. With a quick, precise movement, he slammed his other hand onto its surface, crushing the ball beneath his palm.
Or had he? Aubrey watched as the Great Manfred withdrew his left hand. It now had the ball in it, the ball that had apparently passed straight through the solid surface of the table.
Applause, but muted, as if the audience wasn't quite sure what it was seeing.
'Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,' the Great Manfred said, with a slight, Holmlandish bow. 'You are sceptical, which is quite correct. Magic, you are thinking. It's all done with magic.'
No it's not, Aubrey thought. What on earth is going on here?
The Great Manfred looked to the wings. 'Let me introduce a special guest. Professor Magnus Bromhead.'
Aubrey stiffened. He'd never have expected to find the author of Magical Rigour: Experimental Procedures Delineated on the stage. It was as unexpected as bumping into an elephant in a bookshop.
The applause was polite and puzzled this time rather than sceptical. It also seemed to puzzle the grey-haired, gown-wearing don who joined the sleight-of-hand artist. He shielded his eyes from the footlights.
'Professor Bromhead,' the Great Manfred said. 'You are an expert on magic, are you not?'
'I've held the Trismegistus chair of magic at the University of Greythorn for twenty years. That's why you hired me.'
'Exactly. So you should be able to identify the devices on these tripods?'
Professor Bromhead adjusted his glasses. He harrumphed, then moved closer to the nearest tripod. 'Magic suppressors. Where'd you get 'em?'
The Great Manfred ignored the question. 'In the field generated by these devices, can any magic exist?'
'None.'
'Are you sure?'
'One way to find out. Stand back.'
The professor eyed the tripods, then moved to the very front of the stage, almost toppling into the orchestra pit. He spread his legs a little, settling his stance. Then he placed his hands together at chest height.
It was a simple light spell and Aubrey nodded in approval at the crispness of the professor's enunciation. The spell was a well-practised one, to judge by the way it rolled off his tongue. Aubrey felt the smooth build-up of magic before the professor drew back his hands and a small ball of light hovered between them.
Nervous applause tripped through the auditorium, but the professor looked up sharply. 'Watch,' he said.
Slowly, he walked backward, keeping the ball of light hovering between his hands. One step, then two, and the professor moved into the area bounded by the tripods. Aubrey felt a surge of magic, and immediately, the ball of light winked out.