The Magician - Part 1

1 - The Magician.

"And lo! From my hat I doth produce....a bunny rabbit!" The Great and Powerful Spinelli proclaimed as he triumphantly pulled nothing from the hat. "I said," his face glowed red, "I produce a bunny rabbit!" His hands fumbled around the hidden compartment within the comically enlarged top hat, but found nothing. A child in the front row tugged at its mother's sleeve. "Mummy, why'd you get this magamician, he's poo."

The Great and Powerful Spinelli, whose face was now the same colour as the ripest of tomatoes, grimaced. Inwardly he would have liked to have been able to pretend not to have heard the child's complaint, but he couldn't control his shame. His hand fumbled around the hat once more, before he awkwardly dropped it, and attempting to save the act, he muttered a feeble "ta-dah"...his patron looked less then enthused.

"Just so you know, I won't be paying you at all!" Little Sally Jenkin's mother shouted at The Great and Powerful Spinelli, who cringed and ashen faced, looked shamefully at the floor. "I understand," Spinelli mumbled, "I really do." he said as the parent raged at him. He hadn't been laughed off of the stage, that would've been something, at least he would've provided some form of entertainment, but no, people had merely shook their heads, the children were confused, was this a joke they'd not understood? Where was the real magician? So Spinelli had left the stage, he hadn't gone back for the hat. (Incidentally, the rabbit who had escaped the hat went on to lead a full and happy life, marrying a beautiful rabbit wife, having many rabbit children, and saving the rabbit kingdom from a powerful and fearsome dragon, but that is another story altogether).

Dejectedly, Spinelli walked down the rain lashed streets, briefcase full of various tricks in hand. Since he'd not been paid, he had no money to take a cab home, and so lugged the case after him. The handle snapped. Springs and cups and multi coloured balls and all manner of other apparent magical goods spilt onto the water strewn streets. He scrambled after them and gathered up as much as he could, but they tauntingly rolled down the sideways, into gutters and drains, mocking his ability as a magician. He sank to his knees, dropping what he had gathered and bellowed wordless anger toward the gloomy heavens.

"If you don't mind, some of us are trying to watch the television!" An old man poked his head out of the window and remonstrated Spinelli, who looked up abashed at his outburst. "I'm sorry, I've just...I'm sorry." Spinelli spluttered. The old man looked down at him, scratching his whiskery chin thoughtfully, then he let out a dejected sigh. "It's all right, lad. Nothing good on any way. What's up with you anyway, you look positively beaten?" "It's nothing, just...thinking maybe it's time for a change of career, that's all" Spinelli said miserably. "You should be one of them magicians! Like what's on TV!" The old man barked out loud, Spinelli let out a small whimper,

"What's the matter, lad?" he added quizzically.

"I *am* a magician," Spinelli cried out, "that's the problem!"

The old man disappeared from his window, and suddenly there was a buzzing from his door.

"I've just unlocked the front door," came the old man's voice, crackling over the intercom, "meet me up stairs, room 2B."

Spinelli hesitated, looking around the street at the detritus that was his opening act, and decided that it was probably safe there for a moment. Anybody would just think it was multicoloured rubbish anyway. He opened the door to the building and found himself staring down a dark hallway. He quietly closed the door behind him, and found himself creeping down the hallway. It was very dark, very dusty and the floorboards beneath his feet creaked uneasily with every footfall. As he passed the shadowy doorways of the first floor, he had the distinct impression that he was being watched, and this unnerved him greatly. He was so unnerved, he failed to see the first step of the stairway up to the second floor, he tripped upwards and hit his face hard on the balustrade. A thick patter of blood dripped from his nose onto the dusty steps beneath his feet.

"Ow! Shit! Shit!" he mumbled, and reaching into his inside jacket pocket, produced a flag of many nations. He ripped a few of the nations off and tried to stem the blood flow from his nose, and with the rest, he attempted to mop the blood from the stairway. All he did was spread the puddle out. He glanced around, and again felt that he was being watched, even though he could see that the only way the people behind the doors could see him where he was now, would be by opening them and stepping through. He hurriedly stuffed the flags he'd used for mopping the blood back into his pocket, and with one hand on the balustrade, and the other clutching the remaining flags to his bleeding nose, he continued ascending the stairway.