Prince of Air Page 6

  An hour later, Maisie and Felix had two dollars and twenty-five cents, and they were sitting in one of the wooden cars on the Ferris wheel, slowly rotating upward.

  “You promised we could go on The Roundabout,” Felix reminded Maisie.

  They were standing on top of a giant wooden elephant called The Elephant Colossus. They’d already gone inside its legs. One had a cigar store and another sold postcards. The body of the elephant was a hotel, and here, twelve stories up, was an observation deck where they could look down on the runway, which throbbed with people.

  Dusk had settled over Coney Island. The beach beyond the amusement park was still crowded. People splashed in the ocean beneath a reddish-orange sky.

  “I know,” Maisie said. “It’s just hard to get enthusiastic about a merry-go-round.”

  “I went on The Serpentine Railroad with you,” he said. “Three times.”

  The Serpentine Railroad was the other roller coaster that went all of twelve miles an hour, twice as fast The Gravity Pleasure Switchback Railroad but still eternally slow. Felix had started to enjoy the slower pace of the rides, how the Ferris wheel took almost twenty minutes to go around and the roller coasters felt like a ride in a convertible, the wind blowing on his face and the salt air of the ocean mixed with the smell of hot dogs roasting and the pungent oil they used to grease the tracks.

  Those hot dogs. Felix had eaten three. And two Italian ices, sold by a man in a straw hat and red-and-white-striped jacket. He played a strange instrument that he told them was called a hurdy-gurdy. It had strings and a keyboard, and the man cranked it to make music that sounded almost like bagpipes. As he played it, a skinny, little monkey with big eyes danced in front of him.

  Thinking about it made Felix hungry again. He smiled to himself. What a perfect day this had been. He had been careful not to mention the fact that they had no idea where Great-Aunt Maisie or Great-Uncle Thorne might be. Maybe they were out there somewhere in that crowd waiting in line to ride the Ferris wheel or to enter one of the sideshows. Maybe they were back in Newport at Anne Hutchinson Elementary School. Felix knew that if he speculated on their whereabouts with Maisie, she would get mad at him for ruining the day. He could almost hear her grumbling about those old people getting in the way of a perfect summer day at Coney Island.

  Wait a minute, Felix thought. A perfect summer day?

  “Maisie?” he said.

  “Okay, okay, we’ll go on the merry-go-round.”

  “Wasn’t the Talent Show in March?” he asked her.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “That rhetorical question is supposed to make me realize something, right?”

  Felix opened his arms wide. “It’s definitely summer here.”

  “So?” she said.

  She hated when he figured something out before she did. What did it matter that the Talent Show was in March, and it was summer here at Coney Island in 18 . . . 18-whatever?

  “Sir?” Felix said, turning to the man beside him. “What’s today’s date?”

  The man laughed. “Why? Do you have an important engagement?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Felix said. “I kind of do.”

  The man furrowed his dark eyebrows. “It is June 18, 1893.”

  With slow, deliberate motions, the man pulled a very large pocket watch from his vest pocket.

  “And,” he added, “it is seven seventeen PM.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows and turned back to his conversation.

  “How could we have traveled to a different day?” Felix blurted.

  When he saw that Maisie still didn’t understand, he said, “Every other time, we landed back on the same day, just a different year. We left Newport during the VIP Christmas party on December 9, and landed in China on December 9. But December 9, 1899. We left Newport on—”

  “I get it,” Maisie said, considering what this might mean. “This time we traveled back to 18—”

  “93,” Felix said.

  “But three months later,” she said.

  Felix nodded.

  “What could that mean?” Maisie asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But I don’t like it,” he added.

  “Something’s different this time,” Maisie said.

  “Right,” Felix said. “But what?”

  The carousel at Coney Island was like nothing Maisie or Felix had ever seen before. They were used to the one in Central Park that moved at a dizzying speed with loud music blasting from it. Felix thought this one, The Roundabout, was like a piece of art. Each horse had a real horsehair tail. Painted white and frozen in midleap or prance, they each had a vividly colored mane—scarlet or bright yellow or midnight blue—and bridles in turquoise or purple trimmed with shiny fake jewels.

  “Creepy,” Maisie said, pointing to the mouth of one of the horses, which showed a mouthful of teeth.

  “He’s smiling,” Felix said. In fact, they all had their teeth bared like that.

  “Or grimacing,” Maisie said, climbing on.

  Still, she had to admit that it was kind of lovely to ride slowly around on one of these painted horses as the sky shifted from dusk to night and the lights of Coney Island came on, illuminating the rides and the people and the runway in bright white light.

  Maisie even gave in and took a second ride on The Roundabout before claiming she’d had enough.

  Off the carousel, walking with the crowd, Felix began to feel a little nervous. Now that it was dark, he realized they had no place to sleep for the night. Surely Coney Island shut down at some point. And then what would they do?

  His thoughts were interrupted by a man trying to lure customers.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Anywhere else but in the ocean breezes of Coney Island, she would be consumed by her own fire! But you can see Little Egypt’s electric gyrations here! Now!”

  The crowd pushed forward toward the man, taking Maisie and Felix with it.

  “Don’t rush,” the man warned as he took people’s nickels. “There’s room for everybody.”

  He laughed when Felix gave him two nickels.

  “You’ll grow up a little tonight, son,” he said. “And so will your girl.” He pronounced girl like goil.

  “She’s not my girl,” Felix said. “She’s my sister.”

  That made the man laugh harder. He waved them along, starting his spiel again.

  “Anywhere else but in the ocean breezes of Coney Island . . .”

  “What do you think Little Egypt is going to do?” Maisie whispered to Felix.

  A teenage boy in front of them turned around, surprised.

  “Why, she dances the kootch. Haven’t you heard?”

  “What’s that?” Maisie said, thinking it sounded like some kind of terrible disease instead of a dance.

  “The hootchie kootch!” he said, looking at her like she had come from another planet. Which, Maisie thought, she had in a way.

  Music came on, both eerie and familiar. The crowd hushed.

  Out came a woman in a belly dancer costume. She wore purple harem pants and a midriff blouse made of layers of sheer lavender with gold circles hanging from it. Her torso was exposed, and as she stood in the spotlight, she began a series of undulations, rolling her stomach like a snake. Men whistled and clapped, but Little Egypt’s kohl-lined dark eyes staring out at them from above a veil betrayed no emotion.

  “That’s the hootchie kootch?” Felix whispered in Maisie’s ear.

  She suppressed a laugh. The belly dancers were better at the Middle Eastern restaurant on Downing Street they used to go to sometimes on Sunday nights.

  “Lame,” Maisie whispered back.

  They made their way back out through the crowd. The night had cooled, and Maisie shivered in the ocean air.

  “He
re,” Felix said, slipping off his tuxedo jacket.

  Maisie let him put it around her shoulders.

  “What time do you think this place closes?” she asked him, trying not to sound worried.

  “Oh,” he said casually. “Late. Real late.”

  She forced a smile. “Then let’s go see another show.”

  The first marquee that caught her eye boasted a strong man inside.

  “The strongest man in the world,” she said. “How about that?”

  Felix agreed.

  Inside the stuffy room, a cloud of cigar smoke hung in the air. A man with big muscles, a tiny waist, and a red unitard stood on a small stage, grunting with great exaggeration. In one hand, he held a dumbbell with a big disc attached to it. The disc said 60 POUNDS in black letters.

  “That’s him, I guess,” Maisie said.

  “Shhh.” The people in front of them hushed her.

  The man held the dumbbell out straight and approached a blackboard. With his free hand he took a piece of chalk, put it in the dumbbell-holding hand, and lifted that chalk with much fanfare.

  “So?” Maisie said. “He can hold a dumbbell and a piece of chalk in the same hand?”

  She was promptly shushed again.

  The strong man kept his arm extended and with a great flourish, wrote his name on the blackboard.

  The crowd gasped and applauded. They didn’t stop until he had taken several bows and left the stage.

  When the lights dimmed, Felix asked Maisie if she wanted to find another show.

  She shook her head.

  Maybe something good is coming up next, she thought. Besides, walking outside in the cool air reminded her that soon enough they would need to find a place to stay. Something about night made everything seem worse. Already anxious thoughts were creeping into her mind. Where were the handcuffs? Where were Great-Aunt Maisie and Great-Uncle Thorne? What would happen—

  The lights came back on, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer shouted, “the Brothers Houdini and the”—here he lowered his voice and gave it a scary tone—“Metamorphosis.”

  Felix looked at Maisie, but her eyes were on the stage. The Brothers Houdini? He’d heard of Houdini, the greatest magician to ever live. In fact, Great-Uncle Thorne had talked about him when he’d given Felix the magic stuff. But he’d never heard of a brother.

  “Houdini,” Felix whispered to his sister.

  She shrugged. “Who’s that?”

  Before Felix could answer, two young men came out onto the stage wheeling a trunk. One was short and stocky with bushy dark hair, and the other was tall and muscular and red haired. Both wore elaborate, bright silk costumes, and the shorter one held a loop of ropes.

  The shorter one started to talk.

  “I’m gonna tie my brother up with these ropes,” he explained.

  Maisie shuddered. Brother came out like brudder and these like deese. With an accent like that, this guy would never make it.

  “Then I’m gonna put him in this here trunk. Then I’m gonna lock the trunk,” he continued.

  “The old switcheroo,” Felix said.

  Maisie looked confused.

  “That’s what Great-Uncle Thorne called a trick like this,” Felix said.

  “Shhh,” said everyone in the row in front of them.

  “Sorry,” he said, turning red.

  They watched the magician do as he’d said: tie up his brother, put him in the trunk, lock the trunk.

  Next, he wheeled out a screen and placed it in front of the trunk.

  “See, what’s gonna happen here,” he said, “is me and my brother are gonna change places, faster than youse can blink your eyes.”

  He stepped forward, his eyes seeming to pierce through the crowd.

  “When I clap my hands three times,” he said solemnly, “behold! A miracle!”

  The magician stepped behind the curtain and clapped his hands loudly.

  Once.

  The audience craned their necks in unison.

  Twice.

  They held their breaths.

  Three times.

  Out from behind the curtain came the red-haired taller brother, who slid the curtain back, unlocked the trunk, and out came the other Houdini brother.

  Stunned, the crowd did not utter a sound. They did not make a move. Silence covered the room.

  “Metamorphosis,” the dark-haired brother announced, lifting his arms in victory.

  After a few more seconds of silence, the audience finally applauded.

  The Brothers Houdini took their bows and left the stage.

  Maisie and Felix watched as a family of sword swallowers took their places.

  “Wait a minute,” Felix said.

  Even though he got hushed again, he couldn’t be quiet. He grabbed his sister’s arm so that she would be certain to hear what he had to tell her.

  “The handcuffs,” he said. “Houdini could escape from any handcuffs in the world. He was an escape artist.”

  Maisie let his words sink in.

  Then she said, “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?” Felix said, following her toward the exit.

  “To find Harry Houdini,” Maisie said.

  Surely the tall, red-haired brother was Harry Houdini, Felix decided as he and Maisie made their way to the back door where they’d been told the performers exited. That little guy had terrible grammar, and he looked so intense he scared Felix when his light-eyed stare seemed to briefly alight on him.

  “If this Houdini guy is who we’re supposed to find,” Maisie said, pulling Felix’s tuxedo jacket tighter around her, “we could give him the handcuffs right away and be back at Elm Medona by bedtime.”

  She added, “If we had the handcuffs.”

  They reached the back door, and the strong man was just coming out. Up close in the harsh light above the door, he looked much older. His lined face was covered in thick orange pancake makeup, and he smelled like smoke.

  “Excuse me,” Maisie said to him. “Are the Houdini Brothers still in there?”

  “Yeah, they’re in there,” he answered in a thick accent that sounded like Katya who worked at the Polish deli their father liked. “Practicing,” he said, shaking his head. “Always practicing. Especially that Ehrich. The other one, Dash, he just goes along with him.”

  “Ehrich?” Felix said, confused. “Dash? There must be another Houdini brother then.”

  The strong man shrugged. “Maybe. Who knows? They live in Manhattan, up in the East Sixties. There might be a dozen Houdini brothers.”

  He waved good-bye with his large hand and walked away, getting swallowed up into the crowd of the amusement park.

  Maisie turned to Felix.

  “These are the wrong Houdinis!” she said. “Now what? Are we supposed to find some other Houdinis?”

  “I don’t know,” Felix said, puzzled. “Maybe I was wrong and the handcuffs are supposed to go to someone else. It just seemed interesting that Great-Uncle Thorne told me about Harry Houdini and how he could escape from any pair of handcuffs and Great-Aunt Maisie was hiding these and we ended up at Coney Island at a magic show given by the Brothers Houdini and—”

  “Okay, okay,” Maisie said. “Everything adds up.”

  “Except who are Ehrich and Dash Houdini?” Felix asked.

  “Actually, it’s Dash Weiss,” a deep voice said.

  Felix and Maisie looked up into the blue eyes of Dash.

  How long has he been standing there? Felix wondered. What else has he heard us say?

  “You’re not Houdini?” Felix said.

  Dash laughed and stretched his hand out for Felix to shake.

  “There is no Houdini,”
he explained. “Or, more accurately, Houdinis, since there’s two of us. Ehrich read some book about a French magician, and he liked the name, that’s all.”

  Maisie sighed. “So the guy we’re looking for is in France then. How are we supposed to get to France?”

  Dash laughed again, harder this time.

  “You’ll have to go farther than France if you want to meet Jean-Euge’ne Houdin,” he said.

  “Where is he?” Felix asked.

  They’d sailed for weeks across the Atlantic with Alexander Hamilton and escaped the Boxer Rebellion in China with Pearl Buck. They would just have to do whatever it took to find the right Houdini.

  “No matter where,” Felix said. “We can do it.”

  “I don’t think so,” Dash said. “He died over twenty years ago. Unless you know a way to the afterlife.”

  He watched Felix’s flummoxed expression.

  “Ah,” he said, “I didn’t think so.”

  He began to walk away, still laughing to himself.

  “Wait a minute!” Felix called after him.

  Dash Weiss paused.

  “But why are you and Ehrich the Brothers Houdini then?”

  Dash shook his head. “Ehrich,” he said. “He’s obsessed with Jean-Euge’ne Houdin. He read his book, and he’s learned some of his tricks, so now he’s taken his name, too. Except his friend gave him the bright idea of adding the i at the end.” He waved his hands in the air. “Sounds more mysterious.”

  Felix nodded.

  “Well,” he said, “thanks, anyway. Ehrich Houdini isn’t the guy we’re looking for, either.”

  “Maybe Ehrie can help you,” Dash said. “If he ever stops practicing and comes out.”

  “Did you just call him Harry?” Maisie said, unsure if she’d heard right.

  Dash grinned. “Ehrie,” he corrected her. “That’s his nickname. Like I’m Dash, but my name is really Theo.”

  “Oh,” Maisie said, disappointed.

  “But it’s funny you say that. He calls himself Harry. For the act, you know. Sounds more American.”

  Maisie and Felix looked at each other and then back at Dash, who tipped his hat at them and disappeared in the darkness.