Thursdays With Uncle Boom #61

Bravo! Bravo!

I clapped in appreciation as the caped fellow on stage finished sawing through a lady in a box and wheeled the two halves apart. The lady in the box wiggled her feet and smiled despite apparently having been sawn in half.

I turned to my good friend Anulus who had accompanied me to the Magician's performance and grinned. Anulus was a fine fellow despite having a face like dried gravy.

He grinned back as he necked some Brandy from his hip flask.

I do like a good magic act, Boomy. Thank you awfully for inviting me!

I waved off his thanks.

Not a problem, old fellow. I do like a good bit of magicking myself!

I stuffed my pipe with some exotic baccy I had imported from the Americas, Goathra's Grief. An intoxicating blend of dark tobacco and spice. Rumour had it that prior to drying it was soaked in lady venom.

It certainly lent it an unmistakable piquance when lit.

The show was at an end and Anulus stood.

So where to now, old chap, shall we head down to the docks for some gambling and slatternly adventure?

I puffed my pipe with pleasure and blew out a cloud that a 19th-century locomotive would have been proud of.

My dear fellow. Not quite yet. The evening here is not yet complete. I knew you had a penchant for this type of show and managed to secure us an audience with the Magician fellow himself backstage.

Anulus's face lit up with a genuine pleasure.

Goodness, Boomy. You know how to make a man's yardarm quiver!

I nodded good-naturedly and waved him through the throng toward the stage.

We were ushered to a quiet spot where the Magician presented himself to us.

Gentlemen, gentlemen. What a pleasure!

I took the outstretched hand of the Magician and pumped it good and proper. He introduced himself as Filbert of the all-seeing eye.

Well met old fellow, well met.

Now that we were closer I saw that the Magician, Filbert was not as youthful as he first looked on stage. His face was caked in a pale powder which in places was thick like the crusted margarine of a Dowager's vaginal secretions.

And this, of course, is my delightful assistant, Grenabelle. Do say hello, Grenabelle!

His lady assistant, dressed in little more than glittery beach wear stepped forward and curtsied.

Ello, Monsieurs. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.

I smiled like a lion basting a turkey with its penis.

Ah, are you from the Russias my dear lady? I have always had a fondness for our friends in the East.

She furrowed her elegant brow and shook her head in peculiar little circular motions, like a bird playing tennis.

Non, Chamonix, Monsieur.

Now it was my turn to furrow my brow.

Shame on me? Madame, perhaps you are tired from the performance. Could you fetch us, fellows, some refreshment perhaps?

She made a strange hissing noise and looked to Filbert who motioned her off with a hand to fetch some drinks.

Anulus stepped forward.

I must say, old chap. That was quite the trick sawing the lady in half and yet here she is, all in one piece. Perhaps you could explain the how of it?

The how of it? You mean the trick?

Filbert chuckled and tapped his nose.

I am afraid that I cannot say, in fact, I am bound not to say by the Magician's code.

He gestured around the now empty stage, his yellowing face quite ghastly in the light. It reminded me somewhat of the blistered feet of a peon chased through the woods.

One simply cannot divulge the secrets of the Magic Circle.

Anulus's face fell.

Before he could voice any further disappointment, Grenabelle returned with a bottle of some tawdry looking Whisky. Petulantly she thrust it into my hand.

The bottle had an oily feel to the outside of it. I held it up to the light.

My dear, forgive me if I am being presumptuous... Did you piss in this?

Her eyes widened like a gnome denied the breast. She looked to Filbert who had a certain look of dismay about him.

I, ah, non, monsieur. Not at all. How could you say such a thing?

I passed the bottle to Filbert.

Taste it.

I commanded.

Ah, I am afraid I can't. I haven't touched a drop in 17 years. Not since, well, let us not go there.

I tutted loudly.

How very convenient. I suppose you would have had a proper giggle at us poor rubes drinking your assistant's piss? Anulus, stick the Grenabelle in the box.

Anulus snapped to attention.

With bloody great pleasure, old chap!

He grabbed Grenabelle and proceeded to bundle her into the Magician's box which had been put back together after the show.

Milords, what are you doing? I must protest most soundly!

Filbert made to approach Anulus but was brought up short by a swift whack to the head with the pish-bottle. He staggered back and slumped to the floor holding his head and moaning dramatically as if giving birth.

I opened the bottle and tipped the contents out over him. The stench of rough Whisky and piss was quite overpowering.

Filbert flapped around on the floor in the widening puddle of pissky.

I moved toward the Magician's box.

Anulus, pull her bloody Russian feet out the bottom.

Grenabelle squealed and thrashed as much as she could in the confines of the box till Anulus managed to hoik her feet out.

I picked up the wiggly-waggly saw and inspected the edge. Nodding in approval, I set it to the centre line of the box and started sawing.

The screams were quite awful and a couple of times the saw caught on something that must have been bone. It was a good saw however and in no time I was finished. Blood splashed liberally down from the bisected Grenabelle and her box.

Anulus had pulled the two halves apart and was staring at the bleeding stumps of torso in the middle.

Bloody fascinating this magic lark, Isn't it, Boomy?

I placed the saw gently down beside the still half-concussed Filbert.

Yes indeed, old fellow. Ah, what's this?

The screaming of the Grenabelle had caused two burly stagehands to run in from the wings. One of them stopped in horror at the bloody sight before him and bent over double, vomit spattering out onto the floor.

The other ran up to myself and Anulus.

Milords, What the hell happened here?

I nodded sadly at the whimpering Filbert who was attempting to rise but falling over each time.

Such a terrible shame. A terrible shame. The good magician here was stupendously drunk and decided to show us his favourite trick. It seems to have gone terribly wrong. I mean, for the love of God. Smell him, cheap whisky and piss. Such an abhorrent act. The man is quite clearly mad with the drink.

The stagehand held his hands to his head and looked at Filbert.

Why?! Why Filbert, why?!

I placed a steady hand on the man's shoulder.

I am afraid there is no point in asking him, old fellow. After all...