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Authors: David Stuart Davies
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act.
Merlin bowed to the audience in acknowledgement of their enthusiastic applause and as he did so, two birds seemed to fly out from each sleeve of his jacket. They circled his head and with amazing swiftness he snatched them from the air, appeared to squash the creatures in his grasp and then threw them back into the air. What left his hands this time was a brightly coloured parrot which fluttered up into the flies. The audience roared their approval. Already Carla was mesmerised.
The act continued with an array of amazing illusions. At the climax of the performance, two volunteers were enlisted from the audience to help. Merlin was handcuffed and the volunteerschecked carefully that they were indeed locked tightly. Then Merlin was placed inside a large canvas bag, which was secured with an iron chain. Further checks were made on the lock by the volunteers before they returned to their seats. The lights were lowered as the stagehands doused the canvas bag in petrol. The smile disappeared from Carla’s face. This was dangerous. She knew that Luther gained great satisfaction from taking personal risks but this was perhaps going too far. She wanted to stand up and yell from the box, to tell them to stop but it was too late.
There was absolute silence in the audience as one of the stage attendants lit a torch and applied it to the canvas bag. With a great whoosh, it flared into a bright yellow flame. There were screams from the onlookers, who stared in horror, believing that they were witnessing Merlin’s certain demise. Carla bit her knuckles, stifling a cry of anguish. No one, it seemed, could survive that fierce conflagration.
When the flames died away, an awful hush descended over the theatre again. By now Carla was on her feet gazing down at the smouldering remains of the sack, her heart sick with fear and despair.
And then she heard the familiar tones of Luther’s throaty laugh. With a cry of elation, Merlin the Magnificent suddenly appeared, caught in the spotlight high up in the flies above the stage. With a cheery wave he swung down on a silver rope to land exactly where the remains of the bag were still smouldering. Carla sank back in her chair, her eyes moistening with relief as her lips formed the silent words, ‘You bastard.’ The audience were on their feet and the applause was deafening. Merlin took his bows graciously and then waved farewell before stepping backwards into the darkness at the rear of the stage, disappearing from sight altogether.
Carla was exhausted, elated, mystified and completely entranced by the whole experience. She had never seen anything like it before. It truly was magical.
Some ten minutes later, she was backstage searching for Merlin’s dressing room. The stage door keeper was less than helpful. ‘What d’you want wiv ‘im, miss?’ asked the old timer grumpily.
‘I’m a friend,’ she said and then added tartly, ‘Well, I was.’
The stage door keeper ignored the comment. ‘You’ll find him down there, in room six,’ he said, waving his arm in a vague direction before returning to his paper and glass of ale.
Carla wandered off, squeezing past the crush of backstage visitors and performers. At last she came upon the dressing room with the large number six painted upon the door. Without knocking, she entered.
Luther Darke was standing by the mirror, stripped to the waist, wiping the dark brown greasepaint from his face.
At first he was nonplussed to see Carla. He had expected her to wait for him in the foyer. However, he soon recovered his equilibrium and his face split into a broad grin. ‘My darling…’ he said warmly.
‘Don’t you darling me,’ she responded frostily, stepping back from his advance. ‘How could you do this to me?’
His features darkened. ‘Do what?’
‘Trick me in this way. Make believe I was going to see a famous magician and … and it was you all the time. And then you set fire to yourself on stage. You could have killed
Merlin bowed to the audience in acknowledgement of their enthusiastic applause and as he did so, two birds seemed to fly out from each sleeve of his jacket. They circled his head and with amazing swiftness he snatched them from the air, appeared to squash the creatures in his grasp and then threw them back into the air. What left his hands this time was a brightly coloured parrot which fluttered up into the flies. The audience roared their approval. Already Carla was mesmerised.
The act continued with an array of amazing illusions. At the climax of the performance, two volunteers were enlisted from the audience to help. Merlin was handcuffed and the volunteerschecked carefully that they were indeed locked tightly. Then Merlin was placed inside a large canvas bag, which was secured with an iron chain. Further checks were made on the lock by the volunteers before they returned to their seats. The lights were lowered as the stagehands doused the canvas bag in petrol. The smile disappeared from Carla’s face. This was dangerous. She knew that Luther gained great satisfaction from taking personal risks but this was perhaps going too far. She wanted to stand up and yell from the box, to tell them to stop but it was too late.
There was absolute silence in the audience as one of the stage attendants lit a torch and applied it to the canvas bag. With a great whoosh, it flared into a bright yellow flame. There were screams from the onlookers, who stared in horror, believing that they were witnessing Merlin’s certain demise. Carla bit her knuckles, stifling a cry of anguish. No one, it seemed, could survive that fierce conflagration.
When the flames died away, an awful hush descended over the theatre again. By now Carla was on her feet gazing down at the smouldering remains of the sack, her heart sick with fear and despair.
And then she heard the familiar tones of Luther’s throaty laugh. With a cry of elation, Merlin the Magnificent suddenly appeared, caught in the spotlight high up in the flies above the stage. With a cheery wave he swung down on a silver rope to land exactly where the remains of the bag were still smouldering. Carla sank back in her chair, her eyes moistening with relief as her lips formed the silent words, ‘You bastard.’ The audience were on their feet and the applause was deafening. Merlin took his bows graciously and then waved farewell before stepping backwards into the darkness at the rear of the stage, disappearing from sight altogether.
Carla was exhausted, elated, mystified and completely entranced by the whole experience. She had never seen anything like it before. It truly was magical.
Some ten minutes later, she was backstage searching for Merlin’s dressing room. The stage door keeper was less than helpful. ‘What d’you want wiv ‘im, miss?’ asked the old timer grumpily.
‘I’m a friend,’ she said and then added tartly, ‘Well, I was.’
The stage door keeper ignored the comment. ‘You’ll find him down there, in room six,’ he said, waving his arm in a vague direction before returning to his paper and glass of ale.
Carla wandered off, squeezing past the crush of backstage visitors and performers. At last she came upon the dressing room with the large number six painted upon the door. Without knocking, she entered.
Luther Darke was standing by the mirror, stripped to the waist, wiping the dark brown greasepaint from his face.
At first he was nonplussed to see Carla. He had expected her to wait for him in the foyer. However, he soon recovered his equilibrium and his face split into a broad grin. ‘My darling…’ he said warmly.
‘Don’t you darling me,’ she responded frostily, stepping back from his advance. ‘How could you do this to me?’
His features darkened. ‘Do what?’
‘Trick me in this way. Make believe I was going to see a famous magician and … and it was you all the time. And then you set fire to yourself on stage. You could have killed
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