Chapter 20 strategy

London, April 1886 She's too good to be performing in a crowd.Chandrash said.A tent should be set up for her.We can arrange the seats in a circle or something, so that all the audience can experience the performance. Yes, sir.Marco fiddled with his notebook, fingering pages that had been bird feathers a moment before. What's the matter with you?Chandrash asked.His face was as pale as the sheets.The two stood on the stage, and his voice filled the empty theater.Mrs. Padwa had pulled Miss Bowen aside and asked her questions about dresses and hairstyles. I'm all right, sir.Marco said.

You look so ugly, Chandrash said, smoking a cigar: Go home. Marco looked up in surprise.Sir, I still have some paperwork to do.he protested. Do it tomorrow, there is no rush for that kind of trivial matter.Aunt Padwa and I would take Miss Bowen home for tea, after which we could screen and sort out applications.Go back and rest, or have a drink or something.Chandrash waved his hand absently at him, and the cigar smoke was smashed into turbulent streams. If you insist, sir. I am very persistent!Also, get rid of those guys left in the lobby.No need to see a bunch of suits and capes anymore, we've found something more interesting than that.And I'd say, more attractive too, if someone has a penchant for that.

Indeed, sir.Marco said, a blush creeping up his pale cheeks.See you tomorrow then.He nodded almost as if in a bow, then turned gracefully on his heels and walked down the hall. Didn't expect you to be so easily frightened, Marco.Chandrash yelled from behind, but he didn't look back. Marco politely asked the magicians in the hall to leave, explaining that the position was filled and thanking them for taking the time.No one noticed that his hands were shaking, or that he was gripping the pen so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.Nor did they notice that the pen had snapped in two in his fist, and black ink had dripped down his wrist.

After the magicians left, Marco packed up his things and wiped his ink-stained hands on his black coat.Then he put on his bowler hat and walked out of the theater. He walked step by step, looking more and more frustrated.On the crowded sidewalk, passers-by avoided. Back at the apartment, Marco threw the bag on the ground, leaned against the door, and sighed heavily. What's wrong?asked Isobe, who was sitting by the empty fireplace.She pocketed the long hair she was braiding, and frowned, knowing she would have to start it all over later because her concentration had been distracted.This is a difficult problem that she has not been able to overcome until now, concentration and concentration.

For now, she put it aside for the time being, watching Marco across the room to a row of bookshelves along the wall. I know who my opponent is now.As Marco spoke, he took out a large pile of books from the bookshelf, spread them randomly on several tables, and left several books stacked messily on the floor.The booklets left on the shelf collapsed, and a few fell, but Marco didn't seem to notice. Is it that Japanese woman who makes you so curious?Isobe asked, watching Marco's well-ordered filing system descend into chaos.The apartment had been kept very tidy, and this sudden change made her feel uneasy.

No, Marco flipped through the booklet and said: Prospero's daughter. Isobe picked up a pot of violets that had fallen along with the collapsed books, and put it back on the bookshelf. Prospero?she asked.The magician, the one you saw in Paris? Marco nodded. I didn't know he had a daughter.she says. I don't know about it either.Mark said, drop one booklet and pick up another.Chandrash had just hired her as a circus magician. real?Isobe asked.Marco didn't respond.So she'll be doing the same show as her father, disguising real magic as stage illusion.Did she do the same thing when she auditioned?

Yep, that's what she did.said Marco, still looking down at his book. She must be excellent. She is so good.As Marco spoke, he grabbed a whole layer of booklets that were safely on the shelf, and the pot of violets became an innocent victim again.There's going to be big trouble.He was almost talking to himself.A pile of notes slid from the table to the floor, and the pages flapped, making a sound like bird wings. Isobe picked up the pot again and moved it across the room. Does she know who you are?she asked. I don't think so.Marco said. Does this mean that the circus is part of the challenge?Isobe asked.

Marco stopped flipping through the book and looked up at her. It must be.he said, looking back at his notes.That's why I was sent to work for Chandrash so I could get into the situation earlier.The circus is the venue for the competition. is this okay?Isobe asked, but Marco didn't say anything, and once again buried himself in the pile of paper and ink. He fiddled with the fabric of the sleeves of his clothes, and a drop of black ink stained the white cuffs.She changed the fabric, he murmured to himself: How could she change the fabric? She moved a stack of scattered notes to the table where her deck of Marseilles lay.She looked at Marco, who was lost in thought reading a notebook.She gently spread out the cards in a long row on the table.

Watching Marco, she drew out a card.She turned it over, studying what the card would reveal about the matter. A man stands between two women, and a cherub with a bow and arrow hovers above their heads. LA Moureux, lovers. Is she beautiful?Isobe asked loudly. Marco didn't answer. She drew another card from the long row and placed it on top of the first. La Maison Dieu, tower. She frowned at the collapsed towers and falling figures on the cards.She put the two cards back and stacked the deck neatly. Is she better than you?Isobe asked. Marco still didn't respond, just looking at a notebook.

He's been pretty sure of it for years.Practicing with Isobe is really an advantage, allowing him to improve his illusions from all angles, to the point that sometimes even people she knows so well can't tell the truth from the fake. Now, meeting his opponent, his feelings about the competition suddenly changed, replaced by restlessness and confusion. He always thought that he would know what to do when the game time came. He, too, has always had the idea that that day will never come and that the promise of competition is just to keep him motivated to practice hard. So when the circus opened, so did the competition?Isobe asked.

He almost forgot she was there. I suppose so, said Marco: I don't see how we're going to run a competition, because the circus is bound to have to travel all over the place, and I'm staying in London, and I'm probably going to have to do everything remotely. I can go.Isobe said. What?Marco finally looked up at her again. You said the circus needed a fortuneteller, didn't you?I can read tarot cards.I never divination for anyone but myself, but I'm getting better at it.I'll write to you when the circus is out of town.That way, if you're in the race and it's not convenient for me to stay here, I'll have a place to go. I'm not sure this will work.Although Marco could give no reason for his objection, it never occurred to him to involve Isobe in his life outside the confines of this apartment.He had been keeping her away from Chandrash and the circus, partly to give him some space, but also because it seemed more appropriate, especially since his mentor had briefly reminded him about it. Please, Isobe said: so I can help you. Marco hesitated, looking down at his notebook.His thoughts were still preoccupied with the figure of the girl in the theater. I'll help you get closer to the circus, Isobe said, and give me something to do during your competition.When the game is over, I will come back to London. I'm not even sure how the game will play out.Marco said. But you're sure I can't stay here, aren't you?she asked. Marco sighed.They had discussed it, not at length, but they had come to the conclusion that she would have to leave as soon as the competition started. Working for Chandrash is enough for me, and then I have to be busy with the game and not be distracted.He said, using the words used by his mentor, to disguise orders as proposals.He wasn't sure which would upset him more: having Isobe in his game, or letting go of a relationship he hadn't arranged for him. In this way, you will not be distracted by me. I became your helper. Isobe said: If you don't need my help, I will just write to you. What's the problem?It seems to me that this method is perfect. I can arrange for you to meet with Chandrash.Marco suggested. Can you persuade him to hire me?Isobe asked.What if he wasn't sure? Marco nodded, still disapproving of the move, but desperate for some sort of strategy, one that he could use against his opponent who finally showed up. He turned her name over and over in his mind. What was the name of Prospero's daughter?Isobe asked, as if he had read his mind. Celia, Marco said: Her name is Celia.Bowen. Very beautiful name, Isobe said: Are your hands uncomfortable? Marco looked down and was surprised to find that he was holding his right hand tightly with his left hand, unconsciously rubbing the place on his finger where a ring had been baked into. No.He picked up a notebook to steady his hands.fine. Isobe seemed satisfied with the answer, picked up a stack of books that had fallen on the floor, and piled them neatly on the table. Marco breathed a sigh of relief, after all, she was incapable of asking him to reveal his memories about the ring.