Magician's Fire by Simon Nicholson Page A

cross-legged on the table, her boots propped on the edge of Harry’s chair. “It’s one thing to work out who he is. But then we’ll have to figure out where he might be—he could be anywhere in New York by now!”
    â€œThere’ll be a way.” Harry looked up at the blur of tweed-suited arms and fluttering pages high on the wheeled ladder. “We just need to let Artie do his stuff.”
    â€œSure, sure.” Billie’s boots swapped places. “But there’s an even bigger thing to figure out—and that’s why . Some guy breaks into Herbie’s dressing room and makes off with him in a puff of purple smoke—why’d he do that?”
    â€œThat’s what no one knows.” Harry lifted the pencil to his mouth and gnawed at its end. “Herbie doesn’t have an enemy in the world. They said that over and over again.”
    â€œDoesn’t have an enemy in the world that anyone’s heard of . But if you’ve got an enemy, you’re not likely to go around telling people, are you? Might be safer to keep it quiet.” Billie frowned. “I’ve been thinkin’ and thinkin’, Harry. Did Herbie ever say anything to us that might be some sort of clue? Something about his past?”
    â€œI’ve been thinking too.” Harry took the pencil from his mouth. “If only we’d tried to talk to him yesterday. Asked him why he was acting so odd. He’d have let something slip. I’m sure of it.”
    â€œI’ve got something,” said Arthur, thudding a book onto the desk.
    Gentlemen’s Fashion in Eastern Europe . Harry lifted the cover and flicked through a few pages. Various inked drawings of hats and coats. Not what Harry had expected—but Arthur was already explaining.
    â€œSo I started with the mustache. Mustache styles are totally different the world over. As soon as you described this one to me, I knew it wasn’t from anyone brought up around here. I fetched out a load of books on fashion and barbering, and flicked though. Made a list of likely contenders and, once I had your sketch, went for the closest match. Turns out this curled, oiled style is fashionable among men in their fifties from Bulgaria, Eastern Europe.” He riffled through the book and planted a finger on a page. “Is this the mustache you saw last night?”
    There it was, the same mustache, neatly illustrated. Impressive —and already Arthur was hurrying back up the ladder and stumbling down it again with a new pile of books.
    â€œSo the fact that he’s a Bulgarian doesn’t get us very far on its own. But then there’s the snake-and-sword brooch, and that’s what I worked on next. It could just be a decoration obviously. But that’s unusual for men—generally, if they wear a brooch or badge, it’s because they’re part of some sort of organization and that’s the emblem.
    â€œNow, there are a lot of societies and organizations in the world, but ones with snakes or swords for an emblem are rare. Bulgaria narrows it down even more. I’m pretty quick at flicking through books, plus your drawings are dead accurate, Harry, particularly the one you did just now.” Another open book thudded onto the table. “The badge you saw last night is worn by members of this society, based in Gabrovo, Bulgaria.”
    Halfway down the page, a snake coiled around a sword—exactly the same as the one on the lapel the previous night.
    â€œThe society’s official title is the Grand Gabrovo Order of Magical Illusionists.”
    A magicians’ society . Harry studied the snake. Its coils were intricate and unfathomable, just like the mystery they were trying to solve. But out of those coils, the snake’s head glared clearly, and out of the mystery, a single piece of information was glaring at him too. The man in the theater was a magician.
    Makes sense , thought Harry. Who