The Magician's Elephant: Chapters 13–20

The smell of mutton stew wafted out into the cold, dark street.

The smell of mutton stew wafted out into the cold, dark street.

There was, in the apartment of Leo and Gloria Matienne, a wonderful fire blazing, and the kitchen table was pulled up close to the hearth.

It had been a long time since he had eaten anything besides tiny fish and old bread. And so when Peter had his first bite of stew, it overwhelmed him.

In the house of the countess, in the dark and empty ballroom, the elephant slept. She dreamed she was walking across a wide savanna.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the elephant crashing through the ceiling of the opera house and landing on top of Madam LaVaughn. The image bedeviled him to the point where he could get no rest, no respite.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the elephant crashing through the ceiling of the opera house and landing on top of Madam LaVaughn. The image bedeviled him to the point where he could get no rest, no respite.

All he could think of was the elephant and the amazing, stupendous magic he had performed to call her forth.

He would have been delighted, pleased beyond measure, to gaze upon even the accusatory, pleading countenance of the crippled Madam LaVaughn.

He would have been delighted, pleased beyond measure, to gaze upon even the accusatory, pleading countenance of the crippled Madam LaVaughn.

In the light from the lantern that Leo Matienne held aloft, Peter could see the magician all too clearly.

His beard was long and wild, his fingernails ragged and torn, his cloak covered in a patina of mold. His eyes burned bright, but they were the eyes of a cornered animal: desperate and pleading and angry all at once.

His beard was long and wild, his fingernails ragged and torn, his cloak covered in a patina of mold. His eyes burned bright, but they were the eyes of a cornered animal: desperate and pleading and angry all at once.

The assembled servants listened (or pretended to) as the noblewoman spoke of the elephant falling from nowhere, of how one minute the notion of an elephant was inconceivable and the next the elephant was an irrefutable fact in her lap.

The servants knew these last words so well, so intimately, that they mouthed them along with her, whispering the phrases together as if they were participating in some odd and arcane religious ceremony.

At the home of the countess Quintet, the snow worked to outline the graceful curve of the handle on the elephant door, and at the cathedral, it formed fanciful and slightly ridiculous caps for the heads of the gargoyles, who crouched together, gazing down at the city in disgust and envy.

The snow fell in a curtain of white all around the bleak and unprepossessing building that was the Orphanage of the Sisters of Perpetual Light, as if it were working very hard to hide the place from view.

The snow fell in a curtain of white all around the bleak and unprepossessing building that was the Orphanage of the Sisters of Perpetual Light, as if it were working very hard to hide the place from view.

She was terribly pleased, because she had always, secretly, deep within her heart, believed that she could fly. And now here she was, doing what she had long suspected she could do, and she could not deny that it was gratifying in the extreme.

And then she realized that no, no, it was the earth that she was flying over, and that she was looking not at the stars but at the creatures of the world, and that they were all, they were each—beggars, dogs, orphans, kings, elephants, soldiers—emitting pulses of light.

“But it is the middle of the night, and the prison is that way,” said Madam LaVaughn, flinging a heavily bejeweled hand behind her.

Peter and Leo Matienne and Hans Ickman and Madam LaVaughn stood outside the home of the countess Quintet; they stared together at the massive, imposing elephant door.

He spoke the name as if it were a question and an answer both, and his face was alight with wonder.

And then he saw the elephant, the magnificence of her, the reality of her, standing there in the snow.

“I intended lilies,” continued the magician, “but in the clutches of a desperate desire to do something extraordinary, I called down a greater magic and inadvertently caused you a profound harm. I will now try to undo what I have done.”