The moonlight glinted off the harbour waters. It hung ominously over the New York skyline as figures moved along Dock Eleven's walkways. These weren't the normal smugglers breaking the prohibition. They had a different purpose. Their master had sent them -- his name was Fu Manchu.....
SAND AND STAGE MIST ISSUE 1 'PERFORMANCE'
Written by Mark Peyton Edited by Jericho Vilar
1938 NEW YORK
Edward Hancock adjusted his bowtie as he stepped from the cab. He held out his hand helping his lady companion from the vehicle. He smiled at her, closing the cab door, and paid the cabbie his fare. This was a highly exclusive shindig tonight. Invitation only. What should have been just a minor event had by that one move been turned into a highly important place to show off prosperity. And all for a carnival magician. He looked over the poster proclaiming MANDRAKE THE MAGICIAN. He hoped the refreshments were good enough to warrant his time as he had little time for
parlour tricks.
* * * * * * * * *
Wesley looked at his watch "Dian, if we don't hurry, we might be late." Dian finished putting on her earrings. "Don't fret, Mr. Dodds; if we miss anything, it will only be the speech on behalf of the museum. You're quite looking forward to this?" "More out of curiosity than anything. I always harboured a little fascination with how the trick was done. And I've heard comparison between him and Zatara." "Is his magic supposedly real?" "Mandrake won't say; that's why I'm curious. If we are quite ready, Miss Belmont, shall we go join New York's Hoi Palloi?" Dian looped her arm in his and smiled. "Lead on, Mr. Dodds. Anything for a good mystery."
* * * * * * * * *
Mandrake smoothed his moustache and considered himself in the mirror. 'Not too shabby, if he said so himself.' He pulled on his tux jacket and brushed it down, sitting back down on the chair. Without glancing back, he said, "Lothar, come in. You are blocking the doorway." Lothar chuckled and moved into the room. He looked at the chair to the side and decided to remain standing. Mandrake smiled. "I'm sure it would stand up to you sitting on it." Lothar replied in his deep voice, "It might, boss, but I don't want it docked from my wages if it doesn't." "I could make it so it held you." "Don't waste your magic on this. I don't think you should be even performing tonight. You're not well." "You sound like an old mother, Lothar, not like a hardened fighter. My health and my ability to use magic are not an issue." "Only because you stop it from becoming one. Every time this gets brought up, you either put a stop to the conversation or you change the subject. I don't know why you employ a doctor if you're going to ignore him." "Lothar, my old friend, I will be fine. I appreciate your concern, but you shouldn't fret so. The performance will go off without a hitch, and then I may take some time off." "Mandrake, I know what time off entails for you. Generally some mad adventure." "Very relaxing. I assure you." "Not for my nerves, it isn't." Mandrake laughed heartily. "Get yourself a drink, and me one while you're at it."
* * * * * * * * * *
Humphries opened the car door and Wesley stepped out, smiling at him. He offered his hand to Dian, who took it, and gracefully stepped from the car. "Miss Belmont, may I say how lovely you look tonight." "Mr. Dodds, if I didn't know you better, I'd say you were flattering me." "Surely not, Miss Belmont. Shall we go inside?" "Yes. I'm surprised you didn't check with Humphries about your other 'suit' in case of any accidents." Wesley smiled. "Who says we haven't already sorted that out. Shall we?" The two walked up the steps slowly, Dian's arm wrapped around his. They chatted, both perfectly at ease with each other. There was a trust between them. Each knew the other's secrets and each had found a missing part of themselves in the other's heart. They moved through the masses slowly and started to mingle.
* * * * * * * * * *
His birth name was Kyle. He'd not been called that for a long time. These days he generally went under assumed names or his alias. He knew the name fit him well nowadays, but he felt he lost something when he assumed it. He hadn't gotten much pride from it, but he was sure it would come soon. Around him the black garbed figures waited. Their master had given instructions that the robbery should be taken with speed, but also secrecy. Any overt action might alert the competitors for the item, and that would displease the master. Kyle had no desire to displease his master. For all his ability, he didn't fancy getting on the wrong side of Fu Manchu. He'd heard horror tales of those who had crossed him. Kyle wasn't stupid. He'd get the job done and maybe get some respect for his new name.
* * * * * * * * * *
Monty Goodwin stood in the corner regaling would-be starlets with tales. They stood transfixed as he told them of drinking binges with this person and that person. The girls nodded their heads like yapping dogs, taking in his bluster. Wesley and Dian walked past; Wesley nodded to him slightly. He knew that behind the facade lurked a mind of some excellence. Monty was a problem solver. A detective if he put his mind to it, but he did let his predilection with the ladies turn his eye far too often. Wesley smiled, and Dian nudged him playfully. They made their way to the bar. Sipping their newly acquired drinks they chatted, oblivious to most of the insipid social climbers around them, as the gong sounded, signaling the start of the performance. The crowd bustled into the theatre, gently murmuring. The room started to settle. The curtain rustled slightly, and those who stood in the aisles made their way to seats. The dilletantes sat
and waited. Again the curtain rustled and then slowly started to rise. The crowd looked on into blackness. Someone to the back muttered something to his companion. From around him, a flurry of hushes were fired at him. A spotlight shone onto the stage. Some of the audience peered back to see where the light was coming from. A face appeared within the light. It sported a brilliant black top hat and turned into the light to show his features. He smiled, his moustache well slicked as the rest of his body seemed hidden from view. "Greetings," he said, his punctuation impeccable. "I am Mandrake. Some call me the Magician. It is not a title I take. What you will see before you tonight is a show. It may be fact. It may be magic. It is up to you to decide." From the edge of the stage a headless body in a smart tuxedo walked on, and over to the head. The two connected, and Mandrake bowed as the applause started.
* * * * * * * * * *
Outside the museum one of the men signaled to Kyle. The performance must have started. Time to move into position. He opened the van door and stepped out. The wind blew against his face as he started to change. His legs slowly disappeared as his body was enshrouded in Mist. The mist swam up his body as his physical form dissipated, leaving only his head and arms. Around him the tongs moved towards the walls, some climbing, others checking the doors. Kyle watched quietly and then started to ascend, the wind blowing him upwards.
* * * * * * * * * *
Mandrake stepped over to a box. The box was gloriously decorated, but otherwise simply rather tall. He indicated it. "This is a traveling box. It has been many places with me, and some of those places have rubbed off on it. I would like one volunteer from the audience." Leaving the box top slightly open, he stepped down off the stage toward the front row. The audience murmured slightly as Mandrake picked a young lady from the audience. She was a smallish blonde woman dressed in a simple green velvet dress. Mandrake took her hand and led her to the stage. She giggled slightly, a little giddy from all the attention. Mandrake moved her to the centre of the stage and smiled. "Please, a big hand for my lovely volunteer." As they applauded, he walked to the box and opened it up. He took the girl's hand and led her into the centre, kneeling and attaching cuffs around her ankles. The girl looked a little perturbed, and Mandrake whispered, "Don't worry, it'll be fine." He stood up and smiled to the audience. "I have secured the lovely lady within the box so she will not injure herself as she travels. You see, she's going on a journey." Mandrake knelt down and drew the box close, smiling at the girl. The top of the box was still open, and her head looked out. Mandrake stood back and waved his hand towards the box. It started to rise off the stage floor, drifting diagonally into the air. The crowd ooed as it started to arch in the air. The girl giggled nervously inside. Mandrake waved his arm this way and that, and the box followed. Beneath, the audience applauded.
* * * * * * * * * *
Wesley chuckled and clapped along with the rest. He looked up, trying to spy any sort of wires. The movement of the box was supposed to show that it couldn't be done using wires. Mandrake stood supremely confident upon the stage, smiling. The applause died down. Wesley looked around as the box and girl returned to the stage. Though the applause had started up again, he heard something another noise just on the edge of his senses. The sound of glass breaking. Wesley tapped Dian on the arm, nodded to her, and stood up. He excused himself as he made his way to the aisle. Dian smiled to herself and continued to watch Mandrake's performance. Wesley made his way outside to his car. Humphries stood waiting for him. "Your other suit is laid out in the back, sir." Wesley smiled and climbed inside. The Sandman stepped out from the other side. His gasmask hid the face of the sleeper beneath. The longcoat hung off his shoulders comfortably. The armour plates on his back no longer felt uncomfortable as they had at the start. The Sandman nodded to Humphries and walked toward the museum, his gasgun at the ready.
* * * * * * * * * *
The tongs made their way across the floor. Only one obstacle had so far hindered them, and the guard lay dead at the door. Kyle looked around at the hardened killers around him. Their facemasks hid any emotion. He was trying to keep his cool. He'd seen death before. It just made him wonder. They moved across the museum as pepperings of applause filtered in from the other rooms. "Excuse me!" A deep voice spoke up. Kyle and the tongs whirled around. To the side stood Lothar, his arms folded. "I'll assume you guys ain't the cleaners." Kyle waved his left arm and the tongs to his left ran forward. Lothar flexed his muscles and smiled. The first struck at him with a sword, which Lothar dodged, moving back and landed a punch directly to the face. The second moved to the side, as the first fell to the ground. Lothar danced back, striking out again. Again his hit connected, and the other man fell. Kyle looked at the dancing, laughing Lothar and moved towards him. Lothar smiled, "You guys must be from a pajama party." He laughed again as Kyle slowly floated toward him. His first hit struck Lothar squarely. Lothar tried to dodge as Kyle's next attack struck. Lothar looked a little dazed as Kyle's mist form swarmed around him, especially when Lothar's own hits passed harmlessly through Kyle's body. Kyle's own hits struck Lothar hard, sending him stepping back as he felt his strength move from him.
* * * * * * * * * *
The Sandman knelt over the guard and closed his dead eyes, after checking for his now non-existent pulse. There was some commotion from the next chamber. Raising his gun, he rose and stepped towards the door. A black-clothed, hooded man stood inside the door. Further into the room, a coloured, heavily-built man was being struck by what appeared to be some form of will-o-wisp in the shape of a man. The Sandman aimed his gasgun at the closest man. Green gas spewed from the gun, engulfing the tong. The tong turned, coughing as he was surrounded and overcome by the gas. As he fell, the Sandman moved further into the room. Lothar fell back against the wall. He couldn't stop the blows from hitting him. The Mist in front of him was untouchable. It had a grim determination on its face as it battered at him. He just wished that Mandrake wouldn't see him like this. His thoughts were of his friend as he slipped into unconsciousness.
The Sandman moved across. He heard footsteps from behind, which he turned to face. The sleeper within recognised the figure who moved to stand beside him. Mandrake tapped his cane on the ground. "Leave my friend alone. I think my gasmasked companion and I would like to discuss your interruption of the performance." The Sandman raised his gasgun and faced the Mist. About them, tongs moved as the two suited adventurers became surrounded.
TO BE CONTINUED
Welcome to the reissue of the first issue of Sand and Stage Mist. Sand and Stage Mist is an ongoing series. It might be a little irregular as I keep my ongoing series for MFS and other sites running regularly, but I've got a great world-spanning adventure lined up for you, and I hope you stick around to enjoy it. The email addy for this title is keravin44@hotmail.com Those of you familiar with my old Starman:DCF will know that's a different address to my normal one, but I can only get so much mail at a single addy. This title will probably have short episodes. That's on purpose stylistically as I try and emulate the old Saturday adventure serials. When the story warrants it then it will be longer. Also by being short it means I can keep the pace going as the action has to be kept to the forefront. I'll try for cliffhangers as much as possible and twists along the way. My reading suggestions this month are Jac Milnestein's Noir, especially as the Sandman got mentioned, and Avengers America by Jericho Vilar over at MFS. Next issue the adventure continues as our two heroes meet for the first time.