"I'll be fine," Joseph insisted the next morning, as the four men stood in the cavernous ballroom. Thanks to Henry's small army of servants, dozens of chairs were arranged in rows facing a large oak table, two large sheets of glass were carefully set into position, and floor-to ceiling curtains hung from the windows, although for now they had been pulled back, allowing the sunlight to stream through the columns of tall, leaded panes. "I can do it."
"You're wearing a sling," Gilbert pointed out. "How can you perform sleight-of-hand with only one hand?"
Goran, who was sitting cross-legged on the table, chuckled. "He's got you there, mate."
Joseph shot him a rude gesture with his injured hand. "I can do this, mate."
Goran was unfazed. "Weren't me who was all stupid and got his arm broke playing the hero."
Joseph locked gazes with his partner and friend. "Tell me you wouldn't have done the same."
Goran stared back, his expression serious, just long enough to make Joseph wonder about his response. Then he nodded and said, "I would have. But we're a team, remember? Ain't no Shackleton and Stone if Shackleton goes and gets himself killed."
With a pang of shame, Joseph had to admit that Goran was right. If he'd been killed or crippled, there would be no sold-out shows in Piccadilly, no nice apartment in Soho, and Goran would have had to scramble to find a new way to make a living. While his motivation had been noble, his actions had been selfish and short-sighted. "You're right," he said, "and I'm sorry."
Goran's grin told him that all was forgiven. "Joe can do the routine," Goran said, hopping off the table. "He don't need his arm for the ghost bits."
"But he does for the 'surgery,'" Henry said.
"Let Goran do that part," Gilbert suggested.
Joseph shook his head. "That trick works because of an apparatus." He walked over to one of the cases, opened it, and removed a contraption made of a series of connected metal strips, rods, and hinges. "This gets strapped onto my shoulders and arms, under my shirt," he said as he laid it on the table, "and it lets me store items above each wrist. Remember how Lee was shifting his shoulders? He had on one of these. Problem is, it was made for me to wear, since I'm better at those kinds of tricks. It's too big for Goran."
Henry and Gilbert looked over to Goran for confirmation.
"He's right," Goran said. He shrugged on the apparatus, slipping his arms into the straps and settling the main bar across his shoulders. Once he had it into place, it was obvious that it wouldn't work properly; the ends extended a good five inches beyond his wrists.
"Look, it'll be fine," Joseph said. "My arm doesn't hurt all that much, thanks to our good doctor," he bowed in Gilbert's direction, "and I'll keep it in the sling until that part. I'll just need to demonstrate the hand maneuvers that make it look like I'm digging inside Gilbert's body."
It was almost comical, the speed at which Gilbert's head swiveled towards him. "My body?" he said, his brows drawing together in a frown.
"Well, we need a patient," Joseph said, "and it needs to be a man, so we don't scandalize the ladies. Besides, you're the one who's debunking Lee as a false surgeon—Goran and I are just the help. Consultants, if you will."
"Ooh, I like that," Goran said. "Shackleton and Stone, Consulting Magicians."
The arrival of the local constabulary took up the rest of the morning. Joseph found it a novel experience to be on the proper side of police questioning, and he told the constable at length about the abuses he had witnessed both at the warehouse and in the mews behind Lady Tillsworth's house, agreeing to sign statements before the magistrate if needed. The man then met with Gilbert, who took him up to examine Naka.
"Well, that was an unexpected addition to our morning," Henry said later, after the constable had been thanked and escorted outside, "although I think you were smart to have us bring him so quickly. There's no doubt that boy has been badly beaten, and you witnessed it twice." He turned and gazed up at the stairwell for a few moments. "Perhaps I should make Naka my ward, at least for now."
"That would be a kindness, if you're willing to do it," Gilbert said. "He seems to be a well-mannered young man, and he definitely did not wish to be returned to Lee's custody."
Joseph remembered his own desperation to get out of his step-mother's house. "He's at a funny age; he's still young enough to have a few years at school, but too young to have to fend for himself—especially being a foreigner. Do it, Henry."
They were interrupted by the butler's announcement of luncheon, and after they finished eating Henry's valet came to prepare him for the onslaught of guests that were to shortly arrive.
The next few hours were filled with introductions, small talk, and everyone being charming as Hakken Hall was transformed into a bustling center of activity. Joseph and Goran followed along as Henry led the guests on a tour of the estate, taking them through a seemingly unending number of great rooms and halls until they ended up in the back of the manor, in the immaculately maintained gardens where everyone was served afternoon tea.
"Crikey, Joe," Goran whispered as he clutched a dainty teacup made of delicate bone china, "your friend is filthy rich. I've seen towns smaller than this place."
"Right?" Joe said as he sipped his tea. "Imagine coming here at thirteen and being afraid to touch anything."
"I'm twenty and I'm afraid to touch anything," Goran said. "It's really just him here?"
"Him and the servants."
"Cor blimey," Goran said, and he tilted his head back, trying to take in all of the massive mansion. "That's a bit sad."
"Yeah," Joseph said. "But today is a good step towards changing that."
Goran nodded. "He's starting to come back to himself."
Joseph paused mid-sip. "How would you know something like that?"
Goran smiled and wiggled his fingers.
Later that evening, as they sat at the longest table Joseph had ever seen, he decided that dinner at Hakken Hall would go down as one of the more memorable experiences of his life. The thought of Henry accommodating over fifty guests had been mind-boggling on its own, but to sit down with all those people, at one table, was truly amazing. Joseph felt a bit dazed as he sat in his carved chair and had course after course set before him on delicately painted, gold-edge plates. The footmen moved like a well-oiled machine, filling glasses, offering platters of various succulent meats, and making sure no one went without, all while being virtually invisible. Stating reasons of etiquette, Henry had separated them, and Joseph looked across a sea of pristine white linen, flowers, and candles to see how his friends were faring.
No need to worry about Goran; his partner was chatting happily with his seat-mates, and even more happily stuffing his face with everything that was set before him.
Gilbert looked decidedly uncomfortable in his evening clothes, appearing to speak only when spoken to, and giving more of his attention to his wineglass than his meal or the people around him.
The real surprise was Henry, who commanded the head of the table like a benevolent ruler, conversing and chatting and acting as if he always had four-odd dozen people over for Saturday dinner.
Lady Bosford's tiara twinkled in the lamplight as she surveyed them all from behind her lacquered fan, and when her gaze met Joseph's she winked at him.
When the last plate was cleared away Henry rose from his chair. "Well, I hope everyone has enjoyed their meal this evening! I would like to invite you to join Doctor Sansom and me in the drawing room for some sherry, while Messrs Shackleton and Stone prepare for this evening's entertainment. Mister Barton," he said to the butler, "Please convey my compliments and thanks to the staff; they have done a splendid job of caring for my guests."
Joseph and Goran made their escape while the guests headed toward the drawing room.
"I never ate so much in my life," Goran said as they entered the ballroom, "And that's saying something. That food was amazing. You think Henry would make me his ward?"
Ducking into a screened-off corner of the room, they changed into their stage clothes, and then Joseph removed his sling and let Goran help him put on the apparatus. "Put it over the shirt for tonight. You have the extra blood casing under the table?" he asked while Goran fastened the straps around his shoulders, biceps, and wrists.
"Yeah," Goran said, "and the chicken liver, too. I figured you can start with the chicken heart." He nodded toward the small dish that sat on the table.
"Good," Joseph said, and then he watched Goran attach the blood-filled casing to one side, and the heart to the other.
"How's your arm?" Goran asked, as he stood back and surveyed his handiwork.
"It aches a bit, but not too bad," Joseph said. "Gilbert did a good job with it."
Goran helped him on with his dress coat. "You know, mate, we're going to have to switch some things up until your broken wing's healed. No Indian Rope, for one thing."
"Yeah," Joseph said. "I'll have to ask Gilbert how long I'll be like this." He moved his shoulders up and down, testing the apparatus one last time, and then Goran put the sling back on. "All right, I'm good. Let's double-check the glass, light the candles, and then I think we can call it showtime."