><\/p>\n
\nOld Baltazar came \u2018round every Wednesday evening.\n<\/p>\n
\nDidn\u2019t matter what time of year it was, or whether it was sunny or raining or snowing. Come Wednesday, there he\u2019d sit, fourth stool from the end of the right side of the bar\u2014bartender\u2019s right, that is\u2014holding court. Can\u2019t say as many folks listened to him most of the time. Can\u2019t say as he even listened to himself. But that didn\u2019t stop him from talking.\n<\/p>\n
\nOf course, you spend time that close to a man who talks like old Baltazar, week after week, year after year, well, you pick up a few things. Ideas, like. Bits and bobs. Facts, maybe\u2014some of \u2018em anyway, but lore, too, and hard to say if it\u2019s an art or a science in telling the difference. Maybe there isn\u2019t any difference. Maybe it\u2019s all the same.\n<\/p>\n
\nYou might say that was the point of the whole thing, The Alchemy Club. Started as a high-minded affair, rich old men telling other rich old men why they were right about this and that, and why everyone ought to listen to \u2018em. Not many left as can remember those meetings first-hand, but those as do say they were all bluster. Only substance in those meetings is the same one that\u2019s served at the Club today, and that\u2019s a whole lot of alcohol.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt\u2019s just a tavern now, really. Sure, the old Alchemy Club sign hangs out front and there\u2019s a good bit of dusty paraphernalia cluttering up the shelves in between the bottles and glasses, these cucurbits and alembics and lutes and the like. But no more meetings, not even an official chapter. Not here, maybe not anywhere\u2014not anymore. Still, the place tends to draw a certain type of folk, and old Baltazar, he was exactly that type of folk.\n<\/p>\n
\nThat\u2019s not to say it\u2019s all old men nowadays. Far from it. Lots of different folks\u2014not just young and old, but men and women and people from all different places and backgrounds. The one thing that brings \u2018em together, that binds \u2018em all as sure as a round of whiskies after midnight, is that they all traffic in what they call \u201cthe arts.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nScience, most know it as now. A few old timers still call it magic. Whatever they call it, they use a lot of fancy words, the kind that are meant to make a man feel like he doesn\u2019t belong if he doesn\u2019t grok to it, you know? But underneath all those syllables, it\u2019s not so complicated. They\u2019re just trying to understand the world around them. Trying to explain why things happen, and maybe figure out how to make them happen. Same as any of us. Rest of us just don\u2019t smell so much like brimstone, and thank all the gods that ever were or might be for that.\n<\/p>\n
\nEvery so often, some young gun, just out of school and high on the smell of vellum, comes around packing a bag of hoary old chestnuts. \u201cReally, isn\u2019t magic just science we don\u2019t understand yet?\u201d they\u2019ll say as though they just up and invented the notion and it\u2019s the freshest thing going. Old Baltazar, though, he has none of it. Never does.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBullshit!\u201d he\u2019ll yell. \u201cDon\u2019t be an idiot!\u201d That knocks the young ones down a peg or two, especially the ones as are used to only being told how smart they are.\n<\/p>\n
\nSure, they try to save face. Get that smug little smile. I\u2019ll just humor the senile old man, you can practically hear them thinking. \u201cThen what is magic?\u201d they\u2019ll ask, every single one of \u2018em, every time. Not looking for an answer, mind you\u2014asking the question just to prove that they were right in the first place.\n<\/p>\n
\nBut old Baltazar, he gives \u2018em an answer all right, and it\u2019s just about as plain and blunt as the nose on his face. \u201cMagic is magic,\u201d he says, \u201cand science is science.\u201d He\u2019ll give \u2018em a good look up and down. \u201cAny idiot with a book can do science. Even you, probably.\u201d They\u2019ll spit and sputter, but he doesn\u2019t let \u2018em get going. \u201cMagic, though\u2026that\u2019s something different altogether. Not everyone can do magic. Sure as hell you can\u2019t. You wouldn\u2019t even know what it looks like.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nOf course, these young ones, they\u2019re in it now, up to their fool necks and no way out but to grab hold of something, anything, and try to hold on tight. Flailing about, tossing out words like darts and hoping one of \u2018em finds the board. The boldest ones, both the smartest and the stupidest, get to the same place right quick, and that\u2019s to say, \u201cThen show me some.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nAnd old Baltazar\u2014that\u2019ll set him to cackling, all right. Right on the edge of sanity, that laugh, and never in your life have you heard a sound so confident, or so tired. \u201cStand back,\u201d he\u2019ll mutter, climbing off his stool, pushing his drink aside, and rolling up the sleeves of his robe so his arms, all skin and bones and liver spots, can move freely.\n<\/p>\n
\nWhat he does next\u2014and I\u2019ve seen it a hundred times if I\u2019ve seen it once\u2014it\u2019s tough to put into words. Presses his palms together, interlaces his fingers, pulls his hands in against his chest, closes his eyes. Mumbles something down into that scraggly gray beard of his, bits of food stuck in it, and extends his hands out away from his body, fingers still locked together. And then\u2026\n<\/p>\n
\nSomething happens.\n<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\nYou feel it first. A little ripple, like when it\u2019s so hot outside the air warps and shimmers around you, only in this case it gets cold, so cold your teeth set to chattering. You don\u2019t have more than a second to think about that, though, before the lights start in. Big bursts of color\u2014brilliant shades of blue and green and red and purple and hues that don\u2019t even have names, all coming out of his fingers and shooting around the room. They start dancing across the bar, the floor, even on your clothes\u2014can\u2019t feel \u2018em, mind you, but if you wave your hand through \u2018em you know you\u2019ve touched \u2018em, because those colors, they respond. Jump around, like water flowing around your hand, coming back together on the other side, or maybe they split in two and zigzag off across the room in a different direction, cut in half like your hand is as keen as the blade of a new-forged knife.\n<\/p>\n
\nAnd that\u2019s when things get really interesting. Those little bits of light, they stop dancing around and they start transforming, mimicking whatever happens to be nearby\u2014might be a mug or a glass or a beaker or a bottle, or could be a walking stick or a book or an orange. They turn into those things, but you can see right through \u2018em, and they shimmy their way over to whatever it is they\u2019ve copied and somehow become part of it, like they were the shadow essence of those things all along, and now when you look at those objects, they seem more whole, fuller, realer in a way you just can\u2019t explain.\n<\/p>\n
v
\nThose of us as have seen it before just shake our heads and stay silent, and damn near reverentially so. Privilege of a lifetime. For those who haven\u2019t\u2026well, their heads just about explode, and not a single one of \u2018em can string together more than three actual words for quite a while, though gods know they give it a try and start shouting a whole bunch of made up ones. There\u2019s good reason folks say he\u2019s the last true wizard in the world.\n<\/p>\n
\nTime was not too many folk were brave enough to challenge old Baltazar. Something changed a few months back, though, when one of those young cocks, preening and strutting his way through the door, walks right up to the old man, like a mosquito making a beeline for a bare leg.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI got some magic for you,\u201d he says as he holds up an empty cup, smug and sure of himself in the way that only young folk can be. \u201cNot science. Magic.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nOld Baltazar, he looks the kid up and down, from his wavy chestnut hair to that wispy excuse for a mustache to his novice robes, and he just snorts. Gestures to an open space at the bar, an invitation to have at it.\n<\/p>\n
\nYoung buck struts up and sets that cup of his down and orders himself a nice, cool glass of water. \u201cGoing to need something stronger than that,\u201d mutters a wag at the end of the bar, a lady who\u2019s been around just long enough to know better.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOrdinary glass of water, right?\u201d says the young buck, holding it up for all to see. Takes a drink. \u201cYou want to try it?\u201d he offers to old Baltazar, who waves the glass away.\n<\/p>\n
\nYoung buck holds the glass up again, says, \u201cYou all see it, right?\u201d General grunts of agreement. \u201cIn a moment, you won\u2019t. Science says matter can neither be created nor destroyed, but magic says otherwise. Magic says I can make this water disappear.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nYoung buck closes his eyes, starts mumbling some nonsense words Lays it on thick, like he\u2019s summoning up a demon from the very depths of hell. His eyes pop open, and he starts to pour the glass of water into that cup of his.\n<\/p>\n
\nSure enough, he\u2019s true to his word. Water goes into the glass, but then it\u2019s gone. Just up and vanished, and I hear more than one gasp from the crowd, all of \u2018em hanging on young buck\u2019s every word and gesture. He pours about half the glass of water into the cup, which is still just as empty as a bird\u2019s nest in the last days of summer, and then raises it and drinks from it one more time. Smacks his lips so loud you can hear it outside the tavern.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat\u2019s another way to make water disappear, but we all know that didn\u2019t disappear\u2014it\u2019s just going to turn into something else later.\u201d Guffaws around the bar. Young buck\u2019s won most of them over with his chutzpah.\n<\/p>\n
\nBut not old Baltazar. Old Baltazar plucks a bit of bread from somewhere deep within his beard and tosses it on the floor. Clears his throat and looks fit to spit, but he knows better than that, thankfully, even if he never listens about the food. Swallows his phlegm and says, \u201cScience.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo, sir\u2014magic,\u201d says the young buck. Packs about as much condescension as possible into that three letter word, \u201csir.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSodium polyacrylate,\u201d retorts old Baltazar.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHere we go,\u201d says the wag.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cGive me that cup,\u201d says old Baltazar, plucking it up off the bar. Dips his fingers inside it and runs one of \u2018em around the bottom of the cup. Holds it up, all covered in light gray sludge. \u201cSodium polyacrylate,\u201d he says again, and he wipes it off on the sleeve of his jacket.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cClear as day,\u201d says the wag, nodding, and several other heads bob up and down in agreement. \u201cBetter luck next time, young buck,\u201d offers an old-timer.\n<\/p>\n
\nOld Baltazar, he says nothing, of course. Just goes back to his beer, that one beer he\u2019ll nurse for hours. Another notch on his belt, and as scrawny as old Baltazar is, goodness knows he needs plenty of notches to keep it cinched tight.\n<\/p>\n
\nAnd so it went week after week, month after month, again and again. Wasn\u2019t quite every time he came in, but as often as not, someone, usually young\u2014and the young ones were always men, of course\u2014or, on occasion, a savvier, more experienced scholar would challenge old Baltazar. He\u2019d shoot \u2018em right down, one by one.\n<\/p>\n
\nSometimes he\u2019d pontificate at length, as ornery a cuss as you can imagine, but other times he\u2019d just shout in scientific shorthand and delight in the crestfallen faces of his challengers.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cCoulomb’s Law!\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cTyndall effect!\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHooke\u2019s Law!\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nWasn\u2019t a single thing he didn\u2019t have an answer for, and old Baltazar, he had bite to his bark. \u201cYou call that magic?\u201d he asked one unfortunate lad. \u201cI pissed more magic than that in the latrine ten minutes ago!\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nEvery once in a while\u2014a rare thing, to be sure, but not unheard of\u2014someone would come along who\u2019d show something that made old Baltazar have to sit and have a bit of a think. One of those times, I thought sure he was stumped. A woman from Faraway, just entering her middle years, not a regular but something of a familiar face around the Club, sidles up next to old Baltazar and says to him, \u201cI\u2019ve got something to show you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe\u2019s smart. Not coming in guns-a-blazing and making miracle claims the ornery old bastard can swat away. Nice and cordial. Just a real soft opening gambit. \u201cSomething to show you.\u201d She beckons him to follow her outside.\n<\/p>\n
\nOf course, whole bar up and follows, and a minute later everyone\u2019s standing in a little clearing \u2018round the corner. Lady from Faraway\u2019s standing there with a whole setup\u2014she\u2019s got a track running along the ground, round in shape, just a few feet in diameter. Holds up a little box and takes the top off. Tips it forward a bit so old Baltazar, and everyone else, can see. Inside sits a little white disc, wisps of smoke coming off of it.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe lady from Faraway reaches in and scoops up the disc, kneels down next to the track. Holds the disc a couple of inches above it with her right hand and waves her left hand over the top of it. Says a few words no one seems to understand and then lets go of the disc.\n<\/p>\n
\nAnd there it sits. Just floating there in the air\u2014damndest thing. Gasps all around from the crowd, of course\u2014no one\u2019s seen anything like it. But the lady from Faraway, she\u2019s not done. Mutters another word and then taps one side of the disc. It scoots forward and zooms around the track, hovering above it. After a couple of times around, she reaches down and stops it. Looks up to make sure everyone is watching, then tilts the disc forward so it sits at a 45-degree angle to the ground. Says that same word again, give it a little tap, and round and round the disc goes again, staying locked in that same position, inches off the ground.\n<\/p>\n
\nBut she\u2019s not quite done. The lady stops the disc one more time, says those strange words again, and then lifts it a couple of inches higher. Gives it a touch and sends it back \u2018round the track. That disc keeps moving, not dipping up or down, staying locked in the line where she set it. Gods\u2019 honest truth, and you figure there\u2019s got to be at least one honest one among \u2018em, numerous as they are.\n<\/p>\n
\nWell, you can imagine all of the oohs and aahs. Heads shaking, tongues wagging, all kinds of buzz. Old Baltazar, he doesn\u2019t say a word. Just walks over and squats down next to the track, those knobby knees of his creaking and groaning the whole way down. He looks left and then right, passes his hand over the top of the track. Squints at the disc, still floating in space, just inches above the ground. Mutters something under his breath and, with a grunt and some none-too-polite words about the aging process, heaves himself back to his feet. Looks over at the lady from Faraway, studies her carefully.\n<\/p>\n
\nGive her credit\u2014she doesn\u2019t flinch, not one bit. Doesn\u2019t even blink. Just clasps her hands behind her back and waits him out. She\u2019s got guts, that one. Not too many as can withstand a stare down from old Baltazar before they start babbling like idiots.\n<\/p>\n
\nOld Baltazar points a crooked finger at the disc. \u201cMagic, is it?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe lady just inclines her head, doesn\u2019t say a word. See, this is where most of the others go wrong. They get cocky or they get defensive, and they both lead to the same outcome: saying something stupid that old Baltazar can pick apart quicker than you can take a shot of whisky. But not the lady from Faraway. She keeps her cool, doesn\u2019t overcommit.\n<\/p>\n
\nSay this for old Baltazar\u2014he\u2019s a tough one, but if you\u2019ve been around him long enough, you know he\u2019s not unfair. Mean, sure. Cranky, absolutely. But for him, see, it\u2019s not about ego. Not about being right. It\u2019s about someone else being wrong, and so far, the lady hadn\u2019t said anything he could refute.\n<\/p>\n
\nOld Baltazar studied the track one more time and bent down to give the disc a little push of his own. It glided through the air, staying on its fixed path above the track, no visible guardrails keeping it in line, but staying in line just the same. If anything looked like magic, that was it.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe stands up, old Baltazar, and he looks at the lady from Faraway. A look can say a lot, and this one does\u2014says I respect you, but also I caught you with your hand in the cookie jar. \u201cQuantum levitation,\u201d he says, sweeping his hand over top of the track.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou\u2019ve got a superconductor there,\u201d \u2013 old Baltazar points to the levitating disc \u2013 \u201conly it\u2019s a mix of materials that cool at different temperatures. Hard to make it a perfect diamagnet. So when you cooled it down, and you can see how cold it is from the steam coming off, it pushed out most of the magnetic fields inside of it. But not all of them\u2014there\u2019re impurities in there, and the magnetic field lines are still pinned in there. That creates little swirls of electricity. Everything around it, though, is a superconductor.\u201d Old Baltazar gives a little nod. \u201cThe magnetic fields make it levitate and lock it in place, and with no resistance, no friction, that little disc will just keep going and going until you stop it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe lady from Faraway, she steps forward and offers a little bow. She opens up the little box and puts the disc into it. Without saying a word, she starts to pack up the track.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNice little bit of science,\u201d says old Baltazar gruffly as he heads back into The Alchemy Club, everyone in his wake.\n<\/p>\n
\nAnd so it goes, on and on. After a time, it finally starts to happen less, these challenges, and more often as not old Baltazar gets left alone. Just keeps muttering to himself, though, and seems more and more agitated as the weeks pass. Gets to coughing with some frequency, that frail frame of his shaking with every spasm. As you might imagine, no one wants to sit next to him, so space at the bar is wide open.\n<\/p>\n
\nWeeks pass, but comes a day when someone finally approaches old Baltazar again. Barely more than a lad, smooth black skin of his face not even covered in peach fuzz yet. Somehow seems timid and confident at the same time.\n<\/p>\n
\nLad steps up next to old Baltazar, gestures to the seat to his right. \u201cMay I?\u201d says he.\n<\/p>\n
\nOld Baltazar, he just grunts. Doesn\u2019t even look at the lad.\n<\/p>\n
\nLad does something a little unusual before he seats himself. Reaches into one of his pockets\u2014and he\u2019s got pockets to spare, big ones and little ones all over his robe\u2014and what does he pull out? An egg. Looks like a plain old chicken egg. Holds that egg up in the air and peers closely at it, giving it the once over, maybe even the twice over. Nods when he\u2019s done, satisfied, and sets the egg down on the chair.\n<\/p>\n
\nEveryone\u2019s focused on the lad now. Even old Baltazar gives a gander, but just a short one, and then he\u2019s back to muttering into his beer.\n<\/p>\n
\nLad steps up onto the footrest of his stool and straddles it, then lifts his behind high up and brings it down, nice and gentle, on that egg. And then he sits, letting all of his weight fall onto it. Sharp crack and it\u2019s yet another mess that\u2019ll need to be cleaned up when it\u2019s closing time, another late night with the rag and the mop.\n<\/p>\n
\nOnce his backside\u2019s on the stool, lad acts like nothing happened, though every eye in the place, except old Baltazar\u2019s, is fixed on him. He reaches back into one of those big pockets and pulls out a deck of cards. Casually starts to shuffle them. Nice and easy for a moment before he starts getting fancy, all kinds of riffles and cascades and butterfly cuts. Still can\u2019t get old Baltazar\u2019s attention, though.\n<\/p>\n
\nSo the lad turns to the man on his other side, his right, sets the deck in front of him, and says, in the time-honored way of all magicians, \u201cPick a card.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAny card?\u201d says the man just a bit sarcastically. No novice, this graybeard, and not giving the lad an inch.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAny card,\u201d says the lad obligingly.\n<\/p>\n
\nGraybeard decides to humor the lad and cuts the deck solemnly. Draws the top card, looks at it, then looks back at the lad.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou remember that card now,\u201d says the lad, and graybeard nods. Graybeard sets it back down on the table and the lad slides it into the deck. Starts back up with this cuts and shuffles and riffles, all razzle and dazzle and razzamatazz. Can\u2019t take your eyes off him, he\u2019s that good, though old Baltazar gives him a side eye at most. Funny thing though\u2014as smooth as his shuffling is, all of the lad\u2019s other movements are gangly and awkward, like a baby deer who isn\u2019t quite sure all four of those legs belong to it.\n<\/p>\n
\nLad finishes shuffling and fans the cards across the bar. \u201cNow,\u201d he says, \u201cI bet I can pick your card straightaway on the first try.\u201d His voice cracks a bit and there are chuckles around the bar.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe wag shouts, \u201cCard trick\u2019s old enough to drink, but the lad isn\u2019t!\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nLad takes it in stride, gives the wag a smile, turns back to graybeard. Looks at him and then peers down at the cards intently. After a moment, he plucks one from near the middle and holds it up. Three of diamonds.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThis is your card,\u201d the lad says, confident as a man who just drank two beers and decides to try turn on his charm for the lady at the end of the bar.\n<\/p>\n
\nGraybeard shakes his head and offers up a smile. \u201cAfraid not, lad.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOkay, no problem, no problem,\u201d says the lad, undaunted. Picks up another card. Jack of clubs. \u201cThis is it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNope,\u201d says graybeard. Gives a little chuckle and shakes his head at the others gathered around the bar.\n<\/p>\n
\nOld Baltazar couldn\u2019t care less. Not even sure he knows what\u2019s happening, so intent is he on staring into his glass.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThis one?\u201d says the lad, now sounding a bit tentative as he picks up a third card. Eight of spades.\n<\/p>\n
\nGraybeard shakes his head.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThis one? This one? This one?\u201d Lad holds up cards in rapid succession. King of diamonds, ace of spades, five of hearts.\n<\/p>\n
\nGraybeard just keeps shaking his head and the laughter around the bar gets louder. Not kind laughter, either\u2014the sort you hear when a crowd has turned on someone and is enjoying watching him squirm.\n<\/p>\n
\nLad gets frantic, holding up card after card until he gets to the last one on the bar. \u201cThis must be it!\u201d Holds it up. Ten of clubs.\n<\/p>\n
\nGraybeard gives a rueful smile. \u201cWish I could say yes. But it\u2019s not that one either.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBut I\u2019ve gone through all of the cards,\u201d says the lad.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDon\u2019t know what to tell you, son,\u201d says the graybeard.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWell, except one,\u201d says the lad.\n<\/p>\n
\nThis gets everyone\u2019s attention. \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d says the graybeard.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat one there.\u201d Lad points. \u201cUnder your coaster.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nGraybeard looks befuddled, but lifts up his coaster. Sure enough, there\u2019s a card there. He flips it over. Queen of hearts.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat your card?\u201d says the lad, all that confidence back in his voice.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWell, I\u2019ll be,\u201d says graybeard. \u201cHow did you\u2026?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cMagic,\u201d says the lad.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt\u2019s a loaded word intended to provoke and everyone in the whole place knows it. All eyes turn to old Baltazar. He cracks open a peanut, lets the shell fall into that mess of a beard. Chews and chews, grinding the nut to dust and then swallows hard. Takes a sip of his beer. \u201cBullshit.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nLad clutches his chest and feigns offense. \u201cSir! It is really and truly magic.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBe magic if you could get that beard clean,\u201d offers the wag with a gesture toward old Baltazar. He gives her a glare, but everyone else gives a laugh.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSleight of hand,\u201d says old Baltazar. \u201cSkillfully done, I\u2019ll grant you. But nothing magic about it.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nLad looks like he\u2019s about to protest, but then shakes his head. Gives everyone a rueful little smile. \u201cI should have known I could never fool you. The \u2018last of the wizards.\u2019\u201d He gathers up his cards, shuffles them once, then tucks them back into one of his pockets. \u201cI guess it\u2019s true what they say, then\u2014there isn\u2019t any magic left in the world. It\u2019s all just science and tricks. Nothing that can\u2019t be explained.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSo it is,\u201d says old Baltazar. He\u2019s bored by it all. Just another night of frauds and hucksters and wannabes trying to make a claim to fame.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIt\u2019s a shame, really,\u201d says the lad. \u201cI wish I\u2019d been born earlier. To see the real magic. To live in a world of wonder. Not that science is so bad, mind you.\u201d Lad gestures to his robes. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t be studying it if it was.\u201d Gives a big sigh and shakes his head one more time, looking older than his years. \u201cBut still\u2014I wish\u2026well, I wish it wasn\u2019t gone from the world,\u201d says the lad.\n<\/p>\n
\nLad reaches out to shake graybeard\u2019s hand, drops a couple of coins on the bar\u2014a kind gesture, that, and much appreciated\u2014and turns toward old Baltazar. Lad says, \u201cAt least I got to share some bar space with you for a few minutes. Can tell my grandkids about that one. Though guess I need to have some kids first. Not quite ready for that.\u201d Gives a sheepish grin, hops down off his stool, and heads for the door without a backward glance.\n<\/p>\n
\nBit of commotion as he walks out the door. Lots of murmurs, and those turn to big, gut-busting guffaws as folks see some broken eggshells on the lad\u2019s chair and, sitting upright where the lad was just a moment before, sure as day and ready to call out the sunrise, a full-sized rubber chicken.\n<\/p>\n
\nRound of applause lights up the bar, and a man too deep in his cups offers to buy everyone a round, which he\u2019ll regret later. Of course, that sends up a cheer. Gets busy then, pouring drink after drink, and it takes a few minutes for things to calm back down.\n<\/p>\n
\nThen, finished pulling the last beer, the strangest thing happens. The corners of old Baltazar\u2019s mouth twitch. Once, twice, a third time. Then, defying all the laws of gravity and all the odds of chance, they turn upward, and a whole murder\u2019s worth of crow\u2019s feet stomp their way around the corners of his eyes. A strange sound bubbles up out of his mouth, something never heard in the Club before. Like the honk of a goose rolling over top of a tin pan.\n<\/p>\n
\nTurns out, contrary to what anyone might think, even old Baltazar can laugh.\n<\/p>\n
\nHe shakes his head, tosses some coins onto the bar\u2014again, much appreciated\u2014and then stands up. Gives a small nod and says, more to himself, than to me, \u201cGlad I got to see it one more time.\u201d And then he walks right out the door without so much as a look back.\n<\/p>\n
\nHasn\u2019t come back to the Alchemy Club since. Bet a hefty amount of gold he never walks through these doors again.\n<\/p>\n
\nSoft as he said it, a few other folks heard old Baltazar\u2019s last remark and set to grumbling after he left. Crowd that smart, see, they like to parse every word. What was \u201cit,\u201d they all wondered? That particular card trick? Most folks agreed that wasn\u2019t it\u2014a good trick, sure, but definitely not magic.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe thing with the rubber chicken, maybe? Folks got a chuckle out of that, but none of them, not the regulars or the old-timers or the wag or the cocky young hotshots, could fathom as how it would impress old Baltazar, the last true wizard in all the world. Wasn\u2019t even science, they said, and it sure as shootin\u2019 wasn\u2019t magic.\n<\/p>\n
\nBut I tell you true, friend. I may be just a tavernkeeper, and my line of work involves pouring drinks, not mixing chemicals. But I been at it a long time, and I come to know a few things over the years, listening to all these smart folks going on and on about this and that. And there\u2019s one thing I know for sure.\n<\/p>\n
\nMaking someone, anyone, but especially someone as ornery and world weary as old Baltazar smile, turning the sourpuss scowl on that weathered old face into a look of pure joy and making those jowls twitch and shake\u2026doing that with nothing but a few words and a simple act anyone might learn given enough practice\u2026there\u2019s no science in all the known world as can explain that.\n<\/p>\n
\nThat, my friend, is magic. Pure and simple.\n<\/p>\n
\nLast call\u2019s in ten minutes. You need anything else, you just let me know.\n<\/p>\n
Sean Gibson is the author of several stories starring Heloise the Bard, including the #1 bestselling comic fantasy The Part About the Dragon Was (Mostly) True (which Publishers Weekly drunkenly gave a starred review), “You Just Can’t Hide from Chriskahzaa,” and The Chronicle of Heloise & Grimple. He also wrote the Victorian-set fantasy thriller The Camelot Shadow and its prequel short, “The Strange Task Before Me.” Most recently, he contributed the short story “Chasing the Dragon” to the anthology Dragons of a Different Tail. He has written extensively for Kirkus Reviews, and his book reviews have also appeared in Esquire.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
> Old Baltazar came \u2018round every Wednesday evening. Didn\u2019t matter what time of year it was, or whether it was sunny or raining or snowing. Come Wednesday, there he\u2019d sit, fourth stool from the end of the right side of the bar\u2014bartender\u2019s right, that is\u2014holding court. Can\u2019t say as many folks listened to him most …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107972,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20138],"tags":[20139],"class_list":["post-140369","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-52-summer-2024","tag-the-colored-lens-52-summer-2024","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140369","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107972"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=140369"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140369\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":140370,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140369\/revisions\/140370"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=140369"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=140369"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=140369"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}