There was
more talent than usual on the street today, as they walked back into town after
their sparring session on the Common... ‘talent’, that is, in both senses of
the word. In particular, William found his eyes drawn this way and that, to
every pretty face that went by. Even the girl in the pie shop had smiled so
sweetly that he’d had to remind himself that she was about 20 years his junior
and it was just her job to smile at everyone, purely to bring the punters in.
That said, he’d made her giggle... and even Richard had been impressed at his
gamesmanship, when William had chatted up a bona fide Lady, heading out of town
on a horse. You’ve got to be in it to win
it, as they say...
The talent that William had spotted now consisted of a decent crowd – mostly women – watching some sort of street entertainer, who was apparently making a good show of things and mostly blocking the thoroughfare.
“What’s going on?” he asked a girl in the crowd – unmarried of course – you could generally tell by the lack of headscarf.
“It’s a magician – ’ee’s well good!” They peered over the assorted hats, scarves and coiffures at the centre of attention – a man in long black robes and turban with a drooping waxed moustache and dark beard, deeply tanned skin, flashing eyes and beguiling hands that waved back and forth in graceful arcs. He was good too, speaking with a very strong phoney Moorish accent, scattered with Arabic-sounding words and constantly dropping innocent innuendoes into his patter. On a small table, he was doing the Three Cups routine... cup, twizzle, swap, egg? cup, egg? cup, cup, egg! then no egg! then egg again! Then a someone’s little personal knickknack, to gasps of surprise and the delight of the crowd as the owner bashfully realised it had been temporarily appropriated..
“How’s he doing it, Rick?” William murmured.
“He is good, Will, I’ll give him that!” Richard was silent for a moment, admiring the work of a fellow trickster. “Watch his left hand. He’s making you look at his right one... There did you see?” William couldn’t – he kept getting distracted by the showmanship. The conjuror had pulled a silver coin out of a little boy’s ear.
“Nope.”
“Come on, mister Quick, you can spot it if you watch closely – look, see he’s about to... yep!” The crowd gasped and clapped as the conjuror held up someone’s belt. Laughter and clapping echoed around the street, while meanwhile a succession of carters grumbled to get past. “That could be his mate, whose belt he’s taken off, I suspect... Or maybe not? It’s hard to tell” Richard was thinking it through, intrigued. “Mind you, if it was me, I’d have a kid going round doing people’s purses as they’re watching,” he added thoughtfully.
“I thought you only scam people who deserve it, Rick?”
“Well yes, I know...” The conjuror was passing around a bowl now for people to drop in farthings and small foodstuffs; and now he flipped the bowl and its contents disappeared; and then some coins reappeared under one of the cups, then vanished again.
“You think he has an assistant in the crowd then?”
“Oh, I don’t know... Might do...” Richard sighed. “Oh to have an assistant.” He ruminated for a moment as the conjuror was talking up his next trick. “Will, I tell you what, this chap’s given me an idea... I wonder if I can persuade Alf to build me a little table like that – you know, one that packs away neatly, with hidden compartments?”
“He might do if you pay him, Rick!”
“Well yes. I think I still owe him some money for that ironwork he did me. And that’s already gone.” He bit his lip, clearly sore at the loss.
“You thinking of having a crack at doing some magic are you?”
“Possibly. I’d have to practise a lot. You need to use small objects... knives, little spoons, pennies, songbirds. Actually, do you remember that chap in Florence who had the playing cards? He used to do all those tricks with them...”
“Yeah, but you don’t see them over here.”
“True.”
“So, would you grow a long beard and moustache and pretend to be Egyptian like this bloke then?”
“Could do...”
“You know what you need, Rick – a pretty girl as an assistant,” William whispered. Richard rolled his eyes.
“No, they cost a fortune, old boy! And they’re really hard to cram into the foldaway table when you’re done.”
They carried on walking.
The talent that William had spotted now consisted of a decent crowd – mostly women – watching some sort of street entertainer, who was apparently making a good show of things and mostly blocking the thoroughfare.
“What’s going on?” he asked a girl in the crowd – unmarried of course – you could generally tell by the lack of headscarf.
“It’s a magician – ’ee’s well good!” They peered over the assorted hats, scarves and coiffures at the centre of attention – a man in long black robes and turban with a drooping waxed moustache and dark beard, deeply tanned skin, flashing eyes and beguiling hands that waved back and forth in graceful arcs. He was good too, speaking with a very strong phoney Moorish accent, scattered with Arabic-sounding words and constantly dropping innocent innuendoes into his patter. On a small table, he was doing the Three Cups routine... cup, twizzle, swap, egg? cup, egg? cup, cup, egg! then no egg! then egg again! Then a someone’s little personal knickknack, to gasps of surprise and the delight of the crowd as the owner bashfully realised it had been temporarily appropriated..
“How’s he doing it, Rick?” William murmured.
“He is good, Will, I’ll give him that!” Richard was silent for a moment, admiring the work of a fellow trickster. “Watch his left hand. He’s making you look at his right one... There did you see?” William couldn’t – he kept getting distracted by the showmanship. The conjuror had pulled a silver coin out of a little boy’s ear.
“Nope.”
“Come on, mister Quick, you can spot it if you watch closely – look, see he’s about to... yep!” The crowd gasped and clapped as the conjuror held up someone’s belt. Laughter and clapping echoed around the street, while meanwhile a succession of carters grumbled to get past. “That could be his mate, whose belt he’s taken off, I suspect... Or maybe not? It’s hard to tell” Richard was thinking it through, intrigued. “Mind you, if it was me, I’d have a kid going round doing people’s purses as they’re watching,” he added thoughtfully.
“I thought you only scam people who deserve it, Rick?”
“Well yes, I know...” The conjuror was passing around a bowl now for people to drop in farthings and small foodstuffs; and now he flipped the bowl and its contents disappeared; and then some coins reappeared under one of the cups, then vanished again.
“You think he has an assistant in the crowd then?”
“Oh, I don’t know... Might do...” Richard sighed. “Oh to have an assistant.” He ruminated for a moment as the conjuror was talking up his next trick. “Will, I tell you what, this chap’s given me an idea... I wonder if I can persuade Alf to build me a little table like that – you know, one that packs away neatly, with hidden compartments?”
“He might do if you pay him, Rick!”
“Well yes. I think I still owe him some money for that ironwork he did me. And that’s already gone.” He bit his lip, clearly sore at the loss.
“You thinking of having a crack at doing some magic are you?”
“Possibly. I’d have to practise a lot. You need to use small objects... knives, little spoons, pennies, songbirds. Actually, do you remember that chap in Florence who had the playing cards? He used to do all those tricks with them...”
“Yeah, but you don’t see them over here.”
“True.”
“So, would you grow a long beard and moustache and pretend to be Egyptian like this bloke then?”
“Could do...”
“You know what you need, Rick – a pretty girl as an assistant,” William whispered. Richard rolled his eyes.
“No, they cost a fortune, old boy! And they’re really hard to cram into the foldaway table when you’re done.”
They carried on walking.
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