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“Is this your card?”
He remembered the first time he heard those words as he sat in a chair, a crowd of onlookers watching, holding their breath. He was there as it turned to autumn, clothes turned inside-out to hide the growing stains and dirt that covered them.
“Yes,” he replied as the Queen of Hearts stared him in the face. The rest of the cards lay on the table, untouched. “Yes, that’s my card!”
The crowd applauded—cheers rose through the air at the magician’s act. The magician—John, they called him—bowed, thanking the audience. They dissipated, like ants disappearing once there’s no more food. He rose—
“Hey, kid,” John called, “Do you enjoy magic?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I’ve enjoyed it all my life. I can do this—“
He pulled out a coin, placing it on the table. He ghosted a hand over it—“Abracadabra!”
The coin disappeared, reappearing in his hand—a smile crinkled the corners of John’s face.
“You’re good, boy,” he said. “Your hands show the tells sometimes—ghosting over too long. But you’re getting there.” He pauses for a moment, tipping his hat. “What’s your name?”
This was it. The time to shed the rotting, dirty clothes he wore like old rags. The time to leave behind a legacy to be proud of. The time to climb to the top and stay there, lavishing in luxury he would forever keep.
This was the time.
“My name, sir—“
He tipped his cap—
“Is Servais Le Roy.”
——
The limelight shines—
but not on him.
“My assistant, Servais Le Roy,” John said as they stood on stage, a wave of people cheering and clapping in their seats, “Will now perform a card trick for you. Prepared to be amazed!”
He ignored the word assistant—despised it. A reminder that he was lower than someone else, a word that followed him like those tattered clothes he shed so long ago.
He plastered a smile and went on, passing by John. He picked a volunteer, asking her to pick a card.
“The Queen of Hearts,” she said.
He remembered that card, the card that had brought him here, to this moment; the card that had gave him a new life, a transformation—
The silence pierced his ears. The crowd was quiet—whether in anticipation, annoyance, or both, he couldn’t tell. Maybe they pitied him: the up-and-coming magician who was still a protege, who wasn’t quite there yet, who couldn’t hope to be as accomplished as John because he didn’t know what to do yet. One day, they’d know the truth of his skill. He grit his teeth, forcing a smile.
“Perfect.” Servais nodded, shuffling the card within the deck. He held the audience’s eyes as he used a sleight of hand. He slid the entire deck onto the table—
And the Queen of Hearts faced up.
“Is this your card?”
“Y...Yes! Yes it is!”
The crowd howled as Servais took a bow, John returning onto the stage. The cheers got so much louder when he came on the stage—
He ignored the urge to glare. One day, he’d get the cheers, be the star of the show instead of an “assistant”, a “second-class act”.
As the curtains closed, he watched as the crowd’s cheers only softened a little when he disappeared from view.
——
So he started to plot.
“They’ll see me for who I am,” he said to himself as he sat in the dressing room, combing back his hair. He heard the scurrying outside, everyone’s adrenaline skyrocketing before the show. “And the limelight will shine on me.”
But how?
How was he supposed to outshine a star, a person who’d been around for so long? How—
A knock.
“Servais,” John said outside, “Are you alright? You’ve been in there for quite a while.”
“Yes!” he called back, a bit too fast. He rushed out, giving his beard one last check. John stood in the hallway, a smile on his face. “Sorry, sir. I guess I got carried away with trying to look perfect for this.”
“Ah, it’s alright. Come, we should practice a bit more.” John started walking towards the stage; Servais followed behind, looking around. “You’ve made me proud, Servais. With you as my partner, we’ve soared to new heights.” He smiled.
“Thank you for everything.”
Those words—Servais broke into a grin, stifling a laugh. Yet, a pang of guilt was in his chest—how was he so blind to John’s praise? The audience’s praise?
Was the limelight really that bright?
They walked onto the stage—
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Servais pointed up—a glass tank lay suspended above the stage, hanging perilously.
“That tank will be for the final trick.” John pointed behind one of the curtains—a stagehand watched the chains and wires, checking over them and marking things off on a clipboard. “Charles will make sure things go smoothly. You have nothing to worry about, my boy.”
“...That’s a relief,” said Servais. Despite the guilt he felt every time, he couldn’t stop himself from occasionally glancing at the rope, at the one thing preventing an accident. “Let’s start practicing.”
And as they practiced, receiving cheers from the stagehands, he felt the limelight’s glare burning into him.
Fame was an addictive drug.
——
Should he do it? Should he not?
What to do, what to do, what to do...
The audience all loved John so much; yet, John still cared. Why was this so difficult? It shouldn’t be—
“Welcome, everyone,” he heard the announcer say on the stage. Servais stood on the side, out of view as John walked out. “To the great magician John’s show! With his assistant, Servais Le Roy, performing as well!”
The crowd broke out into a cheer—
But he was too blinded with that word.
Assistant.
Assisant. Assistant. Assistant.
Never leader.
And that was the breaking point. He glanced at the chains, then the cage—
And the gears of his mind started to turn.
——
The night zoomed past—John did his classic levitation trick, Servais produced some cards, and soon enough came the final trick.
“Now,” said the announcer, a big smile on their face, “Prepare to be dazzled by a trick never performed before! John has prepared this especially for all of you—prepare to witness the epitome of magic!”
The audience hooted and clapped, anticipation buzzing in the air. Servais help the cutters behind his back, taking a breath.
No turning back.
“Charles,” he whispered—the stagehand whipped around, staring at him. “Can you check the backroom. One of the props might be missing.”
“Of course, Mr. Le Roy!” Charles smiled, before looking at the chain. “But still, can it wait? There’s a slightly weak part of the chain—if I don’t watch it—“
“Nonsense. I’ll watch it, Charles.” Servais gave a hollow smile—a great magician knows a few tricks, after all. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Thank you, Mr. Le Roy.” Charles dashed off—he produced the pliers. A weak point in the chain?
“There it is.” A single chip in one of the links, right in the middle. He saw John on the stage, preparing his cape—he closed his eyes, aligning the pliers.
“Goodbye, old man. Thank you for everything.”
A beat—
And he cut the chain.
The screams pierced his ears, but all he sees is the light shining on the stage.
His light.
——
He reads the papers the day after. And with them comes an envelope, a wax seal on it; he puts it to the side.
“‘The End of An Era’,” he says to himself, perusing the paper. He glances over the two pictures that plaster the front of the paper: the first shows Charles being lead away in handcuffs, a frown on his face. The second was of him and John, performing on stage during their last show. He pauses; he is now the ‘great’ magician, now that John is— “...He’s gone.”
Somehow, it doesn’t hit him at first; it’s like a bubble is around him, shielding him from that fact. What should he be feeling now? Regret? Grief? Happiness?
All he feels right now is numb.
It isn’t until nightfall that he makes sense of it all. Of the investigation.
“They’re going to talk to me.” What was he supposed to say? What if they didn’t believe him?
He had the motive—succeeding John, being blinded by fame—and who knows what Charles would say? He couldn’t stay—
And he sees the letter on his desk, staring him in the face.
“‘Servais Le Roy’,” he reads, “‘You are cordially invited to Oletus Manor to play a game. We imagine you would like to come, after everything that has happened. If you win, you will gain the title you have pursued for so long. We hope to see you soon.”
There was no signature on the bottom. Who the hell was playing games with him?
But Oletus Manor—he’s heard of it. They say artists came from there, famous painters and photographers and magicians. He remembers the conversations he heard behind the curtains, about John training there under that manor’s host.
Well, it’s the best bet he has. Best to leave before the questions start pouring in.
So he packs up, gets a carriage, and finds himself on the steps of Oletus Manor.
And once he wins, the limelight will shine on him forever.