But the first question had been a plant, the man in the audience my accomplice. When I glanced at his question to verify it-it was not his question at all. But the first real question. Memorized and read out while the second real question was on my forehead. I was one question ahead all of the time. Illusion! Misdirection!

The week was over, our bags packed, tickets bought. It was time to go-and begin earning money again. It hurt to spend my own money as I had been doing since Chaise produced his microscopic contract.

We all shook hands and the Great Grissini was not looking that great.

“It was nice to be working again,” he said, then sighed heavily.

“I will be ever grateful for your aid. Sorry it had to end so quickly.” I turned away, trying not to see the pathos in his eyes.

“Take care of yourself,” Angelina said. He grimaced.

“It will be Happy Hectares that will be doing the caring,” he said. No pleasure in his voice.

I got ready to plant the prepared spear-but I could not.

“Look,” I said. “It was a privilege to work with you, to bring some happiness into your life. And it is going to continue, I promise that.”

“What do you mean?”

“The bank. They’ll send you a check every week. Enough to buy better food and decent drink and all the little pleasures of life that make it worth living.”

He was shocked at the thought. Then his eyes narrowed. “What’s the catch? Why you doing this?”

“Because he is a nice man,” Angelina said.

“Not that nice,” I said. “I had not planned to be so uncommonly generous. Let us say I have had a change of heart.”

“Jim-what in the world are you talking about?” She looked puzzled.

“I just couldn’t go through with it. You see, I was going to arrange for the payments to continue, but only in exchange for … the secret of the Vanishing Boy Sprout. But I have to look at myself in the mirror every day. And the one crime I have suddenly realized that I have never committed is blackmail. I’m a little too old to start that kind of thing now. So enjoy your retirement. And think of me every night when you celebrate the cocktail hour.” I whistled to our luggage and tiny motors hummed as they followed after us.

“I don’t believe it!” he called after us.

“Believe it,” Angelina said. “Tough-as-nails diGriz is really an old sweetie at heart.”

“I’ll blush if you keep that up,” I said as I kissed her on the cheek. I had reached the cab when the door opened behind us.

“I’ll tell you,” he said. “My decision.”

“Our spacer won’t wait,” Angelina said.

“This won’t take a minute. You should have picked up on it when I said the boy walked behind me. Out of sight of the audience for a moment. Misdirection.”

“Something happened then!” I shouted happily. “But what?” I muttered gloomily.

“He stopped. Concealed by my cape. That’s why I always close with this illusion. When it is over the curtain comes down. He runs into the wings before the curtain comes up again and I take my bows.”

“But-if he doesn’t climb the rope-who does?”

“An image. That was not a rope that rose from the basket it was the image of a rope. At the precise moment that the boy walked behind me I actuated the holograph projector to continue with the recording. The rope apparently rising in the air before me is just a holographic image of a rope. Remember the real boy stopped and is hidden by my cape. Now the holographic image of the boy walks out from behind me so that it is his image that appears to climb the image of the rope-“

“And disappears as only an image can. The image of the rope falls back into the basket and only the real rope remains.”

“The curtain closes,” Angelina laughed, “and the crowd leaves, happily pleased. As we do, maestro. You are really great, the Great Grissini.”

We left him bowing-he left us laughing. It really was a great performance.

Once we were aboard the spacer that would take us to Fetorrscoria, the euphoria of the Great Grissini’s last great performance quickly wore away. One major problem still faced us. Angelina must have seen my scowl and she tried to jolly me out of it. It was no good. Thoughts of a porcuswine danced in my head. How could I make one of those fine creatures disappear-if I didn’t have one in the first place?

“What do you say to a glass of champagne in the Star Bar before lunch?” I growled throatily and she patted my arm. “Yes, dear.”

Before we could leave the cabin the message bell pinged and the comscreen lit up. “No doubt vital information about the next lifeboat drill,” I sneered as I grimaced-which is not easy to do-at my image in the mirror as I combed my hair.

“Not quite,” Angelina said, going over to read it. “It’s from James. He’s found a porcuswine for us! Full details follow. He has arranged for us to be met as soon as we clear customs. By a man named Igor who has a truck. He knows where we have to go. He closes with best wishes and good luck.” She pressed the print button and a copy of the message rolled out of the machine. “He has arranged our entire schedule.”

“That’s our boy!” I elated fondly. “And I’ll take you up on the champagne offer.”

The Star Bar was just that. The ceiling was a vast crystal dome, beyond which the stars burnt down upon us from the blackness of interstellar space. Perhaps. I greatly doubted if a hole had been cut in the spacer’s hull just to let us see out. It was an illusion and a very good one. We sipped and smacked and plotted. I scribbled notes on the message from James.

“If this spacer is on time, and it has to be due to the laws of celestial mechanics, we land on Fetorr just one day before we are due at the circus. The porcuswine ranch is about five hundred clicks from the spaceport. Then two hundred more to Fetorrscoria. We are cutting it very close.”

“We are. But we have no other choice.”

“Agreed. So we worry about it after we land.” I put the message into my pocket, drained my glass and pushed the bottle away. “I must make the most of this trip and practice every moment. Without booze to awake tremors in my hand.”

“But a drink at bedtime?”

“Of course. I don’t plan to become a teetotaler.”

Thus the days passed quickly. I practiced until my fingers were supple as snakes. Angelina had been very busy shopping in the days before we left. I had been vaguely aware of this at the time, but too tied up with my magic to take any real notice. I was practicing a very complex card manipulation when she emerged from the bedroom.

“Do you like it?” she said. I turned around.

“Zowie! “ I enthused and playing cards went in all directions. It was a shocking scarlet one-piece creation, cut high on the thighs, low on the bust and skintight everywhere. I rushed to embrace her but a friendly little fist to the jaw stopped me dead.

“You don’t think that it is, well, too revealing for a woman of my age?”

“Your age is the right age,” I enthused. “You are gorgeous and desirable and every male past puberty in the audience will be watching you, not me. I can hear the orgone sizzling already.”

“The emerald tiara is not too much?”

“Fine. It matches the thingumbobby at your waist.”

“I’m not sure,” she said, pirouetting prettily before the mirror. “Maybe the green one…”

“You have more outfits like this?”

“Of course.”

“Make my day! Let’s have a fashion show.”

I scrabbled up the cards and put them away. Pulled up an armchair, lit a cigar, then poured a small glass of white wine. She had an outfit for every illusion. Green to match the rusty red of her hopeful porcuswine partner to be. Black and red when she passed me the playing cards. Midnight black when she floated in midair. And thus did a pleasant time ensue before the dinner gong bonged.