EPISODE 1 of 12 – Sleight of Hand

Our story begins with Charisma and Flossie on their way home from a long day at work when they encounter a stranger on their doorstep who suddenly drops dead. But not before presenting something to Charisma that could get her killed if she’s ever found with it.

TOLD FROM THE POV OF CHARISMA

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The coach rocked back and forth as it labored  through busy streets. Charisma and Flossie sat together, along with two women much older in age sitting opposite. They leaned ever so slightly as the coach took turns at a quick pace. Charisma gripped the curtain that kept the setting sun out to steady herself.

At one crossroad they heard the coachman shout at pedestrians on foot to, “watch where ya goin’,” before urging the horse to continue on its way by blowing short whistles and cracking the reins on their back.

Charisma pulled the curtain back slightly to watch the setting sun through the tall buildings as they road out of central Wondermere. Once the coach passed under Tarney Bridge she knew they were safely out of the city and headed towards lower Wondermere where everyone lived.

The women on the left who sat opposite Flossie, opened one eye and pointed it right at Charisma. The light from the setting sun happened to be hitting her face at just the right angle for her to feel it and partially wake from her deep sleep. Flossie elbowed her best friend who quickly let go of the curtain. Before she could begin her apologies the woman closed her eyelid and joined her companion in their sleep.

It wasn’t long before the two older women snored in perfect harmony. After weeks of traveling to and from work every morning and night it became a sort of ritual for them to gossip in the day and sleep at night. They would tell you it was from exhaustion after a long and grueling day working at the colosseum but Charisma and Flossie worked there as well, and though they were far younger they were also just as tired.

The coach was provided by the king after much discussion and negotiations between himself and Miss. Pomroy, the caretaker of the colosseum. She argued, and won the point, that her staff worked tirelessly so that the colosseum remained looking its best for the annual events. Therefore, as recompense, they needed a mode of transportation separate from everyone else. It was indeed a luxury that Charisma and Flossie did not take for granted as they knew how long it would take them if they were forced to travel on foot or by hiring their own coach which they could never afford. 

To minimize the need to hire dozens of coaches per worker, which was a luxury the king hated being forced to provide, he insisted those who live nearest each other were to travel together and Miss. Pomroy quickly agreed. She saw it as a learning experience for everyone to get to know each other outside of the colosseum. Miss. Pomroy was always looking for ways to teach everyone, especially the youth, a lesson whether they wanted to learn one or not. Flossie always did find it interesting that Miss. Pomroy, who lived even closer to her and Charisma than their two snoring passengers, was the only one to have her own coach home. 

And while Charisma, as always, was willing to engage in conversation with everyone she came in contact with, the older women saw the evening ride as a time to sleep before the chores of tending to the home. Charisma and Flossie soon became used to the snoring and thought of the sound as a pair of frogs conversing on a lily pad. The hats on their heads, held down loosely by hairpins, bobbed up and down but did little to wake the sleeping women.

“I hope I sleep that well when I’m older,” Flossie said, elbowing Charisma who craned her head to look out the sliver of curtain at the sunset changing the sky from yellow to orange, then deep purple.

“Not me. I don’t think I could ever grow tired of watching the sun set. Look at it. I think it’s best inside—”

“The colosseum at night. Yes, I know. I swear if I had a pence for every time you mentioned the way the sun looks when it sets over the colosseum we could finally afford a private coach. Which would be a pity. Look at what we’d miss every night.” As if on cue, the two women opposite them snorted simultaneously. Charisma and Flossie giggled.

“You don’t understand what it’s like. To feel the suns rays on your face that brief moment before the lamps come on. The spotlight. The crowd…”

Flossie crossed her legs, forgetting how close they sat to the women opposite them. Her foot kicked one of them and she woke instantly. A look of disgust on her face as she glared at Flossie, her eyes traveling from her face down to her crossed legs and back again.

“Women have been allowed to wear trousers for years now. Makes the kind of work we do a lot easier. High time you quit turning your noses up about it,” Flossie snapped,  uncrossing her legs but crossing her arms in defiance of the death stare. The older woman leaned forward, brushed her petticoat of the phantom dirt that Flossie’s shoe didn’t leave behind and swiftly returned to sleep. Her snores rejoined her friend’s as if there were no interruption at all. A brief hiccup in their duet.

“You mustn’t speak to her that way. You know what a gossip she is. Ever since the whole trousers issue you know what Miss. Pomroy said. ‘Just because we wear them, doesn’t mean we ought to start behaving ill-mannered like men—”

“It will only lead to trouble.” Flossie parroted. “I know. A minor slip. I won’t let it happen again. Promise.”

The coach came to a sudden stop and the coachman shouted from above, slamming his foot down at the same time, “Hallow Lane.”

This is where Charisma and Flossie exited the coach every night. After Charisma opened the door on her side and stepped down, she held her hand out for Flossie. No sooner did her feet touch the ground did she feel the door slam shut behind her and someone shout, “scrub!”

Without a second thought, Flossie retorted, “FUSSOCK,” as the coach pulled away, her fist waving in anger.

Charisma gripped her arm to hold her back. “You better hope she didn’t hear you or we’ll be in for an earful tomorrow.”

“Not you, my dear. Miss. Pomroy has never said a negative word against you since you came to work at the colosseum. Let’s face it, Charisma, you are her protégé. I’m sure she is getting you ready to take her place when the time comes.”

They started to walk down Hallow Lane road to their house. Charisma and her father occupy the first floor of a two floor home in a row of identical homes done us the same. There were street lamps that lit there way every few feet. The wind blew fallen leaves around them as their feet echoed on the cobblestone street.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Fliss. You know only a Pomroy woman can take her place and I’m not a Pomroy.”

“No, but her son is…”

Charisma’s jaw dropped that her best friend would even suggest such a thing. “Tom? Pimple-faced Tom Pomroy? Isn’t he nearly ten years older than us? I would never. Take that back.” She pinched Flossie in the shoulder.

“Ouch! Okay, okay, fine. Bad idea. Doesn’t mean if given half the chance she wouldn’t pass it on to you. As she has no daughter, you’re the closest thing. Unless old pimple-face finds him a wife and has a daughter.” Charisma suddenly stopped walking. Flossie, a few steps ahead, realized this and turned back to see a concerned look on her friend’s face. “What is it?”

“There’s a strange man standing in front of our house. Don’t you notice him?”

Flossie turned back up the street, their building was only a few more yards away on their side of the road. Some buildings had lights on inside but they didn’t do much to illuminate a dark figure teetering from side to side in front of their door.

“Oh dear. It must be some damn drunk fool who lost his way. I told you, ever since that tavern opened at the other end we’d have this happen. See, I was right.”

“Well, whoever it is, we better help him find his way home. Last thing I need is my father finding some strange man passed out drunk on the doorstep when he comes home in the morning.”

They both approached the swaying man cautiously and managed to flank him on either side before beginning their line of questioning, just in case he should decide to fall over.

“Sir, can we help you?” Flossie asked, attempting to keep him still by gripping his right arm and shoulder. Charisma rushed to the front door and turned on their lamp beside the doorway so they could see him more clearly. Perhaps they might recognize him.

“Fliss, is that…blood?” Charisma asked, pointing a shaky hand at the man’s abdomen.

He wore a long black overcoat that stretched to his dirt covered boots, a frayed hat concealed his face, though Flossie could see he had a thick beard and mustache, and carried a sack slung over one shoulder.

“Help me. He’s getting heavier to hold up,” Flossie said through gritted teeth as she struggled to help him stay upright. He was clearly about to collapse. Charisma grabbed him on the left side and together they managed to lean him against the front door. Flossie unlocked it and all three of them pitched forward into the house, the man hitting the floor with a thud.

“Heavens above,” Flossie said, kicking his feet inside and closing the front door quickly behind them before anyone noticed what had just happened.

The man began to groan as he lay on the ground in the hall. The home was small but contained two apartments. Each with their own living room, kitchen, and two bedrooms. As Charisma’s apartment was easiest to get to, they each grabbed hold of his arms and dragged him as best they could into the living room, turning him over onto his back. He had become far too heavy to get up onto the nearby couch.

“Who do you suppose he is? I don’t recognize him.” Flossie removed his hat to get a better look at him by the dim fire that was dying out in the fireplace. Charisma quickly added two logs, bringing it back to life.

“I’ve never seen him around here before either. Ever since that tavern we have been getting more and more strangers around here. None of them on our doorstep though,” Charisma said, kneeling down beside him to check his wound. “This looks much worse than I thought,” she said, placing her hand over the wound and pulling it away to show it covered in blood.

“Not good. Really not good. Hey, you, wake up.” Flossie patted him on either side of his face to rouse him but he just winced in pain.

“That’s not going to get us anywhere, Fliss. Maybe his bag will tell us who he is.” Charisma started to rifle through his sack which fell open near the front door. It was empty.

Flossie, on the other hand, got a pitcher of water and before she could be stopped, poured it over his head. He gagged and choked and spluttered awake. His eyes opened wide he looked about the room crazily. “Help—me—.” His words were labored and short as he was unable to take a breath. He reached out a hand. Flossie pulled away but Charisma was unafraid of him. He reminded her of her father and she hoped that if he were ever in danger, that someone would help him. She knelt beside him and took his hand in hers. He focused his eyes on her, deep black pools there would soon be lost forever. “Take—this—please—.” He reached in his coat pocket and with a shaking hand covered in tiny scratches, he placed something in her hand, and held it tightly between them. “You—mustn’t—be afraid.” He coughed and blood trickled out the corner of his mouth.

Flossie put a hand on Charisma’s shoulder for support.

“Your—destined—to be great…” The last words be spoke before he took his last breath. His hand fell away from hers. She stared at him for what seemed like eternity forgetting where she was or what had just happened. She blinked and one tear fell down her cheek.

“Charisma,” Flossie said, her voice bringing her back to the present, “What is that?” She pointed down at Charisma’s hand.

She glanced down and stood up immediately, her eyes never leaving its sight. “Not possible.” She tossed it onto the dining table. 

Flossie turned up the light over the table and looked at it closely without touching it. She turned her head towards Charisma with a smile. “It is indeed. You’ve just been given the most wanted item in all of Wondermere. Damn I hate your luck!”

“This isn’t funny, Fliss. If that’s what we both think it is, I could be dead by morning.”

“And if it isn’t, you’ve still got a dead body on your hands to deal with. That might send you to the gallows just as easily. So why not this!” Flossie said, reaching her hand out to pick it up before turning to Charisma for permission first. Charisma nodded her consent. “We should open it, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely not,” Charisma said and snatched it out of Flossie’s hands. 

“But we need to be sure it is what we think first before we can be sure what to do about it, right? It’s the only logical thing to do.”

“The logical thing to do would be for me to take it and chuck it in the fire right now. Forget we ever saw it or knew it existed.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Flossie said, taking a seat at the dining table. “Damn, I wish I smoked cigarettes. This is the moment when Kinter or Turpin would light a pipe while they discuss the case.”

“The case? What case? There is no case, Fliss. If I get rid of this no one will be any the wiser.”

“Why do I seem to be the only one remembering the dead man lying on your floor? Do you plan on putting him in the fire too? I’ve read up on things like this and your small fire would hardly get rid of a dead body. No, what we’ve got to do is put him somewhere until we find out what this is all about. It’s what Kinter and Turpin would do, surely.”

Charisma flopped down in the chair opposite Flossie in defeat. She knew her friend was right. She also was just as curious about this thing she was just given. She placed it gently down on the table and rested her chin on the table beside it, staring at it, daring herself to open it.

Then came a knock at the door.