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pocket. He nodded the nail s head at Rosemont. Torture
is a failure, I ve always said, because it s a recognition of
equal power.
He may have cried out when he saw the nail, but he
couldn t be sure. All over his body, Rosemont s skin broke
sweat.
You have something I want, that I cannot simply
take, Visconti said.
Rosemont s face, the backs of his legs, even his feet
seemed to be pouring sweat. It was a painting. Some shitty
little paintings. We don t need the nail. We don t need to do
that.
But it s a long-held Roman tradition for putting down
magicians or putting them up, Visconti said, crossing
himself with a laugh, as the case may be.
Rosemont clamped his eyes shut and, gloriously, there
in the dark of his closed eyes, he could see Miles, who was
looking this way and that, as if waiting for someone. He
was standing next to a cash register and a tire display. A
door behind him read Employees Only. If he screamed,
Miles would hear him. But what if he didn t respond in
THE MAGICIAN AND THE FOOL 277
time? Visconti could kill Rosemont with a quick hammer
blow if he didn t handle this correctly. Oh Jesus Christ,
Miles, why can t you hear us talking? We re so close. Open
the door and walk through it!
To Visconti he said loudly, I took them because I
wanted them. I m sorry. But I don t need them. I don t need
them that badly.
Visconti made a little noise in the back of his throat as
if he found this fascinating. What were they of?
Rosemont had just enough presence of mind to realize
that even though Visconti had seen the deck with his own
eyes at Chi-Chi s, seen it other times in his long life, he may
have never seen the deck. He may have only seen what he
hoped it would be. Why else would he want to know such
a thing? He wanted to know what the authenticator saw.
He wanted to see what Rosemont saw. Rosemont shut his
eyes again to see where Miles was. In his mind s eye,
Rosemont could see that Miles didn t even seem to notice
the door into the machine shop. He was being cautious,
unsure of himself. He was casting out with his mind,
searching for Rosemont, but unable to latch on to his loca-
tion. It filled Rosemont with contempt to see him so close
to the Employees Only door. God, you idiot, turn around
and walk through it! Walk through the fucking door!
But he wouldn t. He remained positioned outside, as if
guarding it.
A moment later, Transom and Kermit stepped into the
office where Miles was, carrying Styrofoam cups of coffee,
and the three of them began talking, chatting, like old ac-
quaintances trying to place one another.
Miles!
278 Barth Anderson
Now, now, Visconti said. Don t squirm like a fish on
the line. No scheming and plotting, because it takes a char-
acter like you nowhere good. He took the nail, leaned for-
ward, and placed the point on the back of Rosemont s right
hand, digging it in painfully between the tendons. Child-
like? Savage? Frightening in its simplicity?
The duct tape was too tight. No matter how he
thrashed and shook he couldn t squirm himself out from
under the point of that nail. What do you want? What are
you asking me?
The images on the Watts deck, the duke said pa-
tiently, firmly. Describe them.
Yes. Rosemont nodded frantically, eager to be able
to say something that he knew. That s right. Primitive. No
way could it have been a modern hand.
I see. So you lied about all of it to us. Do you have it,
Jeremiah? Visconti s great chalk-white face loomed close.
Is it in this very room with us, somehow?
No. No, it s not.
You re lying. As evident to me as a stoplight.
I m not lying! Rosemont shouted at the top of his
lungs. It s not here! It s not here in this machine shop! It s
not anywhere near us, I swear! Rosemont shut his eyes.
Miles was lunging toward the Employees Only door.
Jeremiah! Kermit got between him, and then Transom
grabbed Miles around the upper body.
Oh, God, that little geek has never been in a fight in his
life, Rosemont realized in hopelessness as he watched the
two small men easily subdue his friend. Miles didn t see the
letter opener on the counter. The box cutter. The pipe at his
feet. Rosemont thrashed harder in the chair. Goddamnit!
Get me out of here!
THE MAGICIAN AND THE FOOL 279
Jeremiah! Rosemont could hear Miles from the of-
fice. Jeremiah, what s happening?
Ah. I see. I do see now. It s hidden. You hid it. In a
templum. Very wise of you. But it could be anywhere
then. Visconti looked down at the nail between his fin-
gers. Now just relax.
And to his horror, Rosemont relaxed. He was actually
unclenching his fist and laying his hand flat, as if readying
himself for the nail. Visconti had control of his body. Total
control. But Rosemont could still think, could still lie,
could still fear, and overhead was a stone structure, the
smooth underbelly of a spanning arch with cruel charac-
ters carved into it.
The yoke, a voice told him. The arch is a yoke. Look
up, slave, and see the arch that Romulus built. Look up,
slave, and see the sight the captured enemies of Rome saw
in their lament.
Miles! Rosemont shouted.
But the voice was Miles. The voice in his head was
Miles s voice. The hand he felt upon his shoulder, guiding
him forward, beneath that arch, was Miles s controlling
hand.
Stop! No! Rosemont cried.
A multitude of jeering and mocking people milling
about the base of the arch were screaming at the two of
them, and Rosemont felt certain they were castigating
Miles for his betrayal.
Why are you doing this? Rosemont screamed over
his shoulder. Miles, no!
But the deed was done, and Rosemont felt his whole
being, his very self, kneeling in subjugation to Miles. Then
he could feel himself retreating into that loneliest deep,
280 Barth Anderson
that oceanic presence he d felt in the deck, sinking to the
bottom of an unmapped sea where whole worlds go to be
forgotten and landing in Miles s body.
Because I d do anything to save you, Miles was say-
ing. Even this.
Rosemont felt Transom s hands on his shoulders. He
felt Kermit bear-hugging his hips. A sign that read
Employees Only was right in front of Rosemont suddenly.
So was the box cutter. Then who was strapped to the chair?
Arms and bodies and legs were trying to drag Rosemont
down to the floor, and a rage boiled inside him, shaking
loose of his attackers and lunging for the box cutter.
Kill them, Rosemont! Save me! Get rid of them and
come get me, goddamnit.
Rosemont was yanking Kermit s head back by the thick
locks at the base of his skull, making a fat bulge of his
neck, and the box cutter was opening the man s throat like
an envelope with one bright red slit.
A loud series of pounding metal notes clanged from be-
hind the door, followed by a scream like an animal being
slaughtered.
Kermit crumpled, thrashing and gurgling, beneath
Rosemont. Transom released him and backed away in hor-
ror from Rosemont as he landed on top of Kermit and,
with two more savage slashes of the cutter, stilled Kermit s
throes.
Transom turned and fled through the shop s front door.
Blood dripped from fingers and box cutter. He was
breathing heavily. Madison, Racine, Austin, and Nicaragua
were all far, far away for the person who had once been
Jeremiah Rosemont. His body was not his own body.
THE MAGICIAN AND THE FOOL 281
His self was subjugated, submerged. He was an absent per-
son now.
I m in trouble, Jeremiah! I m in trouble. I m in trou-
ble. I m in trouble. That was. That didn t. I can t. The
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