Kingston and the Echoes of Magic by Rucker Moses & Theo Gangi

Author:Rucker Moses & Theo Gangi [Moses, Rucker & Gangi, Theo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2021-10-12T00:00:00+00:00

We follow the kid out the door, down a short hallway, and through a big door that leads us backstage. We’re behind a massive curtain, and I hear sudden oohs followed by breathless quiet and then wows as throngs of people are apparently amazed on the other side.

Is he there? I wonder. Just there? In the flesh, in his prime?

The kid leads us to a rickety ladder by the curtain and scales it without hesitation.

One after the next, V, me, and then Tall crawl up the ladder and to the stage rafters. The kid is sitting on a plank with his legs dangling over the ledge. The height doesn’t seem to bother him one bit.

He jumps to his feet and walks across the wobbly plank like it’s his living room floor. None of us are ready. Especially not Tall.

“These feet were not made for that catwalk,” he says.

“You’d rather stay back there in the workshop?” I ask.

He shrugs, probably thinking about that empty room with all the strange gadgets, symbols, taxidermy, and spirit cabinets. It’s not the kind of place you want to be left by yourself.

“On second thought, tall guy gotta like heights, right?” he says, and takes a rung up.

“Sure, Tall. Just, be careful.”

We crab-crawl our way along the first plank, past a network of walkways, ropes, and pulleys above the stage.

The kid turns to us. “Quickest way to get to the other side and to the lobby. Otherwise, you get out there and the ushers might ask us a million questions. Just don’t look down.”

Too Tall takes each step extra gingerly, and we keep having to pause for him to catch up.

A massive crowd stretches as far as we can see. Smoke billows up and crawls through the rafters. Pit musicians bend a saw eerily, like a haunted house. I crane my neck but can’t quite see the stage from our angle.

“So what should we call you?” Veronica asks the kid.

“Lonzo, Little L, Li’l Lonz, or whatever you like,” he says as he turns to us with a bright, broad smile.

“And what do you do here?” Veronica asks.

“Unofficially, I’m a magician’s assistant,” he says. “I help Herman out, carry things around, and some other stuff.”

“And you live here?” V asks.

“I live on the road. I actually started as a stowaway. They found me in Louisville, realized they might as well put me to work.” The kid laughs with a rasp, like how I imagine an old-timey train might sound. He’s got this baby face, but he feels much older than us.

“Hey, y’all ever seen Black Herman’s Private Graveyard trick?”

“In a way, I have,” I say.

“Yeah, well, it’s the best magic trick in the world.”

There’s a giant poster hanging over the balcony of a dark-skinned man with feathers coming out of either side of a strange hat.

“Who’s that guy?” I ask.

“That’s Mr. Marcus Garvey. This is his theater. People ’round here love him,” the kid replies. “Oh, look down, Black Herman’s about to start his last trick before intermission.

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