The Prestige

I stepped back, and slipped into the wings. I had to push my way through a narrow flap in the heavy canvas screen of the box.

Immediately, a stagehand stepped out to block my way.

"Sorry, sir," he said loudly. "You aren't allowed back stage."

Angier was just a few feet away from us, starting his next routine. If I argued with the man Angier would doubtless hear us and realize something was up. With a flash of inspiration I reached up and pulled off the hat and wig I had been wearing.

"It's part of the act, you damned fool!" I said urgently but quietly, using my normal voice. "Out of the way!"

The stagehand looked disconcerted, but he muttered an apology and stepped back again. I brushed past him. I had spent much time planning where the best place to search for clues would be. With the stage boxed it was more likely that I would find what I was seeking on the mezzanine floor. I went along a short corridor until I reached the steps leading down to the sub-stage area.

With the rigging loft and flies, the mezzanine is one of the main technical areas of the theatre; there were several trap and bridge mechanisms here, as well as the windlasses used for powering the scenery sliders. Several large flats were stored in their cuts, presumably for a forthcoming production. I stepped briskly between the various pieces of machinery. If the show had been a major theatrical production, with numerous scene and scenery changes, the mezzanine floor would be occupied by several technicians operating the machinery, but because a magic show largely depends on the props the illusionist himself provides, technical requirements are mainly confined to curtains and lighting. I was therefore relieved, but not surprised, to find the area deserted.

Towards the back of the mezzanine floor I found what I was seeking, almost without at first realizing what it was. I came across two large and strongly built crates, equipped with many lifting and handling points, and clearly stamped: Private — The Great Danton. Next to them was a bulky voltage converter of a type unfamiliar to me. My own act used such a device for powering the electrical bench, but it was a small affair of no great complication. But this one of Angier's bespoke raw power. It was giving off noticeable heat as I approached it, and a low, powerful humming noise was issuing from somewhere deep within.

I leaned over the converter, trying to fathom its workings. Overhead, I could hear Angier's footsteps on the stage, and the sound of his voice raised to be heard across the auditorium. I could imagine him striding to and fro as he made his speech about the wonders of science.

Suddenly, the converter made a loud knocking noise, and to my alarm a thin but toxic blue smoke began emerging with some intensity from a grille in its upper panel. The humming noise intensified. At first I leapt back, but a growing sense of alarm made me go forward again.

I could hear Angier's measured tread continuing a few feet above my head, clearly unaware of what might be happening down here.

Again, the knocking noise sounded within the device, this time accompanied by a most sinister screeching noise, as of thin metal being sawn. The smoke was pouring out more quickly than before, and when I moved round to the other side of the object I discovered that several thick metal coils were glowing red hot.

All around me was the clutter of a mezzanine floor. There were tons of dry timber, windlasses grimed with lubricant, miles of ropes, numerous scraps and heaps of discarded paper, huge scenery flats painted with oils. The whole place was a tinderbox, and in the centre of it was something that seemed about to explode into flames. I stood there in terrible indecision — could Angier or his assistants know what was happening down here?

The converter made more noises, and once again the smoke belched from the grille. It was getting into my lungs, and I was beginning to choke. In desperation I looked around for some kind of fire extinguisher.

Then I saw that the converter was taking its power from a thick insulated cable that ran from a large electrical junction box attached to the rear wall. I dashed over to it. There was an Emergency On/Off handle built into it, and without another thought I grabbed hold of it and pulled it down.

The infernal activity of the converter instantly died. Only the acrid blue smoke continued to belch out of its grille, but this was thinning by the second.

Overhead there was a heavy thud, followed by silence.

A second or two passed, while I stared contritely up at the stage floor above me.

I heard footsteps dashing around, and Angier's voice shouting angrily. I could hear the audience too, a more indistinct noise, neither cheering nor applauding. The racket of hurrying feet and raised voices from up there was increasing. Whatever I had done had wreaked havoc on Angier's illusion.