The next day's first duty of order was to ring for Ann Smithe. Jack dialed the number from The Kaleidoscope office. It rang twice and her secretary picked up.

"Hell-oh?" came Madam Applesmead's thin, aging voice.

"It's Jack Ogswold." Jack smiled into the receiver. "Is Missus Smithe available now, Madam?"

There was a long pause as the old secretary processed the words. Jack could just imagine the letters going into the ear, slowly forming the words to match the sound, and then the brain cracking its knuckles and getting to work to processing.

"Ah, yes, Mister Ogswold." Applesmead paused. "Yes, she is here." There was some scuffling as their old candlestick phone passed from old hands to younger hands. 

Jack remembered Ann's hands quite well as he had watched her work. There was one scar on her left hand shaped like a tail fin that she loved to talk about when asked how she got it. He didn't believe the ridiculous story about how she saved a mermaid.

"Jack!" came Ann's delighted voice through the phone. "I was wondering if you would ever call me. I've been seeing those posters again but this time no artists were made known yet and I was wondering—"

Jack laughed and stuffed his hand in his pocket. "And good morning to you, too, Ann."

"Oh, how rude of me. Good morning, Jack."

"It was purposeful, Ann. Word of mouth, really. More people who have never heard of you but heard of The Kaleidoscope will come. Amp up the business, so to speak."

Static came into his ear as she breathed into it. "So, I am-er, you are-um—"

"I was calling to request."

She gave her signature delighted squeak. "Is there a theme this time? Last you had that Bring the Forest to the City theme, which was splendid. Splendid sales and new fans. I even received some letters of appreciation in the mail. One even by a little girl, only six, quite adorable thing she said. She said that my art 'ip-spyers' her," Ann said and spelled it out the way the little girl did, "I think I may have created a new Ann Smithe. Fuel the education, they say."

"Wonderful!" Jack said. "The theme this time," he said and paused. He had thought of it last night when he was staring at the dragon's breath necklace. "Magick Unto Reality."

With an intake of breath, she said, "And what has inspired a firm disbeliever to bring in the magick, Jack?"

"A street seller. Quite the chap, say, have you heard of dragon's breath?"

Ann laughed. "One of my favorite tales. It's about the Enchantress."

"Enlighten me. I haven't time to do the digging myself." Jack sat down in his chair and hovered his pen over a piece of paper. He would use the story to set up the gallery with the appropriate decorations.

"Well, the Enchantress wanted the power of dragons. Dragons have the strongest magick in the entire world. She found their realm and—"

"Hold, a realm?" Jack jotted down his notes. "As in another world? A room? A—"

"It's another world. It can be found in Belvinshire, so it's said."

"Of course!" Jack scribbled a word down. "Dragon's Wood. Wasn't that where that prize-winning scientist went for his ground-breaking energy discovery?"

"That's it. What was his name? Dr. Brown or Green or some—"

"One of those colors. And so?"

"But back then it was just Belvinshire Wood. Anyhow, the Enchantress found the gateway and then captured the dragons' souls into stones. She did that by drawing out their last breaths. Their last breath is what makes the stones different colors because the dragons had different colors. A blue dragon's last breath made the stone blue. That's why it's called dragon's breath."

Jack nodded and jotted all this down. He was beginning to envision what the gallery would look like. Perhaps get some colorful crystal chandeliers and have them reflect rainbow lights on the floor. Black carpeting, drawn curtains, mystery and intrigue, artwork lit under their respective golden lights, and then the ball room featuring traditional Endilian music.

"Jack?"

"So, think of the magick, Ann. Colorful crystal, mysterious, mystic, intriguing, a bit of Endil history in the days when we used to be knights and sword mistresses, the time before the technology and airships and oh yes," He nodded to Simon who had just entered the office, "if you need the space above The Kaleidoscope, I will be sending Simon to pick up, what's-his-name—"

"I can be where you want me to be Jack, in thirty minutes."

"Timothy, right." Jack nodded. "At Amsgeld, Proctmoor Station, just a few pillars away from the entrance. You'll see him, the shabby fellow with frizzy black hair unless he decided to comb it. Ten sharp and its eight-thirty-something."

"I'll be right there."

"Looking forward to seeing you again, Ann. Good day. See you soon." He hung up the phone. "Simon, you heard, Ann will need pick up, too. I'll be heading to the Lounge. I have a vision and I must draw it up and present to the investors. Find me lunch, thank you."

He stared at his notes and heard Simon grunt a reply and shuffle away. Jack sat back in the chair and worked his mind around the story to present it to the investors who put in a big share, but also expected returns. 

For the sake of word of mouth, Jack decided he would head out tomorrow back to Amsgeld and do a bit of promotion in his signature hat. Draw a crowd, do some talks in the streets, butter up the starry-eyed wallet-bulging well-to-do.

Today, he had to focus on the artists and call everyone up and tell them about the theme. If they didn't like it or nothing struck inspiration, Jack would have to change them up.

* * *

It was noon. Everything had gone as planned. Ann Smithe arrived with Timothy Durkinson—a name that literally would mean 'the son of the durks, the horse dung collectors'—and the investors were on board with the magical idea. Craig Baldwin with his picture frames and Samuel Bakers with his paintings, they were all on board as well. Now it was just a matter of promotion.

"Which I am excellent at," Jack said as he ate his sandwich, "stupendous."

"May I tell you of the ongoings of yesterday when you were gone?" Simon said. He had been sitting across from Jack in the office, waiting for the exact moment Jack was done talking about the successes of the day. Simon knew that Jack knew that there had been some ongoings that were not exactly good. That was what came from being famous in one life and infamous in another.

Jack sighed and finished his sandwich. He licked the mayonnaise from his fingers and wiped them on his napkin. "Lemme guess," He dropped his formality voice, "the Slingers?"

"The Slingers." Simon nodded. "Came by the Goldfish."

"I told 'em to stay away or else blow their heads off."

"Seems they didn't hear you right."

Seems not, the effin' bastards. Jack clicked his tongue. The Goldfish was a pub that Simon owned, but that was used by Jack's other business together with Simon. They swindled from the investors of The Kaleidoscope. In secret, of course. But being in the swindle meant they had enemies also in the swindle. Enemies that, at every turn of a good opportunity for Jack, would come after him to get a piece of it.

And that was why he carried around the taser gun, although he never had a use for it. He was quite well-coordinated with his arms and legs. Men were sorry to meet him in a back alley.

Jack of all trades. Jack smirked and lifted his eyes. "So?"

"Threatened to expose you next Tuesday at the gallery if you don't give them a cut of your last swindle."

He scoffed. "They always say that. Aye, I can bet on it they won't even come. Too bourgeois, too high-class, too untouchable we are at The Kaleidoscope. They'll stick out like a sore thumb, and I be callin' the police on 'em if they show up."

Simon pursed his lips. Jack noticed the wrinkles that suddenly looked deeper than before. It was as if the old man had gotten older in a matter of seconds. "I won't bet on that. They seem to have something up their sleeves. They sounded so sure now they had evidence."

Jack brushed him off. "Simon, old age has been gettin' to you. Aye, take the rest of the day off, my good man. I can handle the rest."

Simon seemed to want to say something more, but instead he let out a long sigh. Nodding his head, he got up from the seat and bid Jack goodbye. Jack stood and hurried to help him out the door, brushing his hand against Simon's left arm.

He don't know what he in for. But he'll know. And then I'm out.

When the door closed, Jack leaned his back on the wooden frame hearing it creak. Since the day he and Simon had gotten into the gallery business, Simon had become more and more weary about the swindle. 

Could they pull it off with having Jack as a face of recognition? People knew what he looked like. Jack would always wear a mask at the Goldfish and never went there for a drink without it on. The indigo-painted mask with the gold lining covered his entire face and only made his eyes known. Jack had standard brown eyes. No one would recognize him.

Simon's just old. Just like Pop. Get old, get more worried. It'll even happen to me. He sure wasn't looking forward to getting old. He chuckled to himself at the thought.

The phone rang then, and he went to pick it up.