Teddy Stooles - 1887
Teddy Stooles - now there's a character for ya. A curious soul, he was. Folks had all kinds of feelings about him. Some saw him as the town fool, while others whispered of thievery in his wake. His acts, often showcased beneath the looming shadow of Millpond Town Hall, served as his lure for fortune. A fortune that wouldn't be conjured with cheap tricks and ingratiating patter, but by the silent thievery that danced in his fingers. He'd entice unwitting participants, weaving his charm and deceit in a pantomime display. Yet, as eyes fixated on his performances, his hands, slick and sly, would dart into unsuspecting pockets, liberating whatever treasures they held.
Awestruck by his spectacles, many would extend invitations to their gatherings, adorned with wealth and opulence. There, amidst the lavish excess, he'd dazzle them with juggling, sword balancing, and the fiery exhale of a practised trickster.
Oh, Teddy was indeed a cunning entrepreneur - he offered his services cheap, knowing his takings would be grand. As the highborn revellers succumbed to intoxication and merriment, he'd seize his opportunity, pilfering possessions with ease. Items like pearl earrings, diamond necklaces, gold bracelets - no trinket was safe from his grasp. He attributed it to a debt unpaid by fate's hand for denying him the privilege of aristocracy or wealth.
Come Christmas Eve 1887, there was quite the shindig happening over at the Mayor Clark’s grand abode on Clifton Drive, nestled near the infamous Archingold estate, which at that time housed Ambrose Archingold at the startling old age of eighty-nine. Mayor Clark was a gentle, soft-spoken individual with a desire for power that was stronger than the ambition of a hundred men.
Teddy was invited along to the party to entertain the Mayor’s guests. Ready to dazzle 'em all with his bag of tricks. Dressed in his brightest motley costume, adorned with polished lead buttons stolen from previous endeavours, he looked the part. After all it was another year, another opportunity for Teddy to fleece the well-to-do while playing the fool for the entirety of the evening. Easy pickings, indeed!
Things were going smooth enough until one fella, Jonathan McAllister, who was deep in his booze and deeper still in his sorrows, decided to take his frustrations out on poor Teddy. It seemed he couldn’t bear the embarrassment of being fooled by a few measly card tricks and aimed to take it out on our magician friend. Now, this fella, a Civil War veteran who'd lost his arm from a passing cannonball a few years prior, started grunting irritably.
“Do it again! Do the trick… again!”
Teddy paused, turned to him and replied whimsically - “Magic can only be captured once!” - followed by a cheeky smile.
McAllister stared back with glazed eyes.
“Show me how you did the damn trick, NOW!” he growled.
Teddy calmly turned to him.
“The prestige, sir, is the most sacred part of the whole act,” he said, voice low and measured. “It’s not meant to be picked apart or explained. It’s meant to linger. To make you wonder, ‘was it real, or just a trick?’ And that wonder - that is where the magic truly lies. Which is why my secret’s gotta stay just that - a secret!”
“Horse shit!” Johnathan barked, fighting off a hiccup. “You tell me… right now, or I’ll… I’ll… URCH.”
“Spew all over me?” Teddy quipped, causing a few chuckles and giggles from those around them. “Perhaps we should switch hats so you can play the fool? You’re performing the part exquisitely already!”
This only flared Jonathan’s temper. He staggered to his feet and shakily withdrew his revolver. Gasps rose from the guests as they recoiled from the unfolding scene.
“If it’s… magic, then catch this bullet!”
Silence filled the ballroom as all eyes turned to Teddy, who was holding up his hands in nervous surrender. A crowd of spectators shifted positions for a better view, eagerly awaiting the next act as if it were the main event of the evening. Teddy tried to speak, but no words escaped his mouth - he simply froze, awkwardly gazing back at a drunk Jonathan McAllister levelling a revolver at him.
Then, orchestrated to perfection, the midnight chime from the old grandfather clock donged, and a gunshot rang out.
Guests jumped in fright and let out a collective gasp. Smoke wisped from the barrel of Jonathan’s gun and he swayed unsteadily in the dim light. A smirk creeped across his lips, convinced he’d silenced the poor jester once and for all. But as his gaze drifted downward, his expression twisted in horror. For there, in his own chest, was a smoking cavity where the bullet had found its mark.
He paused for a moment, puzzled at the turn of events. Then he collapsed dead, smashing through a table on his way down. When a guest inspected closer, they noticed the bullet had indeed hit Teddy in the chest, but it did something that it shouldn’t, given a one-in-a-million chance. It hit one of Teddy’s lead buttons and ricocheted straight back into Jonathan McAllister’s heart.
At that moment, Teddy’s fate was also sealed.
Whispers echoed through the room. Guests glanced at each other, awestruck. Had they just witnessed real magic? Then voices and murmurs steadily rose and Teddy looked anxiously at the hundred faces staring back. Then a voice from the back cried out - “Sorcerer!” - and then more in harsher tones - “Witchcraft! Devilry!”
Teddy’s chest beat hard as he felt relief and shock from surviving the gunshot, mixed in with fear and terror. Millpond had an unpleasant history of punishing those they suspected of dabbling in such arts. This thought made him swallow hard - what would they do to him? His eyes darted for an exit. There was a door leading into another room of the house, and it was clear of guests. Maybe he could head that way and leap out through a window there? He hastily marched toward it, but a group of guests stood in his way and seized him. He struggled to break free from their clutches, but there were too many of them. They grabbed him, dragged him down and pinned him to the floor. Mayor Clark strode over and peeled back the tight huddle of people so he could see for himself. Without hesitation, he knelt down beside Teddy and began investigating the hole that went through Teddy’s outer layer, but had somehow not penetrated his body. Teddy wriggled and writhed, desperate to break free, but he wasn’t going anywhere.
Mayor Clark studied Teddy’s attire closely. Lo and behold, nestled within a secret breast pocket was a solid gold pocket watch, engraved with the Mayor’s own name. A look of shock washed over his face. But the revelations didn’t end there. Astonishingly, they uncovered an array of pilfered possessions hidden in secret compartments in Teddy’s costume - trinkets and treasures that belonged to others in that very room. The discovery left them dumbfounded and very, very angry.
“THIEF! FRAUD! LIAR!” they shouted, instantly branding him a criminal.
Not taking kindly to being made fools of, they wanted him sent to the gallows for punishment or forced into the stockade on Musket Square to endure endless weeks of public humiliation.
They hauled Teddy up and dragged him outside. He kicked and struggled, crying out his innocence, but it was no use, there were too many of them. As they marched him up the main road of Clifton Drive South, Teddy had his moment. One of the guests who had him by the arm lost his grip for a split second as he stumbled on a cobble. Teddy tore his arm away and pushed the adjacent guest holding him, then fled up the street. But his escape was short-lived. Someone shot poor Teddy Stooles in the back, blowing his spine out through his belly. Teddy collapsed to his knees, stared down, and clutched his stomach, watching blood gush out between his trembling fingers. He fell forward on his front, dead, and that was the end of Teddy Stooles. The jester that’d played them all for a fool.
Over the decades, when any kind of fine expensive jewellery or prized possession goes missin' in Millpond, they have a peculiar habit of turning up on the porch of the Mayor's stately home. Folks say the cheeky ol’ Teddy Stooles still roams these parts, pilfering from the living, leaving the stolen goods as a token of his legacy on the steps of the Mayor’s residence. But no one's ever seen him. Just the jewels layin' there, reminding everyone of what happens if you try to play Millpond’s wealthiest for fools.