‘Ah, but no good for tennis.’ Pewter loved the sport. ‘What’s a holiday without tennis? This place is on a bare rock in the middle of the sea. Doesn’t even have a court. But at least there are some dangerous ghosts to liven things up.’
‘But I thought you’d be . . . Aren’t you on the trail of Red Valerian?’
Red Valerian was the code name of a sinister sorcerer who was causing plenty of trouble for Magi-Con, although he managed to stay hidden well behind the scenes, manipulating others to do his dirty work. His plot to acquire the firefly cage – by sending one of his followers to steal it – had led to the revelation that the dark device was hidden at the Last Chance Hotel. It had also led to the murder of the cage’s inventor, and the truth about Seth’s family history being uncovered.
Only Tiffany Bunn had outwitted everyone and had stolen the cage from under all of their noses before vanishing into thin air. To Seth, there was little more terrifying than thinking Tiffany was out there and might soon be able to wield the powerful magic of the firefly cage.
Pewter chuckled. ‘Chasing down sinister dudes like Red Valerian is way beyond my pay grade. Actually, I do have some news for you, though.’
Seth whirled around. ‘Someone is on Tiffany’s trail? You know where the firefly cage is? Red Valerian is unmasked?’
Pewter sipped his tea. ‘You shouldn’t worry, Seth. We have the very best people on all of that. I bring you news of your friend Angelique. Any chance of a biscuit?’
‘Huh.’ Angelique was another who had dangled the dream of magic, then hadn’t bothered to even visit him.
‘She teamed up with some young guy named Stormforce,’ Pewter went on. ‘You will be delighted to hear they have been receiving no end of praise and celebration. They solved a big case just yesterday. “The Case of the Walking Wardrobe” they’re calling it. Lots of credit to them. Seems they make a good team. A perfect match.’
Seth scurried about, looking for any biscuits the hairy walkers hadn’t munched their way through. He knew he should be pleased for Angelique, but all he felt was a deep dark stab of jealousy. She had a new friend and her career was flourishing. No wonder she hadn’t bothered to visit him and his terrible magic.
He plonked some home-made shortbread down in front of Pewter.
‘Ginger or chocolate-dipped?’
Pewter took two of each as his eyes flicked to the blackened frame and buckled door. They had been badly repaired with some planks. ‘I am pleased to see you haven’t been letting I dare not wait upon I would.’
‘What does that even mean?’ snapped Seth, without meeting Pewter’s eye. He knew he would see a gleam there, glinting behind the inspector’s glasses.
‘It means I am delighted to see you have been practising your magic. Magic is a difficult thing to learn and most people don’t have the patience for it.’
‘It was a straightforward door-shutting spell,’ Seth muttered, and added half-heartedly, ‘I think I’m getting there.’
‘Great to hear it.’ Pewter rubbed his hands together. ‘May I see?’
There. Pewter had asked the dreaded question.
Seth wiped down some more surfaces. The very last thing he wanted to do was to reveal his failure to Pewter, who’d had such high hopes of him.
He felt a warm hand on his shoulder.
‘I feel I made a big mistake and I owe you an apology,’ the inspector said. ‘I told you that you might have been born with natural magic. That –’ he shook his head and took a big bite of shortbread – ‘was a big mistake. So easy to look longingly at others and only see brilliance. Not the hard work that went into getting there.’
Seth swallowed, hoping he hadn’t heard right, trying and failing to hide how devastated he was. His heart was hammering.
That was why Pewter had left it so long before visiting – he already knew that Seth couldn’t do magic. But for Seth, there was much more at stake than just being magical.
The black shape of Nightshade slipped back in. ‘Whiskers and white mice! Inspector Pewter, thank goodness. Just in the nick of time.’ She shook her whiskers. ‘Hope you’ve got some ideas, because I’m surprised this hotel is still standing after Seth’s attempts at magic. We are desperate.’
3. A Big Mistake
Seth threw his cat a poisonous look.
‘And,’ went on Nightshade, ‘you’ll never guess what I caught him with. That black book.’
Seth threw her an even worse look for betraying this particular secret.
‘You’ve not been using that book, have you?’ Pewter said in a low voice. ‘I was hoping you’d buried it in the darkest part of the forest.’
Seth’s hand darted protectively towards his chest, where he carried the book. ‘I just like to look at the recipes and stuff.’ His words sounded unconvincing even to himself. He felt so utterly hopeless, stranded out here, feeling everything important was happening far away.
He discreetly wiped away a potato blob from the edge of the sink and then met Pewter’s gaze as the inspector took him by the shoulders. Seth was really hoping that for once he’d get a straight answer and some proper advice. The inspector’s glasses seemed to become clearer. Seth found himself staring into eyes as piercingly blue as the brightest sky. It was hard to look away.
‘I think the reason people fail at magic, fail at anything,’ said Pewter, ‘is because they want it to be easy. The most important things in the world are reading and books. The right books. At my school we had to carry a book to read with us at all times – if we were found without one it was an automatic detention.’
‘You studied magic at school?’ Seth tried and failed to imagine Pewter in detention. Or a class-room.
A dollop of mash he’d missed on the ceiling flopped on to Inspector Pewter’s head.
Pewter wiped it off without a word. ‘Had to keep my magic a secret. I loved stories but there was one book that stayed in my school bag from my earliest days – a gift from my father. He’d learnt from it before passing it on to me. That book was like a secret best friend.’
The inspector checked a huge ornate watch on his wrist. ‘Now, I’m afraid I’ve an appointment with a comfortable dinner and a sumptuous hostess,’ he sighed. ‘Maybe it’s a sumptuous dinner, and a comfortable hostess.’ He stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘See the sea from every window. I don’t suppose you could spare more of that very fine shortbread?’
Pewter made his way outside, munching on shortbread as he strode into the trees that circled the hotel, towards a spot where the air was shimmering like a heat haze, as if part of what you were looking at wasn’t real. Seth knew what it was – a teleport, the way magical people travelled about with great ease.
‘By the way – the word to stop anything is arosfa!’ he called. ‘Worth practising that one – it’s a goodie. If you shout it with enough authority it usually works, even if you aren’t particularly a words person. And the other thing is belief. That’s an important one; you have to believe you can do it.’
Seth blinked twice. Not a words person? What did that mean?
Pewter stopped and waved a hand in the air. ‘But everyone should start with the basics.’ And then he was gone, disappearing through the teleport before Seth could ask him anything more.
‘Well, you handled that brilliantly,’ said Nightshade as Seth headed back into the kitchen and the waiting potatoes. ‘Why couldn’t you have swallowed your pride, told him your magic is rubbish and asked for help?’ She leapt onto the countertop and tucked her pink nose inside the easy-peasy book. ‘You should follow his advice. Practise.’
‘But Pewter said he made a mistake when he said he thought I had natural magic.’
‘He was trying to tell you to stick with doing the difficult stuff and not to get lured into doing easy black magic, Seth.’
Was he? Instead of picking up the potatoes again, Seth opened the easy-peasy book right at the first page and he saw something he’d not noticed before. On the inside page, before the spells,
someone had written an inscription. It was very faded, but he could make out the words: Hope you have as much fun with this as I did, son.
Seth stared at it. The writing was too faint for it to have been written recently. This must be the very book Pewter had talked about. The book Pewter’s father had learnt from and had passed on to Pewter, who had carried it with him always. What had Pewter said? That when he had to keep his magic a secret and when no one else around him was learning magic, that the book was like having a best friend who truly understood him.
The book Pewter had given him to learn from was the inspector’s own precious book.
Could that mean Pewter really did believe in him?
‘You were too grumpy to listen,’ went on Nightshade. ‘Now he’s off to some swanky hotel and you may not get the chance for months.’
Seth’s mind was suddenly awhirl with an idea. One that involved plump pillows and someone bringing him cups of tea. And seeing the sea from every window. Seth had never seen the sea. He had never left the Last Chance Hotel.
For once, he could be a guest. And he could thank the inspector . . . and what better place to practise his magic undisturbed than as a guest in a remote lighthouse hotel? For the first time in his life he wouldn’t be the one peeling the potatoes.
Seth tucked the book into his tunic, gathered Nightshade to him and began to run.
She gave an indignant miaow as he raced back outside, hoping the teleport would still be open. He saw the haze still hovering. He ran as fast as he could, lifting his feet nimbly over tree roots, and flung himself after Inspector Pewter.
4. The New Kitchen Boy
It was like being in a whirlpool, not knowing which was way up, unable to breathe. The air was whistling past and there was nothing to see, not even blackness, just a blinding white. He could be hurtling, uncontrolled, through some distant corner of the universe; it had just been a few seconds, but they seemed to go on and on.
And then he was sprawled on the ground.
Seth had crash-landed awkwardly, his left leg twisting underneath him. As he tried to stand he knew that if he hadn’t landed in something squishy, soft and very smelly, the leg would have been even more painful to walk on. He limped away from what he was sitting in, removing a long brown strand of it from his sleeve. Seaweed, he hoped.
He wriggled his toes and felt his nose, to make sure no part of him was left behind at the Last Chance Hotel, and looked about for Nightshade, aware of high, steep cliffs and a constantly moving foreground. Water, churning and boiling and racing towards him, then changing its mind and playfully racing back again, leaving a line of foam and a hushed whisper.
The tang of salt and a windy freshness snatched at him, bringing the taste of unknown open spaces. The air was raucous with the cries of seabirds and the constant roll and crash of the waves. It was so noisy. It was amazing to be somewhere so open to the sky, a never-ending blue reflected in the sparkling sea below.
‘How come Pewter always looks as unruffled as if he’s done nothing more difficult than step into a room when he comes out of one of those things?’ snapped a voice behind him. Nightshade was checking her fur and whiskers.
Seth stared at the rushing waves, breathing deeply, his senses aquiver at the avalanche of unusual smells. One particular smell . . .
‘What’s that terrible stench? Seaweed drying on the rocks? Or rotting fish . . .’
‘Let’s find a way off this beach,’ said Nightshade, lifting her paws from damp stones with a little shake. ‘Where’s this bloomin’ hotel?’
Seth had to shield his eyes against the glare of the sun as he looked upwards, searching the skyline and the towering cliff for some sort of path. As they climbed with difficulty up the steep shingle beach, the smell was getting worse. Ahead they could see that the high cliff was studded with brave and tough flowers, and a little way down the beach from the foot of the cliff was a huge wooden signpost that read ‘PRIVATE. KEEP OUT.’
‘How nice. Oh, very friendly,’ huffed Nightshade. ‘Pewter had better not have got this wrong.’
Seth suspected what she was really trying to say was that he had better not have got this wrong. He strode past the sign, slipping on the shingle, trying to appear confident, Nightshade close alongside grumbling on about sand in her paws.
Pewter must have stepped through only moments before. Where was he? Typical Pewter, landing a teleport on a beach with no way off . . . unless the inspector could fly. Could Inspector Pewter fly? As far as Seth was concerned, he could do anything.
‘A load of dead birds.’ Nightshade pushed delicately at the corpse of a gull with a paw. ‘That’s where that terrible stench is coming from.’
A live seagull pecked at something on the beach ahead of them and Nightshade tried to leap on it, but the loose shingle completely messed with her usual agility.
‘Nightshade, you’ve plenty of birds at home to chase, please leave these ones alone.’
‘Big birds are always trouble unless you show them who’s boss from the start. And I promise to leave the birds alone if you leave the plant life alone.’
Seth was bending to pick some unusual plants growing at the foot of the cliff. ‘But this is buck’s-horn plantain. I’ve only seen it in books before,’ he said, stuffing it in one of his many pockets. The tunic had always been perfect for foraging around the Last Chance Hotel. ‘And I think this is wild carrot. Such great names, don’t you think?’ Nightshade fixed him with her big green eyes.
‘That carrot is not the only thing that will be wild in a minute. Just focus on finding this luxury hotel.’
They passed another five or six gull corpses, and when Seth looked back, he realized the air was no longer shimmering. The teleport had closed. There was no way back.
Things went wrong every time he did anything involving magic. They’d stepped into that teleport and now they seemed to have arrived in the wrong place. What on earth were they going to do?
A wet slimy lump hit the back of Seth’s head. He investigated with his fingers and discovered a ball of seaweed. He then tried to scrape it off before any more slithered wetly down his neck. A pebble fell in front of him as if dislodged by someone scrambling away at the top of the cliff. He thought he heard an evil cackle and looked up.
Mistake. Another ball of wet seaweed slimed him, this time getting him in the side of the head and trickling into his ear. He felt sure the laugh that followed came from a small boy.
He squinted into the sunlight and could see the silhouette of a figure outlined against the blue sky.
He was about to yell something rude to the seaweed shooter when a young man’s voice called: ‘Guess you are here for the hotel?’
‘Yes,’ Seth cried, wiggling a finger in his ear to remove traces of seawater and a thin line of green weed.
He strode on more purposefully, and could just make out that the tall figure was extending a long arm and gesturing to a corner of the beach. Seth headed that way, struggling and slipping on the loose shingle. Nightshade followed him, still irritable, and finally they could see what the young man had been pointing towards. Steps, steep with no handrail, almost invisibly hewn into the rock. He started to climb.
Visions of those comfy beds and plump pillows returned. A few days with no kitchen duties, no vegetables to prepare and no washing-up. Visiting another hotel made him think he should start making changes at home. He could even employ a new kitchen boy to help him. That was an idea. It was going to take a while before he grew into his new role as the owner of the hotel.
At the top of the steps he was met by a young blond man over six feet tall, with a big white-toothed smile in a suntanned face. He looked about eighteen, and as if he’d be happiest chasing a ball on a sports field.
‘I’m Zachary Rendleton, manager of the Snakesmouth Lighthouse soon-to-be Hotel,’ he said with a big grin. ‘Who the heck are you?’
‘Soon-to-be hotel?’ echoed Seth, not liking the sound of this. ‘I’m Seth Seppi,’ he said n
ervously. ‘You don’t have guests?’
Thoughts of his luxury holiday were being shoved aside by a worry that if the hotel wasn’t open, what possible excuse could he have for being here? He remembered that ‘KEEP OUT’ sign.
‘Renovations are underway, but we’ve hit one or two snags.’
Seth was trying to place the young man’s accent, as well as think of a reason to explain his presence, as he followed Rendleton’s agile strides along a narrow path. He had difficulty keeping up. Australian, he thought. It was one of the things he liked about living in a hotel – you got to meet people from all over the world.
‘You’ve worked in a hotel before?’
‘Er – yes, I have.’
‘Very glad you’re here then, Seth Seppi,’ continued Rendleton. ‘There’s a ton of work to do.’
A ton of work?
‘You are the new kitchen boy?’
This was not what I had in mind, Seth thought, before realizing he should seize gratefully on this excuse for being here and answered with an eager, ‘Yes, I am!’
But Rendleton wasn’t waiting for an answer, as he continued to lead the way.
‘I think there was a small boy firing things? Isn’t he a guest?’
‘Ah, so you already got a taste of young Alfie’s catapult? Bad luck.’
Seth rubbed the back of his neck. ‘He’s pretty accurate.’
‘Plenty of time to practise. Young Alfie is brother of Mina Mintencress, who bought this old lighthouse. They sadly lost their parents in a car wreck, and moved here to be together while following grand plans to open the place as a hotel. Guess Jo just dropped you off at Gull Cove? I didn’t think she’d find a replacement so quickly. Wasn’t sure she’d even risk coming out with this storm brewing.’
Seth had no idea who Jo might be, but at least he might have chance to find Inspector Pewter and a way out of here. He was glad Nightshade had slipped unnoticed past them. Most people arriving at a hotel, for whatever reason, wouldn’t bring a grumpy cat with them.
The Bad Luck Lighthouse Page 2