The Bad Luck Lighthouse

by Nicki Thornton

  Seth considered this, forced to admit what Nightshade said made sense. But he was reluctant to abandon all his careful theories – he’d been so sure it made sense that Mina Mintencress’s drowning might have been down to magic. The door had been locked and there was no way into that room at the top of the lighthouse.

  ‘All right. Unless it’s not Soul Snakesmouth’s leftover magic causing all the problems,’ he mused. ‘Maybe someone here is a sorcerer? Maybe it’s recent magic.’

  ‘I leave the magic to you, Seth,’ sighed Nightshade. ‘I’m more bothered that there are a lot of unpleasantly cheeky seabirds on this island and if it weren’t for that horrible storm I’d be outside, teaching them all a lesson or two. But I’m stuck in here, and I haven’t had a single bite of supper.’

  Seth took the hint. He got to his feet and they padded together to the kitchen to find a few scraps for Nightshade. ‘Didn’t Pewter say he was outside looking for dead birds? Why d’you think there were so many dead birds on the beach? Just another strange thing about this place.’

  ‘You are starting to suspect too many secrets, Seth. MagiCon inspectors don’t get called in for cleaning jobs and they don’t look into the unexpected deaths of gulls.’ She chewed on a leftover ham sandwich. ‘I hear what you say, but it doesn’t all quite add up, does it? I think you can safely leave the gulls out of it. You need to be concentrating on this – if you think the magic might be recent and someone here is a sorcerer and causing all this with magic – which one of them is it?’

  15. Surprised I Only Lost My Whiskers Once

  Seth felt a hand clap him on the shoulder.

  ‘Now, my superior detecting skills are telling me something of great importance,’ said Inspector Pewter, fixing Seth with one of his looks where it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. ‘You haven’t yet made a start on dinner. Anything I can do to help?’

  ‘I’m sorry about crashing through that teleport and intruding on your case,’ said Seth quickly. A late apology was better than none.

  ‘No matter. I’ve been told more than once – or maybe it was just once – that I’m brilliant in the kitchen,’ said Pewter. ‘You just tell me what to do.’

  Seth knew he had to swallow down all his questions for now. He’d upset Pewter enough already.

  ‘I’m pretty good with dinner,’ went on Pewter. ‘As long as it’s spaghetti Bolognese. Which is good news for you, Seth.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because it doesn’t involve peeling any potatoes. I know you better than you think, young man.’

  ‘Spaghetti Bolognese it is,’ muttered Seth. He watched as Pewter put on a pan of water to boil.

  ‘Admiring my technique?’

  ‘I thought perhaps . . . maybe it was a dish you could make with magic?’

  Pewter gave a deep chuckle. ‘Most humble sorcerer folk like me know magic is a privilege, Seth. It is never to be used lightly. It can go very badly wrong. Anyway, how would it look if I had friends over for dinner and then started chanting a spell so that the onions chopped themselves?’

  Seth tried to picture Pewter sitting in a kitchen in a normal home with non-magical friends. He failed. ‘Do you have regular friends? Do you cook them dinner?’

  Pewter looked up from where he had started dicing carrots. ‘Course I have regular friends. Of course I have people around for dinner. All the time. Well, some of the time. Well, perhaps not that many “regular” friends, as you put it. Now, I guess we need some type of pasta. That long stuff. And what’s that handy, ready-chopped meat called? We could almost definitely do with some of that.’

  ‘I think the pasta you are thinking of for spaghetti Bolognese is spaghetti,’ said Seth patiently. ‘And mince?’ He placed portions of both on the table behind the inspector, who was already shovelling carrots into a frying pan with a flourish and a sizzle and giving them a vigorous stir that sent plenty of them tumbling to the floor.

  Nightshade started batting around the bottom of Pewter’s legs.

  ‘What Seth really wants to say is that he’s sorry he was so grumpy earlier,’ she said. ‘And I’m going to say this because he is too proud to tell you, but he would really appreciate some help with his magic. Frankly, I’m surprised I only lost my whiskers once. But he’s worried, because if he fails to pass the Prospect and get into the Elysee he will never find out his mother’s real story. He hasn’t even had time to think if he should start looking for his dad. And, oh, he also thinks MagiCon isn’t working hard enough to track down Tiffany and the firefly cage. Was there anything else, Seth, or does that just about cover it?’

  ‘Erm . . .’

  ‘And he’s been having suspicions about all that golden light coming from the firefly cage when Tiffany escaped with it and what it all means.’

  There was a pause where all Seth could do was watch Inspector Pewter chop more vegetables. Nightshade sniffed the air and unceremoniously fled the room.

  ‘She always does that when I chop onions,’ said Seth.

  ‘What, asks a load of really tricky questions?’

  ‘No – I mean— Never mind that.’ He could bear it no longer. ‘Tiffany’s got to be found! She’s got that firefly cage. You can’t imagine the havoc she’ll wreak if she finds out how to use that thing, but I can – there was magic coming from it already.’

  ‘Seth, I understand you have questions.’

  ‘But you never answer them.’ Seth tried to breathe more calmly. ‘Inspector Pewter, do you think there is any chance my mother is alive?’

  ‘I told you if I had any information that you would be the first to know. I can give you answers – it’s up to you whether you choose to believe me. Be assured, the very best people are after Tiffany and Red Valerian and the firefly cage. Seth, I understand you long for answers. But I am but a humble inspector. I don’t have all the answers. Sometimes you can only work slowly towards the truth and it can reveal itself quite by chance.’

  ‘Well how about you answer this then – do you think Mina Mintencress was murdered?’

  ‘Honestly, Seth, I do not know.’

  It wasn’t quite what Seth might have hoped for, but it gave him the courage to continue.

  ‘I think there is a really good chance that Soul Snakesmouth, who used to own this lighthouse, was a sorcerer,’ blurted Seth. ‘I think he might be one of those who died in the Unpleasant. I think there might be magic he left here and that it might even be causing all the trouble and rumours of ghosts. Not a haunting, but leftover magic, just like there was at the Last Chance Hotel. It might explain how Miss Mintencress died alone in a locked room.’

  He wasn’t expecting Pewter to react with a chuckle, but that’s exactly what he did. He turned to Seth, his eyes crinkling, although his expression was always difficult to read, particularly because of the way his round glasses reflected the light.

  ‘Your instincts are extraordinarily good!’

  ‘You mean there is leftover magic here? Are you going to call in S3 and get the lighthouse cleaned?’

  ‘No, Seth,’ said Pewter quietly.

  ‘But can’t you see what’s going on?’ cried Seth, a flash of annoyance with Pewter flaring. ‘It’s quite possible Soul Snakesmouth is an MFE. He might not even be dead. You can’t just not investigate.’

  ‘Investigate what, exactly? That his ghost has come back to stop anyone else moving into his lighthouse?’

  Seth wasn’t sure how to answer as he wasn’t sure how serious Pewter was. Was that even possible?

  Pewter turned from the stove and said gently, ‘You know how it is. It’s way above my pay grade to track down MFEs.’

  Seth felt utterly confused. ‘But then why are you here? Are you really investigating ghosts now?’

  ‘I told you your instincts are good, Seth,’ replied Pewter eventually, tasting a little of the sauce with a teaspoon. ‘Your trust and faith, admittedly, are lousy, but you are partly right. Look at the evidence and see if your theories fit. Do it the oth
er way around and you’ll never make a good detective.’

  Seth could only shake his head as Pewter went on.

  ‘I can tell you this much. This place does indeed have a magical history. I don’t think I am telling you anything top secret if I let you in on the fact that, yes, this was indeed the home of a very well-known sorcerer, one of those wanted MFEs, exactly as you say.’

  Pewter didn’t sound in the least bit excited, but Seth felt his heart start to beat faster. He’d guessed right! ‘Soul Snakesmouth!’

  ‘He practised a very shadowy brand of sinister magic. There was a lot of experimenting with dark-witching. Which, to be clear, is definitely banned magic.’

  ‘Darkwitching? What’s that exactly?’ It sounded dangerous.

  ‘The sort of thing likely to get you killed if you don’t know what you are doing.’

  Seth’s thoughts went back to the explosions he’d suffered just trying to do a simple door-shutting spell and thought uneasily of how Pewter and Nightshade kept trying to steer him away from experimenting with his mother’s tempting spells.

  ‘This place was put up for sale. Now, if you think about it, you should be able to work out what that means,’ went on Pewter, his blue eyes glittering. ‘Surely, first, S3 should be called, it should be cleaned; declared safe and magic free? Wouldn’t that be the responsible decision for the Elysee for an empty former home of a sinister sorcerer?’

  Seth could only nod.

  ‘Then understand this. I don’t need to call S3 because S3 have already been. Before it was sold, rest assured that the Snakesmouth Lighthouse was completely and thoroughly cleaned.’

  16. Dreaming of Tiffany Bunn

  Seth woke with a start, sweating. His heart racing, fearing that there was someone in the room. He looked about and it took him a few moments before he realized he was no longer at the Last Chance Hotel, the place he had lived his whole life.

  It was weird to wake in a strange room, but his fears had all been in his dreams. He’d been dreaming of Tiffany Bunn. Tiffany, whose greatest joy in life had been to find ways to torment Seth. Seth may have learnt about the existence of magic, but it was one of the most devastating things ever that Tiffany had too. And she had been determined to get some for herself. And Seth had not been able to stop her stealing the firefly cage, one of the scariest and most powerful devices of sinister magic ever invented.

  Seth moved his legs carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping form of Nightshade, curled on the end of the bed giving little snickering snores.

  He was thinking about the firefly cage. It was a terrifying prison that trapped a sorcerer and gained access to their magic. It was one of the most feared of all sinister magical devices and one had been kept in secret at the Last Chance Hotel. Now it was in the mean hands of the wicked Tiffany Bunn. Seth remembered his horror as he’d watched her using it, how a mesmerizing golden light had seemed to spill from between its intricate bars as she’d commanded dark magic to her will.

  It was difficult to shake off that dream of bright-haired Tiffany. He’d dreamt she had approached his bed, tiptoeing forward, leaning right over him with a gloriously triumphant smile; leaning so close that they breathed the same breath. She’d been muttering about how she was pleased to see him so her games could start again and she had been holding a thick slab of cake. She had been munching her way through it, watching him sleep, smiling her evil smile. Reminding Seth that he had failed and that Tiffany was still out there.

  Seth suppressed a shudder and swung his feet on to the floor. He should ask Pewter for some sort of spell to stop nightmares.

  Surprisingly, having had such a terrible dream, he’d awoken with renewed vigour, and was determined to get back to his plan of finding one spell he could demonstrate to the Elysee. He needed to practise his magic. It was the only way to stop Tiffany. He couldn’t just let her get away with it.

  Years of working in a hotel meant Seth was an early riser and he guessed he’d have a little time to practise some magic before anyone else surfaced wanting breakfast.

  After dressing in his bright-blue tunic, he took out his copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Really Easy-Peasy Magic, took a deep breath, flexed his fingers and promised himself that this was the day he would get something right.

  In the silence of the kitchen, he pored over the book. He could try that door-shutting spell again. This time he would really believe he could do it. He had to concentrate, because he could not afford to cause an explosion and blow the door off its hinges here.

  Nightshade padded in. ‘Ready when you are.’

  Seth grimaced at her. Deep down he felt this was going to be as big a disaster as ever. He was supposed to create a rush of air just by moving his hands. There weren’t even any magic words to utter.

  He tried several times, feeling Nightshade’s unwavering stare from her bright green eyes. He muttered something about the door being simply too big. He experimented with one of the smaller cupboard doors, but after ten minutes the strongest breeze was from Nightshade’s weary sigh. He then tried rolling some spherical fruit across the table, thinking surely that would be easy, but then downsized to a pea, and couldn’t so much as get that to the edge with the amount of air he could get to rush from his fingers.

  He closed his eyes and concentrated furiously, moving his hands, not too much, remembering the flames when he’d done this before. He thought he felt a rush of air and lifted his hands towards the door. The door moved!

  ‘What ho, young Seth.’

  The door closed with a slam and Pewter had to open it again to step through, looking momentarily confused. He could only have narrowly avoided squashing his nose. Had Seth done that? Or was it Pewter?

  ‘Good to see you practising. Was that your door-shutting spell?’ Pewter was dressed in his smart grey suit as usual and managed to look fresh – as if he’d got a several hours’ head start on the day.

  Seth hurriedly tidied away the apples and oranges he’d failed to move across the kitchen table and busied himself with making Pewter a cup of tea.

  When he got milk from the fridge, he noticed the remains of the fruit cake had gone. And most of the rest of the apple cake he’d made the day before. Someone must have been hungry and sneaked down in the night. He wasn’t surprised people had trouble sleeping after the storm and Mina’s death.

  Seth poured himself a tea too and sat alongside the inspector, who was turning the pages of the easy-peasy book, a small smile on his face.

  ‘This is the one you talked about, isn’t it?’ Seth asked. ‘This book was a present from your father. You learnt all your own early magic from it?’

  Pewter smiled. ‘Hope you get as much fun from it as I did.’

  Fun? Seth smiled weakly and began to make toast, wondering if this was the moment he should simply confess that he was an utter failure at magic. Confirm everything Nightshade had said, and ask for help. Deep down, he feared Pewter might abandon him if he knew just how bad he was.

  Instead, he muttered, ‘I can’t quite work out why anyone would need a door-shutting spell anyway.’

  Pewter added more milk to his tea and slathered his toast with butter and marmalade. ‘Ah yes, but that is the beauty of beginners’ magic. Think about it. What is it really? When you have mastered it, you will discover it’s a spell that gets things moving without you having to touch them. Useful! Doors are just perfect for practising. If novices started with something that wasn’t securely attached to a building it might lead to all kinds of difficulties.’

  Pewter poured more strong tea into Seth’s mug. ‘Ready for the day, Seth?’ he said. ‘A doctor is on the way from the mainland. Let’s go meet her. Rather her than me – the sea’s still pretty rough out there. Hope she hasn’t swallowed down her breakfast just before leaving or she might be seeing it all over again.’

  17. The Raw Salt of the Sea

  The sky was clear and innocent today. Seth waited on the beach at Gull Cove and the sea here looked pretty playful, ma
king him think of a naughty child determined to show everyone how well behaved it could be.

  He put up his hand against the glare of the sun and saw Rendleton approach, his hair wet and tousled; he was drying it with a towel.

  ‘Fierce morning for a swim!’ he yelled over the wind. ‘Can recommend it! Those waves are amazing. Nothing like it for getting the day off to a bracing start.’

  ‘Think I’ll leave you to it,’ said Pewter, hands deep in his pockets.

  Seth could only wonder at and admire anyone who would see it as an enjoyable challenge to swim in those waves, and was even more astonished to see Alfie bob into view behind Rendleton, scrambling over rocks, also in wet trunks. He must have been swimming too. Alfie was clutching a large pair of binoculars along with his beach towel. He had a huge smile on his face and looked much more like the confident boy who’d been so accurate with his catapult only yesterday.

  ‘Been getting him to come out with me most mornings,’ said Rendleton, as he drew level with Seth, his words no longer whipped away by the wind. ‘He’s turning into a pretty strong swimmer. We’ll have him racing me yet.’ He turned to grin at Alfie, his teeth standing out white in his bronzed face.

  Alfie looked up at Rendleton and give a shy smile. Seth hoped he’d had a peaceful night’s sleep, but also wondered if he might be the night-time cake thief.

  ‘Going to check out the seabirds?’ said Seth, nodding at the boy’s binoculars. ‘Good day for it. Guess quite a few might have been blown here by the storm.’

  ‘I’m getting good at telling them apart,’ responded Alfie proudly. ‘Most people can’t tell a cormorant from a shag, but I can now.’

  ‘That’s brilliant,’ said Seth. ‘Must be a big adventure, living on an island.’

  The cliffs and the air above them were constantly moving with twirling and calling seabirds. Seth watched one swoop down towards the beach then peel away to land on a ramshackle wooden building on the edge of the cove. ‘What’s that little house there?’