by Steph Matuku
“You look fabulous, darling,” said Miss Pumbleduff, almost as if she’d known what Whetū was thinking. “Even the short-sighted man in the very back row will be able to make out the features on your pretty face. But it doesn’t quite go with your costume.” She turned to the magician, who was passing. “Unless you’re trying something new? A rustic theme, perhaps?”
Whetū gave a little squeak of dismay as she looked down. She was still in her jeans and red jersey, which had bits of straw clinging to it.
“The Mighty Mikaere! Five minutes till curtain, Mr Mighty Mikaere!” shouted the boy in the old-fashioned cap by the stage door.
Whetū leapt to her feet and scrambled for the dress racks. With clumsy fingers she shuffled through the costumes. Her shoes were there but her dress … where was her dress? She forced herself to breathe slowly. Deeply in. Deeply out. She shuffled through the costumes again, and there it was, half hidden by a giant chicken suit. After a quick look around to check no one was watching, she scrambled out of her clothes and into the spangled dress. With shaking fingers she smoothed it over her hips and stepped into her shoes.
“The Mighty Mikaere! Two minutes till curtain, Mr Mighty Mikaere!”
The magician appeared at her elbow, looking splendid in a crisp black tuxedo and a dashing red cape. “Time to go. Are you ready?”
He steered her towards the stage door. The boy in the old-fashioned cap leapt to open it and gave them a funny little bow.
“Onwards we go,” said the magician, and they passed through the door into darkness.
21
– THE SHOW –
At first there was only black, like the nothingness of a very deep sleep. But then, as though she was waking, light crept in. Whetū heard a thread of grand orchestral music, growing louder and louder like a stereo being turned up. There came a burst of applause which eventually faded away to an expectant hush, and at her feet shone a thin gold bar of light illuminating the cabinet in which she waited.
She let out her breath in a wobbly sort of whoosh, and with fumbling fingers, felt for the little black cord that hung to her left.
She grasped it almost immediately and waited for her cue. The Mighty Mikaere was chatting away to the audience. Every now and then they would either laugh or gasp in amazement.
“Being in front of an audience,” the magician had told her, “is like taming a savage creature. You can make it yours, make it dance to your bidding, make it humble, make it beg for more. But never forget that it is a wild animal, and it can turn on you in an instant.”
It sounded as though he had the beast tamed. They were doing exactly as the magician had predicted. The orchestra broke into a rousing tune, and Whetū knew that the Grand Mikaere was pulling scarves out of an empty box, hundreds and hundreds of scarves which would pile up on the floor of the stage. And then when he was ready and the audience had finished clapping, he would wave a hand, and out from the scarves would appear a white pigeon, and then another and another – ten in all. The pigeons would fly about in figure of eights and loop-de-loops, and eventually they would settle on the magician’s outstretched arms. And then with a shout and a clap of his hands, they would vanish.
She could see it all happening in her mind’s eye, as if she were really there. The audience gasped and clapped frantically as the pigeons disappeared, and then there was another gasp. Whetū knew they’d suddenly realised that while their attention had been diverted, the hundreds of scarves piled up on the floor had somehow disappeared too, to be replaced by a single white handkerchief. She could imagine him, with a smile on his face, bending to pick it up, folding it and popping it into his breast pocket before taking a deep bow.
There was such a storm of clapping, it almost drowned out the orchestra.
Whetū clutched the cord tightly. It was nearly time.
The cupboard shuddered, and she knew it had been pushed into the centre of the stage. She kept her balance as it was pushed this way and that. And then she heard him say, “And may I introduce you to my beautiful assistant, Whetū?”
She pulled the cord. The cupboard collapsed and she stood half blinded by the sudden flood of golden light about her, raising her arms high. The applause was much louder than when she’d been surrounded by four walls. She remembered to turn to her right, as she’d been instructed, and made a deep bow to the King and Queen. They were seated in the royal box, quite close to the stage.
As Whetū rose from her bow, she sneaked a peek. The Queen was dressed in rose pink, and her cheeks were flushed with happiness. The King wore a robe of regal blue and gold, and he too was smiling at Whetū. Both inclined their heads graciously, and the stones in their royal crowns gleamed.
It was a thrilling moment for Whetū. Half forgetting herself, she beamed at them and gave a little wave. The audience laughed, and at once she remembered what she was there for. Embarrassed and blushing, she did as she was supposed to, turning to the front and bowing to the audience. They applauded loudly. She spotted her mother, beaming with pride, her clapping hands a blur of movement.
“Very good,” muttered the magician. “Taming wild animals already.”
She smiled at him, and he waved her to the side of the stage. Thanks to all the rehearsing, she knew exactly what to do, and she felt calm and confident. It didn’t matter that there were hundreds of people out there. She couldn’t see them properly behind the glare of the stage lights anyway, but she could feel them, watching and waiting.
From the wings of the stage, she brought out a large, oval, brass-framed mirror, raised off the ground with wheels underneath. She carefully tapped the glass front, showing the audience it was solid. Then she turned it about so they could see there was nothing behind it, only the bronze metal backing. She even stood behind it and wiggled her sparkling slippers underneath. When she’d made it clear it was just a plain old mirror, she turned it to face the audience so they could see themselves in it.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on feeling her magic. There it was, in the pit of her stomach. She brought it up into her body and imagined it moving into her arms and legs. Her fingers began to tingle, and she knew it was there. The Mighty Mikaere was speaking to the audience, giving her time. She opened her eyes and winked at him to let him know she was ready.
“When you look into a mirror, you usually see only what is reflected,” he said. “But sometimes you can see beyond the reflection. Sometimes you can see what isn’t even there.”
As he spoke, Whetū walked slowly and deliberately behind the mirror. For an instant the mirror shielded her from the audience, and in that moment she stepped into it.
The audience gasped. They could see her, inside the mirror, smiling and waving behind the glass. The Mighty Mikaere stepped forward and deftly turned the mirror about, this way and that. And then he threw a velvet curtain over the top and wheeled the mirror to the side of the stage to face him. Backing up one, two, three paces, he took a small black gun from his pocket. He aimed it at the mirror and said to the audience, “Don’t worry. I shouldn’t think it will hurt a bit.”
The audience clapped their hands to their mouths, and one woman gave a little scream.
And then the magician pulled the trigger.
22
– DANGEROUS MAGIC –
The bullet hit the mirror with an explosive pop! and the glass shattered. The velvet cover prevented the sharp shards from flying everywhere, and they slid neatly to the ground in a glittering, tinkling heap. The magician strode forward and tugged the cloth from the mirror. One sharp piece of glass still hung from the top of the frame, and as the audience watched, it trembled and fell to the ground, landing on top of the pile with a crash.
The magician threw the cover over the glass and strode away, tucking the gun back into his pocket.
“It’s not a real gun,” he remarked in the hush of the auditorium. “It’s just an air gun that fires tiny pellets. That’s the only reason why I was allowed to bring it on stage.” He bowed to
their Majesties in their box. “It’s big enough to shatter a mirror, but too small to hurt a person.”
There was a cry from the audience. The red velvet covering the pile of shattered glass was moving. The fabric billowed and swelled and elongated and rose slowly into the air. With one dramatic swoop, the magician yanked the cloth away. The broken glass had completely disappeared, and there stood Whetū, beaming a smile that even a short-sighted man in the back row could have seen. She bowed, and the audience burst into wild applause.
“Well done,” said the magician in an undertone.
“Thank goodness that last piece of glass fell,” whispered Whetū. “Or I might have come back with my hand or foot missing.”
She took the bundle of velvet and wheeled the mirror offstage. As she placed the heavy frame near the back wall, out of harm’s way, a sound made her pause. She cocked her head to listen, but the audience was still clapping, and she couldn’t tell if it was indeed something or nothing at all. The applause slowed and eventually faded away, and in the swelling silence, there came a familiar muffled squeal that sent a shudder down her back.
She peered into the gloom, straining her eyes. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it. It was the carnivorous lamb, sniffing thirstily behind the props and ropes and pulleys and bits of scenery that littered the backstage area. But how on earth had it managed to get here? Surely it couldn’t have found its way through the dressing room door by itself?
And then she caught sight of a floppy ear poking out from behind a painted tree, and understood everything. Errant hadn’t got rid of the lamb at all. He’d hidden it, and had brought it to the magician’s show to cause mischief and mayhem, and perhaps even … murder.
The squeal came again, loud and fierce. The lamb had gambolled the length of the backstage area and was working its way towards the wings on the other side.
“Whetū?” The magician was in the middle of the stage beckoning to her, a quizzical eyebrow raised. She’d missed her cue, and everyone was waiting. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except stare helplessly at the lamb who had sidled onto the stage, stepping lightly across the wooden floorboards like a ballet dancer on pointe shoes. Its eyes were fixed on the magician, its little mouth open in a hungry grimace, revealing a row of sharp, pointed teeth.
It bent its head and charged.
Suddenly, Whetū found herself moving, fast. The audience watched with their mouths open. First a white blur from the right, and now Whetū, from the left and in the middle, the hapless magician holding a top hat and magic wand, wearing an expression of comical surprise.
Whetū got there first and shoved the magician out of the way, sending him to the floor. The lamb skidded on all four feet right past them. Quickly it regained its balance and turned about, readying for another charge, but was distracted by its first sight of the audience.
It widened its eyes. An entire room filled with a veritable banquet of tender, delicious human flesh ready to be plundered and torn and devoured! The lamb trembled all over with joy. It swung around to face Whetū again, glaring at her with hard brown eyes. Whetū knew that out of all the morsels in the room, she was the most delectable, because she was the animal keeper, the one in charge of keeping it imprisoned in a cage. The lamb wanted revenge. It wanted to eat her first.
The magician struggled on the floor, entangled in his long cape. His wand had snapped in half and was sparking and smoking. “Whetū! What on earth?”
Whetū didn’t answer. She was readying herself for the charge. When it came, she didn’t try to dodge it. She simply jumped, and the lamb shot underneath her. It scrabbled for balance as it turned back towards her again. It was furious now.
Some of the audience were murmuring amongst themselves, no doubt wondering what was happening. The Queen leaned over to her husband, her face concerned. The King rose to his feet and called out, “What is the meaning of this?”
At the sound of his voice, the lamb turned its attention to the King. It licked its lips, a long drooling strand of saliva puddling at its feet. It backed up a few paces and charged. It reached the edge of the stage and leapt gracefully through the air towards the King’s throat, its teeth bared in rage and hunger.
There wasn’t time for anyone to do anything. The audience was mesmerised. The magician had only just got to his feet. Whetū was the King’s only hope. Reaching down inside herself, she mustered up all the magic the magician had given her. This time it didn’t just make her fingers and toes tingle – the magic exploded out of her in an arc of colourful sparks that fizzed and crackled through the air. The sparks hit the lamb right across its woolly flank. The lamb stiffened. Its fleece turned from white into a rainbow of colours that dazzled everyone. An instant later the lamb was transformed into a shimmering, silken ribbon. It fluttered down, and the King caught it before it hit the floor. He held it up in great astonishment.
Someone clapped, and the rest of the audience joined in, louder and louder until the applause sounded like a storm of heavy raindrops on a tin roof. They got to their feet and cheered.
Backstage, Errant thumped one hind foot on the ground in a furious temper and darted off out of sight. The magician stood frozen and bewildered. And at his feet lay Whetū, her eyes closed, body motionless, face as grey as death.
23
– RECOVERY –
The sensation was similar to when she’d passed from the dressing room onto the stage, but this time the darkness was like a sea of thick black syrup, dragging at her legs and weighing her down. Whetū felt incredibly tired. She could hear her mother calling her, and she waded slowly towards her name, heard the voice grow louder and closer … it was almost within reach …
“Whetū! Whetū!”
Whetū opened her eyes. Her eyelids felt heavy and strange, and the world looked blurry. She blinked, and everything came into sharp focus again. She was lying on a little red chaise in the dressing room. Mum and the magician were leaning over her in concern. A woman in a white coat embroidered with the words Professional Stage Doctor held Whetū’s wrist in one hand while checking her watch.
“Her pulse is perfectly normal,” the doctor said. “Just a faint. Probably all the excitement. She’ll just need a little rest and something sweet to bring her blood sugar levels up a bit.”
Just a faint? Was that all? No, it had been more than that. Everything inside her felt heavy and flat, as though there was nothing cheery to look forward to ever again. And with sadness and disappointment, she realised that the magical tingling she’d grown accustomed to had gone. She’d lost her magic.
Something beeped, and the doctor pulled out a little gadget from her pocket, checking the screen.
“Oh dear. Two trapeze artists have collided mid-air at a circus in Dublin. I’d better go. Can’t leave them hanging around.”
“Thank you, doctor,” said the magician.
“Yes, thank you,” said Mum in a wobbly voice. Her eyes were red from crying.
The door boy in the old-fashioned cap swung the door open with a little bow, and the doctor bustled through. Whetū caught a glimpse of a large colourful tent packed with people looking skyward, before the door closed again.
“Oh, Whetū.” Mum gathered her up into a big hug. “I was so worried!”
“I’m fine, Mum,” Whetū said, patting her back comfortingly. She looked over her shoulder to the magician. “What happened? How are the King and Queen? Is everyone all right?”
The magician flapped a calming hand. “Never mind, never mind. I managed to vanish you backstage before anyone noticed. The King now has a beautiful ribbon to tie up his topknot, thanks to you. And most of the audience were none the wiser. Just another fabulous performance from The Mighty Mikaere.”
The magician didn’t look happy, though. His eyes were piercing as they looked at her – through her.
Whetū hung her head. “I should have told you about the carnivorous lamb. But I didn’t want to get Errant in trouble.”
�
��Sometimes it’s more trouble to keep quiet than it is to speak up.”
“I know. He’d been trying to turn the lamb back to normal for ages, and then–”
“He gave up and tried to kill us all instead,” the magician said flatly.
“I never liked that rabbit,” Mum said, smoothing Whetū’s hair back from her forehead.
“Nobody did, darling,” drawled a voice. It was Miss Pumbleduff, sashaying into the room, carrying what looked like a very large purple hatbox with a big ribbon on top. “Never trust anyone who smiles with their teeth but not with their eyes. Especially a bunny with a bad attitude.”
She gave the box a sharp shake. There was a thump from inside and a muffled cry of indignation. “Let me out! Let me out!”
Whetū sat up, her eyes wide. “Is that–”
“It is. I found him hiding under a pile of my feathered fans. His sneezing gave him away. Silly place to hide, but then, he’s not very smart.”
“Give him to me.” The magician’s tone was so icy that Whetū shrank back against her mother, half-afraid, even though she knew the magician wasn’t angry with her.
Miss Pumbleduff dropped the hatbox carelessly on the floor, and the magician raised a hand.
“What will you do with him?” Whetū asked.
“I will do what he would have done to us,” the magician said.
There was a tremendous rattling and thumping from the hatbox as Errant tried to kick his way out, but the box was strong, and it merely teetered back and forth.
Blue and purple fire crackled between the magician’s fingers. He lifted his hand higher, about to throw a bolt of energy that would silence Errant forever, when Whetū reached up and grabbed his arm. “No, wait! Stop!”