Big Change for Stuart

by Lissa Evans

  Stuart sat up straight and slapped a hand to his chin. If you looked carefully, you could still see a sort of little crease where he’d had two stitches.

  He scrambled to his feet, ran across to the arch and began peering at the mirrors.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Bored Stuart in a bored voice.

  ‘Looking for a Stuart with a tiny scar like the one I’ve got on my chin. Can you help?’

  ‘Sounds a bit boring.’

  ‘I’ll be able to find it,’ said Boastful Stuart. ‘I’m really, really observant – in fact my teacher says I’m the most observant child she’s ever met. She put that in my end-of-term report.’

  ‘Well, get on with it then,’ said Stuart, still searching.

  ‘I bet I can find it first,’ said Fit Stuart, bouncing on his toes. ‘Get ready. Get set. Go!’

  ‘What about a “loudest burp” competition instead?’ said Jokey Stuart, and then burped incredibly loudly, and raised his arms in triumph. ‘I’ve won!’

  Stuart felt a tap on his arm. It was Silent Stuart, and he was pointing at the other end of the arch. Stuart followed him across. Silent Stuart placed a finger on one mirror, and Stuart peered at the image. And there it was – the little indented scar on the chin.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Stuart hoarsely.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Silent Stuart.

  ‘So you can speak?’

  ‘Only when I have to.’

  ‘So what are you doing the rest of the time?’

  ‘Thinking.’

  ‘Oh. Perhaps I ought to do a bit more of that.’

  Silent Stuart grinned, and together they went back to the easel. Stuart fitted the mirror into the frame, and suddenly the vast dark space full of arguing, moaning, yawning, sprinting, burping Stuarts was empty. Only Stuart himself was left, and the mirror in the frame was now just a mirror. Stuart frowned, smiled and yawned, just to make sure that his reflection did the same, and then he went over to the arch again.

  It too had changed. Instead of rows of Stuarts, each mirror now showed the image of an identical letter.

  A wide silver W.

  The light began to fade slowly, as if someone were turning a dimmer switch. The silver letters dwindled and disappeared. For a second there was complete darkness, and then the light flashed on again, and Stuart was back in the museum, blinking with the shock of it.

  ‘At last!’ said April, who was sitting on the high bronze throne of the Reappearing Rose Bower, surrounded by the curling stems of a hundred metal flowers. ‘You’ve been ages and ages. And I’ve been dying to tell you what I’ve found.’

  ‘WHAT?’ ASKED STUART, still a bit dazed. When he’d left, the room had been sunlit, but now the sky through the window was heavy with dark clouds, and the odd drop of rain streaked the glass. ‘Just a moment,’ he added, going over to the Arch of Mirrors and retrieving the Magic Star from its socket. Before the adventure, it had had five spokes; now only four remained.

  April waited for him to return. She looked rather grand, sitting high on the throne, her legs crossed.

  ‘The reason I took ages was because I kept getting the wrong Stuarts,’ said Stuart. ‘How did you find the right April so quickly?’

  She shrugged. ‘Easy. Like I said, I just looked for the one that was me. The one with my expression.’

  ‘What expression’s that?’

  ‘Sort of decisive and determined. It’s what makes me stand out from my sisters.’

  ‘And what expressions have they got?’

  ‘June’s very, very serious and May’s just mad and hysterical.’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘You know, once you start observing instead of just guessing, you’ll find it quite easy to tell us apart,’ said April, sounding like a particularly bossy teacher. ‘Anyway, I want to explain about what I found. I was sitting here eating my lunch, and I accidentally dropped a grape down the side of the seat. When I tried to reach for it, I felt a funny little lever.’

  ‘What happens when you pull it?’ asked Stuart, suddenly curious.

  ‘I didn’t try,’ said April, looking a bit offended. ‘Obviously I was waiting for you.’

  ‘Well, try it now.’

  ‘OK.’

  April slipped her hand down next to the seat and pulled something.

  Clickety-clack.

  She let out a squeak of surprise as the twining rose stems snapped together into a tight thicket, surrounding the whole throne like a silver basket.

  For a moment Stuart couldn’t work out whether he was witnessing machinery or magic. ‘Are you still in there?’ he asked, trying to peer between the branches. He couldn’t see a thing.

  ‘Yes, I’m here.’ April sounded slightly nervous. ‘A sort of silver band has snapped across my middle. A bit like a seat belt.’

  ‘Pull the lever again,’ suggested Stuart.

  ‘OK. Here goes.’

  Clackety-click.

  This time she gave a loud scream.

  ‘April?’ called Stuart worriedly.

  ‘Get me out!’ she yelled. Some good hard kicks came from somewhere inside the illusion.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Hanging upside down. The whole throne flipped over.’

  ‘So that’s why there’s a seat belt,’ said Stuart thoughtfully.

  ‘But how do I get out?’

  ‘Pull the lever?’

  ‘OK.’

  Clickety-clack.

  Instantly the twining rose stems relaxed into their starting position, and Stuart could see the throne again.

  It was empty, though, and it looked somehow … different. There was a pattern on the seat that hadn’t been there before.

  He ran a hand over it and felt a trio of grooves beneath his fingers – a wheel with just three spokes.

  ‘It’s here!’ he exclaimed. ‘The place where the Magic Star goes. There must be two thrones, one on top and one underneath, and they revolve.’

  ‘Can I remind you,’ shouted April from somewhere directly beneath him, ‘that I am still hanging upside down in total darkness.’

  ‘Sorry. Try the lever again.’

  Clackety-click.

  With a rattle and a screech, the rose stems snapped shut once more, blocking the view of the throne.

  ‘Still upside down,’ shouted April, by now sounding rather cross.

  ‘Pull it again.’

  Clickety-clack.

  There was another scream from behind the basket of stems.

  ‘Right way up now,’ she called through gritted teeth. ‘One more pull.’

  Clackety-click.

  The bower screeched open to reveal April, looking red-faced, her hair sticking up in dusty clumps. She got out hastily. ‘That was not nice,’ she muttered, brushing herself down.

  ‘But we’ve found out how the trick works, and where the star goes,’ said Stuart encouragingly, trying to cheer her up.

  She folded her arms and looked back at the throne. ‘Hmm. There’s just one problem, though, isn’t there?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Who’s going to use it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You can only put the star in the right place when the lever’s been pulled and the seat’s flipped over. So only one of us will be able to go on the adventure. The other one will spend the entire time hanging upside down in a fifty-year-old metal box full of dust and insects.’ Delicately, she picked an earwig off her T-shirt and flicked it away.

  ‘Right,’ said Stuart, nodding. ‘I get you. In any case, it’s not the next adventure, it’s the one after next.’

  As he spoke, there was a brilliant flash outside, followed by the grumble of thunder. As lightning flooded the room, they both saw that there were three illusions now that failed to sparkle in the sudden brightness – the Well of Wishes, the Pharaoh’s Pyramid and the Arch of Mirrors.

  ‘I forgot to say – did you see a letter W,’ asked April, ‘reflected in the mirrors right at the very end?
’

  Stuart nodded. ‘So we’ve found an S and a W so far.’

  ‘I wonder …’ began April thoughtfully.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I wonder what they’re leading us to? We still don’t know, do we? When you were following the trail of coins, you knew you were searching for your great-uncle’s workshop. But one by one, we’re squeezing the magic out of these tricks – what’s going to be left at the end?’

  Before Stuart could think of a reply, his stomach gave a loud growl and he realized how hungry he was. He’d left his lunch box in the roomful of Stuarts and it seemed hours since breakfast. He checked his watch and was startled to see that it was a quarter past five.

  ‘Aren’t we supposed to be going somewhere?’ he asked, frowning.

  April smacked a hand to her mouth. ‘Clifford’s performance! I totally forgot!’

  They ran.

  THE ENTRANCE TO St Cuthbert’s church hall was down a dingy alleyway between a pub and a butcher’s shop. A board was propped against the wall, with the words: MAGIC SHOW THIS WAY, 6 P.M! handwritten on it, the letters blurred by the brief rain shower. A tiny queue was waiting outside the door. It consisted of a teenage girl, a very small boy and three older ladies.

  April got out her notebook and scribbled something.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Stuart.

  ‘I’m supposed to be writing a review for the Beech Road Guardian,’ she said. ‘I’m just setting the scene.’ She showed him what she’d written:

  ‘They don’t look very enthusiastic to me,’ said Stuart.

  The teenage girl was checking her make-up in a mirror, while the boy sucked on a huge gobstopper. He kept taking it out of his mouth to check whether it had changed colour.

  ‘Why’s it gone all wed?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t know,’ said the girl.

  ‘It was all gween and then it went all wed. How did it go all wed?’

  ‘No idea,’ said the girl. ‘You’ll drop it if you keep doing that,’ she added.

  ‘I won’t. Why isn’t it square? Why’s it wound?’

  ‘Because it just is.’

  One of the old ladies tapped the girl on the shoulder. ‘Is that your little brother?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Aren’t you a kind girl taking him out!’

  ‘Mum’s paying me,’ said the girl. ‘She said he was driving her mad with his questions.’

  ‘Why are we waiting here?’ asked the boy. ‘Why can’t we go in?’

  Just as he spoke, the door opened to reveal Clifford, dressed in a badly fitting silver suit and with a large sticking plaster on one hand.

  ‘Sorry to start so late,’ he said, ‘but I had a bit of a problem with the wild-animal finale. Come on in.’

  They filed into the hall. About a hundred chairs were arranged in rows, and a purple curtain drooped in front of the stage. Clifford disappeared behind it, and Stuart and April sat down in the front row. April did some more scribbling.

  ‘You make it sound as if his arm was hanging off,’ said Stuart.

  ‘Reviews have to be dramatic,’ replied April loftily, ‘otherwise no one will read them.’

  From behind the curtain came a short burst of spooky music, and then all the lights went out, apart from a flickering green EXIT sign above the door.

  ‘Oooh,’ said one of the old ladies. ‘Exciting!’

  There was a long pause before the curtains opened in a series of jerks, revealing a darkened stage. After a moment a desk lamp clicked on, and Clifford hurried into the feeble spotlight, pushing a small trolley decorated with silver stars.

  ‘Welcome,’ he said, ‘to the marvellously mysterious world of Mysterioso the Magician. A world where anything can happen – where red handkerchiefs can turn green …’

  He took a red handkerchief out of his pocket, stuffed it carefully into one fist, said, ‘Abracadabra,’ and pulled it back out again.

  ‘It’s gone gween!’ said the small boy in an awed voice. There was a smattering of applause.

  ‘A world where green handkerchiefs can turn red …’ continued Clifford, doing the same trick again, only in reverse.

  ‘And now it’s gone back to wed,’ said the small boy, slightly less awed.

  ‘Yes, a mysterious and magical world where a blue handkerchief can turn yellow …’ announced Clifford, taking a blue handkerchief out of his pocket, and doing the whole trick all over again. ‘And where a yellow handkerchief can turn blue!’

  This time, only Stuart and April applauded. ‘I’m getting a bit tired of handkerchiefs,’ whispered one of the old ladies rather loudly.

  Clifford grinned bravely. ‘A mysterious and magical world, ladies and gentlemen, where a white handkerchief can turn …’

  There was a wail from the small boy, and the noise of something small and round rolling across the floor.

  ‘I’ve dwopped it!’

  ‘I told you you’d drop it,’ said his sister irritably.

  ‘I’ve dwopped my sweet!’

  ‘Oh, the poor little chap’s dropped his gob-stopper,’ said one of the old ladies sympathetically. ‘Pam, have you got a toffee in your bag?’

  ‘Yes, I think I have. Hang on a moment.’

  ‘And a black handkerchief can turn white!’ shouted Clifford, trying to drown out the noise of wailing and rustling.

  ‘Bleach,’ said the old lady called Pam. ‘That’s how I turn my black handkerchiefs white. Or you can wash them in vinegar and leave them out in the sun.’

  ‘I use tissues,’ remarked her friend. ‘More hygienic.’

  Clifford used the white handkerchief to mop the sweat from his forehead. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘I just need a couple of moments to prepare my next trick.’

  It was while Clifford was rummaging around at the side of the stage that Stuart heard a tentative knock on the outside door. There was a pause, and then a second knock, and since Stuart was nearest to the end of the row, he walked across to open it.

  It was a small pale woman in overalls, a large canvas bag slung over one shoulder, a coil of cable over the other. ‘The hall caretaker called me about an electrical problem,’ she said. ‘Something about an exit sign that keeps going on and off.’

  Stuart nodded, and pointed up at the flickering sign above the door. ‘It’s there,’ he whispered, ‘but there’s a show going on at the moment.’

  ‘OK. Can I wait at the back till it’s finished?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  On the stage, Clifford clumped back into view. ‘Sorry to keep you,’ he said, ‘but I hope you’ll find it was worth the wait.’

  The next bit of the act was a card trick, during which Clifford dropped the entire pack on the stage and had to spend about a minute and a half crawling around picking them all up again. After that, he sawed a teddy bear in half and then placed a small pot plant into a disappearing cabinet.

  ‘And now we spin it round three times,’ he announced, ‘open the door and—’

  ‘It’s still there!’ yelled the small boy. ‘Why’s it still there?’

  Clifford slammed the cabinet door again, and gave a desperate smile. ‘There’s just time for the exciting animal finale,’ he announced. ‘I’ll take a moment to set it up.’

  He clumped off-stage again.

  April nudged Stuart. ‘What do you think?’

  Wordlessly he shook his head.

  Clifford reappeared carrying a large empty cage which he lowered, with an effort, onto the floor at the centre of the stage.

  ‘This cage,’ he announced, ‘is secure in every way. Do not be afraid, ladies and gentlemen, that the wild beast inside will escape and cause havoc and mayhem in the audience.’

  ‘But there’s nuffing inside!’ piped up the small boy indignantly.

  Clifford actually looked quite pleased at the interruption. ‘Aha!’ he said. ‘There’s nothing inside at the moment, but I shall drape this magical and mysterious cloak across the cage’ – he hung a silver c
ape over the front – ‘and say the magic word, and then you may discover that it’s not quite as empty as you think …’

  For the first time, an air of tension gripped the audience.

  ‘I fink it’s going to be a cheetah,’ whispered the boy, ‘or a buffalo, or a great big, huge, giant, horrible snake.’

  ‘I, er … don’t like snakes much,’ said April, sounding uncharacteristically nervous.

  Clifford stepped forward. He rapped the top of the cage solemnly three times, shouted, ‘Abracadabra!’ in a slow, booming voice, and then whipped the silver cape away again and stood triumphant.

  The occupant of the cage gave a slight snuffle.

  Without taking her eyes away from it, April nudged Stuart. ‘Am I going mad,’ she whispered, ‘or is that a hedgehog?’

  ‘YUP,’ REPLIED STUART. ‘That’s a hedgehog, all right.’

  The hedgehog gave a sneeze, trotted straight between the bars of the cage and rolled up into a ball near Clifford’s foot. Clifford bowed and the faded purple curtains swung shut. Only Stuart and April clapped; the rest of the audience left rather quickly, everyone (apart from the small boy) hurrying past a money box labelled:

  ‘Come on!’ called the boy’s sister. He dropped something into the money box and ran out after her.

  Stuart glanced at April, who was sitting with the notebook and pencil on her lap. ‘What on earth are you going to write in the review?’ he asked.

  ‘I have no idea,’ she said slowly. ‘That was the worst act I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and that includes watching my dad come last in a karaoke competition at my school in front of me and all my friends.’

  A door opened at the side of the stage, and Clifford came through, still dressed in his silver suit. He waved at them nervously. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘What do you think?’

  Stuart opened and shut his mouth a couple of times, but no sound came out.

  ‘Interesting,’ said April in an unconvincing squeak. ‘Unusual.’