The Young Magicians and the 24-Hour Telepathy Plot

by Nick Mohammed

  ‘Tell him what?’ Alex asked. He looked again at the lines of writing.

  Straight down the side.

  See the old has-been?

  Why does he still go on?

  A sad relic of better days?

  Enjoy the memories!

  I doubt they will last much longer.

  Deal yourself out, or we will.

  Easy! See you at the banquet.

  ‘Straight down the side!’ Sophie explained as the others looked at her, baffled. ‘It’s an instruction … It tells you how you’re meant to read the letter. Read the first bit of each of the following lines.’

  ‘See,’ Zack began … ‘Why. A. Enjoy.’

  ‘Not the words, Zack, the sounds. The first syllables.’

  ‘OK.’ Alex took over. ‘See. Why. A. En. Eye. Dee. Ee.’

  Jonny’s jaw dropped.

  ‘You just spelled out cyanide!’

  ‘And it ends … See you at the banquet …’ Zack groaned.

  Cynthia’s scream cut through the chatter in the dining room.

  ‘Zack, Sophie, Jonny, Alex – get here this instant!’

  Every voice, every clink, every slurp fell silent as the gaggle of magicians – old and young, plus Deanna – simultaneously turned towards the high table where President Pickle and other high-ranking members of the Council sat.

  Everyone at it had been noisily drilling into all sorts of food, as lions might dive into a gazelle, apart from President Pickle, who just sat there, bolt upright, like a very hungry rabbit, toying with the same bowl of soup for all four courses and salivating as the car headlights came towards it at 70 mph.

  But the president wasn’t bolt upright any more. For, in that split second, he had collapsed forward into a perfect 90-degree angle, lying face down in his bowl of soup.

  ‘Oh my God, they got him!’ Zack whispered, horror-struck. The threats had been real!

  The four friends leaped to their feet and immediately ran to the table, in answer to Cynthia’s summons.

  But President Pickle stirred and lifted his face halfway out of the bowl as green gobbets dripped all around him, like a soggy beast slowly rising from a swamp.

  ‘Yes!’ Zack shouted. ‘He’s alive!’ Then he saw how everyone was looking at him and remembered they weren’t meant to know about the notes or any impending doom. ‘I mean, um, of course, why wouldn’t he be? I’m just, you know …’ He pulled a desperate grin. ‘So happy …’

  ‘Stop talking now,’ Sophie whispered curtly.

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispered back.

  ‘Edmund! Darling! Look!’ Cynthia gushed, like all this was perfectly normal. ‘The Young Magicians are here! Just as you requested!’ she added with a look that suggested she was just as surprised by her husband’s final, desperate incantation (see the very start of the book if you wish, dear reader, and then skip right back to this place henceforth, thank you very much).

  President Pickle gestured them closer.

  ‘Find …’ he wheezed, his lips still bubbling with pea-and-mint slobber. ‘Find who’s doing this to me.’

  ‘You mean trying to harm you, sir?’ Sophie asked delicately.

  President Pickle opened an eye, which seemed semi-glued shut. ‘Even more important,’ he gasped, ‘find … out … who’s stopping … me from …’ His voice faded away in a muffled sob.

  They leaned in closer to hear the rest, and he seemed to gather strength. ‘From … eating!’ he screamed before plopping right back down into the half-empty bowl of soup like a frog doing a belly flop.

  11

  6 P.M.

  The handwriting on the paper was in neat copperplate, all squiggles and wiggles, so that Jonny actually had to squint to see what it was saying behind all the decoration as he read the verse out.

  ‘Pickle’s our most pompous president,

  But to bet for much longer I’m hesitant.

  If he doesn’t retire,

  He’ll attract our ire

  And soon in his coffin be resident.’

  Jonny uncrossed his eyes with a conscious effort.

  ‘So it wasn’t just the cyanide note. This one basically says that if he doesn’t step down, it’ll make them angry and he’ll end up dead.’

  President Pickle had plucked a wad of letters from an inside pocket, neatly wrapped in a ribbon, and handed it over before Cynthia could escort him away from the table, still doubled over and gripping his stomach as if ferrets were gnawing away at it from inside.

  The Young Magicians were now back in their room, commencing their investigation in the brief pause between the banquet and the Gala Show.

  ‘Maybe they’re just trying to starve him out,’ said Zack. ‘Make him too afraid to eat. Listen to this one.’

  ‘I say, I say, I say, what’s the difference between arsenic and Pickle’s neckties?’

  ‘I don’t know! What is the difference between arsenic and Pickle’s neckties?’

  ‘There isn’t one – they’re both completely tasteless!’

  Hope you’re watching what you eat, Pix.

  ‘So more poison,’ Zack finished.

  ‘There’s a definite theme here, isn’t there?’ Sophie said, trying not to sound sarcastic. ‘He gives up being president, or he gets poisoned to death. Talk about a Magician’s Choice! There’s slightly more at stake here than chocolate or carrot cake. Even if they’re only bluffing about the poison.’

  She shivered, like she had when she read the first note. There was something in these notes, like an echo hiding behind the words that only certain people could hear. Whoever wrote this really did not wish President Pickle well.

  ‘It’s certainly done the job of scaring him,’ agreed Alex, thinking of Pickle’s rumpled figure. Once, the man had filled his clothes so successfully that every button had been replaced at least twice a year, but now his dark blue suit hung on him like a malnourished scarecrow.

  ‘You can see why Cynthia was upset,’ Sophie said, ‘and why he didn’t want us involved.’

  ‘Hmm, yeah,’ Zack grunted.

  Of the four of them, he had the least reason to like President Pickle. The man deserved to have his picture in the dictionary under ‘pig-headed’. For once he had an idea in his head it was there to stay, and the more you tried to show him that he was wrong, the more convinced he became that he was right. Zack had suffered from being labelled a thief for a whole year, all because of President Pickle’s stubbornness. So it followed that the more anyone tried to force President Pickle into resigning, the more he would put his foot down and stay.

  Maybe putting him off his food was the cleverest thing to do, Zack thought. It was hitting him in the one place he could be hurt without actually finishing him off. But it was conniving, torturous and calculated and – to that extent – Zack didn’t like the sound of whoever was behind these threats one bit. Even if they did share a common dislike of President Pickle.

  ‘So, now we’re authorized to do this, where do we start?’ Sophie said with a twinkle in her eye that officially marked the start of their next mission. ‘I know who my money would be on, if I had to guess.’

  ‘Eric Diva,’ said the other three in unison.

  ‘He looked like he’d just been dropped into a cold bath from one thousand metres when President Pickle said he wasn’t going to retire,’ Jonny added, immediately realizing that such a fall wasn’t survivable. (Or maybe it was? Given the right gear and set-up … Jonny’s mind immediately began to weigh up the possibilities and he quickly pulled it back to the matter in hand.)

  ‘But, if it’s him, why save President Pickle’s life from that sword?’ Alex whispered. Alex was too used to being on the receiving end of unpleasantness from kids at school twice his height and half his intellect not to feel President Pickle’s humiliation and pain, but then something about all this just didn’t add up.

  ‘I mean,’ he went on, ‘if Eric Diva doesn’t want President Pickle to be president, then a tragic accident would be the way to do
it. No one would ever suspect him. Why go to such great lengths otherwise?’

  ‘Maybe he just wants to scare President Pickle into resigning.’

  ‘Well, in that case, we’ve got a little over thirteen hours to work it out,’ Sophie said. Everyone looked at her.

  ‘Thirteen hours?’ Zack remembered the Crown Jewels case taking much longer than that. He hadn’t realized there was time pressure. ‘How do you work that out?’ he asked.

  ‘Because that’s when the AGM is,’ Alex reasoned. ‘If he resigns, they’ll need to elect a new president – and the AGM is when all the Magic Circle officials get elected.’

  ‘Well then, we should get cracking!’ Jonny took a single step towards the door – which, with his legs, took him most of the way there, if not a notch further – before he realized they didn’t actually have a plan yet.

  ‘There’s the Gala Show coming up,’ Alex said. ‘We need to be there, and we need to keep our eyes peeled. Maybe someone will try something, or maybe someone will just give themselves away –’

  ‘But this time … the Young Magicians will be there to stop them!’ Zack vowed with a huge grin.

  The others looked at him oddly.

  ‘No offence, mate, but President Pickle hates you, and you know it …’ Jonny began.

  ‘So why are you so eager to help all of a sudden?’ Sophie finished. Zack smirked, and began to tick things off on his fingers.

  ‘One, I just don’t like whoever’s sending those letters. They’re mean, and I hate mean people. Two, it’s a mystery and I love mysteries. And three … Oh boy, three! Three …’

  They waited eagerly, and Zack’s smile grew impossibly wider.

  ‘Three, it will so tick him off if we solve it!’ He beamed at them, hands held out like he’d just pulled off the most amazing trick and was now waiting for the applause, just as a formality.

  ‘That does make sense,’ Jonny agreed, ‘in a bizarre, Zack-like sort of way. I mean, Zack-logic doesn’t always follow everyone else’s …’

  ‘I do use a superior system,’ Zack agreed.

  If they saved President Pickle’s life, he would never live it down!

  12

  7 P.M.

  The ballroom was packed when the four friends arrived. Jonny spied four seats together, at a table with a mousy-looking couple in their mid-thirties, and they started to push their way there before Deanna or anyone else could waylay them. As they headed over, they noticed Hugo, Salisbury and Charlie at one table, and Max, Jackson and Mayhew at another, sharing out a packet of biscuits.

  Well, Zack thought, at least some good has come out of this convention!

  They reached the table, and the couple there gave them a cheery wave as they drew closer. At first Alex thought the couple must be brother and sister – it was an easy mistake to make. They wore matching cashmere jumpers and fake grins, as if they were a little afraid to be here and trying hard not to show it. The man also had an extra-large gold crucifix around his neck, so big it could have been a prop. He leaped to his feet as they pulled their seats back and pumped their hands so vigorously that the crucifix came loose and dangled wildly in the four’s field of vision.

  ‘Hi! Clive and Victoria Gore!’ Clive announced in a Canadian accent. ‘And you’re the Young Magicians! Gee, this is great!’

  ‘Heh. Yeah. That’s us,’ Zack said weakly. He was running out of polite smiles and acknowledgements at being recognized.

  Victoria giggled before placing a protracted kiss on Clive’s lips, her eyes – bizarrely – still trained on the other four. Crikey, if this weekend wasn’t turning out to be weird enough as it was!

  Alex stared as he turned a bright, burning red.

  ‘B-but … aren’t you …’

  ‘Brother and sister? No! Married,’ Clive added. ‘But some people say we do actually look quite alike!’

  ‘Bing-bong!’

  Eric Diva was onstage, doing what he did best.

  ‘Hello, ladies and gentlemen, how wonderful to see you all here tonight! Especially after the events of this afternoon. The near miss, let’s call it! Wow, wasn’t that something!’

  Sophie noticed that the near victim of the near miss was only sitting a few metres away from him. President Pickle’s grin was as fixed as a frozen skeleton’s. Full marks for tact, Eric!

  Well, if Eric Diva were hiding anything to do with the earlier debacle, Sophie thought, he certainly wasn’t afraid of talking about it. But then maybe that was a double bluff. Or not. Grrr. What were they not seeing?

  ‘Anyway, welcome to the Gala Show. We’re here! We’ve made it! A place for our peers to prove their prowess of prestidigitation and …’ He trailed off, a little helpless as he tried to think of another word that also started with P and that could top ‘prestidigitation’.fn1

  ‘Anyway, a few safety announcements,’ he continued, filling the void like a plug. ‘In the event of a fire, the emergency exits are – well, actually there aren’t any, so we’ll have to magic our way out of here. Good luck, ha ha!’

  Yes. Way to warm up an audience, Eric, thought Alex. Make jokes about everyone dying a horrendous death while piled on top of each other inside this strange place.

  At last Eric Diva did himself a favour and came to the end of his spiel. ‘Anyway, enough of me. To open our fantabulous proceedings, all the way from Vancouver, please welcome Clive and Victoria Gore, aka the utterly astonishing, the utterly ravishing Resurrectio-o-o-n!’

  He held his hand out to the table where the Young Magicians were sitting. Absolutely nothing happened. The Gores had their eyes closed and hands clasped together, deep in prayer.

  ‘Jonny – sorry!’ said Eric Diva, getting his attention. ‘Do you want to give them a nudge so that we can begin, please?’

  Jonny delicately prodded Clive in the cheek, causing him to open his left eye a crack. He was evidently a little miffed at having had his conversation with the good Lord interrupted, but smiled politely all the same, conscious that – despite what he was feeling – the good Lord wouldn’t want him to go BALLISTIC at this mild intrusion.

  The couple got to their feet and sidled nervously towards the stage as Eric Diva moved off to the side.

  ‘OK,’ said Clive, ‘so one of the main things we like to do before a performance is to pray.’

  ‘Yes, we find it’s the best thing to help focus the mind and prepare the body before going onstage,’ Victoria added, clasping her husband’s hand for encouragement.

  The four Young Magicians looked at Cynthia and President Pickle, seated at the nearest table to the stage, their expressions indifferent, clearly not wishing to overly endorse this idea nor reject it outright.

  ‘So if we’d all like to bow our heads,’ said Victoria in a soft voice.

  Oh right … they were actually going ahead with this!

  Clive and Victoria reached the stage and knelt down side by side, facing the audience, their hands held aloft.

  Sophie looked round the room as everyone slowly bowed their heads. She raised her hand.

  ‘What do you do if you’re not religious?’ she asked confidently. Victoria looked at Sophie pitifully, like she’d just announced she had a terminal disease, biting her lower lip before eventually deciding on her answer.

  ‘You just go along with it anyway, dear daughter of Eve.’

  Unconvinced, Sophie bowed her head about halfway, though not before sneaking a sideways look at Zack, who mouthed at her, ‘Me neither!’

  Cynthia shot them both a warning glance from the front, raising her eyebrows. Behave, you four!

  ‘OK, let us pray …’ said Clive solemnly from the stage. ‘We pray that the performance we’re about to give in front of our valued colleagues of the Magic Circle today goes well and that we don’t make any mistakes.’

  ‘Hear our prayer,’ added Victoria solemnly as a coda, in case the Almighty had any trouble knowing when her husband had come to the end of his sentence/latest request and was about to start the next.
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  Clive continued piously. ‘We pray that these youngsters – who have been granted the freedom to attend the convention this weekend – may learn from us such that when they come of age in a few years’ time they too will be offered full membership of the Magic Circle and may flourish like us.’

  ‘Hear our prayer,’ repeated Victoria humbly.

  ‘We pray that everyone’s performances at this convention go well. Even for those non-Christians.’

  ‘Hallelujah, praise Jesus!’

  And then as a quick addendum Clive rattled off, ‘We also pray for Steve and Jane in their performance as Ying and Yang today and hope that their accents are good and the balloons don’t pop or anything like that.’

  Clive and Victoria kept their arms aloft in silence for several seconds before finally opening their eyes and getting to their feet again. ‘Do you wanna press play?’ said Clive to Eric Diva quietly, not wanting to ruin the reverent atmosphere.

  Eric Diva catapulted offstage and came back with a battered tape recorder, which was probably worth a lot as an antique.

  A honky-tonk piano started to play noisily out of the speakers, crackling with too much reverb, playing heavy major chords: the opening few bars to ‘Shine, Jesus, Shine’. Clive and Victoria took their places either side of the stage area, blowing each other a kiss and getting into position, ready to give the performance of their lives.

  And …

  Oh – my – God! Sophie and a lot of others thought, quite literally, over the next few minutes.

  The room looked on, gobsmacked, as Clive and Victoria smoothly, flawlessly, seamlessly, extraordinarily re-enacted a handful of classic scenes from the Bible using a couple of dog-eared magic props.

  ‘The virgin birth!’ Clive announced, gesturing grandly at his wife.

  Victoria produced a red handkerchief out of nowhere.

  So far, so normal, thought Alex, who had several spare hankies stored up the large sleeves of his blazer for just this sort of occasion.