The Young Magicians and the 24-Hour Telepathy Plot Read online

  He flicked his wrist back and forth again, several times, before another pack of cards finally appeared in his hand.

  ‘… which kind of gives the game away,’ he finished. ‘It would be cooler if it was all a lot more seamless.’

  ‘I bet Jonny could come up with something for that too,’ Sophie suggested.

  ‘Hmm.’ Jonny rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘I’m sure I can rig up a feeder mechanism that will put whatever you want right into your hand, whenever you want it.’

  ‘That would be so cool! Thanks!’ Alex said happily. He had the highest regard for the technical skills of Jonny Haigh – the boy who successfully rigged up a one-and-a-half-mile-long zip-line from Euston to Buckingham Palace – and it knocked him out to think that Jonny would use those skills for him.

  Meanwhile, there was a cake to eat. Alex picked up his fork again – and blinked in bafflement at the scattering of chocolaty crumbs on the napkin.

  ‘You know how we were talking about misdirection and maintaining eye contact …’ Sophie said indistinctly as she chowed down on the last of the cake.

  The three boys gaped, and then they all burst out laughing.

  It wasn’t just that Sophie had nicked the cake from right under their noses without them noticing. She had set them up so that they wouldn’t notice. First she had planted the idea, by pretending she wasn’t interested in the slightest. Then she’d deliberately allowed them to be diverted on to other matters like Alex’s blazer and feeder mechanisms for switching decks of cards – and, while they were all at it, she had just taken the cake – plain and simple – making it all so natural and obvious that they hadn’t even noticed.

  And this was the way it went for the next hour or so as the four friends continued to hurtle towards Blackpool, entertaining each other with a six-month backlog of tricks, ideas, MORE CAKE and a hell of a lot of general catching up. And wow, did they have a lot to catch up on! The last time the Young Magicians had been in such frenzied discussion was when they were standing in front of the Queen of England, explaining to Her Majesty exactly how a bunch of thieves were about to steal her precious Crown Jewels. Or not, as it actually turned out, thanks to the four’s quick-wittedness.

  The story now followed them about wherever they went, like some delicious perfume. ‘Wow, isn’t that one of the Young Magicians?!’ (And you can read all about it in The Young Magicians and the Thieves’ Almanac, in which our four heroes meet for the first time. Go on, you know you want to!)

  Not that it had gone to any of their heads, of course. Zack, Sophie, Jonny and Alex probably had about as much combined ego as a horsefly (that’s to say very little, apart from the one horsefly who flies about once a year blatantly thinking he or she is IT!).

  What really counted was the way things had changed within the Magic Circle as a result of the Young Magicians. For anyone not familiar with it, the Magic Circle is for magicians what NASA is for astronauts. Kind of. Either way, the society was now indebted to the four, not least because of the Queen’s rather generous (tax-free) donation, saving them all from financial oblivion. But the events had sparked an even greater change – not that it had been fully implemented yet, but a new-found respect for junior members was beginning to pervade the society in the same way that a warm breeze might disturb a winter’s chill.

  Of course, there were still older members who only accepted any changes through gritted teeth, who thought these younger magicians were invading their territory, but then proper change took time. Especially when dealing with the likes of HRH (His Royal Haughtiness) President Pickle and society treasurer Bill Dungworth, who often took about four years to change his tie, let alone something like his mind. (And his socks? Well, once a week or so – he wasn’t an animal …)

  Anyway, one such change (for the good) that had happened quickly was that junior members of the Magic Circle were now permitted to attend the Annual Convention (according to clause 5.50/1, subsection B of the newly amended constitution, subject to confirmation based on how well the whole thing went this weekend). And this was where Zack, Sophie, Jonny and Alex found themselves headed right now.

  ‘I wonder what mischief we can get up to?’ said Jonny, jiggling his eyebrows up and down to show that all kinds of intriguing possibilities were already running through his head.

  ‘Don’t get too excited,’ said Sophie, smiling. ‘We’re heading to Blackpool, not Las Vegas!’ Which was a fair distinction, though perhaps a little unfair on Blackpool. But, at the same time, Sophie casually reached into her pocket and brushed her fingertips against the edge of a piece of paper there. Oh yes, Sophie had her own reasons for looking forward to the convention.

  ‘Something tells me we’re bound to stumble across something to solve,’ said Zack eagerly, relishing the prospect of another magical adventure with his three best friends.

  ‘Yeah, magicians are a weird bunch at the best of times,’ said Jonny. ‘Put them all in the same hotel for a long weekend and surely all hell breaks loose!’

  And, just as if it was listening in and agreeing wholeheartedly with Jonny, the train responded with a loud, two-tone honk!, which would have been even more effective had it emitted a rush of steam at the same time, but steam trains hadn’t run on this particular branch of train line since 1964. FACT!

  2

  9 A.M.

  ‘HI!’

  Imagine a ball of expensive, brightly coloured, designer-label clothes wrapped round an explosion barrelling towards you at a hundred miles an hour, and you’re in the cramped vestibule area of a train with nowhere to run.

  That was how the four friends felt as the train began to trundle into Blackpool station. Except, they all realized at about the same time, it wasn’t an explosion ball. It was Deanna.

  It hadn’t really occurred to the four of them until then that now junior members of the Magic Circle could come to the convention, they might not be the only ones taking up the offer. Jonny ran through the names of the other juniors in his head. There could be Max: Yay! There could be Hugo: Hmm …

  ‘I’VE MISSED YOU SO MUCH!’

  Deanna yanked Sophie into a hug so tight that Sophie’s ribs began to creak. Alex, Jonny and Zack stood back with bemused expressions on their faces. Was this really the same Deanna from six months ago? The same Deanna who despised Sophie and who could go from zero to full-on nuclear meltdown in less than a nanosecond?

  A middle-aged woman in exactly the same outfit was hovering in the background, trying not to get too involved. Sophie just had time to realize that this was Deanna’s mum when:

  ‘WHY DIDN’T YOU EVER WRITE BACK TO ME?!’

  Ah yes, this was more like it! Sophie looked at the younger girl, trying to fathom what best to say, for not even a master mentalist like Derren Brown could predict the erratic behaviour of someone like Deanna.

  ‘I’ve just … I’ve just had a lot on,’ Sophie answered rather feebly.

  She had frankly been overwhelmed and mildly disturbed by the sheer volume of letters Deanna had sent since the last time they met. Most were vague extensions of friendship, now that Sophie was somewhat of a celebrity. Some were ravings about who or what was Deanna’s latest obsession at school (mostly boys, but there were several times when Deanna wrote exclusively about her sequined fidget spinner), some were the starts of bizarre works of fiction (Sophie presumed – hoped), and others were lists of things Deanna would like for Christmas and/or forthcoming birthdays and/or other times Deanna felt she should be at the receiving end of a gift, which in a typical year of 365 days was somewhere in the region of 363 to 365.

  Notably, Sophie observed, none of her correspondence was about magic. Not that she would have paid too much attention if it was – for Deanna had about as much genuine magical skill and interest in magic as a tin of corned beef – but there wasn’t a club in the country Deanna hadn’t once been a part of and, while magic was still on her list of current fads, they were lumped with her.

  The two girls looked at each oth
er, Sophie biting her lower lip awkwardly, not knowing what else to say, and hoping she hadn’t already started a chain reaction of almighty tantrums to mark the start of the weekend, like an explosion of ironic fireworks. Deanna breathed through her nose, closing her eyes, like a dragon preparing to break wind.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said with sudden, almost eerie, calmness. Then she grabbed Sophie by the shoulders and shook her. ‘We can just catch up ALL weekend instead!’

  Sophie did her best to appear delighted. Although, if truth be told, this was about as restrained as Deanna had ever been about anything, so perhaps things were improving. Slightly.

  ‘Well, that’ll be nice for you!’ whispered Jonny as Deanna barged her way towards the train door.

  ‘NO, I WANT TO BE THE FIRST ONE TO PUSH THE BUTTON!’

  Sophie gave Jonny a friendly thump, not knowing which was worse: maintaining her position as Deanna’s ultimate nemesis or the prospect of becoming her new best friend.

  ‘There’s Cynthia!’ Alex said happily, peering through the window as the doors unlocked.

  ‘Right, all junior members follow me, please!’ Cynthia called as the first passengers began to appear on the platform. She clapped her hands loudly, accidentally catching her left thumb in the string of beads permanently attached to the ends of her glasses (and now semi-permanently caught round the end of her thumb).

  Cynthia was in her absolute element. Not only was this the first time her beloved junior members were allowed (as an ‘experiment’ – see the latest council minutes) to attend the Magic Circle’s Annual Convention, but Blackpool was where she and President Pickle had first met.

  It was a good few decades ago now, of course, but the place still thrilled her, just like it did back then when she first rode the big dipper, her soon-to-be-hubby howling with glee (he’d had a sense of humour in those days) as he munched his way through several bags of crisps and candyfloss (before violently throwing up). Cynthia could still smell it in the air (not the sick) and it made her feel good. Something she hadn’t felt in a number of weeks now, not least because of the letters:

  those unfathomable,

  sinister

  and terrifying letters.

  At first Cynthia had thought they were a joke. At least she told herself she thought they were a joke. It seemed to make the problem go away. But then they kept on coming. She’d tried to hide them – for President Pickle was prone to lolling around in bed until way after the postman had made his rounds, so perhaps he wouldn’t see them. But then he’d stumbled across them while emptying the recycling (who recycles death threats?!). He hadn’t thought they were a joke, though. He’d taken them deadly seriously, and his fears had fuelled the ones Cynthia had been trying to hide, and so the two of them had started to tumble into a tornado of paranoia and panic.

  But now here they both were, back in Blackpool, back to putting on a show, back to pretending everything was fine.

  No, she told herself, everything was fine. The Magic Circle was making progress. It was no longer staring bankruptcy in the face and it had got fresh talent in at the younger levels, to help carry the burden of running it and to take it forward into the future. And at the very youngest level there was enough talent to keep it going for at least another century.

  As if to prove this, the very first youngsters to appear in the carriage door were her favourite four. The sight filled Cynthia with hope, pushing her fears away. For now.

  ‘Mind the step!’ she called as Zack, Sophie, Jonny and Alex hopped off the train and on to the breezy platform. ‘I must say, it’s so wonderful to see you four again,’ she added a touch breathlessly. ‘I mean, you all,’ she corrected herself, quickly spotting Deanna.

  Fortunately Deanna wasn’t listening – she was already in some kind of disagreement with her mum about her strawberry-coloured (and possibly strawberry-flavoured) inhaler. (‘You had it!’ ‘No, you had it!’ ‘Do you think I don’t know who’s got my inhaler?’ ‘Well, as it’s yours, maybe you should be the one who –’ ‘WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN TO ME?’ And so on. And then some. Et cetera. You get the point!)

  Cynthia noticed Sophie cock her head slightly and look at her, a little askance. Cynthia bit her lip. None of the Young Magicians were stupid, but Sophie was the one Cynthia could trust most of all to notice something odd about someone’s body language. Was she trying too hard? Had the girl spotted something in Cynthia that gave her away?

  She snapped back into the moment and resumed ushering the remaining juniors off the train, accidentally including a small but rather stern businesswoman who frowned at the idea of being referred to as anything less than senior. Jonny looked up and down the platform, at the other disembarking passengers.

  ‘Aren’t there any older magicians here too?’ he asked.

  ‘Already at the hotel, dear,’ Cynthia replied. ‘President Pickle thought it would be best if you all came up on the Saturday, to –’

  ‘Put up with us for as short a time as possible?’ Zack said with a grin.

  ‘Let you all have a good rest at home on a school night,’ Cynthia corrected him gently, not quite meeting his eyes. ‘OK now, just through the gate you’ll see the society minibus. Steve’s driving!’

  Alex couldn’t help but grin at the mention of Steve’s name as they headed off towards the exit.

  ‘Cynthia looks tired,’ said Jonny quietly as they began walking along the platform, dragging their cases behind them.

  ‘Mm,’ Sophie agreed. She was sure she had seen something a little odd in Cynthia’s eyes – a peculiar anxiety – just for a moment. Nothing she could put her finger on, though.

  ‘Well, wouldn’t you be if you were married to President Pickle?!’ Zack joked.

  ‘Probably just keen for us all to make a good impression at the convention,’ Alex reasoned, enjoying the sound of the seagulls and the salty air blowing against his face.

  None of them could argue with that. They knew their presence was a landmark victory for Cynthia. If this went wrong for any reason, then who knew how long it would be before such a trial were permitted again?

  ‘I wonder who else is going to be here,’ Jonny said as they went through the barrier. ‘Lots of familiar faces probably.’ His mouth twisted wryly. With their experience of the Magic Circle, ‘familiar faces’ could be a mixed blessing.

  ‘I can think of one who probably won’t be here,’ Zack said sadly. ‘Or at least won’t be seen: Alf.’

  ‘Oh. Yes.’

  They all took a moment to think of Alf Rattlebag, the ghost who actually wasn’t a ghost secretly living in the rafters of the Grand Theatre of the Magic Circle, and the most unexpected friend they had made the last time they’d been together.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jonny said, ‘maybe he’s found a hidden lair somewhere in the basement of the hotel here – that wouldn’t be creepy at all!’

  They all had to laugh and agree that yes, that would be Alf’s style.

  Their thoughts were brought abruptly back to the present as the minibus Cynthia had mentioned came into view.

  ‘Well, this should be interesting!’ joked Sophie as the four approached the rusty and battered contraption. It would have looked more at home in a museum dedicated to exhibiting ancient modes of transport that didn’t really care for its exhibits. And with Steve Moore, the world’s most embarrassing and least self-aware magician driving … ‘interesting’ didn’t begin to cover the endless possibilities.

  ‘Thank goodness they didn’t offer to drive us up from London,’ Jonny murmured, taking in the state of the vehicle.

  ‘Nah. Not even President Pickle dislikes us that much,’ Zack agreed.

  And there was Steve, sitting in the driver’s seat with an enormous grin splitting his bouncy face, still inexplicably dressed in a set of ‘official’ Oriental wizarding robes (which was how he referred to them).

  ‘So who have we got here then?’ Steve bellowed excitedly, like he was attached to a speaker. The four friends were the fir
st to reach the minibus. ‘We’ve got Zack, tick, Sophie, tick, Alan …’ Steve suddenly honked the car horn while squashing his nose with the flat of his other palm, as if he’d just got the wrong answer on a quiz show. ‘Incorrect! That should have been Alex, and finally … Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for the tallest boy on the planet, it’s Jonny!’

  Steve held his hand down on the horn for a disconcerting amount of time, causing it to sound like a distressed gosling before fading out with a wheezy pop.

  ‘Right, I might have broken that actually …’ Steve repeatedly punched the horn, to no avail. ‘Let’s maybe keep that between us!’ he said, winking at the four who beamed up at him.

  You took your life in your own hands where Steve was concerned, but – wowsers – it was always fun. ‘I thank you!’ he added, semi-bowing, conjuring up a fistful of old gummy sweets and throwing them at the Young Magicians.

  ‘How are you, Steve?’ Sophie asked as she heaved her bag up the small flight of steps and on to the minibus, the poor suspension causing the bus to lean towards her like a teetering canoe.

  ‘Oh, same old, same old,’ blathered Steve. ‘Very busy now that I’ve retired …’

  ‘From magic?’ asked Sophie, a tiny bit hopeful and a tiny bit worried. The world of magic would be a safer place if Steve retired, but also a lot duller.

  ‘Oh no – from dentistry! That was my day job.’ Not noticing her slightly stunned look, he continued. ‘I’m sure I’ll be performing magic even when I’m dead!’ he snorted.

  Sophie could well believe it, imagining for a moment the surreal idea of Steve emceeing his own funeral, his coffin no doubt some fancy box covered in magical symbols with dry ice pouring out of the sides; Jane – his wife – strapped to the underside, waiting for her cue to appear, but never quite getting the timing right and always making too much noise; Steve light-heartedly reprimanding her from beyond the grave.