by Steph Matuku
“I could do with a little more morning tea,” said the white pig, plaintively. “It took all my energy just to eat the first lot.”
“I was talking about the storm,” said Whetū. “You’re not frightened?”
There came another sizzle of lightning followed by a deafening crash of thunder.
“Storm?” said the white pig. “That’s not a storm. That’s the magician returning. And from the sounds of it, he’s in a fearful temper. Now, about my morning tea?”
Whetū ignored the pig. She ran out into the middle of the yard and stared upward. The clouds were circling so fast, she became dizzy watching them and almost lost her balance. There was a funny, burnt sort of smell that tickled her nostrils, and the air was crackling with electricity. The hairs on her arms stood on end, and the hair on her head stuck straight up into the air. The clouds bulged downward, elongating into a pointed triangle over the middle of the empty field.
“It’s a tornado!” Whetū cried, but she was wrong. The triangle of cloud fell lower and lower and finally touched the ground with a huge bang. Sparks flew out of it, and Whetū shielded her eyes with her hands.
There was silence. A bird began to sing. She felt her hair brush her cheeks as it dropped back into place. The sun shone warm on her face. She opened her eyes. Summer had returned to the farm. The sky was blue and calm. It was as though nothing had happened at all – apart from the magician striding towards her with a furious scowl on his face.
“WHERE IS THAT RABBIT?”
15
– CHANGES –
“Good afternoon, sir,” said Whetū. She spoke calmly, but her palms were sweaty as the magician bore down on her with a face as thunderous as the sky had been just moments earlier.
The magician checked himself. Remembering his manners, he stopped at the wire fence and made a bow. “Good afternoon to you, Whetū. I trust you and your mother have been well in my absence?”
“Yes, sir,” said Whetū. “And the animals too.”
The magician clambered over the wire. “Good. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Errant skulking about anywhere?”
“Well …” said Whetū, not knowing how to answer this. Errant didn’t exactly skulk. Strut would be closer to the truth. “He is here, somewhere.”
“That fetid little furball left me on stage holding an empty top hat, looking a complete fool. And how exactly does one attempt to saw a woman in half without a stage assistant?”
“I don’t know.”
“It was just lucky there was a competent surgeon in the audience, but I’m afraid that poor woman will bear the scars for life. I was booed offstage. Me! The Mighty Mikaere! The best magician in the world jeered and catcalled! It was horrible. Horrible! Two shows were cancelled after that debacle.”
“Oh dear,” said Whetū. “And they hadn’t paid a booking fee?”
“What’s that?”
“They pay it when they book you, and it’s non-refundable, so even if the show gets cancelled, you still get some money,” explained Whetū, who knew all about booking fees from her mother.
The magician shot her a sharp look. “I’ve never even heard of such a thing. Are you sure?”
“Positive. Well, at least you’ve still got the King’s birthday party.”
“Not without an assistant, I haven’t. Where is that fool rabbit?”
Whetū didn’t know what to say. If the magician went to find Errant, he’d find him at the carnivorous lamb’s cage, and then Errant would be in terrible trouble. Luckily, she didn’t have to say anything, for at that moment, the rabbit himself hopped around the corner of the barn.
He stopped short when he saw the magician, and flattened himself against the ground, like a rabbit caught in car headlights in the dead of night. But he recovered quickly enough, and sat up again, cocking one ear in a flippant sort of way before bounding forward.
“And what have you got to say for yourself?” the magician boomed.
“I wish to tender my resignation as your stage assistant,” said Errant. “To put it bluntly, I’ve had enough.”
The magician looked so shocked, Whetū felt almost sorry for him. It was plain he’d been expecting a heartfelt apology.
“Resign? Resign? You can’t possibly resign. I need an assistant!”
“Well, it won’t be me,” said Errant. “I’ve had enough of playing second fiddle to you. I want to break out on my own.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the magician. “Whoever heard of a rabbit being a magician? You’ll be trying to pull a person out of a top hat next!”
“You don’t know what I can do! I have powers too, you know.”
“Hah!” scoffed the magician.
Errant mumbled a string of words that sounded a little like, “Alaka kalaka zalama zoo!” and waved his paw. There was an explosion and a puff of purple smoke that smelled like an old dog fart. When the smoke cleared, Errant had vanished.
“I taught him that,” said the magician bitterly, holding his nose. “Well, that’s that then, I suppose. No stage assistant – no stage performance! I’ll ask your mother to notify the King and Queen immediately.”
“Oh no, wait!” cried Whetū. “You can’t do that! You must perform at the concert!”
“It’s impossible. I thought you understood that? I shall have to advertise for a new stage assistant. It could take weeks – months! – to find a worthy candidate. I need to find someone I like, someone I can work with, someone I trust completely. It’s no good. The concert will just have to be cancelled.”
“But you don’t understand,” explained Whetū. “It’s the money. We need the money or else the farm will have to close!”
There was silence.
“I beg your pardon?” said the magician.
“I’m sorry. I should have waited for Mum to tell you, but … she’s been doing the accounts, and she says there’s no money left. The King’s show will earn enough to pay off the debts. Otherwise, the farm will have to be sold.”
“No money?” The magician’s face had turned a pasty yellow colour. “Sell the farm? Impossible!”
“The animals and I have worked out how they can earn money to help out, but we need the King’s fee to get the farm back on track. So you see, you can’t possibly cancel.”
“But … but …” The magician’s legs began to wobble. Whetū grabbed his arm in alarm and helped to steady him. “In my jacket – the cube,” he said, weakly.
Whetū reached into the front pocket of his jacket and drew out a little wooden cube. She looked at it curiously for a moment, and pressed the big red button on top. It gave a loud whirr, and she dropped it in alarm as it started turning and clicking and extending until it had unfolded itself into a small stool. The magician sank onto it gratefully.
“Forgive me. The shock. No money! Well, my glorious goodness, how on earth did that happen? I’ve always had plenty of money!”
“Mum said you were too generous with it,” said Whetū.
“Better than being too stingy. But I suppose, like in everything, moderation is the key.”
“So you see, you have to do the show. With or without a stage assistant.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do it without,” said the magician decidedly. “But I can do it, with your help.” He looked at her closely. “How would you like to be my new stage assistant?”
16
– A NEW JOB –
“Me?” gasped Whetū.
“Why not? You’re a bit too big to get into a top hat, so I’ll put you in a cupboard instead. We’ve a few days to prepare. I’m sure you can learn everything in time. And I’ll give you a bit of my own magic too, just to help.”
“But … but what about the animals?”
“We can easily fit in practising in the afternoons.”
To Whetū’s astonishment, the magician slid off his little chair, his joints creaking a little as he landed on the dusty ground on his knees. “Oh, please, Whetū. I can’t possibly do it without you. And i
t will be just the once, I promise.”
Whetū thought for a moment. Being on stage in front of royalty was certainly more glamorous than cleaning up chicken poo. But what if she couldn’t do it? What if she ruined the show?
“I don’t know …” she said, doubtfully.
Suddenly there was the sound of an explosion and a trickle of blue smoke drifted from behind the barn.
The magician jumped. “What on earth was that?”
“I’ll do it!” Whetū said quickly. Anything to divert the magician’s attention away from Errant’s attempts to change the carnivorous lamb back to normal.
“Wonderful!” The magician sprang to his feet, and the little chair click–clacked and folded itself back into a tiny cube, which he popped back into his tuxedo jacket pocket. “There’s not a moment to lose. I’ll see you at my house in one hour. And please make sure you’re wearing something a little more … suitable for a stage assistant.”
Whetū looked down at her red gumboots, her jeans with the hole in one knee and her dirty jersey covered with animal hair.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
Fifty-nine minutes later, Whetū stood on the doorstep of the magician’s house. Pink smoke still billowed from one window. It smelled like strawberries. She tugged at her best dress self-consciously. It was blue and quite pretty, but she’d grown since she last wore it, and it was just a little too tight around the middle and a touch too short. She was about to tug on the bell pull when the door swung open and her mother appeared.
“The magician tells me you’re to be his new stage assistant! How exciting! Just think, you’ll be performing in front of royalty!” She looked at Whetū critically. “We may have to get you a new dress.”
Whetū’s stomach lurched uncomfortably at the thought of being onstage in front of the King and Queen, but she stretched her lips into a smile.
Her mother wasn’t fooled. “I know you’re nervous. But I know you’ll be wonderful. You just need a bit of practice, that’s all.”
“I’m beginning to think I may have made a terrible mistake,” said Whetū.
“Nonsense!” said Mum. “You haven’t even started yet. Besides, you only have to be better than the rabbit, and he doesn’t even have hands.”
Whetū smiled again, but this time it was a real one.
Her mother gave her a hug. “The magician’s upstairs in his dressing room on the first floor. He’s waiting for you. I’m going back to the cottage to make dinner. See you later.”
Whetū watched her mother walk off down the path, half wishing she was going with her, and then stepped into the rose-tinted gloom of the magician’s house. The door slammed shut behind her, and she jumped. She was so nervous her hands were trembling.
She was standing in a peculiar round room with different-coloured doors right the way round. In the middle was a large winding staircase with a gold-topped banister. Whetū went to the staircase and peered upwards. She could see landing after landing, up and up and up. It made her feel dizzy.
She took a deep breath, her heart beating uncomfortably fast. Slowly she placed one foot onto the first stair. A low note sounded, a bit like the bottom C on a piano. She took another step up, and another note sounded. She walked up the stairs as fast as she could, and realised her feet were playing one of her favourite tunes. As she reached the top, she found she was smiling.
“Music is magical,” said a voice, and she jumped again. The magician stood in an open doorway just opposite. “Music has a wondrous ability to transform our mood in an instant. And transformation magic is quite difficult, you know.”
“I think you may be right.”
Whetū’s nerves had completely disappeared, and she felt calm and happy. She looked around at the circular landing. The carpet was black and soft, and the walls were papered in red and gold. Just like the ground floor, there were doors of different colours all the way around.
“Are you ready to do some more magic?” asked the magician.
Whetū looked into his deep black eyes and found that she trusted him. She nodded.
“Then let us begin,” said the magician.
He beckoned to her, and she walked slowly towards him. On the open door was a sign that read The Official Dressing Room. He moved to one side as she stepped into the room, and then the door swung shut behind them.
17
– THE DRESSING ROOM –
“Two minutes till curtain, Miss Pumbleduff!” shouted a boy’s voice.
Whetū blinked. The scene in front of her was nothing like she’d ever seen before. One half of the large room was lined with dressing tables, all scattered with tubes and pottles and trays of makeup, and wigs resting precariously on wig stands. Against one wall were racks of clothes and costumes, with baskets of shoes and hats underneath. Five glamorous women dressed in short, sparkling red dresses stood chatting and giggling in one corner, adjusting huge feathered headdresses and checking their powdered faces in a large gold-framed mirror.
A man with scruffy grey hair sat in another corner with a wooden boy doll on his knee. As Whetū glanced his way, the doll shouted, “What’re you looking at?”
The man tut-tutted and wagged a reproving finger at the doll, smiling apologetically at Whetū.
“This way, this way,” said the magician.
He led Whetū through a throng of jugglers, Whetū ducking just in time to avoid being hit in the face by a juggling ball. The magician sat her down in front of a dressing table. Like all the others, it had a large mirror with dazzling light bulbs all around it. The air had the hot, close scent of cosmetics and sweat, and there was an energy in the air that made her blood fizz with the feeling that something tremendously exciting was about to happen.
A beautiful woman in a slinky sequined dress sat at the next dressing table, carefully painting her full lips with red lipstick. She glanced at Whetū, and without taking her eyes off her, said to the magician, “Well, well … so this is the replacement rabbit?” She held out her red tipped nails and drawled, “Divine to meet you, darling.”
Whetū blinked at the hand for an instant before she realised she was supposed to shake it. She gently grasped the warm fingers and said, “Pleased to meet you too, er … darling.”
The woman smiled. “Where on earth did you find her? So fresh – so innocent! The audience will adore her. Before it devours her and spits her out again, as it does to all of us, eventually.”
“She’s my animal keeper,” said the magician, “and my new temporary stage assistant. Whetū, this is the fabulous Miss Pumbleduff.”
“Do you still have the old rabbit?” Miss Pumbleduff said, a wicked glint in her eye. “I’ll buy him off you. I have a hat that needs trimming.”
“You never liked him,” said the magician.
“Nobody did, darling,” said Miss Pumbleduff.
“Two minutes till curtain, Miss Pumbleduff!” called a boy wearing an old-fashioned cap, tweed jacket and pants, looking anxiously at a watch on a chain. Behind him was a closed door marked STAGE.
Miss Pumbleduff rose gracefully to her feet, blowing Whetū and the magician each a kiss. The chattering women in the sparkling red dresses immediately fell silent and got into line in front of her. The boy in the old-fashioned cap threw open the door, and the women clattered out. The boy respectfully bowed his head as Miss Pumbleduff sauntered past, a small smile on her red lips, then he closed the door behind her.
The room seemed bigger once they’d left.
“Five minutes till curtain, Juggling Gents, five minutes,” shouted the door boy.
“Is there a stage in your house?” asked Whetū.
“Oh no. Miss Pumbleduff is singing at a big casino in Las Vegas. She just likes to get dressed here.”
“So … the stage door leads to different stages around the world?” Whetū couldn’t quite work it out.
“Yes. The jugglers are heading off to Borneo, and the ventriloquist,” the magician pointed at the m
an with the wooden doll on his knee, “is going to a school in Sydney.”
The ventriloquist looked up and shrugged. “It was the only gig I could get,” he said mournfully. “People don’t seem to like talking dummies any more.”
“I don’t know about that,” the wooden doll shouted. “I happen to like you quite a lot!”
Whetū laughed, and the ventriloquist smiled.
“Do you use the stage door when you perform?” Whetū asked the magician.
“Not often. It’s too quick, and I like to travel. The journey often makes up for the destination. But we’ll use the door for our show. I wanted you to see it first so that you wouldn’t be nervous on the day.”
“I’m not nervous. Although I do feel strange. Tingly and excited.”
The magician smiled. “That’s good. That’s very good! I must say, you’re doing very well so far.”
Whetū smiled, but she felt a little silly. She hadn’t done anything much yet at all.
“Now, about your costume.” The magician tapped a thoughtful finger against his lower lip. “Not that there’s anything wrong with what you’re wearing, it’s just …”
Whetū tugged at her dress again. “It’s too small. Mum hasn’t been able to afford new clothes in ages. I don’t mind, though. I only wear jeans mostly, anyway.”
“I was going to say that when you’re on stage, you need something sparkly, glittery, to take the audience’s attention. If all eyes are on you, then they won’t see me do …”
He made a sudden movement with his arm, and there appeared in his hand a silver sequined dress with a matching pair of shoes. Whetū gasped. The wooden dummy clapped. The magician presented her with the dress with a flourish.
“Really? For me?”
“I think it will fit. Why don’t you hang it on one of those racks over there so it’s ready for dress rehearsal?”
Whetū did as he said and placed the shoes carefully underneath. The magician pinned labels to the dress and shoes. They read Whetū Toa, Stage Assistant to The Mighty Mikaere.
