Big Change for Stuart

by Lissa Evans

  Stuart shivered. This felt much too real to be a dream.

  This was – this had to be – magic.

  A breeze ruffled across the plateau, stirring the mist. Stuart waited, still stunned by the sudden change in his world. Where was he? What was he doing here? How could he get back home again? It’s a puzzle, April had said when they found Great-Uncle Tony’s letter – but what sort of puzzle was this?

  The mist shifted and swirled, like a set of lacy curtains, revealing odd glimpses of a wide and empty landscape. Sand stretched out in all directions. It was so quiet that Stuart could hear the ripping sound of the camel tearing off stringy strips of bark, and then the soft thud of its feet as it moved on to the next tasty branch.

  Stuart looked down at his own feet. He was still standing on the square base of the Pharaoh’s Pyramid. The six-spoked star lay snugly in its matching slot. The base didn’t look broken or damaged, although he noticed that there were two little holes punched in each of the edges.

  So where was the rest of the pyramid?

  No sooner had the question jumped into his head than a splinter of sun poked through the low cloud, turning the sand from grey to golden. Out of the corner of his eye Stuart saw a bright flash, and turned to see a blinding triangle of light some distance off. Shielding his eyes, he walked towards it and realized that it was one of the pyramid sides, leaning against a huge boulder and reflecting the sun.

  At that moment, just behind him, the camel gave a snort and took another step forward. One of its feet made the usual soft thud, and the other a metallic clang. Stuart switched direction and found another of the pyramid sides, this one half buried in the sand. He waited until the camel had moved on, and then heaved the metal triangle out of its resting place. It was heavier than he’d imagined, and one of its edges bore a pair of prongs, sticking out like short, blunt fingers.

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ said Stuart out loud. ‘I think I get it. It’s a jigsaw puzzle.’

  The third side he found wedged in a rocky cleft, and somebody seemed to have built a camp fire on top of the fourth: it was covered in ash, and a large half-charred log lay across it.

  It took him an age to drag the four sides back to the base. The sun was burning off the mist and it was getting hotter all the time; Stuart’s T-shirt was dark with sweat. Would it be possible to die of thirst in a magic landscape? There wasn’t a scrap of shade to sit in, nothing to drink and nothing to eat apart from a single stick of chewing gum in the pocket of his jeans. He tore it in two and saved one half for later.

  Overhead, the large dark bird had been joined by three others. They weaved silently across the deepening blue.

  ‘OK …’ murmured Stuart. He braced himself and lifted one of the sides. The two prongs slotted neatly into the two matching holes on the base. Easy!

  There was a belch behind him and he turned to see the camel watching with what looked like contempt.

  ‘What?’ asked Stuart.

  The camel flared its nostrils and went on eating. It was wearing a set of reins, he realized, and the remains of a saddle, having presumably dumped its rider somewhere in the desert.

  Stuart turned back to his task.

  The second and third sides of the pyramid slotted in just as neatly as the first. Stuart lifted the fourth side, started to manoeuvre it into place, and then paused. He had a sudden horrid vision of the Pharaoh’s Pyramid vanishing, leaving him standing alone in the desert. He needed to be inside it when it disappeared. He stepped onto the base, crouched down and, with a sense of quiet triumph, slotted the fourth side into place and began to pull it shut.

  Immediately, with a dull thud, the other three sides fell over.

  Stuart looked round and stared, open-mouthed, at the triangles lying flat on the sand. ‘No,’ he said out loud. ‘Now that’s not fair.’

  The sun bored into his back. The horizon rippled in the heat.

  Stuart got to his feet and gave it a second go. One side, two sides, three sides, four si—And then wham! As he pulled the fourth side closed, the other three collapsed back onto the desert floor.

  He stood, hands on hips, breathing heavily, panic crawling inside his chest. How was he going to solve this? And what if he couldn’t? He took a deep breath.

  ‘OK, it’s a puzzle,’ he said out loud again – somehow it was easier to think in a calm and logical way if he imagined he was talking to someone else. ‘And it’s not just a jigsaw puzzle.’

  Grimly, for the third time, he lifted three sides into place. He remembered that there was a small loop right at the top of each, and this time he hooked the fingers of one hand through them. Could he hold up three of the sides while he lifted the fourth?

  He reached out vainly.

  No, he couldn’t, it was too far away – he’d need an arm the length of an orang-utan’s.

  ‘If I had a thin rope of some kind,’ he said, ‘I could slip it through the loop on the fourth side, and pull it up while I was still holding onto the others. But where can I find a thin rope?’

  The answer to his question walked by just a few metres away, reins dangling.

  ‘OK,’ said Stuart to himself. ‘So all I have to do is catch a camel.’

  STUART HAD ONCE watched a programme on camels in which it had been shown that they could spit accurately and kick in any direction. But was this camel real, or was it a sort of figment of Great-Uncle Tony’s imagination?

  He moved closer.

  It looked real. It smelled real.

  ‘Stay,’ he said feebly, edging towards it. ‘Nice camel.’

  It glanced at him, and then went on ripping at the thorn tree with teeth the size of piano keys. The reins were tied to a woven nose band which fastened just under its chin. Just under its chin and very close to its teeth.

  ‘Good boy.’ Stuart remembered the half-stick of chewing gum in his pocket. He took it out and held it at arm’s length.

  The camel stopped eating.

  ‘Here, boy,’ said Stuart, his voice sounding reedy and nervous. ‘Yum yum.’

  The camel took a pace forward.

  ‘Lovely chewing gum.’

  With incredible swiftness, the camel lunged towards Stuart and snatched the gum out of his hand. Stuart made a grab for the reins. The camel tossed its head and Stuart found himself flying through the air.

  ‘Ow,’ he said, landing in the sand several metres away. The camel gave him a contemptuous look and then cantered off into the shimmering distance, chewing as it went. Stuart was left alone.

  As he got to his feet, he thought of a phrase in Great-Uncle Tony’s letter:

  ‘A little stronger than I intended,’ finished Stuart, rubbing his leg. And then he noticed something on the ground and stooped to pick it up. It was a length of bark, revoltingly saturated with camel spit, but quite long and stringy nonetheless. He hunted around for some other pieces, and knotted three or four lengths together until they were long enough to thread through the loop. Feeling a bit like a survival expert on the telly, he gave the bark string an experimental tug. It broke. Clearly it needed to be thicker.

  ‘Perhaps if I make three strings and then plait them …’ he said doubtfully. He’d never done any plaiting, but it couldn’t be that hard, could it?

  After about three minutes of hopeless twiddling and twisting and unravelling, he caught himself wishing that April was with him. He had no doubt that she’d know how to plait – it was just the sort of thing that girls always knew. They’d be out of here in two minutes.

  A drop of sweat trickled into his eyes, and he paused to wipe his forehead. His T-shirt was damp, his jeans sticking to his legs, the buckle of his belt so hot that it was actually—

  ‘Belt!’ shouted Stuart, leaping to his feet. ‘My belt!’

  It took him about six seconds to get back into the pyramid, take his belt off, slip it through the loop on the fourth triangle and grab the loops on the other three sides. He took one last look at the blistering landscape, the circling birds, the blurred and
distant blob that was the camel, and then he gave the belt a pull.

  As the fourth side closed, the blurry distant blob moved closer, and Stuart realized that it wasn’t the camel at all, but something much smaller. Something white and brown. And then, before he could see it properly, the fourth side snapped shut.

  Slowly he released his grip on the loops. For a moment all was darkness, apart from the glimmer of red stars, and then Stuart yelled as a vivid green shape writhed suddenly across the inside of the pyramid. It was an emerald S, which stretched and tautened and glowed and grew – and then disappeared utterly as one side of the pyramid opened.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked one of April’s sisters, peering anxiously in on him. Behind her, the museum looked reassuringly normal. ‘I heard you shouting,’ continued May (or June).

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Stuart, climbing out, though actually he felt shaky and strange and in dire need of a sofa and a glass of water. ‘What are you doing here? Why didn’t April come?’ he added.

  The triplet frowned. ‘I’m April,’ she said.

  ‘No you’re not.’

  ‘What do you mean No you’re not? I should know who I am, shouldn’t I? I’m April and you promised to wait until I got here before you started exploring.’

  ‘But you’re not wearing glasses,’ said Stuart. ‘And you’ve got a camera.’

  She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. ‘I was on my bike delivering papers, and then I swerved to avoid a hedgehog, fell off and scraped my knee and broke my specs,’ she said. ‘That’s why I got here two hours late. And then I happened to borrow May’s camera because I thought it would be useful.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I so wish you’d just try to—’ she began, and then tilted her head, puzzled. ‘Why are your shoes all covered in sand?’ she asked. ‘And why are your trousers falling down?’

  There was a pause in the conversation while Stuart scuttled back to get his belt.

  ‘The thing is,’ he said, bending to pick a thorn out of one of his socks, ‘you’ll never believe where I’ve been for the whole of those two hours. I don’t believe it myself.’

  April lost her cross expression and looked at him eagerly. ‘Magic?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes. Definitely.’ And he told her about his jigsaw puzzle in the desert. And about the emerald letter S that had greeted his return.

  ‘Use the star to find the letters!’ exclaimed April. ‘That’s what the message said, didn’t it? Oh, I wish I’d come.’

  ‘So do I,’ replied Stuart honestly, ‘and next time you will.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’ Stuart held out his hand, and April started to shake it and then froze, gazing open-mouthed past his head.

  ‘Look,’ she said. ‘It’s not shining any more.’

  Stuart turned. The sun was pouring in through the window, but the golden surface of the Pharaoh’s Pyramid barely glinted. It was still a beautiful object, but like the Well of Wishes it had lost its lustre.

  ‘The magic’s all used up,’ said Stuart wonderingly. ‘It’s like a flat battery – there’s no more power in it.’

  Then he remembered the six-pointed star, and ducked back into the pyramid to retrieve it.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ asked April as he blinked at the object in his hand.

  Stuart held up the star so she could see it. One of the six spokes had completely disappeared.

  She stared for a moment, open-mouthed. ‘So what happens if you put it back in the socket again?’

  Stuart tried it. ‘Nothing,’ he said, taking the star out for a second time. ‘So that must mean you can only do each adventure once.’

  April nodded. ‘One down,’ she said softly. ‘Five to go.’

  THE OPENING OF the exhibition was a bit low-key; only a few people bothered to follow the handmade sign in the foyer, and most of them were related to either Stuart or April. Inside the room, the only note of celebration was a table with some feeble refreshments.

  ‘Good thing I’m not hungry,’ whispered April, grimacing at the plate of plain biscuits and single bowl of crisps before returning to where her parents were looking at the Cabinet of Blood.

  Stuart sipped from his cup of watery squash, and watched the guests amble between the exhibits.

  Stuart’s father was being escorted round by Rod Felton, and although the two men appeared to be looking at the Arch of Mirrors, Stuart could hear scraps of Latin floating across the room, and the curator seemed to be miming a Roman sword fight.

  April returned to the table and took three biscuits and a huge handful of crisps.

  ‘I thought you said you weren’t hungry,’ said Stuart.

  She glowered at him.

  ‘Oh,’ said Stuart. ‘You’re not April, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘June?’

  ‘I’m May!’ she screeched indignantly. ‘Are you blind?’

  She stalked off towards her sisters and began a whispered conversation with them. Dark looks were cast at Stuart.

  He turned away and ate a crisp or two. He couldn’t help getting the triplets mixed up – they had the same faces, the same hair and they wore the same sort of clothes. Other than April’s glasses there wasn’t a single way of telling them apart, yet they went mad if you pointed that out. If they really wanted people to know who was who, he thought, then they should dress in different colours.

  ‘Excuse me?’ A soft-voiced man was peering down at Stuart. ‘I see from your badge that you’re the curator. Though you seem kind of young for that.’

  ‘I’m ten,’ said Stuart.

  ‘OK. Well, I’d like to be shown around the exhibition. Is that at all possible?’

  Stuart nodded. ‘Are you American?’ he asked.

  ‘Canadian. Maxwell Lacey – good to meet you.’ They shook hands. Maxwell Lacey was wearing an expensive-looking jacket and emerald cufflinks. He looked about the same age as Stuart’s father, but had a large black moustache and neatly brushed pale grey hair. ‘So how did you get to be in charge?’ he asked Stuart.

  ‘Partly because I found the tricks in the first place, and partly because Teeny-tiny Tony Horten was my great-uncle.’

  ‘Really? Well, isn’t that something!’

  Maxwell Lacey paused by the first exhibit. He leaned over the rope and gazed at the great bronze throne surrounded by intricately worked flowers and tendrils, and then switched his attention to the little card pinned to the wall next to it.

  ‘We didn’t have a lot of time to write the cards,’ said Stuart apologetically, ‘and we still haven’t worked out how the trick operates, so the second sentence is a bit of a guess. We’re going to have another go tomorrow.’

  ‘And by “we”, you mean …’

  ‘Me and April. One of the triplets over there.’

  ‘And is April also related to Tony Horten?’

  ‘No, that’s just me.’

  ‘I see.’

  They moved on to the Arch of Mirrors. ‘We didn’t have a lot of time to look at this one, either,’ said Stuart quickly.

  ‘It’s a fine-looking object,’ said Maxwell Lacey, adjusting his tie in one of the many reflections that bounced back at him. ‘And this workshop where you found the illusions – was it on your property?’

  ‘No, it was in the town park, underneath the bandstand.’

  ‘I see. And who owns the park?’

  ‘I don’t know. The council, maybe?’

  As they progressed past the Cabinet of Blood (which Stuart and April still hadn’t managed to open) and the Fan of Fantasticness (which they hadn’t managed to close), Maxwell Lacey asked several more rather odd questions about local council land ownership.

  Stuart was beginning to run out of answers and was relieved to see one of the triplets approaching him.

  ‘I’m April,’ she said pointedly, ‘just in case you can’t tell. I’m sorry to interrupt, but someone’s just turned up who I think you’ll want to see.’ She squinte
d over at the doorway.

  There, wearing a shiny purple suit with a sparkly bow-tie, and holding a bundle of yellow paper, stood Clifford Capstone. Until a week ago he’d been an unpaid assistant to the mayoress, but had realized her true nastiness just in time and had helped April and Stuart when they’d been in desperate need.

  ‘Hello!’ he called, catching sight of them and hurrying over. ‘I thought this would be a good place to hand these out. Have a leaflet,’ he added, thrusting one into each of their hands.

  ‘I’m Mysterioso,’ explained Clifford, ‘just in case you were wondering.’

  ‘You’ve spelled magician wrong,’ said April.

  ‘Have I?’ Clifford goggled at the leaflet and then looked crestfallen. ‘I didn’t notice; I’ve printed out six hundred now – I can’t really change them.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Stuart. ‘I’ll come.’

  ‘And me,’ said April. ‘And, tell you what, I’ll review it for my paper.’

  ‘Will you? I’ve been rehearsing very hard, but it’ll be my first solo show and I’m not convinced I’ve really come up with the right ingredients yet. Leaflet?’ he added, offering one to Maxwell Lacey.

  ‘Thank you kindly,’ said the Canadian. ‘So this is your hobby, is it?’

  Clifford’s eager, round face became suddenly strained and serious. ‘It’s far more than a hobby,’ he said. ‘It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. I gave up my job and used up most of my life savings to train as a magician, but now I’ve realized that the only way to become one is just to go ahead and do it.’

  ‘And what type of magic does Mysterioso do?’ asked Maxwell Lacey.

  ‘I thought I’d mix and match, seeing as it’s my first attempt,’ said Clifford. ‘A couple of large illusions, a little bit of close-up magic, a wild-animal-based finale. I’ll see what goes down best and take it from there. You’re interested in magic, I take it?’