The Magical Peppers and the Great Vanishing Act

by Sian Pattenden

  “It says This book belongs to Harry Starfeathers in neat handwriting.”

  Monty showed the page to Esmé, who sank down in the ornate office chair. “This is our evidence that Henry stole the skull. He memorised the trick and used it!”

  “We’ve still got to find the skull itself,” sighed Monty.

  “I’ve looked in most of these drawers,” said Esmé. “It’s not there.”

  “It’s not in the stuffed emu, is it?” asked Monty, staring at the static bird in the glass cabinet.

  “I don’t know ab—”

  The rattle of a doorknob stopped Esmé in mid-sentence and she looked round to see Henry J. Henry appear in the doorway. He was carrying something in a plastic bag and seemed as startled by their presence as they were by his.

  “What are you two doing here?” Henry’s expression turned from surprise to confusion, then anger. “Are you rummaging around in my personal affairs?”

  Esmé shook her head; Monty could only let out a squeak.

  “As if your thieving Uncle Potty wasn’t bad enough,” hissed Henry. “Get out of my office!”

  “I thought it was Sir Hans Toast’s office,” replied Esmé bravely.

  “Er, yes – well, of course it was.”

  Then Henry saw the magic book lying open on the oak desk. He was going to ask what the Pepper twins were doing with it, but he already knew.

  “What? Now, play fair, young sports. You must not search out the magician’s secrets – indocilis privata loqui.”

  “Never trust a locust,” Monty whispered to Esmé, by way of explanation. “I’ve just translated it from the Greek for you.”

  “I think you mean not apt to disclose secrets,” corrected Esmé. “From the Latin – the magician’s code.”

  “Oh yes,” said Monty, quietly.

  Esmé could see by the look on Henry’s face that he realised he had been found out.

  “We know it was you that stole the crystal skull and not Potty,” she said, pointing a finger at the museum boss. “Mr Henry, I accuse you of bookmarking the trick and performing it yourself while Potty was rehearsing. Now all we need to find is the skull and we will phone the police.”

  Henry J. Henry gulped. There was a rustling sound as he tried to hide the plastic bag behind his back.

  “What’s that noise?” asked Monty.

  “Mice,” said Henry.

  “You are trying to conceal something in that plastic bag, Mr Henry,” said Esmé, who had a strong hunch it was the crystal skull.

  “Erm...” Henry had arrived at the office red-handed. He had been intending to place the skull in the bottom desk drawer, where he could lock it out of the way for the time being, then sell it to the particularly keen collector he had been having high-level talks with.

  “Honestly, young sports, we have a problem down here with vermin. There are hundreds of them. They come and go through the statue of the Ancient Egyptian God Min.”

  “What are you hiding behind your back?” repeated Esmé.

  “Nothing,” said Henry, as he edged slowly towards the bookcase. A moment later, he had pressed a concealed button and a ladder swiftly descended from the ceiling.

  “Goodbye, children!” he shouted as he started to climb upwards.

  “Not so fast,” said Monty, who had now realised what was in the bag. “You’ve got the crystal sku—”

  But Henry had already disappeared through a hole in the ceiling.

  “What do we do now?” Monty asked his sister.

  “Follow him!” yelled Esmé, and the twins pursued Henry up the ladder and back to the ground floor of the museum.

  An excerpt from

  TRICK: Church Steeple

  This trick appears to be like hypnotism – if your patter is good enough to convince the audience.

  Ask a friend casually if you could try a little instant hypnosis while giving assurances that it’s safe and nothing harmful will happen. Ask this friend to fold his or her hands together, weaving the fingers and clasping them tightly. After a few moments of doing this, tell him or her to raise both index fingers so they stick up and are ideally about two centimetres apart – the church and steeple shape {fig. 1}.

  Now move your hands slowly over your friend’s (without touching them) and say, “Your index fingers will touch, my dear friend and chum. Try to fight it, but they will touch.”

  Slowly, but inevitably, your friend’s index fingers will begin to move towards each other. Keep telling your friend to concentrate on his or her fingers and soon the fingers will touch {fig. 2}.

  This is just pure biology – but it should still be practised a few times beforehand.

  Magicians used to have pockets full of white rabbits, and waistcoats stuffed with doves. Decades ago – up to the 1970s, I imagine – animals were used in tricks willy-nilly and nobody minded at all. Large animals, such as lions, elephants and snakes, were also used by the more exotic performers of yesteryear. However, now it is the Modern Age and the vast population does not like the thought of cruelty to animals. Does the stage pet have enough rest and a large enough supply of squeaky toys to keep it happy? Will it expire from the pressures of fame if it performs a tour of the Crawley area? I am happy to give up my box of mice and declare myself an animal-free zone. I hope you will too. While pets are nice, they often bite you or wee near your packed lunch.

  In all totality,

  he ladder led up to a covered opening on the ground floor, near the museum’s central marble staircase. This is where the Pepper twins now stood, wondering what to do next. They were, of course, in hot pursuit of Henry J. Henry, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “He might have gone up to the next floor,” suggested Monty, looking in the direction of the staircase.

  “He could have gone anywhere,” replied Esmé. “But we’ll give upstairs a shot.”

  As the twins ran over to the steps, they crashed straight into a woman in a floral housecoat.

  “Sorry, madam,” said Esmé. “We’re in a rush.”

  “Ah, a moment, please” replied Mrs Celia Nutkins, who was not used to people barging into her. “You may be able to help one.”

  “I’m afraid we have t—”

  “One’s name is Mrs Celia Nutkins and one is looking for a Henry J. Henry,” said the woman in a slow, measured tone.

  “So are we, Mrs Nutkins,” said Monty. “But he’s disappeared and we haven’t much time.”

  “If you please, one needs a little information,” said Mrs Nutkins, who refused to be hurried. “Do you know what happened to a man named the Potty Magician?”

  Monty was suspicious. “You haven’t been sent here by someone from the council called Jeremy, have you?”

  “Of course not,” came the reply. “But someone has told one that Potty has been injured and he can’t perform.”

  Esmé was shocked to hear this. “No – he wasn’t hurt,” she said. “He’s been taken to the local police station.”

  “The police station?” repeated Mrs Nutkins. “One heard that he is in hospital in Norfolk with a broken leg. And his arms are looking a bit dodgy too, apparently. There was nothing to suggest that he had engaged in any criminal activity.”

  Esmé wrinkled her forehead. “Who did you hear this from?”

  “Why, Henry J. Henry, of course,” replied Mrs Nutkins. “On the telephone. That’s why one wants to find him and sort it out.”

  Esmé wondered why Henry had phoned this person, this Celia Nutkins, to say that Uncle Potty was out of action. What was her part in all of this?

  “As far as we know, Uncle Potty was accused of a crime that he did not commit and was sent away,” Esmé explained. “But we know who did it and we are right in the middle of catching him. I think you have been lied to, Mrs Nutkins.”

  Mrs Nutkins’s eyebrows rose; she was becoming more and more annoyed. Her instinct had been right – Henry J. Henry had been telling porky pies, and she did not like it.

  “Lied to...” she huffed,
putting two and two together. “So, can one hazard a guess that it’s the same Mr Henry you’re chasing? Is he... in deep?”

  Esmé nodded.

  “The plot thickens,” Mrs Nutkins continued. “Mr Henry J. Henry J. Henry seems to have framed the Potty Magician, lied to one about it and is now on the run – is one right?”

  “In all totality,” said Monty, impressed with Mrs Nutkins’ powers of deduction.

  In minutes, Esmé, Monty and Mrs Nutkins had worked out what was going on. Esmé explained in detail what had happened to Potty during rehearsals, how she and Monty had found the secret passageway and Sir Hans Toast’s office, and how Henry had walked in with the skull in a plastic bag.

  “Well, we must join forces,” said Mrs Nutkins. “We are both very cross with Mr Henry J. Whatnot, so he must be brought to justice.”

  But Esmé felt there was just one more thing left to discover.

  “So you know who we are,” she said, “but who exactly are you? Why exactly was Mr Henry calling you to say Potty was in hospital?”

  “Erm...” answered the Queen. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Monty and Esmé both nodded.

  “Are you familiar with the Wealth and Wisdom Zone? The Crown Jewels, the sparkly bits, the general bling of it all?”

  The Peppers continued to nod.

  The Queen bent down and whispered. “Well, all that stuff belongs to one. One is the Queen. Her Maj.”

  Monty’s eyes almost popped out of his head. Esmé had been wondering why Mrs Nutkins possessed such a refined air and a habit of not being able to say the word I. Now she knew. Monty gave a little bow; and Esmé bobbed a curtsy.

  “Oh, tish now, enough of that,” said the Queen modestly. “Let’s go and find Mr Henry J. Henry J. Henry, and pronto.”

  Esmé, Monty and Her Majesty the Queen ran up the marble steps and began their search for Henry. At the top of the stairs were two corridors, one leading to the right, another to the left.

  “Which one should one take?” asked Her Maj.

  “I’m not sure,” replied Monty.

  Esmé started sniffing.

  “What are you doing?” asked her brother.

  Within moments it became clear. There was a smell – a lingering, expensive, powdery essence of flowers and musk, teamed with the finest patchouli from the dusky mountains of Birmingham. Of course – it was Henry’s aftershave, Toujours, Matey. And it was definitely hanging around in the right-hand corridor, so they all made a dash for it.

  “What will Henry do when he sees us?” Monty was beginning to panic again. “He’s going to be very angry.”

  “Not to worry,” said the Queen. “One will tell him what’s what and he will soon see sense.”

  Esmé wondered why Her Majesty was so sure about that.

  No sooner had the trio walked a few paces in the murky light of this particular part of the museum, they spotted trouble ahead – Bonce Security™.

  “Oh no,” wailed Monty.

  “Found ya!” said Trevor Bonce, running towards them.

  “Can we go back?” asked Esmé, but it was too late. Heather Bonce had grabbed her wrist.

  “Get orf!” cried the Queen, as Trevor tried to get her into a headlock. “Do you know who one is?”

  An excerpt from

  TRICK: Magic Sachet

  You will need a clear plastic drinks bottle for this trick, plus a condiment sachet, which can usually be found in fast-food outlets. Ketchup or salad cream, it does not matter what is in it.

  First, take the label off the bottle, then fill it almost entirely with cold tap water. Insert the sachet – note: it should float at the top of the bottle.

  Now find a friend and tell him or her that you have magical fingers (if that is not common knowledge already) and that you will make the sachet in the bottle fall and rise at your command. Holding the base of the bottle with your left hand, as if to steady it, apply gentle squeezing pressure – with practice, onlookers should not be able to detect this subtle movement.

  With your right hand in mid-air, guide the sachet upwards – if you decrease the pressure inside the bottle, the sachet should float slowly downwards. To make the sachet stop in the middle of the bottle, you need to apply just the right amount of pressure.

  How your chum will marvel at your powers.

  Self-promotion is often key when there is magic at hand. In one of my books, A Dr Pompkins Treasury, I told you how to create a magic poster for your performances. Now I will tell you about leaflets. You can make your own flyers and hand them out at school. Maybe you can also set up a show during the lunch break – if the your teachers will allow it – or after school near the canteen. State who you are, what sort of magic you perform and maybe find yourself a logo – something swirly, a curlicue or illuminated letter. Be bold! No one wants to see a shy magician, someone who won’t say boo to a goose. Be proud! Tell people your magic is really good. Practise! And if you have leftover flyers at any point, they are always handy when you need to redecorate a bathroom.

  In all totality,

  hile Trevor struggled with the Queen, Heather Bonce held Esmé with one arm and Monty with the other, then lifted both off the ground by their waists.

  “I’ve got the little ones, Trev.”

  Esmé and Monty tried to struggle free, but to no avail.

  Within moments, however, the Queen had managed to wriggle out of Trevor’s headlock with a few deft moves.

  “Excuse one,” she said, snapping at the Bonces. “But what gives you the right to think you can grapple with people like that in this day and age? We have rights, you know.”

  “We ’ave been ordered to take you to see Mr ’Enry,” said Trevor. “’E’s in the Pottery Room over there.”

  Trevor pointed to a half-open door along the corridor, from which a dull grey light spilled.

  “Funnily enough,” said the Queen, “that is just the person one wishes to see.”

  The Queen marched off up the hallway then turned to see the children still in the clutches of Heather Bonce.

  “Does one have to explain oneself more clearly?” she asked. “Hands orf the children. Put them down. One has friends in very high places, so please do as one says, then one won’t cause you any more aggro. Comprendez?”

  Trevor and Heather Bonce – normally two brawny lumps of high-quality brawniness with very little brain to speak of – were cowed for once. And for some reason, they knew that this woman in the floral housecoat meant business, whoever she was. Heather dropped Esmé and Monty immediately, and the twins ran towards the Queen.

  “Thank you,” Her Majesty replied graciously, and together she and the Peppers walked up to the open door and went inside.

  The Pottery Room was a dingy place where, it seemed to Esmé, quite uninspiring pieces of terracotta were displayed.

  As they entered, Henry was standing in the middle of the room, the carrier bag in his hand, waiting.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” he said. “But it’s taken you an awfully long time to get here.”

  Esmé wondered why he had been waiting and had not just run out of the museum towards freedom. “We bumped into… an old friend,” she told Henry.

  The Queen winked under her curly wig, but Henry was not fooled by her disguise.

  “Good evening, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing. “I suppose these children have told you everything. They may even have convinced you that they are somehow in the right – and I am somehow in the wrong.”

  The Queen simply smiled.

  “I can assure you, madam…” Henry trailed off. “Oh, what’s the point? I am in the wrong and there is nothing that any of you can do about it. However, I can do something about it. I’m going to escape – yes, escape. I will leave this bloomin’ museum, with all its bells and whistles, and go and live somewhere warm like Los Angeles.”

  Esmé and Monty looked at each other. They hadn’t expected a speech.

  Quick as a flash, Henry ran over to the open wi
ndow in the far wall and began scrambling through it towards the outside ledge.

  “I’m going now. It’s been nice working with you, old sport,” he said, still simpering at the Queen. “It’s not been so nice working with you two, though,” Henry added rather pointedly to the Pepper twins. “Too clever for your own good.”

  Henry got out on to the window ledge – still holding the carrier bag – and stood up.

  “What should we do about the skull?” Monty whispered to his sister.

  “Let him take it,” said Esmé. “He’s on a high window ledge. Trying to get the skull now would be dangerous.”

  “But we have to save Potty –” Monty was adamant – “and the skull is our proof.”

  “Now, whatever you’re think—” But before Esmé could say any more, Monty was climbing out on to the window ledge in a bid to grab the skull.

  “Stop!” cried Esmé.

  “Get orf that ledge!” commanded the Queen, but it was too late, Monty had managed to stand up alongside the museum boss and was trying to talk him into handing over the skull.

  “Mr Henry, we need the skull. Give me the bag.”

  “No, you silly child. Get away, I’m making my grand exit,” Henry growled.

  It seemed that Henry planned to jump from the window.

  Monty looked down to the ground way, way below.

  “But there’s nothing to soften your fall,” he said, suddenly unnerved to be up on this high ledge.

  “Not yet, but I’m waiting for the Bonces to bring a mattress…” Henry clearly expected his crack security team to appear below at any second. “Get back inside and, um, stand in the middle of the room.”

  At that moment Trevor and Heather Bonce walked through the door.

  Henry saw them and shouted, “Bonce SecurityTM! You’re meant to be on the ground.”