by Lissa Evans
CHAPTER 25
In total darkness. In stifling heat.
April reached out a hand and felt a wall that was somehow soft and warm—a heavy cloth, she realized, draped right over the Reappearing Rose Bower, and she grabbed a fold of it and pulled. It slid away, letting in cooler air, and she saw that she was in a shed of some kind, with chinks of late-afternoon light shining through the plank walls and odd shapes looming in the shadows nearby.
“Hey!” shouted a desperate, cracked voice from directly beneath her. “Is that you, April? Are you back?”
“Stuart!”
She jumped off the seat, grabbed the magic star, and waited anxiously for Stuart to reappear. The lever clacked and ratcheted three times, and the twining silver stems relaxed, revealing a small, slumped figure on the throne.
“I’ve been stuck here for ages,” said Stuart huskily.
“I know. And I’m so, so sorry. Do you know where we are? Has the trick been stolen, or is this a museum store … or what?” She was searching the shed as she spoke, and her fingers found and rattled at a locked door. “We can’t get out!” she added, trying not to panic.
“I don’t know anything,” said Stuart. “I’ve been under that throne, and I couldn’t really hear what was going on. I know we went on a truck, and there was lots of moving around and crashing and banging, and then …” Stuart’s mouth was so dry that his words turned into a series of coughs. “… and then it went totally quiet,” he continued, catching his breath, “and it’s been quiet for a really long time.”
“But why didn’t you use the lever to get out of there for a while?” asked April. “Just for a quick look around or to get some fresh air? I would have done that.”
“Because I didn’t know what would happen if you came back and I wasn’t in the right place.”
It had been so horrible and hot and claustrophobic, and Stuart’s head had begun pounding so badly that a couple of times he’d nearly pulled the lever—his fingers had curled around it—but each time he’d had a dreadful vision of April completing her puzzle at exactly the same moment, and getting horribly squashed in the insides of the mechanism.
“I didn’t dare, just in case something went wrong.”
“Oh,” said April. “Thank you.”
There was a pause. Stuart couldn’t see her expression, but he could hear her taking odd, irregular breaths.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
When she spoke, it was in a very small, un-Aprillike voice. “You’re braver than I am,” she said. “I couldn’t have put up with that. I wasn’t even brave enough to go on the adventure on my own. I took the dog with me.”
Stuart’s stomach seemed to do a flip. “You took Charlie? Where is he?”
“That’s the dog’s name? Well, he’s still there,” said April. “I tripped over something and dropped him just as I was coming back. I’m so, so sorry.”
In the terrible silence that followed, there was the sudden sound of a key turning. Stuart jumped up, and April stood tensely beside him.
The door opened.
Two identical heads were silhouetted in the low summer light.
“I told you so!” shrieked one of them. “I told you they hadn’t left that exhibition room.”
“May!” shouted April. “And June! How did you find us?”
“How did you get in there?”
“How do we get out?”
“Where were you?”
“Where are we now?”
A million triplet questions seemed to fill the air, all of them unanswered, all of them incredibly loud. Stuart’s head began to hurt a lot, and he sat down again. The questions changed tack.
“What’s wrong with Stuart?”
“Why’s he so blotchy?”
“What’s he been doing?”
“Are you all right, Stuart?”
“Do you need fresh air?”
“Are you thirsty?”
Stuart nodded to the last question, and one of the triplets ran outside again.
“Where are we?” asked April, for about the fortieth time.
“In the big old shed in the corner of Dad’s builder’s yard,” said the other girl. “It occurred to me that he might be able to store the tricks for a while, so I called him. And he happened to have a van coming back from a job, so they went straight to the museum and picked up everything. Rod Felton was very grateful.”
“So all the illusions are in here?” asked April. She pulled a tarpaulin away from some veiled lumps in the corner. “They’ve dumped the Book of Peril on its side,” she said indignantly.
“What I want to know,” said her sister, “is where you disappeared to. May waited outside the exhibition while I went to phone Dad, and she said that you never left the room. Obviously I didn’t believe her because she’s always such a nutcase, but when hours went by and you and Stuart didn’t turn up, we came back to look for you, and now I realize that May was actually right. So where were you? And how did you get into a locked shed?”
April shook her head. “I can’t tell you,” she said. “It’s not just my secret, it’s Stuart’s.”
Running footsteps came from outside, and May reappeared with a cup and a large bottle of water. “Here you are,” she said, pouring a cupful for Stuart. “I filled it from the tap.” He drank it all, and she poured him another.
“So, Stuart,” said June, looking stern and serious. “I think it’s high time May and I knew what was really going on. We’ve told your dad that you’re working late at the museum, and we’ve told our parents that April’s gone around to your house—not to mention borrowing Dad’s keys without him knowing—and we’re tired of covering for both of you and we want to know the truth.”
Stuart glugged the second cupful of water and held it out for a refill.
“Because it’s not fair, is it, if we keep helping you but you don’t tell us anything?” said May screechily. “It’s not fair at all.”
He drank the third mugful, thought about a fourth, and then realized that he had begun to feel sick. Very, very sick.
“So come on, Stuart,” said June, folding her arms and using a phrase that she was ever afterward going to regret. “Spit it out.”
Stuart did.
CHAPTER 26
He didn’t remember much about the journey home on the bus. He was feeling a bit like a strand of cooked spaghetti and lay limply across the double seat at the back, while the triplets looked at him anxiously.
Stuart’s father, when he opened the front door to his son, looked even more anxious.
“I’m not sure whether or not to seek professional attention,” he kept saying as Stuart lay on the sofa with a cold cloth on his forehead, “or whether this is a quotidian childhood ailment which boiled fluids, sufficient time, and simple analgesia will alleviate.”
“What?” asked Stuart feebly.
“I am unable to judge whether it’s serious or not. I think maybe I should make a call to a medical authority.”
He disappeared for ten minutes, and then came back clutching the phone, which he held out to Stuart.
“Hello?” said Stuart into the receiver.
“It’s Mom here. In Singapore. I’ve told your father not to panic.”
“Good.”
“Now, he said that you got very hot, had no fluids for the entire afternoon, and then drank about a quart of water on an empty stomach. Is there anything else I should know, medically speaking?”
“I was upside-down,” admitted Stuart reluctantly.
“When were you upside-down?”
“Most of the afternoon.”
“Why?”
He hesitated. “It was sort of a game.”
“Right. Well, I’m not surprised you’re feeling ill. Stay cool, take lots of sips of water, and have a good night’s sleep. Get Dad to phone me in the morning if you’re not feeling completely better.”
“Okay.”
Stuart’s mom was always very sensible and unpanicked
about medical things. It was everything else that she worried about.
“Now, are you eating properly?” she asked.
“Yes. Dad’s cooking lots of healthy things. Lots of them.”
“And are you having a lovely time with your new friends?”
He hesitated just a fraction before saying yes, and his mom noticed immediately.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I’m just missing someone,” he muttered, thinking about Charlie, wandering on short legs through a strange and magical world.
He kept thinking about the dog even after his mother had hung up—about how he’d first seen Charlie in the pyramid, and then, later on, April had heard the click of his toenails in the Arch of Mirrors. Was it possible that all the magical worlds were linked? Could you go into one world and come out of another? And in that case, were there still two chances left to find Charlie?
That night, Stuart fell asleep early and slept heavily, and when he came downstairs—feeling slightly weak and extremely hungry—it was nearly noon. His father was working in the living room, staring at a blank crossword puzzle, a spoon and fork in his hand.
“Hello, Dad,” said Stuart. “I’m better.”
His father looked up in an unfocused sort of way. “Excellent,” he said vaguely. “I’ve just realized that cutlery is an anagram of try clue, so I’m planning an entire cipher based around kitchen utensils. Excitingly, the word tine has five different meanings beyond that of being the projecting prong of a fork.”
“Good,” replied Stuart. He went into the kitchen and poured some cereal into a bowl, and he’d just taken his first mouthful when he realized that there was a large brown envelope in the middle of the table, with his name written on the front of it.
Inside was a copy of the Beech Road Guardian and a letter in April’s fantastically neat handwriting.
Dear Stuart,
I’ve got tons to talk about with you, but your dad says he’s letting you sleep in, so I thought I’d write you a letter instead. I hope you’re fully recovered, by the way.
1) I’m really, really sorry I took so long on the adventure yesterday. It was entirely my own fault for thinking of a solution too quickly—I have vowed to think more slowly and carefully in the future, and not to always assume that my first idea is the best. Though it usually is.
2) I’ve had an idea about the dog—you saw him in one place, and I saw him in another, so I wonder if he’s able to wander around between the different adventures. In which case we might be able to get him back in the next one.
3) The letter clue I got on the adventure was T, so that means we’ve got SWOT so far. I’ve checked in the dictionary, and “swot” is an old-fashioned slang term for someone who works very hard in school. The only other thing the letters spell if you mix them up is TOWS, which doesn’t seem to make much sense either.
4) It wasn’t till we got home last night that June reminded me I was supposed to be reviewing Clifford/Mysterioso the Magician’s second magic show for the paper. We all went last night and the piece I wrote is in the paper (enclosed). It wasn’t very good. (The show, I mean, not my review. Though I’ve tried to be kind.) The paper also contains a full account of the TV interview fiasco yesterday.
5) THIS IS THE MOST SERIOUS THING. Apart from the dog, obviously. And you being ill. Anyway, the most serious thing is WE ARE GOING TO HAVE TO TELL MY SISTERS because they won’t give me the spare key to the shed in our dad’s builder’s yard until I tell them what’s going on, so we don’t have much choice. But I promise I won’t say anything until you say I can.
Yours sincerely—and sorry again. I’ll come visit when you feel better.
April
Stuart unfolded the Beech Road Guardian and looked at the huge headline that took up the whole of the front page:
TV STAR THREATENS FUTURE OF BEETON TREASURES AFTER UNLUCKY ACCIDENT
Midlands Midday star Rowena Allsopp (says she’s 30, but looks older) had just finished interviewing Beeton resident Stuart Horten (10, but looks younger) at the Beeton Museum about his recent discovery of a spectacular workshop, when museum curator Rod Felton (age unknown, but looks about 40) accidentally triggered a spring catch in one of the exhibits, leading to a spectacular jacket-staining incident.
Turn to page 2 for the full story by editor June Kingley, with photographs by May Kingley. Turn to page 3 for our PETITION to protect the BEETON TREASURES!
Turn to back page for other news and a review by our arts correspondent April Kingley.
Stuart turned to the back page of the newspaper. There was a small photo of Clifford standing in a brilliant spotlight and holding the ace of spades in one hand and a confused-looking guinea pig in the other.
LIGHT FANTASTIC!
A small but expectant audience at St. Cuthbert’s church hall was rewarded yesterday with a bravura display of wonderful lighting as well as some magic tricks.
ILLUMINATING!
The technical wizardry of electrician Elaine Coleridge (37) lit up a variety of illusions, including a partially disappearing guinea pig, a handkerchief that turned from green to red and then from red to green again (twice), and a trick in which a member of the audience picked out a card from the card deck, and Mysterioso the Magician (Clifford Capstone, 42) very nearly guessed which card it was.
BRILLIANT!
After the show Mysterioso the Magician described electrician Ms. Coleridge as “an inspirational genius.” “I just wish,” he said, “that my tricks were half as good as her lighting.”
Stuart suddenly had the feeling that someone was watching him, and he looked up to see April peering anxiously through the kitchen window. He got up and opened the back door.
“I didn’t want to ring the bell and disturb you,” she said, “so I climbed over the back fence. How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” he said. “I was just wondering how a guinea pig can partially disappear.”
“It was supposed to be hidden in one of Clifford’s sleeves, but it poked its head out through the cuff and started squeaking really loudly. Did you read my letter?”
Stuart nodded. “I had exactly the same idea about the dog,” he said. “We can go into the next illusion and get him back. As soon as we can.”
April grimaced. “We won’t be going anywhere unless we tell my sisters what’s going on. They’ve got the key.”
Reluctantly, Stuart nodded. “So, when do you want to do it?” he asked.
There was a tiny tap on the window, and they both looked up. Staring in at Stuart and April were May and June, their expressions identically stony.
“How about right now?” asked April.
CHAPTER 27
Stuart went outside. “Okay,” he said to April’s sisters. “Get us into your dad’s shed again, and we’ll tell you everything.”
Both girls folded their arms. “Truth first,” said one of them. “Then shed.”
Stuart folded his arms as well. “Shed first,” he said. “Then truth.”
There was silence for a moment while they all glared at each other, and then there was an exasperated sigh from April.
“For goodness’ sake,” she said, “you all look ridiculous. Let’s go to the café near the builder’s yard and talk about it there. We can pool our pocket money.”
“But …” Stuart glanced at May and June and turned and whispered in April’s ear, “But what if we tell them and then they still won’t give us the keys?“
April rolled her eyes. “They’re not a criminal gang,” she hissed. “They’re my sisters. They’re just nosy.”
“We’re not nosy,” screeched one of them. “That’s really, really insulting, isn’t it, June? I feel really, really insulted by that description.”
“As editor of Beeton’s leading local newspaper,” said June pompously, “it would be surprising if I wasn’t curious about unusual and interesting occurrences taking place in the area.”
April jerked her head at Stuart to indicate that
she needed a word with him, and he followed her to the end of the yard.
“Look,” she said quietly, “you don’t have to like my sisters, you just have to tolerate them. That’s what I do. So shall we go?”
Stuart hesitated, and then his stomach rumbled so loudly that even April heard it.
“What you need,” she said firmly, “is a hearty breakfast.”
At the café, Stuart had the sausage-bacon-double-egg-beans-fried-bread-all-day-breakfast special, and he ate it with great concentration and in silence.
“Okay,” he said to April, mopping his plate with the remains of the bread. “I’m ready.”
“I have never seen anyone eat that fast,” remarked one of her sisters, looking revolted.
“Apart from one mouthful of cereal that’s the first thing I’ve eaten since yesterday’s breakfast,” said Stuart indignantly.
“Well, don’t blame me if you get indigestion.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“All right, all right” said April, clapping her hands as if she were a schoolteacher. “Let’s get started.”
She looked at Stuart expectantly, and he glanced over his shoulder to check that no one else in the café was listening.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “How it all started in the first place was that, right at the beginning of the summer vacation, I found eight coins and a note belonging to my great-uncle Tony saying that I should try to find his workshop. I started following clues, and then April helped me, but we discovered that they weren’t just ordinary clues, they were magic clues—not guinea pigs out of hats, or handkerchiefs changing color, but real magic, and—”
“There’s no such thing as magic,” interrupted one of April’s sisters firmly.
“There is, actually,” replied Stuart.
“No there isn’t.”
“Be quiet, June,” said April.
“Don’t tell me to be quiet!”
“You asked Stuart for an explanation and then you contradicted him after about five words.”
“Yes, but there’s no need to be so rude. Don’t forget that I’m the eldest.”
