She took Bryony by the shoulders. ‘’Cause your Mr Ken Undrum can’t do magic at all,’ she said. ‘He wouldn’t know transcendental powers if he met them in his soup.’
Then she headed off towards the school gate, pausing only to add disparagingly, ‘Mr Conundrum, that’s what he is. And I’m telling you, Bryony Bell – this time he’s out!’
Abid, who had been watching the scene in awed silence, put a large arm round Bryony and led her into the playground where the last of the lines were straggling in.
‘It’s not the end of the world,’ he pointed out reasonably.
‘It kind of is,’ Bryony said, dangerously close to tears. ‘It’s the end for poor Mr Undrum and Lily and Snowflake and goodness-knows-how-many other rabbits. It’s the end of me being the slickest, most glamorous magician the world has ever known.’
She gave a long, sad, sniff before announcing solemnly, ‘It is the end of my career in magic.’ Then she looked at Abid and corrected herself. ‘Our career in magic.’
Abid bit his lip. He had been about to point out that as far as he was concerned, a career in magic was the very last career he would ever want and that he was, as she well knew, destined for accountancy or brain surgery; but when he saw Bryony’s lip tremble and her blue eyes fill with tears, his heart melted.
‘It’s not,’ he said, as they trailed along to the classroom. ‘’Cause I’ve had a breathtakingly brilliant, scintillatingly surefire gem of an idea for once!’
Bryony gazed at him.
‘Really?’ she said, a little doubtfully.
Abid nodded, but before he could divulge the breathtakingly brilliant, scintillatingly surefire gem of an idea, Mrs Ogilvie, their teacher, glared out at them from behind a sheaf of Spelling Tests.
‘Do take your time, Bryony and Abid,’ she said with heavy irony. ‘No pressure at all…’
Bryony and Abid, suitably chastened, slunk into their seats, sat up as brightly as they could manage, and prepared to give the day’s Top Ten Spelling their best shots. Just as Bryony was carefully writing the last word, and wondering whether ‘anomynous’ was a word, Abid slid a note across the desk.
When she read it, Bryony’s spirits soared.
Mr U. can stay with us.
Sounded Mum out yesterday. A OK.
‘What about your asthma?’ Bryony hissed. ‘You know the rabbits are set to multiply?’
‘All part of the Plan,’ Abid grinned. ‘They can live in the conservatory. It’s like the Amazon rainforest in there. The damp’ll stop hairs spreading through the house.’
‘Are you sure, Abid?’ Bryony said, hardly daring to believe her ears. ‘Can you and your mum and dad cope with all Mr Undrum’s props and…’ she hesitated ‘…little ways?’
But Abid had become very serious. ‘We can’t throw him out on the street at his age,’ he said. ‘We’d never sleep easy again.’
Then he looked even more serious. ‘There’s just one thing worries me, Bryony,’ he said. ‘He hasn’t got birds, has he? ’Cause you know feathers make me wheeze more than anything else.’ He shuddered. ‘I only have to think of that Swan costume you rescued me from, and it starts.’
Bryony thought back to the Ugly Duckling play. Abid had wheezed his way through the Swan role until they had persuaded Mrs Quigg to let her take over. Then, safely offstage, he had entranced the whole school as he sang the Swan song while Bryony skated.
‘Don’t worry,’ she assured him. ‘Not only does Mr Undrum not work with birds, he’s got a thing about them too.’ She lowered her voice confidentially. ‘You’re never to mention doves.’
Then she sat down on the pavement, changed into her old black skates, and led the way home.
‘Hurry up!’ she called back to Abid. ‘We need to be there when Angelina breaks the news about the flies. It could get very ugly…’
But when they reached Bryony’s house, it was clear that word of Angelina’s punishment had already reached home, for the pavement was piled high with bags, crates and rabbit hutches, the ‘sawing-a-lady-in-half’ box towering magnificently over everything. It had been decorated with silver stars, which somehow added an extra poignancy. Beside it all stood Mr Undrum, bidding Clarissa a tearful farewell.
‘Think no more of it, dear lady,’ he said, his voice muffled by a large red handkerchief. ‘It’s always happening…’
‘I’m sorry, Ken,’ Clarissa said, ‘but we must consider Angelina’s feelings. She’s devastated.’
She pushed an envelope into Ken’s hand. ‘Back wages for all the housework,’ she explained gently. ‘Tide you over ’til you find somewhere.’
Ken looked about to protest, but Clarissa said firmly, ‘Angelina insisted. Because of Lily’s condition, you know. Loves rabbits, does our Angelina. Always did.’
Ken thanked Clarissa gratefully. Then he glanced sideways, to see Bryony’s smiling face.
‘It’ll be fine,’ he said, forcing a little smile too.
‘You know what they say – don’t you, Bryony?’
‘Sure, Mr Undrum,’ Bryony said promptly. ‘“There’s a rainbow round the corner…”’
As Ken solemnly joined in, she did three joyous pirhouettes, finishing up facing Abid.
‘And this, Mr Undrum,’ she said, ‘is Abid Ashraf – your very own personal rainbow!’
‘Mr Undrum,’ Abid said formally, ‘my parents and I would be happy to offer you and your pets accommodation until circumstances improve…’ and was engulfed by a rapturous Ken and Clarissa who thanked him ‘from the very depths of their souls’.
While Abid recovered his breath, Bryony skated thoughtfully round the pile of props. She gave the ‘sawing-a-lady-in-half’ box a gentle stroke.
A burning question was on her lips – and it wasn’t going to be long before she had her answer.
Eight
‘No,’ Abid said firmly.
‘No,’ he repeated, ‘and thrice no. There is no way on this earth I am letting anyone saw me in half. Even you, Bryony.’
It was Saturday morning, and they were in the marble hall of Abid’s house. Ken was upstairs being measured for a new cloak; the rabbits were revelling in the steamy warmth of the conservatory, and Bryony, her Viper 3000s white and gleaming, was skating round the ‘sawing–a-lady-in-half’ box, savouring the wonderful smoothness of the floor. Her Swan costume, which she had donned in preparation for Ken’s first lesson in magic, felt as graceful and as feathery as she remembered. The very air sparkled with magic.
‘But, Abid, you have to!’ Bryony protested. ‘Your mum’s even gone to the bother of unpicking the swan from my bodice and embroidering on a silver star so I match the box.’
She peered into the varnished surface, now so glossy she could see the silver stars on her hair-ties. Her disappointment reflected back at her.
‘I get claustrophobia, Bryony,’ Abid said miserably. ‘That’s a fear of confined spaces.’ He sighed. ‘And you don’t get more confined than an Antique Pine box.’
From upstairs a door opened and Ken, led proudly by Mrs Ashraf, descended and gave his cloak a stately whirl. Then, kissing Mrs Ashraf’s elegantly manicured fingers, he struck a pose against one of the marble pillars.
‘Oh, Mr Undrum!’ Bryony gasped. ‘You look a million dollars!’ She pulled out the cloak to admire its shimmering, kingfisher-blue lining.
‘Careful, sweetie,’ Mrs Ashraf said, ‘it’s only tacked. And of course, it still has silver-sequined stars to come.’
‘It’s just what the act needs,’ Ken said, giving Mrs Ashraf a stiff little bow. ‘A new gloss, a new polish…’
‘A couple of new magicians,’ Bryony added.
Ken clicked his heels together and nodded, and she clasped her hands in rapture.
‘Today I will initiate you both into the secrets of magic,’ he announced importantly. ‘Come along, young man – hop in!’
Abid winced.
‘I’d just as soon not be initiated, Mr Undrum,’ he said, shooting his mo
ther a desperate glance. ‘I don’t think Mum would want me being sawn in half. Would you, Mum?’
Bryony bit her lip. ‘It’s only a trick,’ she assured Mrs Ashraf. ‘I won’t actually cut him.’
Mrs Ashraf pushed Abid towards the box. ‘Of course it’s only a trick!’ she said. ‘Now, Abid, don’t be a big baby. After all Bryony’s done for you…’
There was a scuffle as Ken and Mrs Ashraf manouevred Abid in, then banged down the lid
Abid, his feet sticking out of two holes at the bottom of the box and his head protruding from the other end, looked like a terror-stricken turtle.
‘What about my claustrophobia?’ he wailed, rolling his eyes. But Bryony’s mind was on higher things. Ken had handed her the saw and the wand.
‘Ooooooh, Mr Undrum,’ she breathed. ‘It’s like my whole arm’s vibrating with magic power.’
‘Not y-y-your sawing hand, B-b-bryony?’ Abid stopped moaning long enough to stutter. ‘Oh please let me out…’
Ignoring him, Ken pointed to the groove round the box’s middle. ‘Now, Bryony,’ he said, ‘this is where you start sawing. Breathe in, Abid.’ He rocked Bryony’s hand gently back and forth. The saw sliced through the groove as easily as a knife cuts butter.
‘Bravo, Bryony!’ Ken cheered. ‘A joiner’s daughter through and through.’
Abid, who had now turned an unhealthy yellowish-white and appeared to have lost the power of speech, appealed silently to his mother, but Mrs Ashraf spun round on her pointed little heels.
‘It’s like this when we go to the dentist, Bryony,’ she said, floating off into the living room. ‘He’s much worse when I’m around.’
Ken now turned his attention to Abid. ‘Pay attention, young man,’ he said, ‘otherwise we could end up with blood on the carpet, so to speak.’
Bryony watched Abid’s face with interest. At the mention of the word ‘blood’ he sucked in his cheeks and turned grey. She tried to concentrate on the wand and the magic words Ken was going to teach her, but it was no use.
‘You are all right, aren’t you?’ she said, feeling Abid’s brow. It was cold and clammy.
‘I don’t want to let you down, Bryony,’ Abid intoned, eyes tightly shut, ‘but I so hate it in here.’
‘It’s no use,’ Bryony told Ken with a sigh. ‘We’ll have to swap.’
Regretfully she opened the lid, hauled Abid out and handed him the saw and the wand. ‘Right, Abid,’ she said, hopping into the box herself. ‘You’re the magician, I’m the glamorous assistant – get sawing!’
Abid steeled himself and placed the saw into the groove. It shuddered, then stuck.
‘OK,’ said Ken, ‘this is where it gets really clever. Abid – take the saw out, wave the wand and say some magic words. Give Bryony enough time to raise her tummy up to the top of the box.’ He glanced at Bryony. ‘Think you can manage that, Bryony?’
‘No problem at all, Mr Undrum,’ Bryony assured him. ‘And when Abid starts sawing again, he puts the saw in below my bottom – isn’t that it?’
Ken nodded. ‘Spot on, Bryony!’ They both looked at Abid expectantly.
‘Come on,’ said Bryony. ‘It’s really uncomfortable lying here with my tummy in the air.’
Abid hesitated. ‘I’m scared there’s bits of you still hanging down,’ he gulped.
‘I’m fine,’ Bryony groaned impatiently. ‘Do get on with it!’
Abid had three goes at pushing in the saw. Finally he stopped, wiped the sweat off his brow, and to everyone’s surprise announced, ‘I’ve just thought what Mrs Quigg would do.’
Bryony’s tummy dropped in astonishment. ‘What in heaven’s name has Mrs Quigg got to do with it?’
‘Well,’ Abid went on, ‘remember that song she taught us about whistling a happy tune whenever we feel afraid?’
Bryony raised her eyebrows to the ceiling and nodded.
‘That’s what I’ll do, if you’ve no objections, Mr Undrum,’ he went on. ‘Only I’ll sing rather than whistle, and I’ll fit in magic words too.’
Ken shrugged. ‘Sing away,’ he said. ‘Whatever helps.’
Abid looked over at Bryony. ‘Ready?’ he asked.
‘Bottom’s up,’ Bryony winked. Then she lay back and listened to Abid’s soprano voice as, suddenly transformed, he pushed the saw back and forth below her as confidently as if he had been doing it all his life, and, from the sidelines, Ken watched with growing delight.
Abracadabra, kalamazoo, Abid sang as he sawed,
Watch as the lady is cut in two.
Abracadabra, kalamazee,
Be truly ASTOUNDED at what you see.
The saw had gone as far as it could, and Abid withdrew it. Carefully he eased the two halves of the box a few centimetres apart, hissed, ‘Wiggle your toes!’ to Bryony, who smiled broadly and obliged, then went on singing:
Abracadabra, kalamazoh,
Watch as she wiggles her sawn-off toe.
Abracadabra, kalamzick,
It really IS magic, it isn’t a trick!
With a grin at Bryony he gave the saw a final flourish, sang the last verse of his song, and bowed low:
What is our secret? No one can tell!
And now let us hear it…
For ASHRAF AND BELL!
Bryony erupted out of the box and skated round to give Abid a huge pat on the back. ‘That was wicked, Abid!’ she told him. ‘Wasn’t it, Mr Undrum?’
Ken shook Abid’s hand warmly. ‘You have a beautiful voice,’ he said, ‘and great stage presence, young man.’
‘Have I really?’ Abid said uncertainly. ‘I never think I have…
‘It’s just that … well … Bryony always looks after me. Like when there are fights at school.’ He gazed lovingly at Bryony. ‘I’d do anything for her,’ he concluded.
‘Except anything to do with birds,’ he added, after a pause.
At the mention of the word ‘birds’ Bryony looked anxiously at Ken. Sure enough, his little shoulders were sagging.
‘Mr Undrum?’ she said. ‘Are you all right?’
Ken put a hand on Bryony’s arm. Then, motioning to them both to follow him, he led the way silently upstairs to his room. He patted the bed, and Bryony sat down on one side and Abid on the other.
‘The time has come,’ Ken told them, ‘to tell you my story.’ And Abid and Bryony each placed a comforting arm on his shoulders.
‘I too had someone who always looked after me,’ Ken said sadly. ‘But something went very, very wrong.
‘It began fifty years ago. On Broadway. With Ron, and the American flag, and fifty white doves…’
Nine
As Ken told Bryony and Abid his story, the house held its breath and listened with them. It was clearly a difficult story to tell.
‘Ron – that’s short for Ronaldo – was my big brother,’ Ken began. ‘He always fought my battles.
‘We hadn’t two dimes to rub together, so Ron and me decided we’d set up as a magic act. Work our way up through the New York clubs – make it big on Broadway!’ He laughed ruefully. ‘It’s what everyone dreams of, isn’t it, Bryony?’
‘Broadway or bust, Mr Undrum,’ she agreed softly.
‘And you know,’ Ken went on, ‘we darn near made it.’ His eyes sparkled with sudden delight. ‘We were good! Well … Ron was good. Didn’t matter what Ron tried, he made it big…’
For a moment a smile lingered on his face. Then it disappeared again.
‘What happened then?’ Bryony asked.
‘We finally got the big Broadway audition,’ Ken said. ‘And what an act we had planned!’
He jumped off the bed. ‘Picture it,’ he said, reaching up and spreading his arms wide, ‘the American flag – the Stars ’n’ Stripes – bigger than this room! We sank every dollar we had into making it, and it was awesome.’ He swept his hand back and forth above their heads. ‘The background was red tinsel, the stripes were a coupla hundred blue bulbs that flashed on and off, and the stars…’
Ken stopped, overcome with emotion.
‘What were the stars, Mr Undrum?’ Abid asked.
When Ken managed to speak, his voice was barely audible.
‘Fifty white doves,’ he said.
Bryony shot a look at Abid.
‘Fifty?’ she asked.
Ken nodded. ‘Yup,’ he said. ‘Number of stars on the ol’ Stars ’n’ Stripes. ‘’Course you didn’t see them to start with. That was the trick.’
‘You made fifty doves appear by magic?’ Bryony asked, incredulously.
‘We’d show the audience this empty box,’ Ken nodded. ‘Open all the doors – you know the kinda thing. Then there’d be a drum roll, Ron would wave his wand and at the same time I would lift the lid and out they’d fly!’
Ken’s eyes sparkled again, like dark little diamonds, as he gazed up towards the ceiling. With a worried frown, Abid followed his gaze, almost expecting to see fifty doves peering down from the cornicing.
‘’Specially trained, they were,’ Ken went on. ‘I tell you – it was phenomenal.
‘Well, it would have been phenomenal,’ he corrected himself, ‘if I hadn’t messed up big-time.’
‘Messed up?’ Bryony asked.
‘Always had a jinx around livestock,’ Ken nodded. ‘Even in those days. There was a crate under the stage where the doves were hidden, and I’d move a catch with my toe to open it. Then out would fly the doves, up into the magic box, so when I opened the lid – Lift off!’
Ken raised both hands, making a gesture like a rocket going into orbit.
‘Except they didn’t,’ he said, bringing his hands back down. ‘On our big night I kicked the catch, opened the lid, and nothing happened. Just a bit of squawking and a few feathers…’
‘Why, Mr Undrum?’ asked Abid.
‘Set the catch wrong, didn’t I,’ Ken said, a vein pulsing on his temple. ‘Flaming doves were stuck. Took us two days to get them out and when we did, the smell would’ve knocked you sideways!’
Ken buried his face in his hands. ‘Our Broadway career,’ he sobbed, ‘in ruins. And all because of my incompetence. Just like I did at your house, Bryony – messed everything up for The Singing Bells and now they’ll never forgive me.’
Under the Spell of Bryony Bell Page 4
