Magic in the City

by Heather Dyer

  Hannah, Jake and Simon weren’t able to slip away so easily. They were escorted to the manager’s office.

  “Are you sending us to jail?” asked Simon.

  “No,” said the manager. “I’m calling your parents.”

  Hannah gave him her phone number, and they had to sit and listen while the manager called her father and told him everything. Then they had to wait until he came to pick them up.

  “It wasn’t our fault,” said Hannah, as her father put their bikes on the roof rack. “We were only —”

  “Save it, Hannah,” said her father. “You can explain everything when we get home. And it had better be good. Your mother has been out of her mind with worry.”

  Hannah climbed into the car. They were just like those children in stories, she thought — the ones who get three wishes and then waste them all on stupid things. First they had let the carpet get wet. Then they had given away the stopwatch. Now the camera was gone — and they had only themselves to blame. Hannah hoped that the magic carpet would be all right when it dried out. She sat back miserably and glanced at Jake. He had his arm round Simon, but his face was turned toward the window, so it was impossible to know what he was thinking. Only Simon seemed untroubled; he was sound asleep.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE QUEEN

  Unfortunately, Hannah had forgotten that it was Friday, the day for garbage collection. The trucks had come by while they were out, and the first thing Hannah noticed as they pulled up outside their house was that the carpet was gone.

  “Oh, no!” wailed Hannah, jumping out of the car. “They’ve taken the carpet!”

  “What carpet?” said her father.

  “A magician gave it to us,” said Jake. “We left it right there, by the wall.”

  “Well, that was silly,” said Hannah’s father. “I expect it’s at the dump by now.”

  “Let’s go!” cried Hannah. “We’ll find it if we hurry.”

  “We’re going nowhere,” said Hannah’s father crisply. “Get in the house before I lose my patience.”

  Hannah burst into tears.

  “Hannah?” said her mother, coming out to meet them. She noticed Hannah’s wild hair and filthy robe. “What’s happened? Are you all right?”

  “She’s upset about a carpet,” said Hannah’s father. “The garbage collectors have taken it.”

  “Is that where they’ve been? Looking for a carpet?”

  Aunt Rachel came to the door then, and Simon ran to her. She took his face between her hands. “Where have you been?” she said. “And what have you been eating?”

  “We’ve been to see the queen,” said Simon. He started telling her all about it, but it came out rushed and breathless and impossible to follow, the way it did when he was trying to tell her about a movie he had seen.

  “What were you thinking, Hannah?” said her mother reproachfully. “Going off on your bikes like that without telling anyone? You didn’t even leave a note.”

  “It wasn’t Hannah’s fault,” said Jake. “It was my idea.”

  Aunt Rachel sighed. “I don’t know what’s got into you, Jake,” she said. “I know you didn’t want to come to London. It’s been difficult for all of us. But if you give it a chance, you might even get to like it here.”

  “I already do,” Jake muttered.

  “Pardon me?” said Aunt Rachel.

  “I said I already do like it here,” said Jake.

  “You do?”

  Jake nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it. London isn’t so bad. I’d rather be here than … some other places.”

  “Oh, Jake,” said Aunt Rachel. “I hope that’s true. As long as we stick together, that’s all that matters.”

  And of course it was all that mattered. When Hannah thought about how close they’d come to never seeing their parents again, she felt sick. She glanced at Jake, but he avoided looking at her, and she knew that he was thinking the same thing.

  “Well, I want a full explanation,” said Hannah’s mother. “Everybody in the front room, please. Now!”

  But just then they heard a cheerful honking. An enormous motor home was coming down the street. There were solar panels on the roof and a Union Jack flying from the aerial. Two corgis had their heads out the window.

  “What on earth?” said Hannah’s mother.

  The motor home stopped outside their house. Out climbed a tanned old lady with wispy white curls. She was wearing a pale pink jogging suit and runners, with a matching visor.

  “It’s the queen!” said Simon.

  The queen came up the garden path, carrying a handbag. “Good afternoon,” she said, offering her hand. “You must be Mr. Jones.”

  “I am!” said Hannah’s father, startled.

  “And you must be Mrs. Jones?”

  “Your Majesty,” said Hannah’s mother. She took the queen’s hand and, uncertain as to what to do with it, she curtsied.

  “And you,” said the queen, turning to Aunt Rachel, “must be Mrs. Grubb. Simon has told me all about you.”

  “He has?” Aunt Rachel looked confused.

  “Yes. In fact, he’s the reason that I’m here.”

  “Dear me,” groaned Hannah’s father. “What’s he done now?”

  “Whatever it was,” said Hannah’s mother, “I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

  “Oh, I assure you, he did,” said the queen.

  “Please come in,” Aunt Rachel said. “Let’s talk about it.”

  “I’d like nothing better,” said the queen. “But I can’t let too much time pass, or they’ll notice that I’ve gone. I just came to give you the deeds.”

  “Deeds?” said Aunt Rachel. “What deeds?”

  “The deeds for your house.” The queen rummaged in her handbag and brought out a large brown envelope. “Here they are. All you have to do is sign at the bottom, and the house is yours.”

  “I’m sorry,” Aunt Rachel said, perplexed. “But I think there’s been a mistake. Which house are you talking about?”

  “Your house!” said the queen. “Simon told me that you didn’t really want to move. So I thought, why not buy the house myself? I hope you don’t mind.”

  “You bought our old house?” said Jake.

  “Yes. And now I’m giving it to you.”

  There was a stunned silence.

  “I don’t understand,” said Aunt Rachel. “It’s very generous of you, but —”

  “It’s nothing,” said the queen. “Not compared to what Simon’s given me.”

  “What did Simon give you?”

  “Time,” said the queen.

  “Well!” said Aunt Rachel, baffled. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” said the queen. “And now I must get going.”

  “But wait —” said Hannah’s mother. “I don’t understand. Where did you meet the children?”

  “Aha!” The queen tapped the side of her nose confidentially. “I’m afraid that information is Top Secret. Security reasons. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “Of course not. Goodbye!”

  A small crowd had gathered around the queen’s motor home. The queen paused to sign several autographs and have her photo taken. Then Hannah’s father opened the door, and the queen climbed into the driver’s seat and put the window down. “Next time you’re in the neighborhood,” she said to Hannah and her parents, “you must come to the palace for afternoon tea. We do a lovely cucumber sandwich. Goodbye, Simon. I’ll be in touch!” She gave the crowd a royal wave then drove off down the road, followed by several small children and a couple of dogs.

  CHAPTER 21

  BON VOYAGE

  “I need to sit down,” said Aunt Rachel. So they all went inside, and Aunt Rachel opened the envelope and remo
ved the deeds. “It’s true,” she said. Her hands were trembling. “She’s put the house in my name.”

  “Let me see,” said Hannah’s mother. But even she couldn’t find anything wrong.

  “We’re going home,” said Aunt Rachel, and to everyone’s surprise, she burst into tears.

  “What’s the matter now?” said Jake.

  “Nothing! Nothing at all!” Aunt Rachel said, laughing.

  “Well!” Hannah’s mother glanced at her watch. “I don’t suppose we’ll get to the museum now. We might as well have our sandwiches. It’s nearly lunchtime.”

  Hannah’s father unpacked the egg-and-cress sandwiches and they sat around with plates on their laps — all except for Simon, who was full. While they ate they talked about how soon they might be able to book a flight to Canada, whether it was too late to cancel the shipment of their boxes, and when they could arrange to collect Monty.

  Hannah got up and went to the kitchen to put her plate in the sink. She was happy for Aunt Rachel and the boys, of course. But she couldn’t help thinking about the magic carpet lying among all those broken electrical appliances and bags of garbage. Tears filled her eyes. It would have been better if she’d never seen it. At least then she wouldn’t have known what she was missing.

  ***

  Aunt Rachel booked a flight for the following Friday, which gave them a week to see the sights of London. But Hannah’s enthusiasm for showing her cousins around had evaporated. She trailed after the rest of the family, thinking about the carpet and gazing vacantly at the exhibits in the Natural History Museum.

  “What’s the matter with you, Hannah?” her mother said. “Cheer up, won’t you? I thought you were looking forward to having the boys here.”

  Hannah’s father did his best, getting everyone to gather around while he read aloud from the Pocket Guide to London. But the boys weren’t easily impressed. They’d seen the major landmarks already, and things generally look more exciting from a magic carpet than they do from the ground.

  On Tuesday they took a tour of Buckingham Palace. Hannah and Jake wore sunglasses the whole time, afraid that one of the guards might recognize them. But Simon told his mother all about the kitchens and the gardens and the door behind the red curtain in the Throne Room.

  “How come you’re such an expert?” said Aunt Rachel, laughing. “Anyone would think you’d been here before!”

  “I have,” said Simon.

  “He means he’s taken a virtual tour,” said Jake, shooting Simon a warning look.

  On Wednesday they went on the London Eye, and on Thursday they climbed the 528 steps to the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral. “What do you think, boys?” said Hannah’s father, from the Golden Gallery. “Ever been this high before?”

  “Yes,” said Simon.

  The boys did enjoy the National Maritime Museum, though, somewhat to Aunt Rachel’s surprise. She hadn’t realized Jake knew so much about English galleons. Jake was keen to see the bronze statue of Sir Walter Raleigh in Greenwich, too; but when they got there, he said it looked nothing like him and that the real Sir Walter Raleigh had skinny legs.

  “Jake’s a bit of a know-it-all, isn’t he?” said Hannah’s father, when the boys were out of earshot.

  “It’s typical of the young these days,” said Hannah’s mother. “They’ve already seen it all online.”

  But when the following Friday came around, the boys could barely contain their excitement. Simon kept saying how happy Monty would be to see them, and all Jake could talk about was the canoeing trip that he could now go on with his friends.

  After breakfast Aunt Rachel and the boys went upstairs to pack. Hannah was brushing her teeth when Jake came in to get his toothbrush. “I’m sorry about the carpet,” he said.

  Hannah spat into the sink. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know. I’m sorry you didn’t get to ride it though.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “When you visit us,” said Jake, “we’ll take you river rafting on an inner tube. It’s just as good as the carpet. Better, even.”

  “Thanks,” said Hannah. It was nice of him to say so, but she knew it wasn’t true.

  “And this time,” said Jake, looking sheepish, “I promise not to leave you behind.”

  Hannah smiled. “Okay.” But just as Jake was going out the door, she said, “Aren’t you sorry that you lost your camera, though? And the stopwatch?”

  Jake shrugged. “Not really. Going home is magic enough for me.”

  ***

  When their car had been loaded up, Aunt Rachel and the boys got in and put their windows down. “Come visit us soon, won’t you?” said Aunt Rachel.

  “We will,” said Hannah’s father.

  “Bye!” said the boys.

  Hannah and her parents stood and waved until Aunt Rachel’s car had turned the corner and was gone.

  “Well,” said Hannah’s mother, “I must admit I’m glad we’re on our own again. Cup of tea?”

  But just as Hannah and her father were about to follow her inside, Mrs. Miles from next door popped her head over the fence.

  “Robert!” she said.

  “Hello, Jean,” said Hannah’s father.

  “Your sister-in-law has gone home, then?”

  “Yes! A sudden change of fortune.” Hannah’s father started telling Mrs. Miles about the events of the previous week.

  But Hannah wasn’t listening. She was staring at something that was rolled up and leaning against Mrs. Miles’s garden wall. “That’s our carpet!” she cried.

  “Oh, that old thing?” said Mrs. Miles. “I didn’t think you’d mind me taking it, seeing as you were throwing it out. I’ve been looking for something to wipe my boots on when I come in from the garden. Unfortunately, it wasn’t suitable.”

  “It wasn’t?” said Hannah.

  “No. It kept ruckling up. Twice it nearly tripped me. It’s got a life of its own, that carpet. So I’ve put it out again.”

  Hannah turned to her father. “Can I keep it?”

  Her father looked doubtful. “It’s a bit shabby. I don’t know if your mother will want it in the house.”

  “Please! I’ll clean it up.”

  “On one condition, then …”

  “What’s that?”

  “You keep it in your room.”

  Hannah gave a shout of joy and ran to get the carpet. Her father smiled and went to help.

  ***

  The night was blustery. In the middle of the English Channel was a small white yacht, the Suzette, and standing on deck with his black cloak billowing was Philippe Fontaine. He was looking at the stars through his telescope, pausing every now and then to scribble something in his notebook. But what was that? A small dark shape was moving slowly but steadily across the heavens: the magic carpet! Aboard it was a girl sitting cross-legged, with her hair streaming in the wind and a tartan blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

  “Bon voyage!” shouted Philippe Fontaine.

  But she was too far off to hear him. He watched until the carpet was just a small dark speck among the stars. Then he chuckled to himself and resumed his inspection of the heavens.

  Meanwhile, back in Hannah’s bedroom, the curtains billowed in through the open window and a piece of paper fluttered off the desk onto the floor. It was a note. It said:

  Gone to the Taj Mahal.

  Back for breakfast.

  Hannah

  Heather Dyer is the award-winning author of The Fish in Room 11, The Girl with the Broken Wing and Ibby’s Magic Weekend. Her novels for young readers are all about extraordinary things that happen to ordinary kids. Heather was born in Scotland, spent most of her childhood in Wales and also lived in Canada in a cabin by a lake. She now lives in Wales.

  the City