Shamanka

by Jeanne Willis

  The voices of mothers around the globe fill the air. In English, French, Spanish, Swahili…

  “I’m here … here … here.”

  The mother turtle calls, mother seabirds call and not so far away, in Borneo and Sumatra, mother orang-utans croon to their own babies, real or imagined. Newborn or dead. John holds his daughter by the shoulders and turns her towards him. He watches her lips, her throat. They do not move. “I know how you’re doing that…”

  Now he hears a voice calling from inside the magic box: sweeter than Candy’s, softer than Kitty’s. John throws his hat on the floor.

  “Don’t – it’s just ventriloquism. I can do it.”

  He throws his voice to Lola: “Listen to your father!”

  But Sam isn’t throwing her voice. Behind them, a woman laughs lightly. “I’m here.”

  Christa is sitting up in the box and smiling. She reaches out and holds Sam so close, she can hear her heart beating.

  Bom-ba … bomba! Bom-ba … bomba!

  Bom-ba … bomba! Bom-ba … bomba!

  Was it a true resurrection? Did the sound of Sam’s voice break a curse? Did she heal her mother with psychic surgery? Was a miracle brought about by the sprinkling of holy water?

  I doubt it; I’m not convinced that Christa Tabuh was dead in the first place. I happen to know that if you swallow the slime from a certain Australian toad, which has been secretly dunked in your drink, you will fall into a deep coma and appear well and truly dead – especially to a young doctor who’s only just passed his medical exams.

  There are only two known antidotes to this toad slime; one is stored at the Hospital for Tropical Diseases and the other is known only to me. I’ll tell you what it is, in case you ever accept a toad-flavoured drink from a medicine man and find yourself without a pulse.

  The antidote is the acid from the bite of a yellow spider that lives inside a rare species of orchid. These orchids are only found in the Solomon Islands and they just happen to be the ones that John Tabuh wove into Christa’s hair.

  To this day, I remain sceptical about the resurrection of mortals. But John Tabuh does not; this is the turning point for him. Something far greater than luck or chance has reunited him with the wife, child and father he thought he’d lost for ever.

  Was it magic? The Dark Prince thinks he’s finally found the answer, but is he right? That is something you must find out for yourself. For now, it’s only right that he should go home to New Guinea to show off his beautiful wife and his wisest of daughters to his dear old dad.

  In whom he has every faith.

  HOW TO DISAPPEAR IN A PUFF OF SMOKE

  The masked magician takes a bow. There is a thunder crack! Swirling green smoke fills the stage. As it clears, we realize that the magician has vanished. How?

  THE SECRET

  There are several ways of creating smoke, fog and mist to use as a screen and enhance illusions.

  1. Pyro flash cartridges: These produce deeply coloured, dense smoke for 7 to 30 seconds – plenty of time to “dematerialize” right in front of the audience’s eyes.

  2. Smoke guns: These feed liquid smoke into a heated chamber. It then vaporizes and produces a jet of dense white smoke – a perfect piece of misdirection.

  3. Smoke chillers: These use solid CO2 to produce lowlying smoke ideal for creating the right atmosphere for a ghostly apparition.

  4. Dry ice: This produces dense, white, water-vapour smoke, forced out of the front of a kettle – ideal for creating eerie midnight wharf scenes.

  5. Liquid nitrogen foggers: These spray a fine mist, which drops the air temperature and causes a low-lying fog, ideal for disguising … well, all manner of things.

  YOUR TURN

  What happened next? John Tabuh returned home to his father and was welcomed with open arms. He hadn’t failed his mission; he’d swallowed his youthful pride, learnt his lesson and apologized profusely for ever doubting the Old Magic. Even so, John worried that he wasn’t fit to walk in Yafer Tabuh’s shadow, never mind step into his shoes.

  “I’m afraid I’ll never make a great witch doctor,” he confessed sadly.

  To his surprise, his father heartily disagreed. He shook his head so vigorously, he almost had his eye out with his hornbill necklace.

  “Number One Son, you have already made a great witch doctor!” he guffawed, clapping John so hard on the back, he began to choke on the betel nut he was chewing.

  “I’m … heuuurch … got a nut stuck … not quite sure what you … heuuurch … urgle,” John choked.

  Sam stepped in and gave him the Heimlich manoeuvre. There’s nothing magical about this procedure – you don’t need to be Athea Furby to perform it. Simply study these instructions:

  1. From behind, grasp the sufferer round the upper abdomen.

  2. Clasp one hand over the other with the fist in the angle of the rib cage.

  3. Pull hard inwards and upwards against the bottom of the breastbone – the sudden increase of pressure in the chest should force the food out.

  4. Reassure the patient (unless you’re too late, in which case call a witch doctor).

  Thanks entirely to Sam’s quick thinking, the nut shot out of the Dark Prince’s gullet into the Sepik River and he was able to continue his conversation.

  “Sorry, Father, what were you saying before I almost choked to death?”

  Yafer Tabuh grinned from ear to ear. “I was about to say that you have already made the perfect witch doctor!”

  “I have?”

  “Certainly. With the help of your wife, whom I chose for you most carefully, you have made Shamanka!”

  He took Sam’s hand and held it up in the air. There was a roar of approval from the crowd, who had been gathering on the banks since the early hours of the morning to welcome her. The witch doctor embraced his granddaughter fondly then made the sign of the triangle.

  “She who is born to the third triplet on the third day of the third month at three minutes past three will grow to be wiser than her father and her grandfather put together!”

  There was another roar of approval and much banging of drums, which sent the Torresian crows shrieking into the sky.

  “Shamanka! Shamanka! Shamanka!”

  Yafer called for silence. He took off his headdress with the bird of paradise feathers and with great solemnity he placed it on Sam’s head, and because she was so much wiser than her years and because her head was so full of magic, it fitted like a dream.

  It wasn’t a dream though. When Yafer Tabuh finally departed from this world at the age of 105, it was cast in stone that he was not to be resurrected and that his granddaughter, Sam, should inherit his crown. Thus, the little girl from St Peter’s Square became the next witch doctor and the Old Magic lived on.

  It still lives on. When I count to three, you will be back in your theatre seat. Sit tight, I would hate you to miss the end of the show.

  One … two … three…

  The curtain falls. The house lights come on. The show is over for the rest of the audience; for you, it’s just beginning. They put on their coats and leave, but you stay in your seat until the theatre is empty; there’s something you want to know. Soon, the cleaners come to sweep up the popcorn; we don’t have long.

  I am the Masked Magician and I would like an audience with you alone. Hurry now. Climb onto the stage and slip behind the curtains. I am waiting in the wings. I have something to show you, something you have never seen before, I promise.

  Ah, there you are, my courageous companion. Come closer … excellent, you have a good, firm handshake. This bodes well. You show no sign of nerves, you’re not afraid of me – and why should you be? We have travelled the world together, have we not?

  You know more about me than I know about you. You gave nothing away throughout our journey. I admire that. It confirms what I’ve suspected all along; you are perfect for the job.

  What job? It heartens me to know that you are full of insatiable curiosity. All will be revea
led soon, but I sense there are three other questions you’d like to ask me first.

  What is magic? You’re wondering if the witch doctor could truly twist fate? I’m glad you asked me that; it means you have a touch of John Tabuh’s cynicism, which is good because it makes you ask a question like the next one…

  What is illusion? At the back of your mind, you suspect Sam’s journey was just a daydream. She is no one special; just a bored, lonely orphan. Influenced by a trip to a magic show with her arthritic old aunt, she invented an exotic pet to keep her company and fabricated a magical family to replace the one she’d lost, casting herself as heroine.

  However, you’re not entirely happy with this tidy explanation, are you? You’ve seen how miserable life can be for people with narrow minds so you’re keeping yours open. But you’re nobody’s fool, which is why you’d like to know the following…

  What is real? Did Sam really exist? The witch doctor? Did any of the characters exist or did I conjure them up one rainy afternoon to entertain you in this old theatre? What’s that you say? You want me to show you the thing you’ve never seen before? My true identity, you mean? I must say, you’re very bold. Ah, well. I did promise, I suppose.

  Very well, I will take off my mask…

  I am Shamanka!

  I am Sam Tabuh; see the blonde streak in my hair? Look up into the gods – you will see my assistant. I’m sure you recognize her, even though she is disguised as a small boy.

  It is Lola.

  We have come from New Guinea to find you. I have no sons or daughters to step into my shoes. Like my dear departed grandfather, I manipulated time and fate and arranged for you to be born. I chose your parents carefully. You arrived on the right day at the right time in the right place, just as I planned. I even chose your name. Shout it out loud! There is magic in it.

  Big Magic.

  You are destined for great things, my friend. Maybe in this life, maybe in the next. Bad things may happen, but you will overcome them; you will grow wise.

  You have hidden powers.

  Be on your guard. Some of the characters you will meet will not be who they seem. I have put them there for a reason. You may not understand why now, but you will. Be wary, but do not be afraid. I have provided you with a spirit guide, a totem animal and a power animal. If you don’t know who they are, you will find out soon.

  You have a unique gift. Never doubt it, even in your darkest moments. I am Shamanka. You are no longer the person you were before our paths crossed.

  You are better, brighter, braver.

  You are magical.

  It is time to start your journey.

  WILD BOY

  Rob Lloyd Jones

  Behold the savage spectacle of the wild boy!

  London, 1841. In the seamy, smoggy underworld, a boy covered in hair, raised as a monster, is condemned to life in a travelling freak show. A boy with an extraordinary power of observation and detection. A boy accused of murder, on the run, hungry for the truth. Ladies and Gentlemen, take your seats. The show is about to begin!

  “A gripping murder mystery” Sunday Express

  THE BOY WHO SWAM WITH PIRANHAS

  DAVID ALMOND

  A life-affirming and fabulously fishy tale about one boy’s journey from anguish to joy.

  Stanley Potts is just an ordinary boy, but when all the jobs in Fish Quay disappear his Uncle Ernie develops an extraordinary fascination with canning fish. Suddenly their home is filled with the sound of clanging machinery and the stench of mackerel. Stan, however, has his own destiny. As he delves into the waters, he finally discovers who he really can be.

  “This book will make hearts sing” Sunday Times

  DRAGONBORN

  TOBY FORWARD

  In a world where magic has become wild, and evil is afoot, can the forces for good prevail?

  When the great wizard Flaxfield dies, his apprentice Sam is left without a master. As the wizards gather for his Finishing, Sam does not know whom to trust and whom he should fear. He sets off alone with only his dragon Starback for company, little realizing the perils that lie in wait. This powerful opening book of the Flaxfield Quartet is an adventure story told with great lyricism and power.

  “Toby Forward has created a world and characters uniquely his own.” School Librarian

  MONDAYS ARE MURDER

  TANYA LANDMAN

  Death by misadventure…?

  When Poppy Fields goes on an activity holiday to a remote Scottish island, she is looking forward to a week of climbing, hill-walking and horse riding. But things take a disastrous turn when their instructor has what appears to be a fatal abseiling accident. When Poppy discovers that his rope was cut, and more of the instructors start to have “accidents”, she and best friend Graham suspect foul play and decide to investigate.

  “With a convincing twist in the tail this is a really satisfying story.” Carousel

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information and material of any other kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy or replicated as they may result in injury.

  First published 2007 by Walker Books Ltd

  87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ

  This edition published 2013

  Text © 2007 Jeanne Willis

  Inside illustrations © 2007 Walker Books Ltd

  Cover illustration © 2013 Joe Wilson at début art

  The right of Jeanne Willis to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmittedor stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data: a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978-1-4063-5083-8 (ePub)

  www.walker.co.uk