At the very top of the building the windows were tiny and protected each by a metal grille. Esmé frowned at the strange house. Wouldn’t you want big windows on the top floor? she thought to herself. The view must be amazing from up there…
“Whaddya think?” asked Mr Portobello as he led the visitors in.
“Fit for a king,” said Potty, impressed. “Topsy turvy.”
“I’m delighted to have you here,” said Mr Portobello, grinning at Potty in particular.
“I’ll give you all a swift tour of the house,” he continued, “which will give Keith time to rebuild the goldfish bowl in the workshop…”
The first floor living room housed a big TV screen, a big sofa and a big fluffy rug. “There’s also a central remote control,” explained Mr Portobello, “which controls the lighting, the heating, the telly, the stereo and the sea.”
“The sea?” asked Uncle Potty.
“Just another joke,” answered Mr Portobello, with a viscous glug of laughter in his voice.
Esmé wasn’t impressed. She thought it was silly how Mr Portobello was so proud of his furniture and his gadgets. Some grown-ups pay too much attention to things and what they are worth.
On the second floor was Mr Portobello’s bedroom, inside it a big wardrobe. Mr Portobello started droning on and on about ‘fixtures’, as if anyone was interested. “This shower unit,” he said as they were shown the bathroom, “has a strong, steady 2.3ml flow and the thermostat was made in Germany to exacting standards. The faucets are made in Sweden by a former gymnast, which is why they’re so bendy.”
Potty raised an eyebrow to show interest, although even his attention was starting to wane by this point.
The third floor was empty but for a gleaming exercise bike. It had a breathtaking view of the sea and Crab Pie shore.
Esmé and Monty were entranced by the ocean, watching as the waves leapt and licked at the shore. The sky was a dark purple now, with small shards of daylight breaking through the clouds. The pier was illuminated by beads of white light and a large glowing “Crab Pie” sign. In the town, the lumionous rectangles of shopfronts and sitting rooms shone back at them. Esmé wondered about all the creatures in the sea: the whales that understood certain words and all the different types of fish that didn’t care about Mr Portobello’s money. There were important seaweeds and corals that helped sustain the planet that would never notice if he bought another expensive sofa or not.
There was a shuffling sound.
“What’s that funny noise?” asked Monty.
“Let’s go downstairs,” said Mr Portobello abruptly.
The shuffling started again.
“Is it coming from upstairs?” asked Esmé, straining to hear.
“Oh, no, it’s the wind,” replied Mr Portobello hastily, guiding his visitors back down the stairs. “Let’s have a look at Keith’s workshop and see how he’s getting on.”
Keith swept his hair back from his face as he finished fixing the hole in the tank. “Almost there,” he said, pleased to see them. “Come in.”
Esmé, Monty and Potty stepped into the workshop from the corridor that led to Mr Portobello’s kitchen. In it were housed all sorts of machines. Some were lit with small flashing bulbs, others made faint bleeping noises. Potty went up to a tall gadget that looked like an old-fashioned set of weighing scales.
“What’s this?” he asked, tapping the machine.
“It’s the banana-powered Test Your Strength Machine,” said Keith.
“Go on, Potts, try your strength,” interjected Mr Portobello. “Put a ’nana in the funnel and then punch the red disc as hard as you can.”
Potty did as instructed. There was a whirring sound and the banana travelled down the small funnel and disappeared into the heart of the machine. Potty raised his right fist and then landed a punch on the red disc – booph! The machine whirred once more.
There was one long beep and then a small card popped out.
“Weakling,” read Potty as he took the card, dismayed.
Monty giggled.
“You can’t argue with that, Pottsville,” replied Mr Portobello.
“Is this a fruit machine?” asked Monty, who walked up to another bulky object. The front panel was lit in a studied assortment of bright, citrus colours and there were pictures of fruit doing some sort of a dance along the top of the display.
“It’s the One-Armed-Bandit Smoothie Machine,” said Keith.
“Try your luck,” Mr Portobello said loudly, fishing in his jacket pocket to produce a metal token. Monty took the coin and put it in the slot.
“Now pull the lever,” said Mr Portobello.
The machine was very old and, although it had been modernised, its mechanisms were stiff. Monty tried hard but it took four attempts before the lever creaked downwards.
Drrriiiing! came a bell and three fruity discs spun in the centre of the machine.
Dring! The image of a smiling apple appeared. Dring! A pear. Next, a lemon.
There was a gurgling behind the machine and in twenty-two seconds (Esmé counted) a dark brown drink appeared in a window, just like a vending machine.
“A fruit smoothie,” said Mr Portobello. “Fantastic. Get your five a day the easy way – you need your vitamins, Monty.”
“But it looks like cola,” said Monty, taking the glass.
“It smells like cola,” said Esmé, sniffing.
“Well,” Keith started to explain. “You’re right in a wa—”
Mr Portobello was quick to interrupt. “No, no, it’s all fruity,” he explained. “Nothing artificial.”
Keith said nothing, but plucked two straws from behind the machine and the Pepper twins shared the drink. It was definitely cola.
The longer she stayed in the room, the more Esmé wondered about the machines. All the inventions seemed to be based on arcade games. Why is Mr Portobello so interested in slot machines? she wondered. Esmé had that uneasy feeling again. She looked at her watch, a new Timex to replace her old one that had been stuffed inside a tangerine and ruined during one of Potty’s more experimental tricks.
“It’s getting late,” she said. “We need to get back to the Sea Spray and continue rehearsals.”
“Come into the kitchen and have a quick cup of tea before you go,” suggested Mr Portobello.
“Splendid idea!” said Potty, before Esmé could stop him.
Bleep! Dee-blee-gleep!
As they walked along the corridor towards the kitchen another impressive machine blocked their way. It was bigger than any of the others they had seen.
“What’s that?” asked Monty.
“Oh, that’s a Giant Penny Fall – nothing, really. Come and have a cup of tea,” said Mr Portobello nervously.
“It’s got so big I can’t squeeze it back through the workshop door,” explained Keith. “I added the giant pincer you asked for, Mr Portobello, but now it’s stuck out here in the hallway.”
The Giant Penny Fall was an extra-large version of those machines in amusement arcades that you put coins into to try and push other coins off the ledge. Esmé remembered spending an hour on such a device, convinced that with the next ‘push’ she was going to get a hundred pounds’ worth of loose change – either that or a bright green teddy bear. But nothing happened at all that day – the pushing mechanism continued to push, the coins hardly moved, and the pincer never grabbed the bear. Esmé had disliked arcade games from that moment onward.
“It’s an impressive machine,” said Potty, full of admiration. “What’s it for?”
“Er, um… it’s just for decoration,” answered Mr Portobello, awkwardly. “Nothing a talented magician like you would be interested in.”
Esmé didn’t like the machine and its giant pincer one bit. “Look, we’ve had a great afternoon,” she said, walking towards the front door, “but surely it’s time to go. Now the tank’s been mended we’ve got to take it back and rehearse for the show.”
“I’m ever so hungry,”
announced Mr Portobello, strolling into the kitchen and opening the fridge door. “How about sandwiches?”
“Well, I must say that sounds like a superb idea,” said Potty, following him. “I’m famished.” Esmé cringed – Mr Portobello was stalling for time. Monty and Keith also walked into the kitchen, forcing Esmé to join them – she couldn’t keep standing in the hall on her own.
“You’re very kind,” Esmé told Mr Portobello. “But it’s too much effort for you.”
“I was going to get Keith to do it,” he replied. “Hah, hah, just joking, Keith.”
“I’m hungry too,” Monty piped up.
“Well, let’s all eat!” said Mr Portobello.
Esmé wished that Monty and Potty would realise that they needed to get back to the theatre straight away.
“Could we take the sandwiches to eat in the boat on the way back instead?” she asked.
“In this weather?” remarked Mr Portobello, pointing out of the kitchen window at the still-stormy seas. “They would get soggy.”
“You said that you have plenty of boats,” said Monty, who had noticed the expression on Esmé’s face and remembered that they still had more rehearsals before the show opened. “My sister’s right, we still have a lot to do at the theatre. Have you something with a roof on it?”
“A roof…” mused Mr Portobello. “Hmm, yes, good idea. You and Esmé can go on the smaller boat, it’s completely covered. Keith can take you back.”
“Is it safe?” asked Esmé, remembering their traumatic journey to the island.
“Oh, yes, it’s a much better boat than the yacht,” replied Keith.
“However,” said Mr Portobello, sucking his teeth and remembering his Plan B, “it means there won’t be room for all of us… So I suggest that the Potty Magician and I go back on my super-quick speedboat.”
“Ooh,” said Potty, rather excited by the idea of a faster journey.
“And the sandwiches?” asked Monty.
“Yes, we can enjoy them on the way, in our own separate sea vehicles…” Mr Portobello grinned and seemed extra-specially pleased. “I’ve got some crisps too… Cheddar cheese?” said Mr Portobello as he handed the sandwiches out.
Esmé’s ears pricked up. Cheddar cheese! Wasn’t this the phrase that Twinkle Table had shouted out in her trance? And if so, what significance did it have?
“Come on, let’s go,” Esmé said, determined now to get them out of there. Keith led the way to the boatyard.
Before them were three boats – the ‘Titanic’ yacht, the speedboat and a normal covered boat. Esmé and Monty followed closely behind Keith and boarded the covered boat.
“You will come straight after us, won’t you?” asked Esmé.
“Of course! We’ll be right behind you,” said Mr Portobello.
In a few moments the Pepper twins were roaring off to the pier. “This boat is easier to handle than the last one,” Keith called back from the helm. “I think this journey will be less eventful.”
Esmé looked back and waved goodbye to Potty, but he and Mr Portobello were deep in conversation and not yet on the speedboat. Mr Portobello seemed to be trying to get Potty back into the house. What was happening?
“Look at the island,” Esmé said to Monty. “Something isn’t right. They’re not getting on the other boat. Keith, we have to turn the boat around right now.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible – the wind is too strong in the northerly direction,” replied Keith. “It’s fine going this way because the wind is pushing us along but we won’t be able to go back until it dies down… which won’t be for hours.”
“Maybe they are just getting some more cheese sandwiches?” reasoned Monty.
“Maybe,” said Esmé, but in her heart she didn’t believe it.
An excerpt from
Dr Pompkins – Totality Magic
TRICK: Break the Matchstick
Ask a friend to hold an ordinary matchstick between the fingers of one hand, so it rests over the middle finger {see fig. 1}.
The challenge is to keep the fingers of the hand straight, and break the match. Impossible, gadzooks!
The match will not break if placed the way shown.
Of Magic Words
and Actions
We have listed before the fact that you can use a catchphrase, if you like that sort of thing. Magic words, such as the famed ‘abracadabra’ are also part of this. But recently people have foregone this idea and think modernity means brooding, sulky silence. Nonsense! If you want a word to say when you perform your little miracles, Pompkins says, go ahead! Why not say, ‘Havanabanana!’, for instance, when clear water turns yellow in a glass tumbler? Why not shout, ‘I-Am-Personally-Confused-By-Pencils!’ when, during your trick, you change a rabbit into a pencil? Just a thought.
In all totality,
Dr Pompkins
As Keith moored the boat by Crab Pie Pier – a little more successfully this time – Esmé and Monty looked up to see the Table sisters running down to meet them.
“You’re back!” shouted Twinkle, chiffon waving wildly around the top of her head.
“We found these,” said a breathless Tabitha, running up after her sister with one of Potty’s posters in hand. “Look.”
Esmé took the poster and saw, scrawled across it in red marker pen, the word ‘cancelled’.
“What does this mean?” asked Esmé, bewildered. “Who wrote this?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” said Tabitha. “All the posters along the pier have been scribbled on like this.”
“Is the show cancelled?” asked Twinkle.
“Where’s Potty?” asked Tabitha.
“He’s still on the island,” answered Esmé. “He was just about to board Mr Portobello’s speedboat when we left, but then I saw him go back inside the house.”
“Oh,” said Tabitha, confused. “But Potty is coming, isn’t he? Are you sure he doesn’t want to cancel the show?”
“Absolutely certain,” said Keith. “We’ve talked about nothing else.”
“Why don’t we give Mr Portobello a call,” suggested Tabitha, motioning towards the gypsy caravan. “Find out where Potty is.”
So Keith, the Pepper twins and the Table sisters hurried down the pier to use the phone in the caravan. They managed to squeeze themselves in, then waited in tense silence as Twinkle went into the back to make the call.
“Mr Portobello, yes, hello, yes, Twinkle Table… Yes, Twinks… Just wondering where Potty had got to… Right, oh. Oh… Yes, goodbye.”
“According to Mr Portobello,” Twinkle said as she came out to join them, “Potty made his own way here by speedboat, following straight after you. Mr Portobello was surprised that Potty hadn’t yet arrived.”
“But I saw them go into the house…” replied Esmé. “Potty didn’t make his own way here.”
“Then it can only mean one thing,” said Tabitha. “Mr Portobello is lying.”
There was silence in the caravan for a moment as everyone absorbed the news. Monty was first to speak.
“What are we going to do?” He looked across at his sister.
Twinkle started to reply: “Well, I could look at the tea—”
But Esmé interrupted.
“If we were in this situation back at home I would go straight to the CostSnippas Convenience Store and ask Jimi Sinha for advice,” she said. “He’d know what to do.”
Monty immediately felt a sharp pang for home. “I wish Jimi was here. He helped us save the International Magic Guys – I’m sure he could help save Potty too.”
“I know – let’s phone him,” said Esmé. “Explain the situation, maybe he’ll be able to help.”
“It’s worth a try…” said Monty, perking up a bit.
The Table Sisters nodded. “Please, use our phone. We’ll wait outside while you make the call.”
A few minutes later Esmé came running out of the caravan, wearing a huge smile. “They’re coming,” she yelled, jumpin
g up and down. “Jimi and the International Magic Guys are coming to save Potty!”
An excerpt from
Dr Pompkins – Totality Magic
TRICK: Vanishing Sugar Lumps
You will need two sugar lumps for this trick. Firstly, drape a paper napkin over your half-closed fist. Then, with the fingers of your other hand, push down the centre of the napkin to make a ‘well’.
Drop the sugar lumps into the well and sprinkle some salt over the napkin. Quickly tear up the napkin into small pieces, showing the sugar lumps have disappeared.
The secret is to push a hole right through the paper and then let the sugar lumps fall through it on to your lap as you reach for the salt cellar {see fig. 1}.
Ingeniosity!
Television
Much has been made of television magic and its ability to impress the audience with what is not only the magician’s skill but what can also be editing techniques and camera angles etc. I, myself, do not stand for such modern ideas and prefer to perform my shows to real live people who sit in drawing rooms and look smart. When offered a high-profile show on TV (as it is called), I always say no. Keep magic live! Keep it real. Unless you are offered more than £5, I would say to your TV person, ‘No, thanks,’ and I would say it in a French accent – just to show you mean business.
In some confusion over accents,
Dr Pompkins
“Can I just ask why I’m here?” Potty asked Mr Portobello, quite politely, wishing that he’d trained as an escapologist rather than a stage magician. “I need to go back to the Sea Spray immediately.”
“This is what I need to talk to you about,” came the reply. “Excuse me.”
Mr Portobello moved Potty out of the way of the fridge that he was chained to, opened the door and took out a packet of Chantenay carrots (the small ones with lots of flavour). He tore open the packet and proceeded to start snacking.
The Peppers and the Island of Invention Page 5
