The Peppers and the Island of Invention

by Sian Pattenden

  “Now, I hope you won’t think me impolite, but I don’t wish for you to perform this week. Or next. Maybe never. When is the show?”

  “Day after tomorrow,” said Potty.

  Mr Portobello took a huge bite out of the small carrot and threw the uneaten stub out of the open kitchen window.

  “Shame, really. That’s the day I have to submit my generous offer to Tabitha and Twinkle. Dear ladies…” Mr Portobello trailed off. “But of course they are not dear ladies, are they? They are silly old women who have ludicrous fainting fits and expect a hideous price for their horrible old theatre.”

  “My show is not going to stop you making an offer,” said Potty, trying to be calm. He did not like being chained to a fridge. It was cold and, besides, he was hungry.

  “Your show is going to stop me making a low offer,” replied Mr Portobello, throwing another carrot stub out of the window. “If you perform, you’ll be a roaring success – and that can’t happen. So, if I kidnap you, you can’t perform – and the Tables will have no audience, no profit, no future. That’s exactly what I want.”

  “You can’t just keep me here!” said Potty, starting to become uncharacteristically irritable.

  “Can’t I?” smirked Mr Portobello. “The Sea Spray Theatre is soon to become the Sea Spray Amusement Arcade,” he continued, ignoring Potty. “Who wants to see your rotten performance when there are all sorts of exciting machines to lose money on? Who needs entertainment when people can give their hard-earned cash to me via my machines?”

  Potty was starting to lose his cool.

  “Look here, Mr Portobello,” he said. “Your machines will wipe the soul out of Crab Pie Pier. The Sea Spray Theatre brings joy to everyone – young and old, tall and small… and anything in between. Now, I would like to go back to the theatre immediately. I’m done with this chat.”

  “Not possible, I’m afraid. I’ve told you, you are being detained.”

  Mr Portobello had one last crunch of an especially small carrot and chucked the rest out of the window.

  “But, Mr Portobello, I implore you. It’s not only the show – young Esmé and Monty need me. I am looking after them while their parents are away.”

  The businessman rolled his eyes.

  “You are becoming a little bit tiresome,” he said, fishing in his trouser pocket for a key. “I think we’d better put you out of the way, rather than leave you chained to a fridge, yelling near some carrots.”

  Unlocking his shackles, Mr Portobello grasped Potty by the wrist and pulled him upstairs.

  “Ooof!”

  Potty tried to waggle his arms in order to pull off a masterful distraction technique but Mr Portobello’s grip was too tight.

  “Where are you taking me?” yelled Potty.

  “Just follow me,” said Mr Portobello, dragging Potty up four flights of stairs until they reached the top floor. Potty wiggled and tried to break free but he was having no luck.

  “Gosh, you really are a weakling aren’t you?” laughed Mr Portobello, ridiculing Potty’s pathetic attempts at escape.

  Potty was annoyed with himself. How had he got to the point where he was about to be incarcerated for ever in an island prison? He should have struggled more, put up a greater fight, but it was too late. Or was it? It’s now or never, thought Potty. I must distract my captor in order to give me some time to escape.

  Potty managed to loosen an arm and place a hand in his waistcoat pocket to bring out the long length of tied silk scarves folded inside.

  “Let the distraction commence!” he announced as the silk danced majestically in colourful arcs and… ended up tangled around Mr Portobello’s legs.

  “Get off!” cried Mr Portobello, stamping on the scarves and setting himself free.

  There’s only one thing for it, thought Potty. Potty wasn’t a violent man – he hardly ever raised his voice – but he had to do something right away.

  As the door before him opened, Potty raised his long, long right arm, moved his elbow back to carry the blow and put all his weight into it.

  “Kerrpow!” said Potty as he triumphantly… cuffed the top of Mr Portobello’s left ear, barely touching him.

  “What are you doing, Potty?” gruffled Mr Portobello. He bundled Potty into the room and quickly locked the door behind him.

  “I’ll bring you some baked beans at about half past eight,” Mr Portobello called through the keyhole. “There’s a toilet to your right and I’ve made up the spare bed. Anything else, don’t hesitate to shout. Well, do hesistate – I’ve got some important telly to watch.”

  In the dark room, Potty panicked and started knocking on the door.

  “Let me out! Let me out, I tell you,” he yelled, but Mr Portobello was already padding downstairs and had resolved to ignore any sound from the top floor.

  Potty repeatedly pummelled the door but to no avail. He searched his waistcoat pockets for a torch, but instead he brought out a small plastic frog and two foam tadpoles.

  “That’s not what I need,” said Potty, throwing them on the floor. “The foaming frogspawn trick is useless under these circumstances!”

  Potty thought harder. “Maybe there’s something to open the door with…” He fumbled about in his pockets some more but could only come up with a plastic spoon and a seven-sided die.

  “Bother!” Potty exclaimed, falling to his knees.

  “Bother indeed,” said a voice in the darkness. “I’ve been trying to come up with a plan all year.”

  Potty turned, startled, and looked right into the blackness. “Who’s there?”

  “Gary Meringue,” said the voice. “Pleased to meet you.”

  An excerpt from

  Dr Pompkins – Totality Magic

  TRICK: The Indestructible Banknote

  To prepare, take a long brown envelope and cut a slit across the back.

  Then hold the envelope with the slit towards you and slide a banknote into it, making sure that the bottom end comes through the slit at the back. Fold the note upwards {see figs. 1 and 2}.

  Grab a pencil and swiftly push it through the slit – so that it looks as if you are going right through the note.

  All you have to do now is pull the note out of the envelope – it is, of course, completely untouched.

  Et merci.

  Magic Shops

  Some of the finest tricks and apparatus you will find in the magic shop are those which are the most traditional, through and through. Examples are the ball vase, which makes a red ball vanish and reappear. You may recognise the magic paddles, which flip to reveal and thence to hide those cheeky black spots. The imp bottle is famous – it will only ‘lie down’ at the magician’s command – but it is a quick and simple trick for a train journey or the top of a mountain. All these (tricks, not mountains) are sold in their thousands every year, delighting generation upon generation. Never feel the classics are outmoded; their charm will last and last.

  In all totality,

  Dr Pompkins

  “You haven’t actually told us who these International Magic Guys are,” said Twinkle, as she put on the kettle in the caravan. Team Potty – the Pepper twins, the Table sisters and Keith – was having a cup of tea after a long day of tearing down posters.

  Esmé and Monty both began to explain at once about the IMG and last year’s summer show that had saved the club from ruin. Monty and Esmé both spoke over each other in their eagerness to explain.

  “Deidre Lemons used to have a white tiger called Dennis but now she has a rabbit called Bernard which she carries with her wherever she goes…”

  “The Great Stupeedo is the best human cannonball that has ever lived…”

  “Clive Pastel can levitate and juggle at the same time…”

  “And once, Maureen Houdini got herself locked in a trunk and couldn’t get out…”

  Just then, they heard an enormous clattering noise. Looking out of the caravan window they saw a huge silver helicopter in the sky above Crab Pie Pier. It hov
ered over the theatre and then landed on the steel roof of the Roses and Noses tattoo parlour.

  The twins, the Table sisters and Keith Chalk ran excitedly out of the caravan and down the beach to meet them. “You’re here!” exclaimed Esmé as Clive Pastel, Deidre Lemons, Bernard the rabbit, the Great Stupeedo, Maureen Houdini and catering ace Jimi Sinha emerged one by one from the helicopter and wobbled down the parlour’s wonky fire escape.

  “Where did you find the helicopter?” Monty asked Maureen Houdini.

  “It belongs to Clive,” Maureen replied. “He’s made it big in Las Vegas.”

  “Esmé and Monty Pepper!” cried Deidre running – with Bernard in her arms – to hug the twins. “How are you? In a spot of bother over Potty?”

  The Great Stupeedo came over and shook hands with the Table sisters and Keith Chalk. “Pleased to meet you. If you ever need someone shot out of a cannon, I’m your man.”

  “I told everyone what had happened,” explained Jimi.

  “Great – now we can act fast,” said Esmé. “I think Potty could be in real danger.”

  “It sounds like we need to act right away,” said the Great Stupeedo, taking his helmet hanging from his waistband and putting it on his head. “I, for one, am ready.”

  Esmé looked out to sea – it was now almost calm. The night was dark and Mr Portobello, she hoped, would not be expecting them…

  Within minutes they had formulated a plan. Esmé read the notes to everyone:

  “One: we fly over in Clive’s helicopter.

  Two: we break into Mr Portobello’s house.

  Three: we find Potty and rescue him!

  Any questions?”

  “How will we break into the house without getting noticed?” asked Monty.

  “We can all use our skills to help,” said Deidre. “Myself and Bernard can squeeze through small spaces – although I must say Bernard has been getting a little tubby of late so he might need more of a shove.”

  “I can use my escapology skills to open any locked doors,” said Maureen.

  “I can be launched from anywhere, into anything,” said Stupeedo. “It’s very handy.”

  “And I’ll fly the helicopter,” added Clive.

  “Monty and I already know the layout of the house,” said Esmé. “We’ll search for Potty once we’re all in.”

  All eyes turned to Keith. He was silent at first, then asked, “Would any of you mind if I stayed behind? I’d like to set up the goldfish bowl and fix the pyrotechnics. I can do it all if given a few hours. We’ve all got to remember there’s a show to be performed the day after tomorrow.”

  They all nodded in agreement.

  “I’d like to source some local ingredients for the best Global Snack Trolley ever,” said Jimi Sinha. “A good magic show needs good snacks.”

  “And myself and Twinkle will stick up some new posters,” said Tabitha. “The show must go on!”

  “Hurray!” they all shouted in unison.

  “Right then, there’s not a moment to lose – let’s go!” said Esmé, and without further delay they piled into Clive’s helicopter.

  An excerpt from

  Dr Pompkins – Totality Magic

  TRICK: The Floating Sausage

  Hold your forefingers together in front of your face, about ten centimetres away from your eyes.

  Don’t stare too hard and you will see what looks like a ‘sausage’ shape in between your fingertips.

  Separate your fingers slightly and the ‘sausage’ will seem to float in the air.

  Now, remember – you cannot eat it with beans and chips, hah hah. Which reminds me, I am due a Danish pastry about this time.

  Design a Magic Poster

  Historically, all the greats of magic promoted their work through posters, which advertised the times and details of each show. Original posters are now worth thousands of pounds and are beautiful in design and print. Now, you must design your own! Refine the layout carefully in pencil first, decide what name you will go by, fill in the image with poster paints, and use a felt tip for smaller lettering. The word “MAGIC” should always be in capital letters so that everyone notices it. Use a simple image like cards, hands or a rabbit, and don’t use too many colours. A combination of red, yellow and black is one of the most effective. Even if this is just for your bedroom wall, to remind yourself to practise your craft, I urge you to do yours today.

  Pens aloft in all totality,

  Dr Pompkins

  As Esmé and Monty climbed inside the helicopter and strapped themselves into their seats behind Clive and the empty co-pilot’s space, they felt a rush of exhilaration.

  Deidre was sat just behind them, cooing over Bernard who had a seat of his own next to hers. “He’s still not right,” she said. “I can tell something’s up. He’s so sleepy and he hasn’t eaten for a whole day now.”

  Maureen and the Great Stupeedo took their places in the back and mentally prepared themselves for the rescue by humming.

  With a turbulous rumble and a droning grumble the helicopter shuddered into action. A moment later – albeit a rather jolting, jarring moment – the machine was up in the air.

  As the helicopter gained height, it began to sway roughly from side to side. “It’s quite wobbly, isn’t it?” said Monty, holding tight.

  “Yes, it’s not as smooth as I imagined…” said Esmé.

  “Oh, my goodness me!” shrieked Deidre.

  “Try to calm down,” said Stupeedo, who had stopped humming, sharpish. “It’s only a bit of wind.”

  “No, it’s not that!” yelled Deidre. “It’s Bernard, I think he’s just given birth.”

  All eyes turned to see Bernard with a small baby rabbit sitting next to him.

  “Oh, my word,” continued Deidre. “Another one! I need hot towels and brandy.” Deidre instinctively unclipped herself from the seat and walked up to Clive at the front of the helicopter. “You do keep brandy in the glove compartment, don’t you?”

  “Please, Deidre, I’m trying to fly the helicopter,” said Clive, whose hands were starting to tremble over the levers. “It requires a lot of concentration.”

  “Do sit down, Deidre,” said Maureen. “Wait till we land.”

  “So is it a him, or is it a her?” asked Stupeedo.

  “Ooh, there’s another one,” said Deidre, pacing about in the small space. “That’s three babies. Now where are the towels?”

  “I’m confused,” said Stupeedo, leaning over to inspect Bernard and her babies. “Ooooo, aren’t they cute?”

  Clive looked back over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Bernard giving birth. “Eurgh!” he wailed.

  “Are you all right, Clive?” Maureen unclipped herself – if everyone else was up and about it she didn’t see why she had to stay in her seat.

  “Ooh, it’s just… pheurghle – wind… rabbits… turbulence… argh… babies… clouds…” burbled Clive, looking distinctly unwell.

  “You’ve gone green,” Maureen told Clive.

  “I feel green,” replied Clive.

  Esmé watched in horror as Clive started to hyperventilate.

  “Has anyone got a paper bag?” asked Maureen. “Oh – what are we going to do? Clive’s shivering all over!”

  Esmé climbed over into the front to take a look at Clive. As she watched him, his eyes suddenly shut tight, his body juddered and then he flopped in his seat.

  “He’s fainted!” said Esmé, turning back to everyone.

  Maureen prodded Clive’s shoulder but he was out cold. The helicopter made a sudden swoop and a violent whhoooorghhle.

  “We’re all going to die!” yelled Monty as the helicopter began to lose height rapidly and rush towards the water below.

  Esmé grabbed the lever from Clive’s limp hands and tried to hold the machine steady.

  “What are we going to do now?” asked Stupeedo. “Who’s gonna fly this thing?”

  “Auto-pilot?” asked Deidre.

  “Helicopters do not have autopi
lots,” announced Maureen.

  “Monty’s right – we’re doomed!” yelled Stupeedo. “Bagsy the ejector seat.”

  “Sit down, Stupeedo,” ordered Maureen. “Where’s the manual? Esmé, just hold it steady. That’s it. You’re doing a great job.”

  Deidre looked at Stupeedo, who threw a glance at Maureen, who shrugged her shoulders at Monty. Should they let this girl, this small girl, fly the helicopter?

  “Just keep doing what you’re doing, Esmé,” said Maureen. “Do you think you can fly this thing if we read to you from the manual?”

  “I’m sure I can,” said Esmé, who was shaking slightly as she settled herself in the empty co-pilot’s seat. How hard can it be? she thought to herself. Do it for Potty.

  “Here’s the manual, Maureen,” said Deidre, handing the EeezyHover HC2100 guide over.

  “OK,” said Maureen. “You’ve got the collective control lever, now find the cyclic control with your right hand.”

  Esmé carefully grabbed the central lever with her other hand. The helicopter’s frantic circular motion started to lose pace.

  “Now, put your feet on the pedals – they control the tail rotor,” said Monty, reading the manual over Maureen’s shoulder. Esmé breathed in slowly and then out again and tried to feel for the right stability in the levers, which would maintain forward motion, height and level. Under Esmé’s guidance, the helicopter finally stopped spinning and began to simply hover in the sky.

  Maureen continued to read from the manual: “Push the left pedal to increase the pitch of the tail rotor and turn to the left. Pushing the right pedal decreases the pitch and turns the helicopter to the right.”

  “Thanks, Maureen.” Esmé gritted her teeth and pulled the collective control lever inward.