Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
NICK MOHAMMED is an established actor with recent roles in Ted Lasso, Collateral and The Martian. He also played Piglet in Disney’s live-action feature Christopher Robin.
Nick’s television writing credits include his own series Intelligence for Sky, co-starring David Schwimmer, and Morning Has Broken, in which he co-starred alongside writing partner Julia Davis. He has also featured in a host of TV comedies including Sally4Ever, Uncle and Stath Lets Flats.
Nick is an Associate of the Inner Magic Circle and this is the second book he’s ever written or read.
Books by Nick Mohammed
THE YOUNG MAGICIANS AND THE THIEVES’ ALMANAC
THE YOUNG MAGICIANS AND
THE 24-HOUR TELEPATHY PLOT
Follow Nick on Twitter
@nickmohammed
#YoungMagicians
To Anthony Owen,
who inspired magicians young and old
5 P.M.
9 HOURS ON
President Pickle clutched his chest, leaning forward. His face, which was bright red at the best of times, was crumpled in agony, making him look a touch like an origami lobster that had been screwed up into a ball, reopened and then screwed up again for good measure. He fought back the stabbing knot of pain coursing through the lower parts of what used to be a substantial belly. How had it come to this?
He looked into the face of his beloved wife, Cynthia, who gripped his shoulders desperately, searching for an explanation.
‘Edmund? What is it?’
Her glasses bounced on the garish string of beads just below her bosom. Which was the best place for anything garish, as far as Cynthia was concerned.
President Pickle gasped the words she never thought she’d hear him say:
‘Get … Get me the Young Magicians!’
And, with that, President Pickle slumped forward on to the table, his face landing in a bowl of bright green pea-and-mint soup, splattering his fellow diners haphazardly, making them look like they had emerged from a painting class (but one where nobody was that good and everyone was actually very clumsy and only ever used bright green paint).
Cynthia’s scream cut through the chatter in the dining room.
‘Zack, Sophie, Jonny, Alex – get here this instant!’
1
8 A.M.
‘Anything from the trolley?’ shouted the bulbous man traipsing up the carriage of the 06:46 from London to Blackpool, bashing his cart heavily into everyone’s ankles as he went.
‘Yeah, have you got any plasters?’ joked Jonny Haigh, rubbing the front of his long leg. If you want to picture Jonny’s legs, think of a stork. In fact, think of a stork that has been hanging off a beam for the past fourteen years, with weights attached to its ankles. It was a fact of life that, when Jonny entered a room, his legs came in some time before the rest of him. He was used to it, which was why he could stay cheerful on the many occasions when his height worked against him. Like now, when the laws of physics meant that his legs absolutely had to stick out into the aisle of a railway carriage, making them easy prey for passing lunch trolleys, small dogs and anything else with a personal vendetta against his ankles.
Jonny’s cheerful eyes danced between his friends: Alex Finley sitting next to him in the window seat, Sophie Yang opposite Alex, and Zack Harrison across from him.
The others smiled back, Alex still a little shyer than the rest, as if he couldn’t quite believe smiling in public with friends was legal. In fact, since he had met these three particular friends, Alex had learned that smiling wasn’t just legal, it was inevitable and in lots of cases actively encouraged.
Oh, and if you want to picture Alex think of a blond, tousled head of hair and large glasses, emerging from the collar of a smart, way-too-big school blazer with a crest on the pocket – not the same crest as the school Alex went to, it must be said, but that hadn’t been top of Alex’s mum’s agenda when she bought it. She had bought it because she really hoped it would last him for at least another decade.
‘And look, there’s plenty of room for you to grow into it now, dear,’ she had said the first time Alex tried it on and almost disappeared – though there was nothing magical about this particular disappearance. Of course, Alex did fully intend to start growing into it – any … day … now …
It was great being together again after such a long time apart. It had been nearly six months since the Young Magicians had thwarted a devilish plot to steal the Crown Jewels and, even though they’d stayed in regular contact, this was the first time they’d properly got back together. And boy, did it feel good!
‘No, we don’t sell plasters,’ the man finally answered, clearly not getting Jonny’s joke. ‘We sell a selection of hot and cold drinks, light refreshments – including pastrami-filled baps – teas, coffees, biscuits, cake and crisps,’ he added monotonously.
‘I’d love a piece of cake!’ exclaimed Zack.
On a normal day, Zack put away enough breakfast to feed a small army and was still hungry by lunchtime. On this particular day, however, he had had to get up so early that it had been a choice between sleeping a bit longer or eating, but not both. He had gone for sleep, which meant making do with the last-minute cereal-based product his parents plonked in front of his bleary eyes. And that had now been a long time ago. Indeed, when Zack had learned what time the train was leaving London, he had been astonished and indignant to discover that the rumours were true and that every day did in fact have two 6:46s in it, which meant that a) he was now fully awake, from the tips of his toes to the top of his flat-top haircut, and b) unspeakably hungry.
‘Chocolate or carrot?’ responded the man tonelessly, like he’d been preprogrammed with only these two words.
‘Sir … I’m fourteen years old!’ said Zack indignantly, thinking this was answer enough (chocolate, in case you’re wondering!).
But Mr Bulbous just stared straight ahead, unable to compute. Dealing with a response like Zack’s had evidently not been part of his training.
‘I tell you what …’ said Zack, beaming up at the man.
The other three all sat up a bit straighter. They recognized that tone. Sometimes they used it themselves. Zack was about to do something tricksy!
It had been too long since they last saw their friend in action, working his wizardry on unsuspecting members of the public.
‘I’ve written the type of cake I’d like on the back of this card. If you can guess it, I’ll pay double, but if you get it wrong, I have the cake for free!’
Zack flashed a folded piece of white paper as the others leaned in.
‘I’ll give you a clue,’ Zack prompted as the man blinked way more times than was really necessary. ‘What I’ve written down is either chocolate or carrot!’
Sophie cocked an eyebrow at Jonny and Alex. If you want to think of Sophie, think sharp. Sharp haircut, sharp cloth
es, sharp cheekbones, sharp mind, sharp accent. (She came from the Lake District, which is north of Blackpool, and so she could have joined the train at Preston, just half an hour before ‘t’journey’s’ end. But she had missed her friends so much she’d gone down to London just so she could travel back up with them. She’ll probably do the same but in reverse on the way back.)
Sophie had seen Zack use this ‘Magician’s Choice’fn1 type ploy before, but the way he was doing it now seemed too straightforward. What was he up to? Sophie was an expert at mentalism, which some people called mind-reading (though not her because she knew there was no such thing), but she still couldn’t tell on this occasion exactly how Zack was going to pull this off. His language and fair set-up seemed completely binding.
Careful to check that none of the other train guards were watching, though evidently intrigued, the man went for the counterintuitive option. ‘Carrot!’ he blurted, loudly enough to rouse the commuter sitting across the aisle, unsuccessfully trying to doze on this early northbound service, and who was now somewhat annoyed to have been woken up by the word carrot. He was doomed to go back to sleep and dream of root vegetables taking over the world, all the way to Blackpool. (This would upset him so much that it would be years before he could look a parsnip or potato in the eye again.)
Slowly Zack unfolded the paper to reveal the word INCORRECT! written in heavy, smug marker pen. Mr Bulbous the Ankle Basher shrugged irritably, patently unimpressed. He didn’t have time for this childish nonsense – after all, he was only partway through Coach B.
‘You said you’d written either carrot or chocolate. Deal’s off.’
He was about to push the trolley on down the carriage, in search of more ankles and maybe even the odd knee or two if things worked out, when he hesitated. It was just as he feared – the precocious boy hadn’t quite finished.
‘Ah, but if I turn the paper round –’ Zack twirled it effortlessly between his fingers – ‘you’ll see this …’ He held the paper aloft, revealing the defiant word Chocolate emblazoned across the back. ‘You owe me a free piece of chocolate cake!’
The man huffed like a warthog, flaring his nostrils, and threw a napkin and a piece of chocolate cake at Zack, who grinned back at him.
‘Thank you!’
The man trundled off, rousing the commuter dreaming about a root veggie apocalypse for the second time in five minutes.
‘What if he’d said chocolate?’ Alex asked quietly as he watched the man slope off.
‘Let me guess!’ Jonny interrupted, keen to show how much more he’d learned about magic technique in the last few months. ‘If you open the paper the other way, it says carrot?’
Zack answered by unfolding the paper completely to show that it was otherwise completely blank.
‘Hmm,’ said Sophie, narrowing her eyes. ‘Well, in that case, given that it was fifty–fifty, did you just get lucky?’
‘You think I’d risk those kinds of odds on getting a free piece of chocolate cake?!’ laughed Zack.
‘Well then, come on, how did you do it?’ Sophie demanded playfully. She’d missed this. Zack was infamous for his tantalizing and drawn-out explanations. But, more often than not, the wait was worth it, even for a simple effect like this. Zack held up his right hand and gave them a thumbs up.
‘Piece of cake … I just wrote down the opposite of what he said right in front of him while it was all happening!’ he revealed.
Jonny stared. There was something odd about Zack’s thumb …
‘Oh, now, that’s wicked!’ he said. He grabbed Zack’s thumb and pulled it closer like a particularly impatient doctor. Stuck to the end of it was something resembling the nib of a marker pen.
Sophie clapped a hand to her forehead. How could she have forgotten? A nail-writer, swami gimmick or boon-writer as it was sometimes known – was an essential part of any mentalist’s toolkit. With a gadget like that, you could appear to make predictions about pretty much anything, at any time, and all secretly written right under the spectators’ noses. It didn’t get much better than that!
‘Neat,’ Jonny said as he continued to examine it. ‘I guess you made it yourself?’
‘Yes, and I’d just like us all to observe a moment’s silence to honour the many marker pens that died to bring us this trick,’ Zack said, bowing his head melodramatically.
‘It sticks out a bit … Hmm …’ Jonny thought out loud. This was Jonny at his best. Thinking up gadgets, or ways to improve existing ones, to make a magician’s life easier was a particular strength of his. ‘You need something like … a thumb tip, with a retractable flesh-coloured nib that doesn’t catch the eye …’
‘Yes please!’ said Zack.
‘But still – what if he’d seen you writing it down in the moment?’ Alex pointed out.
Zack grinned confidently. ‘There was never any chance of that because he was looking me in the eye. I kept his attention throughout. Right, Sophie?’
Sophie smiled and nodded. Misdirection – diverting people’s thoughts away from what you were actually doing, so seamlessly that they never noticed – was a key weapon in any magician’s armoury and Sophie relied on it pretty much all the time … both when she was performing magic and sometimes when she was not. Hold the punter’s attention. Don’t give them a chance to look where you least want them to.
‘I must remember to take it off when I get changed, though!’ Zack added, exposing a part of his T-shirt now almost completely covered by a thousand inky lines and smudges. ‘Anyway, lady and gents, to the victor, the spoils!’
He took the cake in his hand, opened his mouth wide and was about to chomp down on it when Alex unexpectedly interrupted. It was unexpected because, when he was about to take a massive bite of chocolate cake, Zack wasn’t really in the zone for interruptions – and it was also unexpected because he didn’t expect such an interruption to come from Alex.
‘Want to make this interesting?’ Alex asked.
Zack paused and a slow, thoughtful grin spread across his face. They both could feel a magical duel brewing. Granted, not the Harry vs Voldemort type, but then this was real magic (well, as close to real as it would ever get for these four), and thus a lot more exciting.
‘Go on …’ Zack said, intrigued.
A pack of cards appeared in Alex’s hand. He spread them into a pressure fan – a flat, perfect half-circle of cards – with a twitch of his fingers, just because he could and it looked good. Then, with another twitch, he swivelled them into a solid oblong pack again. Alex’s hand flickered back and forth as he dealt four random cards, face up, on to the table.
‘We each draw a card,’ Alex said. ‘The highest card gets the cake. Aces are low.’ He swept the four cards up with a wave of his hand, put them back on top of the pack and started to shuffle.
Zack quickly reached out and took them off him.
‘I’ll shuffle,’ he said. Alex smiled slightly.
‘Sure, whatever.’
And that was when Zack knew he was going to lose because – like him with his choice of cake – there was an air of nonchalance about Alex, something that implied he was fully in control of whatever was about to happen. But Zack was so consumed with curiosity to find out how his friend might manage this that he suddenly didn’t mind risking his cake.
Zack wasn’t as adept as Alex when it came to cards, but he had been practising since they last met and one thing he knew he could now do was keep track of a card while he shuffled. Which was exactly what he was doing now. Alex would deal clockwise from himself because that’s the proper way to do it – so the cards would go to Jonny first, then Zack, then Sophie, then Alex last of all. All Zack had to do was track the king that Alex had just dealt as he shuffled, and make sure it finished up being the second card from the top of the deck when he handed the pack back to Alex and he’d be sorted.
He smiled at Alex as he offered him the cards.
Alex held the pack in his left hand. His right hand flickered over the pack
as he dealt the top four cards, face down, clockwise starting with Jonny, just as Zack had hoped.
‘Showtime!’ Alex said.
Sophie turned over her card: a two. She grinned and leaned back in her seat, saying, ‘That’s cool. I’m really not in the mood for chocolate. Jonny?’
His card was a seven.
Zack turned his card over confidently. An ace.
The ace! The lowest of all!
‘But the deck couldn’t have been prearranged because I just shuffled it! How?’ he asked as a beaming Alex turned his own card over to show the king. Alex just slid the cake on its napkin over to his side of the table, then cut it in two with the plastic fork.
‘I guess we’ll never know. Split it with you?’ he asked, smiling. A happily defeated Zack shook his head and held up his hands in surrender.
‘You’ve earned it all, mate!’
Alex grinned and caused a pair of sunglasses to appear out of thin air with a flick of the wrist, popping them on to his small face like this was the start of a musical and he was about to burst into some cheesy song about holidays. (Which, for anyone who knew Alex, was pretty unlikely!)
‘Oh, now that is cool!’ Jonny exclaimed. ‘How …’
‘Ah, the blazer, right?’ Sophie said, eyes wide. ‘I wondered why you were wearing it on a Saturday.’
Alex just grinned more widely. Yes, the blazer. If life hands you lemons, learn to make lemonade. Alex had worked out that the massive blazer his mum made him wear had a serious upside: plenty of pockets and masses of space to hide things like multiple decks of cards, sunglasses (naturally) and tiny bunny rabbits – if Alex ever got into that breed of magic, that is, which was rather unlikely. Add to this the fact that Alex was the kind of kid who might arguably wear an oversized blazer on a weekend even when not at school … well, it was just too good an opportunity to miss for any shrewd magician.
‘I’ve been working on it for ages,’ Alex explained. ‘It’s going to be part of my new close-up routine – but I need a way of switching the decks without people noticing. Sometimes I have to do this –’
The Young Magicians and the 24-Hour Telepathy Plot Page 1
