Alex tried to imagine the place full of life, the smell of fried onions, children bustling between the rides and screaming with delight or fear. He shuddered as his eyes fell on the entrance to the ghost train, which looked like some gateway to hell, made even more authentic by the real cobwebs and rotting woodwork that now unapologetically smothered the front.
‘Let’s hope we don’t end up there this weekend!’ said Zack, the glint in his eye suggesting that he probably hoped for the exact opposite. Sophie smiled knowingly.
‘Hey, look!’ shouted Jonny, leaning towards the other window, bringing his weight down on the bus’s dodgiest and arguably single suspension spring, so that the entire back end of the minibus rocked alarmingly. And alarmingly rocking was not what any of them wanted to be doing right then, given how close they were to the cliff edge. A strip of barren moorland was the only thing between the road and a delightful – albeit treacherous – sea view.
They were coming up to a crumbling block of concrete about the size of a caravan. It was ugly and artificial, so it immediately made Alex feel at home again. There was a long black slit three-quarters of the way up one side that looked almost as inviting as the entrance to the ghost train at Ferdinand’s Fantastic Festival of Fun.
‘World War Two outpost!’ yelled Steve like a tour guide, veering dangerously off course as he craned his neck to get a better look. Cynthia grabbed the side of the steering wheel before Steve could take them on a lethal detour.
‘I’ve read about these places,’ Jonny said eagerly as the stony outpost disappeared behind a blanket of heather. ‘Apparently there’s hundreds dotted all along the coastline of Britain, to defend against invaders – but I’ve never actually seen one. Cool!’
‘Oh, come on, are we nearly there yet?’ moaned Hugo, looking at his fancy watch and sighing heavily like this whole trip was a massive inconvenience. (Hey, Hugo, no one made you come, right?)
‘Not long now!’ called Cynthia as Steve took a sharp turn, frantically trying (and failing) to find the correct gear and causing all their stomachs to lurch – poor Max! But finally the minibus began to slow. The road turned to gravel, the suspension getting the workout of its life as the vehicle bounced up and down and jerked from side to side while Steve desperately tried (and failed – again!) to avoid the numerous potholes that were dotted about like craters on the moon.
‘Oh, thank goodness,’ Cynthia breathed as the minibus finally came to a standstill, partly because they had arrived on time, but also because she was still alive. With a conscious effort, she plastered her cheerful, friendly smile back on to her face and turned to the young magicians behind her. ‘Here we are then!’
Jonny, Zack, Alex and Sophie looked out of the window and their jaws dropped.
‘So you know how that funfair looked creepy …’ Jonny said nervously.
3
10 A.M.
The minibus had stopped in the shadow of a building that looked like a cross between an old boarding school and somewhere that used to house the criminally insane during Victorian times.
A hundred small windows peppered the stark charcoal-grey front of the building, which looked like it had suffered several hundred years’ worth of winter storms. The yellowing net curtains inside offered little welcome or comfort, wafting in the breeze even though the windows were screwed tightly shut, as if the place were haunted by a thousand ghosts all keen to get a good look at who had just arrived.
‘This looks a bit like my house!’ Hugo cried out, sounding the happiest he’d been since he stepped off his first-class carriage an hour ago. Yes, thought the others, they could well imagine Hugo and his intimidating family living somewhere like this!
‘Well … welcome to Tudor Towers!’ said Cynthia. ‘So this will be your home for the next two days. All the various magical activities will be taking place here too, so there’ll be no need for anyone to venture off site.’
Zack looked at the others, his eyes twinkling with excitement. Sure, this place might be the North of England’s very own Alcatraz, but it certainly wasn’t going to stop them from having a little tour of the local area! Ferdinand’s Fantastic Festival of Fun, anyone?
‘Indeed,’ continued Cynthia, through slightly gritted teeth, staring at Zack and correctly interpreting his mischievous grin, ‘it is forbidden for any junior member to wander off site. Let’s not ruin what will hopefully be the start of many trips like this.’
Zack looked innocently back. After everything Cynthia had done for them, he didn’t want to upset her. But surely it must be possible to sneak in a little extracurricular something?
Alex looked up at the oppressive building, the ivy growing up its sides like some green, clawing virus. Well, he’d survived worse encounters, he thought. And with Zack, Sophie and Jonny by his side, how bad could things ever really get?
‘Oh, and before I forget,’ said Cynthia, pulling out a scruffy canvas bag which smelled of compost, ‘no phones allowed, I’m afraid.’ She jiggled the open bag up and down. ‘So I will be collecting them now, thank you.’
Deanna was the first to react, pulling off her headphones like they’d just given her an electric shock, having lip-read the whole thing.
‘Try to stay calm, please, Deanna. Calm …!’ Cynthia added quickly as Deanna began to swell like a whale sucking in its breath as the prelude to a massively deep dive.
‘But … why?’ Deanna wailed (different kind of whale, that!).
‘One, because if a young person is going to lose anything, then the chances are it will be their phone, and we’re not insured for that. Two, because you are here to learn from other magicians, not your screen. And three, so that no secrets leave the building – we can’t have everything getting out on all these smart drones or whatever they’re called.’ Another jiggle of the bag. ‘Come along now.’
‘But how will I text Mummy?’ cried one of Hugo’s clan who – it seemed – would even resort to texting Mummy just to get him something from the next room, he was that lazy … and that into texting Mummy.
‘Your mother has my number in case of any emergencies,’ Cynthia answered briskly, passing the bag round. ‘Pop it in now!’
‘I actually don’t even know where my parents are!’ said Max, oddly upbeat, dropping his phone into the bag happily.
Alex cocked his head. He often didn’t know where his parents were either, regularly coming home to a note on the microwave or freezer with instructions on how to make a lasagne-for-one using the very few ingredients kept in the brand-new cupboards. But, then again, at least they came back at night … Most of the time.
‘Well, I mean, I know they’re in Costa Rica somewhere!’ Max clarified. ‘Last I heard, they were about to go skinny-dipping off the coast,’ he added, ‘but I’m staying with my auntie who’s a great cook so it’s a win-win really.’
Now it was Jonny’s turn to cock his head to one side, wondering why no one else seemed even remotely perturbed by this. The thought of parents going skinny-dipping. The thought of parents telling their kids they were going skinny-dipping. And the thought of parents skinny-dipping in what were obviously shark-infested waters. EEWWW – poor sharks!!
‘Yes, please, Deanna,’ Cynthia tutted as the girl stared at the bag, agog. Didn’t people know that her phone was her LIFE!? ‘If you’re good, you’ll be allowed five minutes on it this evening,’ Cynthia added kindly, unaware that Deanna needed at least fifty hours of phone time per day if she were to be even remotely sated. Summoning up every ounce of energy, and with her eyes fixed on Cynthia all the time like she was already plotting her revenge, Deanna dropped her prized sparkly-cased phone into the bag.
‘And the other two as well, thank you!’
You could see the wheels turning in Deanna’s head.
Deny I’ve got another two!
How does she know I’ve got another two?
Hello – wife of the president of the Magic Circle – might just know a thing or two about concealing items!
&
nbsp; Not going to win this one …
With an audible huff, like she’d just blown out the world’s biggest birthday cake, Deanna produced another two phones from her stretched leggings pockets, dropping them in the bag and throwing her head back against the seat like she was a two-year-old who had just been refused milk.
‘Fantastic!’ said Cynthia. ‘See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’
Yes, it was!
Cynthia now turned to Hugo and his group of cronies who shall henceforth be referred to as Class Act. Hugo smirked sideways at the Young Magicians, and pretended to pluck his phone from nowhere out of the bag. Neat trick, Zack thought: he was already kicking himself for not having got his own phone prepared for a similar type of act. It was just sitting in his pocket.
‘Jonny …’ he murmured. ‘I want a gadget. Something that will store three or four identical mobiles up my sleeve and feed them out whenever I want them. So that when people think I’m handing over my phone, or putting it in my pocket, I can keep on producing it from somewhere else. We can work on the details.’
‘I’ll get on to it,’ Jonny promised, immediately drawing up designs in his head, alongside the improved thumb device that Zack had requested.
Hugo’s attempt at light entertainment was slightly spoiled when Salisbury unmagically pulled out a roll of bubble wrap, before encasing his thousand-pound phone as if he were handling an expensive piece of art during a house-move.
Cynthia waved the bag at the friends at the back of the minibus.
‘Do you want to pass yours forward?’
Zack, Jonny and Sophie got out their phones, making sure they were switched off.
‘Ooh, old school!’ said Sophie, spotting Jonny’s retro model.
‘I like to think so!’ said Jonny, giving it a quick peck before passing it forward. Zack turned to face Alex, who had begun to blush a little.
‘My parents … said I don’t need one. And that I should just use a public phone box if it’s an emergency,’ he said quietly.
‘Well … that’s even more old school!’ said Zack cheerfully, not wanting his friend to feel embarrassed.
‘Great. Well, now we’ve got that out of the way,’ chimed Cynthia, ‘all we need to do is work out who’s sharing with who.’
The four suddenly sat up – surely this arrangement could make or break the whole weekend. Sophie began to feel queasy as Deanna turned to face her with a bright, desperate smile, holding up her hands to show that all eight of her fingers were tightly crossed, the ends a blotchy mishmash of bright pink and yellowy white.
‘How has she even managed to do that?’ whispered Zack, mildly disturbed.
‘OK,’ continued Cynthia, ‘so Alex, Jonny and Zack, I’ve got you down in room two-oh-seven. Sophie, you’ll be next door in room two-oh-eight … with Deanna.’
‘YES!’ shouted Deanna loudly, punching the air and almost instantly starting to hyperventilate. ‘I can’t wait, I can’t wait, I can’t wait!’
Sophie forced a weak smile, barely hiding her displeasure. Not that Deanna noticed.
‘Hugo,’ resumed Cynthia, ‘and Salisbury and Charlie, you’ve been given the … Presidential Suite, it would seem – I’m guessing someone’s parents must have phoned ahead to make that happen?’
‘Yes!’ Hugo agreed.
‘It’s a maximum of three per room, so Jackson and Mayhew …’ She indicated the other two members of Class Act, who were slowly looking aghast as they registered the fact they would be in an ordinary room. ‘You’ll be in with Max, here.’
‘Oh, cool,’ Max said pleasantly. He held a paper bag out to the two tragic toffs. They looked at him as if he were a toddler innocently presenting them with a bit of roadkill. ‘Would you like a jelly baby?’
Sophie twisted her body to face the others, looking a touch despairing. ‘I guess I could just not ever go to bed, right?’
‘Exactly, that’s the spirit!’ said Jonny, who was sure they’d find ways of sneaking Sophie next door with them if things got too desperate with Deanna. ‘But, you never know, it might be the start of a blossoming friendship?’ he added, trying not to laugh as he said it.
Sophie screwed up her face like she was eating a slug. Deanna may have softened a little, but an everlasting friendship – as Deanna seemed to be pushing for – still wasn’t really on the menu.
Cynthia continued to fumble through several thousand pieces of paper, trying to fish out the relevant information on mealtimes, key allocation and what to do in the event of a hotel inferno.
‘Well, I think that just about covers everything,’ she said, finally taking off her glasses. ‘Most importantly, have fun and please, please, please, if you do see anything suspicious …’ Her face suddenly blanched as she aimed the final part of her speech towards the four at the back. ‘Please do come and tell me about it first. Let’s not have any repeats of … last time.fn1 Well, what are you all waiting for? Let’s make some magic!’
Steve gave a loud, explosive cheer, which caused Cynthia to fall back on the dashboard with such force that the airbag exploded out, catapulting her towards the back of the minibus with surprising grace. The only thing stopping her from a head-on collision was the soft cushioning of Max’s snack bag that Zack had quickly and dexterously positioned between himself and the oncoming missile (aka Cynthia) just in time.
Yep, this was going to be a weekend full of surprises – Zack was sure of it!
4
11 A.M.
The ivy-clad granite front of Tudor Towers loomed in front of them, and a damp sea wind gusted in their faces as they stepped down from the minibus. Now they were outside, they could see that the hotel was built right at the top of a slanting cliff. The door facing them was at ground level, but if you peered round the edge you saw that there were at least two more floors below, further down the slope towards the sea.
The inside of Tudor Towers did even less to calm their nerves than its Gothic exterior. The stark and airless reception was just bare tiles with no furniture apart from a large desk (which could well have been mistaken for a sarcophagus). Propped up in a chair behind it was what the four friends thought might be the training dummy used by apprentice undertakers at embalming class, or maybe even an Egyptian mummy borrowed from a museum, but in an inexplicably modern T-shirt. Fortunately it moved and turned out to be only the receptionist. Not that there’s anything ‘only’ about receptionists – but you know what I mean.
Corridors led off from reception in three directions – left, right and straight ahead. The walls were a greying white, coldly lit like the lighting you might find in the freezer room at the back of a dodgy supermarket where the meat is kept, the marble floor causing their footsteps to pop and echo in odd directions as they all filed in.
‘They reopened this place just for us. Isn’t that nice?’ said Cynthia breezily, consulting a plan of the hotel fixed to the wall and clearly trying to get her bearings.
‘The real question,’ whispered Zack ominously, ‘is why was it ever closed?’
Jonny bit his lower lip theatrically, pulling a face. It was a very good point, though, he thought, his eyes travelling down one of the endless, deserted, bleach-white-tiled corridors that led off reception.
‘OK, so the adults arrived yesterday,’ he murmured, ‘but where is everyone now?’
‘They’ll be here,’ Sophie said confidently, deliberately keeping cool, but involuntarily feeling for the letter in her pocket once again.
‘Now, everyone, line up so this adorable man can get you booked in and give you your keys, please,’ Cynthia called. The junior magicians all shuffled into a rough sort of queue in front of arguably the least adorable man in the universe.
Deanna was first in line, followed reluctantly by Sophie. Deanna immediately sprang into Deanna-doing-a-trick mode, which to the uninformed observer could easily have looked like Deanna-having-a-fit mode: she leaped forward, pirouetted, shimmied her shoulders, rolled in a somersault and landed on both feet in front
of the desk while at the same time reaching out for the massive rotary-dial phone that took up a large chunk of the desktop.
‘I’ll just …’ she began brightly. The receptionist looked at her.
‘Quickly use …’ she said with a little less optimism. The receptionist didn’t blink.
‘This?’ she squeaked in a small voice. The lack of sympathy in the receptionist’s eyes could have dissolved galaxies. Deanna took her hand off the receiver as the receptionist silently handed over a pair of keys to room 208. Jonny and Zack grinned. Wow, this guy certainly knew how to put someone in their place!
Next up were Hugo, Salisbury and Charlie, who snatched the keys to the Presidential Suite as Hugo bleated out a smorgasbord of room requirements. The receptionist stared back like a velociraptor trying to work out which one of them to attack first, before getting bored and beckoning over those next in line.
Mayhew and Jackson forced a weak smile, while Max sucked happily on a lollipop he had produced from nowhere (his bag). He glanced up at his new roommates, flicked his wrist and a pair of lollipops appeared out of thin air (his bag again). Mayhew and Jackson glanced at each other, then down their noses at the sweets, both keeping their hands firmly behind their backs.
The queue trundled forward … until finally it was Zack, Jonny and Alex’s turn.
‘Names?’ the receptionist droned as they came up to the desk.
‘Oh Lordy!’ Jonny screamed a little too loudly. ‘You’re wearing our T-shirt!’
The receptionist glanced down. He was indeed sporting a Young Magicians T-shirt – something the four young people in question had had no idea existed until now.
The rainbow-coloured words Young Magicians were bursting through a cloud of stars above an outline of four unmistakable silhouettes.
‘Yes,’ he said as though he were talking about different types of cabbage, ‘I’m your number-one fan. Names?’
The Young Magicians and the 24-Hour Telepathy Plot Page 4
