Zack frowned.
‘So you’re our number-one fan, but you don’t know our …’
‘Where did you even get that thing?’ Sophie demanded.
‘And why did no one tell us?’ Jonny added.
‘Oh … dear … yes …’ Cynthia looked embarrassed. ‘You are just a tiddly bit famous in the magic world, I’m afraid, and some people want to, um …’
‘Cash in on us?’ Zack finished.
‘Yes,’ said the receptionist, holding out room key 207 and rolling his eyes, like being part of a fanbase was a huge inconvenience.
‘But people can’t do that!’ Alex protested in a shocked voice.
‘I think you’ll find they can, dear, and have,’ Cynthia apologized. ‘They’re not using your faces, just an artist’s impression of your outlines. I mean those silhouettes, legally speaking, could be anyone.’
‘Plus, this one’s home-made,’ butted in the receptionist, before realizing how creepy that sounded and continuing with the justification: ‘I have a degree in clip art.’
‘Anyway, we must get on,’ said Cynthia, handing the boys their key and leaving the receptionist as starstruck as a positively disinterested woodlouse meeting Justin Bieber for the fifteenth time. ‘President Pickle will be formally opening the convention in the ballroom at eleven o’clock, and we mustn’t be late because, because …’ Cynthia hesitated. ‘Well, you know what he’s like!’ She gave a short, sharp laugh before catching herself, her face suddenly darkening again. ‘So, once you’ve found your rooms, get to the ballroom, quick as you can.’
‘There’s that look again,’ whispered Sophie to the others as they headed off. ‘I wonder what’s bothering her?’
‘I know what’s bothering me,’ Zack muttered. ‘That T-shirt! What else are people selling with us on?’
‘Don’t we want to wait for your roommate?’ Jonny teased. Sophie grabbed his sleeve and frogmarched him grinning down the corridor, heading away from reception. They stayed close together, hoping to avoid Deanna, who was now in hot pursuit, struggling noisily through the constricting corridor with her many suitcases like she was travelling with an entourage but had accidentally gone and packed them all by mistake.
‘OI! Somebody help!’ she shouted, which – for all it was irritating – certainly made the surroundings feel a little less intimidating, her petulant voice piercing through the sterile atmosphere like a cheerleading team arriving in Transylvania.
‘What room are we in again?’ said Jonny as they approached a lift at the end of the corridor, which looked like it hadn’t been used since the 1950s and smelled rather like that too. On either side of it, staircases disappeared up to the next floor.
‘Two-oh-seven,’ answered Zack, entering the lift and scanning the various buttons, whose numbers shone out in a deep bloodcurdling red, as if they had been penned by Dracula on one of his days off. (Or maybe that should be nights off? Discuss!) He reached out to press the button for the second floor.
‘Anyone would think you’re trying to get away from me!’ Deanna squealed behind them. She had caught up and now grabbed the metal scissor gate to prevent it from shutting, just in time from her point of view and just a moment too soon from the others’.
‘Oh no, not at all!’ Sophie managed to stammer, somewhat startled and spotting some of the old wildness back in Deanna’s eyes. Her neck was sticking out towards them like a disgruntled turkey. ‘I just … haven’t seen these three in ages and …’
‘Yes, well, you haven’t seen me either!’ retorted Deanna, still not quite getting it. ‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘all my bags aren’t going to fit in there, so …?’ She looked pointedly at Zack, Jonny and Alex in turn like they were the ones who needed to do something about this.
‘Wow!’ muttered Jonny, almost impressed by the sureness and audacity of the girl. Part of being a good magician was showing total, unswerving self-confidence and Deanna had that part down pat. It was just the actual, you know, magic part of being a magician she struggled with.
‘Should we …?’ Jonny extended one of his long fingers back out of the lift.
‘It’s fine. Go,’ Sophie said eventually, half to herself and half to the others. ‘I’ll just give you a knock in five minutes, OK?’
Zack, Jonny and Alex dutifully nodded, filing out of the lift like a well-whipped chorus line. ‘Five minutes exactly!’ whispered Sophie as Jonny brushed past, not wishing to prolong her ‘catch-up’ with Deanna any longer than necessary.
‘Please let me press the button, please let me press the button, please let me press the button!’ squealed Deanna, piling in with her bags like this was the first time she’d ever been in a lift, or indeed the first time she’d ever pressed a button (at least since exiting the train doors earlier that morning).
‘We’ll see you in a bit then, roomies!’ said Jonny playfully as Sophie and her pained expression vanished behind the clattering scissor gates.
‘You’ll pay for that later!’ Zack teased. He imagined Sophie getting her own back by trying out some devious new hypnotic ploy when Jonny was least suspecting it. ‘A hypnotist scorned and all that!’
‘So … what do you think is bothering Cynthia?’ asked Alex thoughtfully as the three of them began to lug their bags towards the barren-looking stairwell.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Zack honestly. Now he was coming down from his irritation at the unauthorized YMTM merchandise, he had to admit that the question was tweaking his antennae for mystery. ‘But something tells me it won’t be long before we find out!’
‘Excellent!’ said Jonny, clapping his friend on the back, clearly hungry for another new adventure. ‘Right then.’ He put his foot on the first set of steps and raised his head up towards the countless landings. ‘Race you to the top?’
Jonny bolted like a startled gazelle, leaping up the stairs three at a time, swinging his bag in one hand and using the other on the banister to hoist himself round the tight corners. Zack and Alex looked at each other in amusement, not moving a muscle.
‘Let’s just let him win,’ said Zack quietly as Jonny called out a running commentary of his progress from above.
Alex nodded, smiling. Wow, it felt good to be back!
‘JONNY WINS AGAIN! WHOOP WHOOP! THREE CHEERS FOR – Er, guys?’
Sophie knocked on the boys’ bedroom door approximately four minutes and forty-five seconds later, having been granted early release from a distracted Deanna, who was now scouting their rather monastic bedroom for plug sockets in which she planned to charge her hair straighteners, her ‘Shimmer and Shine Float & Sing Palace Friends’ thing – whatever that wasfn1 – along with her ‘Num Noms Lip Gloss Truck Playset’fn2 which Sophie was sure didn’t actually require charging, but she wasn’t going to start asking questions now.
From there, the Young Magicians – glad to be a full pack again – navigated their way back down to reception, which appeared even more stark now that it was completely empty and silent, almost as if the pale floor had sucked up all possible sound along with any living occupants, apart from the somewhat dead-looking receptionist. For a hotel with a society convention going on, the place was eerily empty.
‘OK …’ Sophie looked at the different passages leading off in different directions. ‘Cynthia said we need to get to the ballroom.’
‘We could ask this guy?’ Zack sauntered back over to the reception desk. The receptionist sat there, still in his T-shirt (which Zack scowled at), perfectly motionless, gazing blankly into the distance and totally failing to acknowledge the fact that Zack even existed.
Zack cleared his throat. ‘Erm? Hello?’
The receptionist’s eyes were still fixed on something only he could see in the distance. Zack tentatively waved a hand in front of him, wondering if he really might be seeing his first-ever dead body.
The man’s head suddenly swivelled to face him.
‘Just thinking happy thoughts,’ he said, the same way a doctor might tell you that you only
had twelve hours to live. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Er …’ Zack began.
‘Over here, Zack!’ Sophie suddenly called, and Zack sidled gratefully away.
Sophie had found the hotel floor plan fixed to the wall. She saw immediately that you couldn’t just follow your nose in Tudor Towers. The three upper floors, with the bedrooms, were comparatively easy. But the ground floor was a maze of offices and function rooms and places that weren’t highlighted, presumably because the guests weren’t meant to go there. Not that that would stop the Young Magicians!
Then a voice billowed out from somewhere unseen. ‘Will you please stop telling me what I can and can’t do, dear!’
It was a voice the four of them hadn’t heard in a good while. A voice that took them straight back to their adventures six months ago. A voice filled with a strange mix of pomposity and cowardice.
‘President Pickle!’ whispered Alex, half excited, half scared. For even though the President of the Magic Circle had a lot to thank them for (restoring the state of the club’s finances and getting them well in with the Queen, no less!) President Pickle had acted ambivalently to the news. As if this had somehow happened by chance and were to be temporarily celebrated – yes – but then quickly forgotten about to make way for more interesting and grander things that ideally didn’t have a bunch of interfering kiddies at the centre of them.
‘Hide!’
Zack leaped back into the middle of reception, before realizing there wasn’t really any place to hide. Except for the large, tomblike reception desk, of course, but that had …
He blinked in surprise. The receptionist had vanished. Oh well, what the hell!
He made a dash for the desk. ‘Come on!’ The others glanced at each other, then piled in behind.
It wasn’t like Zack felt they necessarily needed to hide; they were – after all – just looking for the ballroom. But then President Pickle had a way of making all children feel as if they were up to no good and, as far as Zack was concerned, that was all the prompting he needed. They’d lived up to President Pickle’s somewhat skewed expectations thus far!
‘I just wish you’d get some help, that’s all,’ said Cynthia’s voice. The words tumbled out between little sniffs. The four looked at each other as they crouched uncomfortably behind the marble desk, Jonny folding his limbs into the space where the desk chair would usually go to prevent himself from being seen.
‘Please stop all this incessant mollycoddling, dear. I’ll be perfectly fine – we know everyone here. It will all blow over, I’m sure!’
They heard President Pickle stomp into the reception area and stop to catch his breath.
‘But look …’ Cynthia went on. They heard the sound of rustling paper. ‘Have you seen the latest one? It only arrived this morning. You can see what it says …’
‘Silly sausage scaremongering, that’s all!’ President Pickle snapped, followed by the unmistakable noise of paper being ripped up.
‘To hell with all of it!’ he announced. They heard him turn to go, footsteps squeaking on the tiled floor.
‘Just let me see if they can do some digging,’ Cynthia begged, following after him. ‘They’re as good a set of detectives as any!’
Zack gawped as the others looked at each other excitedly. Was Cynthia talking about them?
‘Absolutely. No. Way!’ shouted President Pickle, like the tolling of a grandfather clock. ‘Even if it means never eating anything again, I won’t turn to a bunch of … children for help. The whole idea is preposterous!’
Yep, thought Zack. They certainly are talking about us. They had been right to hide after all!
‘But you will still be going ahead with … everything we discussed?’ pressed Cynthia.
‘Yes, yes. Now come along – we’re going to be late!’
The four of them stayed low, waiting for President Pickle and Cynthia to disappear down one of the austere corridors. The reverberations of their heartbeats made them physically buzz with excitement.
‘What on earth do you think that was all about?’ said Sophie in a hushed voice, slowly peering over the edge of the desk and making sure the coast was completely clear.
‘I don’t know,’ said Zack, ‘but it sounds like President Pickle is in some kind of trouble and needs our help. Or that’s what Cynthia thinks anyway.’
‘Which he’s blatantly delighted about!’ added Jonny sarcastically, vaulting over the desk like a giant frog and giving a mock bow in appreciation of his efforts.
‘Do you think … he’s in danger?’ asked Alex, who certainly wasn’t the greatest fan of President Pickle, but didn’t like the idea of harm befalling anyone. And what exactly did they mean by still going ahead with everything?
‘Who knows?’ said Zack. ‘But it certainly explains why Cynthia’s been looking so downbeat.’
Eight squares of torn-up paper were being blown by one of the hotel’s many draughts across the floor. He scooped the pieces up in a couple of swift movements.
‘Now let’s see what this was all about …’
Zack crossed over to the desk and laid the bits out.
‘That might be, um, private?’ Alex ventured, though he crowded forward with the others to make out the writing on the paper jigsaw that Zack was deftly assembling.
‘Cynthia obviously thinks it’s something we can help with, so …’
Zack laid the final piece in place and they all leaned forward to read it.
It was eight lines of handwritten text.
Straight down the side.
See the old has-been?
Why does he still go on?
A sad relic of better days?
Enjoy the memories!
I doubt they will last much longer.
Deal yourself out, or we will.
Easy! See you at the banquet.
The four friends stared at it.
Sophie felt a shudder of spine-tingling excitement run through her. The words were simple, pretty even, like some old cheeky limerick, but there was an unnerving, malevolent tone behind the second-to-last line: Deal yourself out … or we will. What did that mean?
Zack tilted his head on one side to see if it read any differently the other way. It didn’t.
‘OK,’ Jonny said, ‘so someone’s calling him a has-been and a relic … but that’s – you know – kind of fair enough. It’s hardly mega-evil. What’s got Cynthia all het up?’
‘I don’t know, but we can worry about it while we walk,’ Sophie said suddenly, checking her watch, ‘because if we don’t get a shift on we’re going to be late.’ She quickly scanned the plan of the hotel, tapping her fingers against the wall, and traced a course with her finger, instantly committing it to memory. ‘OK, this way to the ballroom.’
Zack stuffed the bits of torn-up mystery into his pocket as the four of them trotted down the same corridor that President Pickle and Cynthia had taken. It ran along the edge of the building, and the rain outside began to lash against the thin windows so heavily that Alex could swear it was leaving pockmarks in the glass.
‘Nice weather you have up here in t’north!’ joked Jonny, overtaking Sophie with a grin.
‘Almost as nice as you!’ she said, catching his arm in a friendly way. ‘This way!’
They swung left and plunged down a second corridor, right into the very heart of the building. Alex worked out that they must be behind the lift and the stairwell.
‘Down here!’
They reached a small set of stairs and sped down to the level below. They had entered the part of Tudor Towers that was built further down the cliff. Even though they’d only descended one floor, Zack could swear the air felt danker. At the bottom they dashed down a further corridor, which appeared to widen out with every step.
How had Sophie managed to memorize the route? Alex was starting to grow a little breathless and was remembering the time they’d all got lost inside the cavernous Magic Circle library when they were last together.
‘We
’re here!’ said Sophie, slowing to a stop as they came out into a wide lobby and approached a wall studded with several sets of double doors. She struck a pose and gestured at the doors with both hands, like it was the denouement of a trick, which – given the amount Sophie had had to memorize in such a short space of time – it kind of was.
Jonny grabbed a set of handles and pulled them apart, causing a gust of warm, musty air to waft back into their faces along with a wall of chatter.
‘Ah,’ said Jonny, smiling. ‘So this is where everyone is!’
The four Young Magicians had to squint as their eyes adjusted to the dazzling white light that made the ballroom shine like the inside of an industrial oven. It was a room of impressive proportions. Zack noted the distinct lack of windows on all sides and figured it was surrounded by other small rooms. At the opposite end was a raised stage, much wider than it was deep, whose maroon curtains drooped apologetically, not quite meeting in the middle. A large, oppressive, gold-crested lectern had been placed in front of the gap, almost like it was trying to make up for the lack of fabric.
In between the doors and the stage, the floor was filled with tables covered with white tablecloths, each one with four or five seats round it. The ceiling boasted a network of medium-sized chandeliers, all of which seemed to be switched to their maximum setting, making Alex feel a bit like they were stepping inside a giant microwave.
Sophie swept her eyes over the crowd and felt for the letter in her pocket again. Was its sender here? And would Sophie have the nerve to say hello if she was? Her heart was beginning to pound again.
She spotted several of the council members milling about at the front, all looking rather self-important as they busybodied between the hundreds of members present, handing out name badges and convention brochures and giving everyone polite nods of recognition, which really just hinted at acknowledgements of their own assumed superiority.
Zack suddenly got the feeling he was being stared at. It was the way two people were hovering in the corner of his vision. He glanced over at them quickly, but in another flicker of movement they chose that exact moment to look away.
The Young Magicians and the 24-Hour Telepathy Plot Page 5
