The Young Magicians and the 24-Hour Telepathy Plot

by Nick Mohammed

  The clapping took a second to spread from the stuffy Pickle fanbase, who were evidently delighted by what they were hearing, to the corners of the room, like a semi-toxic virus, growing and mutating all the time … Some choosing to whoop, whistle and cheer if their vocal cords could still hack it, others resorting to a wheezy moaning noise, which could easily have been mistaken for disapproval if it weren’t for the beaming smiles the sound was emanating from.

  But there was one thing about the whole affair that was abundantly clear, and the four Young Magicians at the back of the room clocked it a mile off. One person in the room was the very last to start showing his appreciation, even though he was trying so desperately hard to prove otherwise.

  Eric Diva.

  ‘Anyway, there you go, nothing to see here!’ blathered President Pickle into the microphone, putting an end to the commotion all of a sudden. ‘I now declare the sixty-eighth Annual Magic Circle Convention open – have fun!’

  He magicked his infamous gavel out of his reedy midriff and slammed it down on to the gold lectern with such force that sparks sprayed out, as if to prove beyond any reasonable doubt that there was still life in the old boy yet. President Pickle chanced a fleeting glance at his dear wife, who had now turned the colour of wallpaper paste. He grinned at her sheepishly: a strained, haphazard, oh-hell-what-have-I-just-done? type of grin.

  Indeed, President Pickle, thought an ominous somebody in the crowd. What. Have. You. Just. Done?

  5

  12 P.M.

  The four Young Magicians stayed in their seats as the hordes of members trudged out of the ballroom on the hunt for yet another giant mug of tepid tea and perhaps a couple of stale Viennese swirls. That was what magic conventions were really about, right?

  Sophie spotted Belinda Vine in conversation with a couple of adults, nearer to the exit than she was; it was impossible to get to quickly without making a scene by pushing her way through the people in between. She had just plucked up the courage to try and make contact when Belinda reached the door and left the room.

  President Pickle climbed down from the stage like a tiptoeing stick insect, which is a description no one would ever have thought of applying to him before.

  He’s so thin! The four friends weren’t the only ones to think it.

  President Pickle moved straight over to his wife who looked like she might a) shout something rather rude at him, b) hug him despairingly or most likely c) a repetitive combination of the two, but in no predictable order. They moved over to a side door, along with the other council members.

  Eric Diva was the last of them to go. Just before disappearing, he turned back to the room, grinned at the Young Magicians, clicked his fingers, winked and gave them a double thumbs up with index fingers stretched straight out. It was probably well intentioned, but it also looked a little like he was pretending to shoot them.

  ‘Well, that all seemed rather … eventful!’ said Jonny as the crowd began to thin, though not quite as drastically as President Pickle. ‘Do you think that happens every year?’

  ‘Or maybe just once every twenty-five years,’ Sophie said, still trying to work out what they had just witnessed.

  ‘He’s … he’s certainly hiding something,’ said Alex, though still none the wiser as to exactly what.

  ‘Well, in that case, I suspect it’s only a matter of time before we find out!’ Zack exclaimed optimistically. ‘But, in the meantime, where shall we explore first?’ He picked up one of the convention brochures and started flicking through it. ‘Oh wow, so it looks like this friend of yours, Belinda Vine, is headlining the Gala Show tonight!’

  Sophie casually plucked the programme from Zack’s hands and not so casually scanned it hungrily, wide-eyed.

  ‘I think our wonderful friend Sophie here may be in lurve!’ Jonny joked, making odd, slurpy, smoochy noises that reminded Alex of the sound guinea pigs sometimes make (sometimes). ‘So what’s the big deal with Belinda? Why have we never heard of her before?’

  ‘That’s not her style,’ Sophie said immediately. She knew that Belinda was a magician’s magician who pretty much exclusively performed at conventions like this. It was where she was at her best, turning the tables on traditional methods, leaving well-respected magicians floored by her devious techniques that she never revealed. Ever. Many magicians regularly sought to share their secrets – often for very large sums of money – but not Belinda Vine. There was an intrinsic purity about her and her magic, so that anything less would be seen as selling out. And it was this clarity, this depth of character and commitment to her craft that was the real fuel behind Sophie’s infatuation. The lady was a bona fide superstar in Sophie’s eyes. If Sophie wanted a role model, Belinda was it.

  ‘Shall we check out the Dealers’ Hall maybe?’ asked Alex, his eyes lighting up like a pair of fireflies at the prospect of a hall full of freshly printed books, tricks, props, magical apparatus and who knew what else!

  ‘Well, it doesn’t technically open until two p.m., Alex,’ said Zack, pretending to sound quite teacherly, ‘but – then again – things like that haven’t stopped us before, have they?!’

  Zack bounded up from his seat as the others quickly followed, racing out of the ballroom and into the lobby-like area at the back, their faces beaming.

  ‘Anyone have a clue where the Dealers’ Hall might be?’ said Jonny, looking for some sign, but only seeing more endless grey-white walls spreading out at every angle. There was no point following the crowd – they were all heading in different directions.

  ‘Sure, let me just consult my map,’ said Sophie casually, closing her eyes and placing a hand to her forehead.

  ‘And what map might that be, Sophie dearest?’ asked Jonny, bemused, suspecting Sophie must be having him on. ‘Oh … wow.’ He remembered the intent way she had stared at the floor plan in reception for a couple of seconds, and suddenly realized. ‘Did you genuinely memorize the whole thing?’

  ‘Coooooooool!’ said Zack, mightily impressed by the speed at which Sophie must have committed the plan to memory.

  ‘Yep! This way!’ said Sophie suddenly, opening her eyes and going back into the ballroom. ‘Even better – I memorized a short cut!’

  ‘I mean … how …?’ Alex asked as the four went back through the double doors into the ballroom, weaving their way through the network of connected seats towards the front.

  ‘I’ve been studying memory palaces,’ Sophie explained as she clambered up on to the stage, through the welcoming and perfectly child-sized gap in the curtains. ‘It’s a way of committing really complicated stuff to your memory and remembering it just like that.’fn1 She clicked her fingers. ‘This way!’

  She headed out through the stage-right fire exit officiously marked QUIET! (UNLESS IN THE EVENT OF A FIRE, IN WHICH CASE SHOUT ‘FIRE!’).

  ‘You’ll have to show us how to do that,’ said Zack as the four of them skipped down a flight of dimly lit concrete stairs before emerging into what was pretty much an identical backstage area, just one floor below.

  Sophie smiled. ‘When we’ve all got a moment, no problem. And here we are!’

  The Young Magicians peered through the stage curtains, conscious of the chitter-chatter coming from the other side. The Dealers’ Hall wasn’t officially open yet, but the dealers themselves were there, still setting up, chatting, talking shop, sharing stories about the latest rip-off gadget they were all happy to bad-mouth, but even more happy to sell to any semi-interested punter.

  What met the four’s eyes was a glorious sight, an undeniable feast for the curious eyes of any aspiring magician.

  The hall was pretty much the same size and shape as the ballroom, one floor up. But, whereas you could at least see the ballroom floor upstairs, here all that could be made out was a vast grid of tables and stands with a criss-crossing web of paths running through it, barely the width of an adult, like a giant snake slithering across the room, trying to find its way out.

  Bunting with flutteri
ng flags hung from corner to corner and, if there weren’t quite the 195 countries Sophie had been thinking of, they could see there were a good few nations present. Each table and stall displayed a collection of magical apparatus, a vivid mix of props, cards, books, DVDs, old posters, large colourful boxes with mannequins positioned resplendently inside, silk scarves, and banners with freshly printed logos, advertising personal tuition, discounts on rare and bewildering gadgets, and free top hats with every purchase.

  All four gasped in awe at the amount of magic on display. It was as if they had dived into a living, breathing magic catalogue. Alex mentally ticked off the various pieces he recognized: cups and balls, chop cups, dice-stacking cups, ghost tubes, dove pans, sympathetic silks, mirror boxes, sliding die boxes, Gozinta boxes – and that was just on one table! Then there was the raft of stuff he hadn’t even heard of before. In fact, in many ways, this set of artefacts was even more interesting than the first – who knew what these gadgets and gizmos could accomplish?! Not that Alex had a lot of money to spend. But he had made a point of saving up as soon as Cynthia had been in touch with the news that junior members were going to be allowed to attend the Annual Magic Convention, which promised a hall – an entire hall – dedicated to selling magical equipment.

  Jonny, Sophie and Zack looked at Alex fondly, enjoying the delighted expression on his little round face. Much like the vast underground library in the bowels of the Magic Circle headquarters back in London, this was a place you might gladly and legitimately lose yourself in.

  Then, one by one, their faces fell. A woman was pinning up the backdrop on her stall over to one side, next to a table covered with a white cloth. The backdrop was a large poster showing a design they all recognized because they had last seen it on the T-shirt being modelled by Mr Taste himself, the hotel receptionist.

  On the table were piles of more T-shirts and rolled-up posters, presumably the same as the one on the backdrop.

  ‘They’re selling the things!’ Zack hissed.

  ‘Cool!’ Jonny whispered, and clocked the outraged looks from his friends. ‘I mean, that’s absolutely disgraceful! We are definitely going to have words.’ He smiled. ‘Anyway, my grand–’ He stopped himself, quickly shaking his head like he was trying to physically jiggle off the thought.

  ‘It’s all right to still think of him, Jonny,’ said Sophie softly.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Zack. ‘Just because of the way things turned out doesn’t mean you and him didn’t have some good times.’

  Jonny thought for a few seconds before answering. It was true, he thought: his grandfather had fallen from grace, but that didn’t rewrite history. That didn’t suddenly eradicate all the times they’d shared a special moment or the times they’d laughed together, or the times Ernest had shown Jonny something truly magical with that inimitable twinkle in his eye as the coin vanished, or the cane he was using to prop himself up disintegrated in a haze of glitter and confetti, or the time he joyfully ridiculed the way large parts of the magic industry had gone nowadays.

  ‘I was about to say,’ said Jonny slowly, ‘that Granddad always thought half the stuff magic dealers sold at conventions was a load of overpriced claptrap. His words – obviously!’

  ‘Oh well, he was certainly right about that,’ said Zack, with another dark look at the Young Magicians merchandise stall. He peered back through the curtains and spotted a pair of colour-changing sunglasses that had about as many zeroes etched on to the price tag as there were promises that the trick could ‘be performed surrounded’ and didn’t use electronics, magnets, fine wire, palming or indeed any skill. Yeah, right!

  Then …

  ‘Oh, now there’s a face I haven’t seen in a while,’ said Zack all of a sudden. Alex followed his friend’s gaze towards a rather ostentatious stand with a banner in glowing letters reading DAVENPORT’S MAGIC STUDIO. A hobbit-like man with heavy bags under his eyes was setting out his wares, still with the same haunted stare as when they’d last encountered him: Alton Davenport. Alex shuddered, remembering the last time they’d seen the man. It had been only moments before creepy Henry, a key figure in the Crown Jewels conspiracy – SEE BOOK ONE! – had sprung out on them beneath Charing Cross Station, apparently beaten up and disfigured. Alex shook the unfortunate image out of his mind.

  ‘It’ll be nice to wind him up again!’ Jonny whispered.

  ‘Oh, but I bet there are some real gems to be found hidden among the rubbish!’ said Sophie, a little too loudly, and causing some of the dealers to raise their heads. She ducked, hiding herself behind the saggy curtains that smelled of a decaying Santa’s Grotto.

  ‘What I meant to say,’ said Sophie, a little more quietly, ‘was take a look at the stuff on that stand, for example.’ She nodded towards a small, slightly rundown kiosk off to the side of the room, less gaudy than the rest, and appearing a little out of place among the more commercial stalls being set up. It had the Stars and Stripes flying from a small flagpole.

  ‘If it’s proper and authentic stuff you’re looking for, well, you can practically smell the history coming from over there.’

  ‘Sorry, that might have been me,’ said Jonny, pretending to look sorry save for the huge grin dolloped across his face and the fact that he never missed an opportunity to make a joke about letting off accidental smells.

  It was true, though – the kiosk in question seemed to have been dressed in original red drapery with yellow tassels, almost like an oversized Punch and Judy stand. On the sides of the tent-like structure hung several posters, each showcasing a different Edwardian magician, almost like this was a portal to some bygone era. Even the table positioned in the centre of the stall looked as if it had been plucked from another world. On top of it sat a rich collection of magical curiosities – collapsible birdcages, wands and watch-winders – that seemed to shimmer in the light, enticing the four of them in.

  ‘Wow,’ said Zack, squinting slightly to try and focus. ‘Is that an original poster of Ron and Nancy Spencer?’

  ‘Who?’ said Jonny, racking his brains and jutting out his lower lip – he’d certainly heard those names mentioned to him before, perhaps by Ernest one time, but why they were such important figures in magic history presently escaped him.

  ‘Only one way to find out!’ said Sophie suddenly, crouching low and moving swiftly through the curtain and down on to the hall floor, successfully squeezing under one of the tables before beckoning to the others.

  Jonny, Alex and Zack followed slightly more clumsily. Jonny attempted to ‘cascade’ himself off the raised stage like a slinky spring before commando-rolling his way into Sophie’s hiding place to join the others, like a rather inefficient game of Sardines. Then it was on across the hall floor, out of sight, their only points of reference now being the legs of the table stands that swamped the room and the legs of the dealers milling about chirpily, excited by the prospect of selling their favourite tat.

  The Young Magicians crept quietly under the stretch of tables towards the aged kiosk at the end. The poster that Zack had pointed out now was coming into sharper focus as they approached.

  Alex studied it as they crawled closer. It was not unlike some of those they’d seen six months ago that adorned the corridor walls outside the entrance to the Grand Theatre of the Magic Circle. It was easily as tall as Alex – a lot of people would say that’s not hard, but the point is it was unusual for a poster – the canvas slightly fraying at the edges but otherwise in wonderful condition. The price to own the rare piece was hidden from view, or perhaps deliberately absent so that one had to ‘enquire within’, which was often code for ‘it’s highly unlikely you can afford it, please don’t enquire and leave NOW’.

  At the very centre of the poster was a lady in an evening gown – presumably the titular Nancy – who stood beneath an immaculate proscenium arch, flooded with light, her body facing away from the audience, as she held a graceful hand up to her forehead. To her side and slightly more downstage was (presumably) Ron, a
tall, confident man with a splendid handlebar moustache dressed in finest top hat and tails. One of his arms gestured towards the magicians milling around; the other held a small trinket, perhaps a locket, which he was staring at intently as if he were willing it to come to life and speak.

  ‘I wish we’d been around to see stuff like this,’ whispered Sophie, basking in the shadow of the poster that really did reek of some brilliant magical past.

  ‘Sorry, who exactly were Ron and Nancy Spencer?’ asked Jonny, trying to fathom exactly what was happening in the poster.

  ‘Oh, only the greatest mentalist couple that ever lived!’ said Sophie. ‘They travelled the world with their Minds in Harmony telepathy act.’

  ‘Telepathy?’ enquired Alex. ‘You mean talking mind to mind?’

  Sophie shuffled into a small vacant spot beneath the neighbouring table, crossing her legs like one might at the beginning of a story. She smiled at the three boys who had now huddled even closer together in front of her, eager to know more.

  ‘Are you sitting comfortably? Then I shall begin!’

  Alex, Zack and Jonny sat – less comfortably, in Jonny’s case, with his knees round his ears – and let Sophie’s words sink in, each of them picturing the scene in their own way. Feel free to do the same. Ready? Then we shall begin.

  It is 1926. The occupants of the Grand Theatre of the Magic Circle sat in stunned silence. How had she known? How had the legendary Nancy Spencer perfectly described the small object that her husband Ron had borrowed from an audience member and now had concealed in his hand from a considerable distance away? How had she known? And in such inexplicable detail too, like she was seemingly seeing the object through her husband’s eyes. As if the two of them had some kind of telepathic connection.