They’d tried for two years before they sought some kind of medical reassurance, and the result was crushing. It was no one’s fault. It was just … one of those things. And quicker than a magician might vanish a small, beautiful dove, Edmund and Cynthia had to deal with the fact that they would never have children.
From then on, Cynthia had devoted her life to forging some kind of junior arm to the Magic Circle, desperate to attract children from all walks of life, desperate to help, desperate to surround herself with the children she would never have. Edmund, on the other hand, was utterly bereft, stunned into uncharacteristic silence that there wasn’t something he could do, or say, or pay for to help. It was like constantly receiving some dreadfully sad news that sat at the back of his mind, festering, bubbling away – unquashable, always there. When he thought about it, he couldn’t even finish his chocolate bread-and-butter pudding with extra custard. And so he stopped thinking about it, out of a sheer need to survive. Plus, he really, really liked chocolate bread-and-butter pudding with extra custard.
Until slowly, like it was the only way to rid himself of this affliction, he began to turn against the very idea of children. Putting himself above the idea, cringing at the very mention of them, wincing every time he heard one of their whiny voices. Wherever they were, at the theatre, at a restaurant, at special occasions. If he couldn’t have his own little family, then why should anyone else get to have one? Silly little children. What a waste of time. No, fate had magnificently intervened, he would tell Cynthia – We’ve dodged one hell of a bullet there, haven’t we, darling!
And, if one thing was certain, there was no way his wife was going to rub his nose in it even more by allowing a junior faction of the Magic Circle to exist and pervade the society he’d worked for all his life. Yes, he knew there were more members dying off at the older end than were coming in. But so be it: the society would die with them in that case. These children would only cause mayhem and run amok. That was all snotty brats were good for.
The clinking, clanking, toasty breakfast buzz of the dining room came back as if someone had just turned up the volume. For a few minutes there Cynthia’s voice had been all that the Young Magicians had heard.
Cynthia blinked and jerked her head up, as though she’d been in some kind of trance, just reciting the words under a spell.
‘Well, my goodness!’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘Do you know, I’ve never told that to anyone. Oh, my! But it does feel good to have said it out loud.’ She smiled, even though she was dabbing at the corner of her eye with a napkin. Then it was all over and she was the Cynthia they knew again, forever cheerful, forever bustling, forever fussing.
‘So there you are, Alex,’ she said. ‘President Pickle doesn’t have anything against you personally, so please don’t take it that way. Now would you look at the time!’
Cynthia quickly pushed her chair back and hurried over to the top table while the Young Magicians just looked at each other. For once – and note this occasion well because it had never happened before and has very rarely happened since – none of them knew what to say. But, then again, none of them needed to. For what Cynthia had confessed to them, as sad and as tragic a tale as it was, now made abundantly clear why President Pickle acted the way he did towards them. It was all just his way of … dealing with an awful situation.
The four watched from their table as Cynthia bent to whisper something in President Pickle’s ear. From his expression, she could have been reminding him of the date of his own funeral. Maybe he thought she was.
‘I don’t suppose she’ll tell him we’ve worked something out?’ Jonny mused.
Sophie shook her head. ‘She knows he wouldn’t believe her – in fact, it might just make him feel worse.’
‘But we’re still going to do this, right?’ Zack checked, and the others all nodded.
Across the room, President Pickle pushed his chair back and tapped a spoon against his glass for silence.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, the AGM will commence in five minutes in the ballroom,’ he said, sounding like he was announcing his own execution. Without looking left or right, he walked out of the room to face the firing squad while Cynthia hurried after him. She flashed the Young Magicians a final, flustered, hopeful smile, and then was gone.
All around the dining room, people were hurrying to finish their breakfast – scooping up their food, chucking their teas and coffees back, burning their old-as-the-hills throats – and standing up.
The Young Magicians looked at each other, and then Alex shyly held his clenched fist out over the table. He had seen other kids do this and wasn’t quite sure how his friends would react, but it was worth a try.
Without hesitation, the other three bumped their fists against his.
‘Endgame,’ Zack said, and they pushed their chairs back – in chorus – to join everyone else.
PS GO ALEX!
24
8 A.M.
The ballroom was already filling up by the time the Young Magicians got there as the older contingent trudged in like zombies, already moaning about more things than there were physically possible to moan about. The front row of tables – the ones that had so concerned Eric Diva and Belinda earlier – was now reserved for council members, and even the ones behind those had begun to fill up. The four friends would have liked to be closer to the front, but still at least …
‘Sophie! Over here!’ Deanna called. She must have skipped breakfast and come straight here. Her eyes were wilder than usual, her hair was a web of blonde and it didn’t look like she’d slept well at all. But her Sophie-DAR was evidently up and running perfectly this morning.
‘How does she do that?’ Zack murmured.
‘Yeah, you should probably disable that tracking device at some point, Soph!’ added Jonny.
Deanna had kept four seats free for them. Which may go down as one of the most practically useful things Deanna has ever done. At least without assistance.
‘Thank God you’re OK!’ Deanna gushed, looking up at Sophie with huge, tragic eyes as they filed over. ‘I dreamed I kept waking up and you weren’t there! It was awful!’ Deanna held her haunted expression for about ten seconds too long, which undoubtedly meant she wanted – hell, needed – a response.
‘Probably just a dream!’ Sophie joked, tapping Deanna on the head. Deanna slowly turned to face the stage, shocked into silence by the possibility that perhaps Sophie had been out all night. Without her.
The clock at the back of the stage was just ticking the final seconds to eight o’clock. On the dot of eight, Eric Diva jumped up on to the stage and rapped a gavel on the podium, much lighter of touch than President Pickle, but just hard enough to prove that he still meant business. He had changed out of his so-cool-it-hurts-actually-these-are-genuinely-too-tight jeans and T-shirt outfit into a grey business suit but with a fluorescent rainbow tie … as if to reinforce the fact that his personality was STILL THERE!
‘Ladies and gentlemen, honoured members of the Magic Circle, young and old.’ He beamed at the audience, but this time there were no bing-bongs or other sound effects.
‘I declare the Annual General Meeting of the Magic Circle to be open.’ He gave the podium a final thwack with the gavel. ‘Pray silence for your president and mine, Edmund Pickle.’
President Pickle stood up from his chair as slowly as if he had lead weights in his pockets. For all the differences they had had, even Zack suddenly felt sorry for him. Even without knowing what Cynthia had just told them, you couldn’t dislike someone who looked so utterly, utterly miserable. Zack almost wanted to run down the aisle and give the man a big hug.
But he couldn’t do that. Not yet.
Just a bit longer, Zack promised telepathically, though he of all people knew that telepathy was just a big illusion. Just a few more minutes …
The four friends leaned forward in their seats, tense and poised for action, with their eyes flitting from President Pickle to the podium to the back of the stage
to the backs of the heads of the council members at the front – anywhere or at anything that might provide the final piece of the puzzle. Belinda and Eric were going to enact their plan and take over the Magic Circle. That much they knew. But precisely how was yet to be determined.
President Pickle tapped his sheaf of notes for his speech on the podium in front of him.
‘Ladies and gentlemen …’
His voice came out as a wheeze. He coughed, and then took a sip from the glass of water in front of him.
Zack slapped his knee gleefully as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.
‘It’s the glass!’ he exclaimed quietly, so that only his friends could hear. ‘It’s the glass!’
President Pickle spoke. His amplified voice could be heard plainly around the ballroom.
‘First of all, thank you for your support at this difficult time. Some of you might have heard rumours of what I was up against. Poison-pen letters, even death threats …’
There were sympathetic nods and murmurs from the audience. Onstage, President Pickle was becoming a little agitated, moving from side to side.
‘However, it gives me great pleasure to tell you … None of it was real! None! I had you all completely fooled!’
Now there were gasps of shock. Every member of the council, most especially Cynthia, was sitting bolt upright, staring at him in disbelief.
‘This whole thing was my plan to make you all – yes, all of you, every single one of you here – realize that the Young Magicians – Zack Harrison, Jonathan Haigh, Sophie Yang and Alexander Finley – are just a bunch of jumped-up upstarts with no talent and no respect for their elders, who couldn’t even solve a problem like Maria, let alone anything else!’ President Pickle yelped. Even though the four had heard bits of this over-rehearsed speech before, hearing it delivered – first hand, as it were – in front of a room full of their contemporaries wasn’t easy.
Now President Pickle seemed to be dancing a little jig, shaking the podium back and forth. He gave the microphone a couple of thumps.
Cynthia’s face had started to crumple as her eyes filled with big, globby tears. She was shaking her head slowly from side to side, devastated by her husband’s humiliating public breakdown.
Zack saw it, and his heart filled with burning anger. She was such a sweet soul and she didn’t deserve this.
‘Let’s end this,’ he said, and he stood up, the others with him. Deanna watched in awe as they started to pick their way through the tables towards the stage.
‘But let’s not be too harsh on them!’ President Pickle almost screamed. ‘They are young, and easily led. Easily led by you, honoured members of the Magic Circle. You gave them all this recognition and adulation. There’s even … merchandise! You must bear some of the blame here. You had me – a man who has given his life to your service, to our glorious and magical Circle, who has been here for you for literally decades, through thick and thin, always at your beck and call, never complaining, never asking for anything – and you dared to turn your back on me and look to them as the future of magic? But no, apparently, not one of you was intelligent enough to see through their act! So let me ask, sincerely and honestly, just between ourselves – are you all really that stupid?’
President Pickle plucked the microphone from its stand now and started to pace about the stage, rocking from side to side like he was on deck during a frenzied storm. The throng of conventioneers watched, agog, the odd bit of dribble falling from their mouths on to their knobbly knees, as their once-respected hero rattled on as if he had gone positively mad, now almost chewing on the microphone like it was a Cornetto.
‘And I’ll tell you what else you are too. Jealous! You’re jealous of me and the successes I’ve achieved during my tenure as president of the Magic Circle. Oh, don’t deny it! I can see it in all your eyes. All you hopefuls and possible president-elects. You’re all hoping to ride on the coat-tails of the Young Magicians into positions of power!’ President Pickle ranted. ‘You want me out of the way so that you can take the Magic Circle in your own “modern” direction!’
Belinda and Eric Diva had both left their seats and gone on to the stage by the staircases at either side. They approached President Pickle from different directions.
‘Well, I think I’ve proved that I am completely on top of things, don’t you? I’ve shown you who’s boss –’
Belinda gently plucked the microphone from his hands.
‘I think that’s quite enough, don’t you, Mr President?’ she asked kindly.
President Pickle’s face was beetroot red. Without the microphone, he seemed to all intents and purposes to be struck dumb, gesticulating wildly with his arms like a giant chicken desperate to fly. Belinda handed the microphone to Eric, gazing sorrowfully into his eyes.
‘Well …’ Eric Diva turned to face the audience. His face was suddenly ashen and his voice shook, like someone in a soap opera who had just received the worst piece of news of the entire series. ‘That was unexpected. Ladies and gentlemen, I have no choice but to propose an emergency motion. I can’t offer a medical opinion, but it’s clear President Pickle has suffered some kind of mental breakdown. It’s a sad thing to happen to such a fine and magical mind, but he obviously cannot continue as our president under the circumstances. I propose that President Pickle be relieved of his duties with immediate effect.’
Even at a time like this, even knowing what he was doing, Sophie had to admire the showmanship. The act was perfectly timed. Eric Diva was riding the wave of sympathy and confusion in the room perfectly, bringing order to a scene that had suddenly erupted in all the wrong directions. People instinctively sought order over chaos. They wanted certainty. His tone was firm and definite – he wasn’t giving orders, just speaking with quiet assurance, as though this were the most natural thing in the world, that even these seasoned magicians couldn’t object to it. It was almost like hypnosis!
Eric Diva had never shown this talent so explicitly before, Sophie thought – but then that was the sign of a great magician. If he didn’t show it, no one would know he had it in him, and the trick would come out of the blue.
‘Seconded,’ Belinda said sorrowfully. President Pickle wheezed and groaned and twisted in her grasp, but he couldn’t break free of her grip.
‘All in favour?’ Eric Diva asked, and such was the grip of his magnetic spell that, one by one, the hand of every person in the room went up.
Except five.
Cynthia – who was too busy sobbing quietly into her hanky.
And four fine Young Magicians, who had their hands firmly in their pockets, except Zack, who jabbed in fury with a rigid finger at the stage.
‘NO!’ he bellowed. The shout echoed round the room and startled people out of their daze. If anyone was still a bit groggy from breakfast and hoping for a sneaky doze during the AGM, even if they had somehow managed to nod off during the ravings of President Pickle, then their hopes were almost certainly dashed now. Zack strode down the aisle, backed up by Alex, Jonny and Sophie, as murmurs and questions arose around them.
‘Passed, I think,’ Eric Diva said calmly, pointedly ignoring the oncoming wave of Young Magicians, ‘in front of all these witnesses. Hardly worth counting the nos.’
‘This is a stitch-up and you know it!’ Zack raged as he clambered on to the stage to face Eric Diva.
‘I really don’t think so, Zack. We all heard what he said. Uh – Belinda?’ Eric Diva turned to face his companion. ‘Could you escort ex-President Pickle out the back? I think he should have a lie-down before we get him the medical help he so obviously needs.’
President Pickle seemed to have slumped into a silent heap. Days of going without eating had left him broken and defeated. He turned to look at the Young Magicians, as Belinda started to lead him to the back of the stage, with anguished, bloodshot eyes that begged for help.
Alex, Sophie and Jonny quickly ran across the stage and blocked Belinda’s way. Perhaps if she’d been wit
hout a wilting ex-president in her arms she might have squeezed past, but even though President Pickle had lost a lot of his interior mass, he still had a rather impressive and bulky frame. No matter how much these people starved him of his puddingy treats, you couldn’t diminish the size of the man’s bullish bones. And that meant that Belinda Vine was well and truly trapped.
With her back to the audience, no one but them could see Belinda’s expression. Her usual charm, with its hints of magnolias and sultry warmth, was stripped away, replaced with cold, icy, intoxicating rage. The glare between Belinda and Sophie could have stripped the nuclei from the atoms in the air.
But it was Zack who was left to go toe to toe, nose to nose with a coolly smirking Eric Diva.
‘We all heard what he said?’ Zack snapped. ‘But President Pickle didn’t say any of that, did he? Because he can’t say anything!’
‘Please!’ Cynthia begged. She climbed onstage, still dabbing at her glassy eyes, but determined to be brave. ‘Please, for the love of digital dexterity, will one of you just explain what’s going on?!’
Cynthia gently but firmly lifted Belinda’s hand from her husband’s shoulders and guided President Pickle over to the side of the stage, his eyes still bulging, his lips writhing as strange gurgles erupted from between his lips. Was the man now having a fit?
‘I’ll show you,’ Zack said. ‘I didn’t know exactly how you were going to do it – until I saw the glass.’
He snatched the glass of water that President Pickle had drunk from off the podium, pressed his palm against the rim and held it up. He splayed all five fingers wide so that everyone could see that he now wasn’t holding on to it – but somehow the glass stayed hanging from his hand.
‘It’s glue!’ said Zack. ‘Glue around the rim, which got on to his lips when he drank from it.’ He scanned the audience. ‘Alton, are you out there? Did you sell Eric Diva some of the glue you were showing us yesterday?’
The Young Magicians and the 24-Hour Telepathy Plot Page 20
