The Peppers and the Island of Invention Page 8
There was nothing on the third floor but on the fourth the twins and Maureen were greeted by a large door – and a small broom cupboard.
“Let’s try the door,” whispered Esmé. “Is it locked?”
Monty gently tried the handle. “Yes, it won’t open,” he said.
“Uncle Potty!” he whispered through the door frame, but there was no reply.
Monty turned to Maureen. “Can you pick the lock?”
“No problem,” replied Maureen. She fished out a pair of tweezers, a hairpin and a trunk key from her trouser pocket.
Now they could hear shuffling coming from behind the door.
“It’s OK,” Monty whispered. “We won’t be long.”
Maureen skilfully undid the lock with the tweezers in a matter of seconds and the door opened wide to reveal a darkened room, lit only by a small candle at the far end where a table and two chairs stood.
Potty was sitting by the table with four glass bottles in front of him. He turned towards the door.
“Esmé, Monty – and Maureen Houdini herself!” he beamed, standing up. “You have found me!”
The Pepper twins rushed over to hug Potty.
“I’m so glad you’re OK,” said Esmé, giving him a squeeze.
“Have you been up here all this time?” asked Monty, looking up at Uncle Potty and thinking that he somehow looked taller.
“Yes, yes, but it was not too unpleasant,” replied Potty. “Now, let me introduce you to a friend of… Where are you, Gary?”
A dusty head appeared from underneath the table.
“If we could just make a hole in the end of the bottle… then the frog can… Oh!” Gary Meringue’s bearded face smiled broadly. “Are we… Surely not… Are we saved?”
“I think so,” said Esmé.
“I’m Gary Meringue,” said the bearded magician, holding out his hand. “Delighted to meet you! I’ve been here ages.” Esmé noticed there were long strands of dust hanging from his jacket sleeves like willow leaves.
“This is Esmé and Monty – my niece and nephew,” explained Potty.
“Ooh, I’ve heard so much about you,” said Gary who, under all that dust, wore a bow tie and a suit. “All good things.”
“And this is Maureen Houdini, daughter of the late, great Barry Houdini.” Potty pointed to Maureen, who was still standing by the doorway.
“I am honoured to meet you,” said Gary Meringue, bowing towards Maureen – who smiled in return.
“Now, what’s stopping us?” asked Potty. “Let’s get straight back to the theatre to work on the show.”
“We’ve just got to deal with Mr Portobello first,” Esmé replied, giving Potty one more hug. “Let him know that his dreadful plan is over.”
They all nodded at each other, and then Esmé took the lead as the five captives crept quietly down the stairs to the kitchen below.
An excerpt from
Dr Pompkins – Totality Magic
TRICK: Turn Water into Cherryade
Wedge a paper cup inside a large jug using a bath sponge or anything that is absorbent.
Fill the paper cup with cherryade or a similarly bright-coloured drink and announce that you have special powers and – za zing! – you will turn water into cherryade!
Take a glass of water and pour it into the sponge part of the jug, which will soak up the water.
Waggle your hands over the jug and shout, ‘To the Pompkins!’ (maybe) then pour the jug – the cherryade in the cup will flow into the glass.
Not that anybody should be drinking litres of fizzy pop these days, on account of future teeth and gum health problems. I prefer brandy.
Stamina
While we have made much of practice and the art of a good stage performance, we have not mentioned stamina. To be a magician you must be able to concentrate over the course of two or three tricks at first, and to do this you need to make sure you are prepared. A good night’s sleep, a breakfast of fruits and grains and a real mental focus will be your aids for this. The more you perform an array of different tricks, the more the mind will be able to ‘lock into’ the task and the fewer mistakes will be made. Your mind is a muscle, train it well. And do not watch too much television or pop videos.
In all totality,
Dr Pompkins
Hearing muffled footsteps walking down the stairs and into the kitchen Mr Portobello put two and two together – Gary Meringue and the Potty Magician had escaped. Mr Portobello, the local businessman and sort-of executive, knew that he was in big trouble. Having no more resources – no Plan D or Plan E – Mr Portobello did the only thing any executive businessman could do in his position: he decided to escape.
Mr Portobello was not a natural inventor but he had watched Keith on and off and felt that he knew the basics. As a result, in the last three weeks he had done something he was immensely proud of – he had secretly built a flying machine and harboured it in the broom cupboard at the top of the house. Now was the time to use it. Of course, the machine was rudimentary, but Mr Portobello had faith that this was the vehicle to get him out of this sticky situation. He could jet to the train station in town and get a ticket to the capital. From there he would fly to somewhere hot like Spain.
Mr Portobello ran upstairs to the top floor and opened the cupboard door. There it was – a magnificent creature, made from tin foil, balsa wood, Blu-tack and assorted nuts and screws – covered with a fine bubble-wrap mesh, constructed from polystyrene webbing, the sort that apples are commonly packed in.
“My beauty!” cried Mr Portobello, who had based his creation on the sketches of Leonardo Da Vinci’s flying machine. “You will take me out of here!” He had visions of himself as a god of some sort, soaring over the rooftops of people who were poorer and therefore had far fewer chrome fittings and bendy taps than he did.
Mr Portobello strapped himself into the flying machine. He felt fantastic. The wings were weightless, the wooden structure firm but light. Mr Portobello felt all-powerful – everything was in its place. I rule the world! he thought.
This was all very fine, but just as Mr Portobello was about to take off on the voyage of a lifetime, he realised there was one problem. In order to catch the breeze he would have to leave from this, the top floor. And yet when he looked at the prison-like windows that he had specifically asked to be installed, he knew he’d never get himself and the flying machine out in one piece. The spaces between the bars were too small. If he ran downstairs and tried to take off from the shore he would not get any sort of lift off. What was he to do?
With a leaden heart and wounded pride, Mr Portobello released himself from the winged wonder. He sighed. He would simply have to run downstairs and swim to the shore. Then walk to the train station, go to the capital, get on the plane, etc.
Mr Portobello thundered down the stairs, through the corridor, out of the front door and through the gap in the fence. Potty, the IMG magicians and the Pepper twins looked on, stunned.
“Come back!” shouted Maureen. “We want to arrest you for kidnapping.”
Within half a minute everyone had scrambled outside and watched as Mr Portobello threw his shoes and jacket in the air. He raced to the shoreline, dived into the cold water and started to swim in the direction of the mainland.
Monty turned to Esmé. “What on earth is he doing?”
“I have absolutely no idea,” Esmé replied. “The water is not particularly inviting at this time of night.”
Mr Portobello continued to splash about, but it was clear that he was not a strong swimmer. Maureen squinted at the sea ahead.
“It looks like…” she said. “I don’t believe it. There’s two of them.”
While Mr Portobello’s head was bobbing in the water in one spot, another head was also bobbing nearby.
“That looks like Keith Chalk in a high-visibility vest!” cried Esmé. “You’re right, Maureen. Two men overboard!”
Esmé ran to the helicopter and grabbed the well-worn manual. Flicking
through, she saw that there was a rescue rope attached to every vehicle ‘as standard’. If she could fly the helicopter again they could save Keith and catch Mr Portobello in one fell swoop.
“It’s time to make a sea rescue. A double sea rescue,” said Esmé, purposefully.
“Really?” asked Clive, who had not really enjoyed the last journey.
“Yes,” said Esmé. “Although you are allowed to sit in the back and close your eyes for as long as you need to.”
The magicians and the Pepper twins boarded the helicopter. Deidre sat in the back with Bernard, the baby rabbits and Clive.
Quickly and more smoothly this time, Esmé managed to lift the helicopter up. There was plenty of help from her technicians, Monty and Maureen, who kept their eyes glued to the manual and supported her all the way. The levers seemed easier to control this time and the helicopter started to glide through the sky.
Shortly, they were hovering directly above Mr Portobello and Keith, both splashing not-very-usefully in the sea, losing energy and fight with every stroke.
Monty had found the ‘emergency megaphone’ (fitted on every EeezyHover HC2100 as standard too) under his seat, rolled down the window and was barking at the two failing swimmers below.
“It’s OK, you two,” he said. “We’ll have you up in a minute. Roger.”
Maureen found the button that let the hook descend.
“Just grab on to the hook when it gets to you,” instructed Monty. “Hold on tight, please. Over and out.”
The hook descended on the long, thick rope and soon Keith had managed to take hold of it. The rope had been coated, he noticed in a fix-it man sort of way, in a very interesting, non-slip rubber resin. It took Mr Portobello a few more attempts to grab the hook, but finally he did so too.
“All OK to travel?” asked Monty through the megaphone.
And so, as dawn approached, the helicopter made its way – with the two bedraggled figures swaying below it – over the short distance to Crab Pie Pier.
“Ooh, this is smashing, isn’t it?” Twinkle said to her sister as they viewed the events unfolding at sea. “A thrilling ocean adventure.”
“Come on, Esmé and Monty, that’s the way!” shouted Tabitha, jumping up and down as much as her knees would let her.
The sun was rising, colouring the sky a warm red. Jimi stood alongside the Table sisters with two large trays of food – and an armful of towels for Keith and Mr Portobello, who looked rather wet.
“Is that Esmé at the controls?” Jimi asked, craning his neck to see.
“Looks like it,” responded Tabitha.
“My, she’s doing incredibly well with what is a difficult and precise machine,” Jimi noted.
“Hi, Jimi! All right down there, Roger?” Monty was still bellowing through the megaphone. “I’m just going to drop these two off on the walkway,” he shouted. “If you all can make sure Mr Portobello doesn’t escape, then we’ll land on the tattoo parlour. Over and out.”
“Over and out!” called Twinkle.
The helicopter hovered over the walkway, and Keith and Mr Portobello landed in a heap on the pier, Jimi and the Table sisters running down to meet them. An extremely damp Keith slowly got up and Jimi handed him a towel. Twinkle and Tabitha walked up to an equally sodden Mr Portobello, both sisters with hands on hips.
“You’re going nowhere, sunshine,” said Tabitha.
Mr Portobello’s lower lip quivered.
“Now, come on, Tabs,” he said. “Have a heart… Twinks?”
The sisters looked at each other, and Tabitha gave her sister the ‘thumbs up’. They both counted to three then Tabitha dealt Mr Portobello a firm blow to the knees and he toppled over. Twinkle seized the moment and sat on him. Tabitha joined her.
“You’re a criminal, Mr Portobello,” announced Tabitha. “We gave you enough chances. Now we’re going to call the police.”
Twinkle closed her eyes and wrinkled her nose.
“Twinkle Table,” said Tabitha, “we can’t call them through the spirit world. They don’t operate like that. Jimi, would you…?”
Jimi Sinha turned to Tabitha. “Certainly, madam,” he said, finding his mobile phone. “It would be my pleasure.”
Mr Portobello started to growl.
“It’s no use you grumbling now, Mr Portobello,” said Twinkle. “You’ve made your bed, you’re going to lie in it.”
“I predict tough times ahead for you, Mr Portobello,” said Twinkle, arms crossed. “But I foresee that justice will be done.”
An excerpt from
Dr Pompkins – Totality Magic
TRICK: Pop Goes the Lollipop
To prepare, fix a small cellophane-wrapped lollipop securely to one end of a forty-centimetre piece of elastic.
Pin the other end up your sleeve.
When you perform, show the audience the lollipop out of your sleeve and hold it so that the elastic is hidden behind your wrist {see fig. 1}. Now pretend to drop the lolly into a paper bag while really letting the elastic pull it back up your sleeve.
Now blow up the paper bag and burst it – in all totality, the lollipop has vanished.
Simply brillia-rilliant.
Thank You…
…for your company on this long, silky journey through the magic hintersphere. There are many things to learn still, many classics that we can find inspiration from. Keep learning – read magic, observe magic and practise magic. This crazy trip of ours may, indeed, never end, but I love it so and I hope you do too.
In all totality,
Dr Pompkins
Potty’s show was only a day away. Although everyone was exhausted from yesterday’s events they knew that they had to do their utmost to make the performance as incredible as it possibly could be.
Inside the theatre, Potty and Keith started to get the props ready, calling over to each other, giving directions – becoming more and more exhilarated by the sheer ambition of the show itself.
However, despite the excitement of recent events and witnessing the glorious rescue from Mr Portobello’s island from a good vantage point, the Table sisters’ mood was rather glum.
Tabitha was first to pinpoint the problem. “It’s wonderful that Mr Portobello is in jail,” she explained. “But now we have no one to buy the theatre, not even anyone to make a low offer.”
Twinkle sadly agreed. “I guess we’ll have to live in that poky little caravan all our lives.”
“Ahem.” A figure appeared in the main doorway. “I heard that there was a friend of mine in town and I happened to be passing by…”
The sharply-dressed, pointy-toed Nigella Spoon walked into the Sea Spray and put her shiny handbag down on one of the seats towards the back. Nigella was head of the Pan-Continental Magic Corporation. She oversaw hundreds of magic clubs including the International Magic Guys, which, after their show-stopping performance last summer, was now one of her favourite associations. Nigella smiled broadly (something that she had been practising recently) and strode up to Uncle Potty.
“Hello, Potty!” she said, shaking him by the hand. Her tone was naturally formal but it could not hide the real warmth that she felt for the Potty Magician. “I couldn’t resist coming from New York City. The first show is tomorrow, am I right?”
“Nigella!” exclaimed Potty. “I am chuffed to bits that you have made such a long journey.”
“My, this is a beautiful old theatre!” Nigella remarked, looking around. “Who owns it?”
After much talk, Nigella was made aware of the Table sisters’ situation.
“I’m always interested in new locations,” she said.
“The Sea Spray is going to become the coast’s top magic venue,” boasted Monty. “Potty’s playing for a fortnight, and now we’ve scheduled Gary Meringue to follow. After that, Clive Pastel.”
“And we’ve found an amazing technical genius in Keith Chalk,” added Esmé. “He can make every show a million times better. He knows how to build absolutely anything.”
“Hm,” pondered Nigella. “What sort of price are you looking for?”
Tabitha and Nigella conferred in private for a moment, then broke away as Nigella took out a notebook and pencil from her skirt pocket and jotted something down.
Potty’s fluffy eyebrow rose higher than it had in a long time. Maureen and Deidre craned to hear Nigella’s verdict. The Table sisters waited, mouths agape, salivating slightly.
“I’ll take it – I’ll buy the Sea Spray Theatre,” announced Nigella looking up from her notebook. “I think it has great potential.”
“That’s wonderful!” said Twinkle. “Now, I just have to contact the spirits and let them know…” Twinkle closed her eyes, held out her arms and started humming.
“That’s very good of you, Miss Spoon,” said Tabitha, who shook Nigella’s hand over and over again. “The Sea Spray won’t let you down.”
The delicious aroma of Jimi’s snacks was by now filling the air – and the delicious aroma of a Bright Future joined in too. The smell of success was not far away either.
“This is wonderful news,” exclaimed Potty. “Now, good people, we must get on. We have a show to rehearse!”
“Can Bernard get involved?” asked Deidre.
“Any use for a human cannonball?” enquired the Great Stupeedo and, at once, the great rolling magic show began to take shape.
“… and an escapologist?” asked Maureen.
“Anyone want another Thai summer roll?” said Jimi.
Esmé watched proudly as they all found a role to play in Potty’s performance. Even Gary Meringue wanted to join in.
The next day, new posters lined Crab Pie Pier. An ‘extended run’ at the Sea Spray Theatre for Potty, with a big billing for ‘fabulous magical inventor Keith Chalk’. Next to it was a poster that read ‘£10 for a future you’ll never forget!’ with a picture of the smiling Table sisters against the backdrop of a charming new bungalow cottage on Tide Street.