The Peppers and the International Magic Guys

“One of Potty’s tricks gone wrong?”

“How did you guess?” Esmé replied, genuinely surprised.

Everyone in the local area knew the Potty Magician. He had spent a lifetime at the International Magic Guys HQ, sometimes hanging out of the window performing card tricks on pigeons or trying to make the ornamental shrubbery round the building disappear.

“I don’t mind a few magic tricks now and again,” said Esmé, “but Uncle Potty can’t stop. Plus he keeps messing things up.”

Jimi looked extra pensive. He had looked through the shop window on many occasions to see Uncle Potty trying to make traffic wardens levitate. He chuckled to himself. Uncle Potty was a “wild card” – a true eccentric.

“Could he be messing up the tricks on purpose, as part of a new routine?” asked Jimi.

“I don’t think so,” replied Esmé. “Yesterday he tried to produce twenty tins of baked beans from a long silk scarf. There were an awful lot of beans to clean up afterwards. The living-room carpet was ruined.”

Jimi scratched his left eyebrow pensively. “The tins were open?”

“Yes.” Esmé warmed to her theme. “And yesterday, Uncle Potty managed to get stuck in the bathroom for an hour while he worked on his ‘Underwater Sea’ trick and somehow fused the boiler at the same time, so we have no hot water. Plus he’s broken the door bell, my watch, damaged the Hoover trying to suck up the beans and spilt water over Mum and Dad’s laptop.”

“Oh, dear,” mused Jimi. “My brother could look at the laptop for you and maybe the vacuum cleaner, if you bring it in. The doorbell might just need a new fuse. Not sure about the boiler – maybe Potty knows a good plumber.”

Esmé shook her head. “I don’t think he knows what a plumber is.”

“Do you think he’s nervous about the IMG performance the day after tomorrow?”

“What performance?” replied Esmé.

Jimi lowered his voice, although the only other person in the shop was a man who had been staring at light bulbs for half an hour.

“Rumour has it that the show is being put on for the Pan-Continental Magic Corporation, who own and fund the club. If the IMG doesn’t make the grade it could face the axe.”

“If the IMG closes, Uncle Potty will be devastated!” said Esmé.

“I’ve heard the PCMC are very hard to please – in particular the boss, Nigella Spoon,” said Jimi, who seemed to know a lot about the matter. “She takes a great deal of pleasure in closing down a failing club. Nigella is as hard as nails. I met her once and she trod on my toe – although she claimed it was an accident, it is hard to forget. I’m sure that she meant to do it.”

Esmé was worried. If Uncle Potty’s tricks were anything to go by, the whole club could be in trouble.

“If the IMG closes, each and every one of the IMG members will face financial and emotional ruin,” Jimi added, looking grave. “From leader Maureen Houdini – the late Barry Houdini’s daughter – to Uncle Potty, the other members, their families… so many people will be affected. It will also be a sad day for the world of stage magic, and for humanity itself. It would also hit me hard as I do the catering for all the shows from my Global Snack Tea Trolley. I need to sell my pakoras and light Thai bites.”

“And when is the show?”

“Day after tomorrow,” replied Jimi.

Esmé suddenly realised why Uncle Potty must be trying to invent the “trick of all tricks”. He must have hidden the truth about the Pan-Continental Magic Corporation from the children so as not to worry them. But the International Magic Guys was in trouble. The club meant everything to Uncle Potty, and Esmé wanted to help because she understood it was so important to him. But what exactly could she do?

Esmé was no magician herself – she could not perform a trick or do a dance to save the IMG. But to every problem there is a solution, she thought, and there must be a way to ensure the IMG’s survival. Esmé decided to go back and talk to Monty. With his new-found knowledge of magic and her common sense they might be able to hatch a plan.

Drill a hole in one end of your wand, affix a bent paperclip and tie a rubber band round it, which you then tie round your middle finger. {See fig. 1}

If you hold your hand so as the audience will not see the rubber band, the wand inexplicably rises up.

Cue much applause.

Some of you may know that in the magic world, wands have a mind of their own and rabbits appear from top hats. Danger! I cannot state it more clearly, in all matters of health and safety, that using a wand can result in very serious injury if accidentally poked in the stomach. Animals, on the other hand, are easily available and an ideal way to create magic entertainment that poses no harm at all.

In all totality,

smé arrived back at Highwood Road, left her shopping bag next to the big Buddha in the hallway and ran upstairs to find Monty. He was standing in their shared bedroom with a stuffed toy elephant on his head.

“At last, my willing assistant Esmé is here,” Monty announced smoothly, as if he were a well-rehearsed TV presenter who had been churned into butter and spread thickly on toast. “Aloha, Miss Esmé Pepper. Welcome to the Hiding the Elephant trick. Come feel the weight of the elephant and let me hoist the heavy animal on to your shoulders, then see if I can make you both disappear.”

It was clear that Monty’s interest in magic had not abated since Uncle Potty’s disastrous trick.

“Where’s Uncle Potty?” asked Esmé.

“He’s downstairs fiddling with the laptop. Now, I must continue – let me hoist the heavy ani––”

“Monty, I have to talk to you,” said Esmé earnestly. “The IMG are in trouble. They might be closed down if we don’t help them. That’s why Uncle Potty’s getting all his tricks wrong. He’s a bag of nerves.”

Monty looked crossly at his sister.

“I think that Uncle Potty would have mentioned any nerves to me,” Monty replied, irritated that Esmé was interrupting his trick. “I am his new assistant, his trusted aide. I have access to the inner workings of the conjuror’s mind, and would be able to tell if my own uncle was nervous or not.”

“Oh, don’t be so silly,” said Esmé. “They have to do a big show for the Pan-Continental Magic Corporation the day after tomorrow. Jimi at CostSnippas has told me all about it.”

Monty took the elephant off his head. “And Jimi knows, because he does all the IMG catering.”

Monty sighed.

“I think we should try and help,” concluded Esmé.

“OK, fine,” agreed Monty at last. “The International Magic Guys cannot disappear, just like that. Why don’t we take out a TV advert where Uncle Potty explains the problems of the IMG, and appeals to people to donate their money to the club?” suggested Monty. “I saw something similar about sponsoring pandas.”

Esmé was slightly taken aback by Monty’s lack of media knowledge. “You do know it costs thousands of pounds to take out a TV advert?” she told him.

“Uncle Potty and I could write that book about magic ourselves, so if we do that we’ll get someone famous to write the introduction – like the Queen or one of Hunkatron, the boy band – then we will sell loads of copies and the money we make could pay for the ad.”

“It takes a long time to write a book, get it published and earn royalties,” explained Esmé, realising that her brother did not have a grasp on such realities.

Monty was thoughtful. “I could always sell my cape,” he said.

Esmé meanwhile had come up with a sensible idea.

“You’ve got the Dr Pompkins book, right? What we should do is collect the best, most fail-safe tricks and work on a programme that we can present to Uncle Potty. Right now he needs to focus. We can help him put together a show that can’t fail to impress the PCMC.”

Monty agreed enthusiastically, grabbed Dr Pompkins and set about marking its pages as Esmé crept downstairs to grab her new notebook.

Together, she and Monty started compiling the best tricks from the book, from a simple rabbit-in-hat trick to something called “The Cage of Possibilities”, which involved a box inside a twirling cage and a quick change of personnel. Leafing through the book, Monty saw a trick that he wanted to perform himself – the Dairy Creamer Eye Splurge.