The Magical Peppers and the Great Vanishing Act

The Troupe

Dr Pompkins - Totality Magic

Chapter 1 - Magic Shed

TRICK: Möbius Magic

Health and Safety

Chapter 2 - Henry J. Henry

TRICK: Magic Bottle

The Library

Chapter 3 - Big Ruffled Collars

TRICK: Into Thin Air

Voice and Tone, Volume and Accents

Chapter 4 - The Crystal Skull

TRICK: The Disappearing Coin

Sewing and Handicraft

Chapter 5 - Optical Illusion

TRICK: Magic Cloak

Noises from the Crowd

Chapter 6 - Plump Velvet Cushion

TRICK: Mind Magic Spook Tumbler

Spookery

Chapter 7 - Warthogs

TRICK: Eggs from a Hat

Organisation

Chapter 8 - One Smells a Rat

TRICK: Penny and Coat Hanger Trick

Confusion

Chapter 9 - The Hideaway

TRICK: Church Steeple

Animals

Chapter 10 - Mrs Celia Nutkins

TRICK: Magic Sachet

Leaflet-eering

Chapter 11 - Bonce Security™ in Action

TRICK: Haunted Pendulum

Our Finale

Chapter 12 - A Few Hundred Doves and a Prince

Copyright

About the Publisher

Welcome once more to Dr Pompkins – Totality Magic (expanded deluxe limited edition with velour cover and gold lettering).

Here you will find the best tricks and the most up-to-date advice. Since I last saw you, I have been trotting round the globe, performing at least four tricks a night to an eager audience. But it has taken its toll on my body. My legs are creaking, the old joints are barking and I also believe that I may be slightly deaf. Reader, I am getting old, so I want you to go forth, take the Pompkins baton, and perform the tricks included inside this book – at home, to friends and relatives, at school – and let’s see that the bubble of magic never bursts.

In all totality,

Esmé Pepper saw the letter arrive first, landing loudly on the doormat of the house at Highwood Road. It was addressed to Uncle Potty, but there was no clue as to the sender. The postmark was smudged and the address was printed, not handwritten. Esmé scratched her right ear and began to worry. She hoped it was not the letter that had been threatened by the local council.

Kerrr-phoooow!

The sound of a small explosion coming from the garden made Esmé start. Her twin brother, Monty, and her uncle Potty, a professional magician, were outside, busy creating new magic tricks. Esmé put the letter in her trouser pocket and ran out to the recently fitted magic shed that Potty had been using over the last few weeks. Potty was standing alone, covered in soot. Only minutes ago, the shed had sported its clean, watertight roof. Now there were pieces of charred wood all over the grass and the entire roof was gone.

“Problem?” asked Esmé.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” answered Potty brightly.

“Where’s Monty?”

“Here,” came a voice, and Esmé looked up to see her brother, happily dangling upside down from a tree by his ankles. “I don’t think we got it quite right, Uncle Potty.”

“I’ll go and get the ladder,” said Esmé, rushing to the hall cupboard.

Twenty minutes later, a puzzled Montague Pepper was sitting on the grass, trying to work out what had gone wrong.

“We’ve spent two long weeks trying to make the shed disappear in the style of Nigel Copperfield,” he worried. “And all we’ve done is blow up the roof.”

“It will happen,” said Potty. “We just need to consult Dr Pompkins – Totality Magic again.”

“Do you think Mr Copperfield reads Dr Pompkins?” asked Monty.

“Oh yes,” said Potty, sitting down to join him. “We all do. It’s our bible.”

Esmé sat down with them. “Do you really think you can make the shed disappear?” she asked. “What props did you use for the trick?”

“A fire extinguisher, a piece of curtain, twenty-four packs of playing cards and a can of lemonade,” replied Potty. “I think the lemonade might have been the issue, don’t you?”

“Surely,” said Esmé, “the issue was with the fire extinguisher. Has it been safety checked? I think Mum and Dad have had it for ages.”

Both Monty and Potty looked at each other. “Oh, so that’s what it was,” Potty said, turning to Esmé. “You know, I really hadn’t thought about that until you mentioned it, Esmé, dear. Or maybe there were too many packs of cards.”

Sensible Esmé gave Potty a knowing look. Surely he knew playing cards had never made anything explode in the whole history of the world. Ever.

Esmé wondered if the neighbours might complain about the exploding shed, which reminded her of the letter that was still in her pocket.

“You’ve had something through the post,” she said, handing the envelope to Potty, whose normally pinkish face turned white in an instant.

“Could it be…” he asked out loud, his one eyebrow furrowed deep.

Monty trembled. Esmé frowned.

“... from the council?” asked Potty, trying to open the letter without his hands shaking too much. “I don’t know what I will do if my wonderful shed is shut down. I will have nowhere to create my tricks in peace.”

*

Uncle Potty had first hit upon the idea of a magic shed four weeks earlier. It would be a place of his own where he could try out and experiment with his tricks. So when Mr and Mrs Pepper had said he could build it in their garden, he was ecstatic. Monty would be on standby to help him at any time. It was perfect.

Once it was decided, Potty and the Pepper twins got a bus to the nearest garden centre and spent almost two hours deliberating on the best shed for the job. Some had heating, one came fitted with a plunge pool and another doubled as a noodle stall for rock festivals. In the end, Potty had plumped for a traditional shed with a sturdy front door and had it delivered the next day.

Esmé and Monty were both thrilled. Surely this was the solution to the problems associated with Potty practising in the house – no more baked beans on the living-room carpet, no more flooded bathrooms or tripping over wands on the stairs.

And yet... Esmé noticed that even in his own shed, Potty could not help but make either a lot of noise or a lot of mess. He managed to break the door off its hinges on the first day with an energetic silk scarf trick. On the second day, he annoyed the neighbours with a badly played trumpet solo, which he claimed was for an act involving the magic of music. Two local cats joined him and howled in unison, causing the woman down the road to ring the police to complain about the “Lady Gaga Tribute Act”. When Potty tried to make the shed magically transform into an elephant, the noise was such that Esmé had to put her foot down. No more elephants.

Matters had come to a head a week ago when a small man from the local council called Jeremy, dressed in a tan corduroy suit, with sweatbands round his wrists, appeared at the house and proceeded to read Uncle Potty an official warning.

“If you continue to cause disruption to your neighbours, you will be fined and most probably taken to court,” he said sternly. “We at the council take these things very seriously because you are causing severe cress to others,” he finished, and looked up from his clipboard.

“Cress?” asked Potty.

“Cress to others,” replied Jeremy, wiping his forehead with his left-hand sweatband.

“Do you mean stress?” asked Monty, peering round Potty’s elbow.

“Ahem, yes, stress to others,” finished Jeremy, now wiping his forehead with his right-hand sweatband. “This is your final warming. That is, you have been warmed.”

“Warmed?” asked Esmé, trying not to burst into laughter as Jeremy walked away.

Although they had chuckled about Jeremy and his warming after his departure, Esmé, Monty and Potty were deeply concerned. Potty was a creative type – he needed to be free in order to invent new, innovative tricks. If he was forced to keep the noise down, he might not be able to do his job; if he was taken to court, they might ban the magic shed altogether.

Fiddling with the seal, Potty took another few seconds breaking open the envelope. He breathed in slowly.

“It’s an invitation,” he said at last, with some relief. “‘Mr Henry J. Henry invites the Potty Magician to perform for Her Majesty the Queen at the Grand Royal Opening of Mr Henry’s MEGA-MILLION SUPER MUSEUM in one week’s time. RSVP in person by August the first at the latest.’ That’s the day after tomorrow,” Potty added.

“Wow,” said Monty.

“Is it real?” asked Esmé, taking the invitation and examining it.

“There’s a gold stamp on it,” said Monty, peering over her shoulder. “Of course it’s real.”

Potty was thrilled – he had made a name for himself after the triumphant show at the Sea Spray Theatre and had received regular bookings ever since. He had even appeared on television a handful of times, including a small slot on Abraca-Deborah – a magic show featuring Pat Daniels and his fragrant wife – performing a trick with a dessert spoon and a toothpick. But on reading this invitation, Potty was happier than he had ever been – he had never dreamed of being asked to entertain on such an important occasion. Every frond of hair leaped up from the top of his head as if his fingers had been stuck in the mains. “I will perform for Her actual Majesty, a royal personage, in real life! It’s a true honour.”

“In all totality,” added Monty, nodding.

Potty paused for a moment. “Henry J. Henry – I’m sure I remember that name from somewhere...” He scratched his head and some hair fell on to the floor.

“I think he was once a member of the International Magic Guys Club. I’m certain that he went by the name of Harry Starfeathers – although he was so clumsy with his props that we used to call him Harry Butterfingers. Well well, if he isn’t a high-flying museum curator these days, working closely with royalty.”

All problems with the council were, at this point, forgotten. All thought of the accident with the shed roof was put aside too. The Potty Magician was to perform in front of the Queen in a week! Monty started rehearsing what he called his Junior Royal Bow.

“Come along,” said Potty. “We must decide what trick to perform at the Grand Royal Opening.”

“What about one-handed tortoise juggling?” asked Monty. “I saw that on an American TV programme once.”

“No no – too messy,” replied Potty.

“I liked the trick you did where a playing card turns into flower petals,” said Esmé.

“Zamiel’s Rose?” answered Potty. “No, the Queen will have seen that one before – it’s been done many times.” He shifted on the grass. “This is not an easy task.”

“Uncle P, what have we just been doing?”

“Worrying about the high-explosive properties of lemonade,” said Potty, gazing up at the sky.

“Before that,” prompted Monty.

“Trying to make the shed disappear.”

“Exactly!” said Monty. “Why don’t you make something from the museum disappear?”

“Great idea! Maybe a statue or something like that,” suggested Esmé.

Potty stopped to think.

“Or should we be more ambitious?” mused the Potty Magician. “Anyone can make a statue disappear.”

“We could bring the shed?” suggested Monty.

Potty was having a brainwave. “The Queen has seen the greatest performers the world has ever known. She will expect something incredible, out of the realms of possibility – a simple shed might not do the trick. Her Royal Highness saw Timothy Cooper rip a tablecloth from a dining table, under the nose of a giant bear that was just sitting down to enjoy a substantial meal. The plates and cutlery remained exactly where they had been set; the bear was happy and the crowd went wild. Anyway, we need a true spectacle that breaks new ground on a global scale – but without any bears, for safety reasons.”

Monty thought for a moment. “Could we make the Queen disappear?”

“I think that may be against the law,” responded Esmé.

“One moment, Esmé and Monty,” said Potty. “Maybe we could make the museum disappear. What do you think? It’s going to be a tough one to pull off, but if Nigel Copperfield can make the Egyptian pyramids vanish for a few seconds, then I can certainly dispose of this so-called Mega-Million Super Museum.”

“Even though the museum is vast and heavy and real?” asked Esmé.

“Oh yes.”

Esmé truly hoped that Potty could make the museum disappear. He hadn’t done very well with the shed, but they had just over a week to rehearse the grand trick, so there was a chance it might actually work.

Potty looked closely at the invitation that he was still clutching in his hand.

“We need to RSVP in person the day after tomorrow. That gives us one whole day to sort out the nuts and bolts of our act.”

“It also means I can spend tomorrow at the library researching,” said Esmé happily. “The museum has been standing for decades. It’s only in the past few weeks that it’s been reinvented as the Mega-Million Super Museum. I might be able to find some details about the building and the floor plan so that you can work out your trick in advance, Potty.”

“Sounds splendid! We are set – nothing can go wrong with a little preparation! We will make the museum disappear.”

An excerpt from

You will need paper, Sellotape and scissors for this trick. Tell your audience you have made a loop out of paper to put round your wrist, but it won’t fit. “Stone me,” you’ll say, “I’ll just cut the loop bigger!” Your clever audience will laugh as they know you cannot make a loop bigger just by cutting it.

However, if you cut the loop in half up the middle, instead of into two loops, you will now have one larger loop.

The secret is that your original loop is actually a Möbius Strip – a mathematical marvel – made from a strip of paper that has been twisted once and then taped together {see fig. 1}.

Health and Safety is not something to be frowned upon. Please do not try to work with fire, big cats or swords. You are still a beginner and you can never be too careful – some ambitious tricks can cause an accident unless handled by an experienced professional. Construct your own props with Sellotape and scissors rather than hammer and nails. Cotton wool, also, is rather soft and forgiving. The great Pat Daniels always liked to construct his own props, but one day he managed to slice off his own pinky finger with a circular saw. Ouch!

In all totality,

Monty Pepper was taken aback at how vast the museum seemed as he, Esmé and Potty walked through the tall, iron entrance gates. Monty wore a new red cape over his velvet magician’s suit; Potty was in a yellow satin number worn over a tweed suit. Esmé wore her light summer cagoule (ready for all weathers), which had a large pocket. In it she carried a penknife, a small torch and a packet of strawberry chews, just in case anyone got hungry. Everyone was prepared to meet Henry J. Henry and see inside this inspiring Mega-Million Super Museum.

The building was impressive – enormous stone pillars supported the Greek-style triangular roof. The museum was at least the size of a football pitch plus a department store on the side. It stood, a triumph of traditional, imposing, stone-clad building-ness.

“It must be very old,” Monty said.

“Construction work was finished in eighteen fifty-three and took over two decades,” said Esmé. “I read about it at the library.”

The Peppers and Potty walked alongside the flourishing garden at the front – even the outside was part of the new museum. Here were Plants from Really Really Ancient Times – a display that included Welwitschia from the Namibia desert, a shrub that can live for up to two thousand years.

Potty raised his eyebrow. “Better not make that disappear,” he said.

They walked to the entrance, up a flight of grand stone steps that were being scrubbed furiously by around twenty cleaners in white coats.

“That’s a lot of cleaning,” remarked Monty.

At once, a beam of bright white light hit the central column, followed by a pulsating strobe of purple to the right-hand side of the building. The visitors stopped in their tracks. Loud music pumped from large speakers at each side of the museum, with deep bass notes and some toppy hi-hats.

“Technical rehearsal, light show number one,” shouted a man, who wore a safety helmet and had an orange vest over his clothes. “Cue the lasers.”

Esmé, Monty and Potty gasped as the words MEGA-MILLION ROYAL OPENING appeared in mid-air before them. The laser display then changed to the words HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, then formed into an image of a crown, which slowly morphed into the outline of a corgi.

“OK, that’s enough for now,” said the man in the hard hat, and the lasers stopped at once.

“Impressive,” said Monty. “Do you think they’ll put your name in lasers for the opening, Potty?”

Uncle Potty furrowed his brow, not used to the notion of celebrity. “Maybe.”

“As the light show suggests,” said Esmé seriously, “this is more than a normal museum; this truly is a Mega-Million Super museum.”

The grand opening was clearly a big operation. By the main entrance was a poster of the Queen wearing her ceremonial robes and a huge crown. She was not smiling in the picture. Star Attraction! read the poster.

THE MUSEUM’S GRAND OPENING WILL SHOWCASE…

HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN’S REGAL JEWEL COLLECTION.

CAST YOUR EYES UPON A SELECTION OF THE MOST EXQUISITE JEWELS AND HIGHLY PRIZED TRINKETS FROM HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN’S OWN PERSONAL TREASURE TROVE.

“Ooh,” said Monty.

The Peppers and Potty stepped inside. There was a slow smoosh!, and a puff of dry ice enveloped them all as if they were on a film set.

“I want to live here,” cooed Monty. “It’s amazing.”

Someone passed by, pushing a small trolley filled with USB sticks and mouse mats. Each had a picture of a transparent skull on it.

“What are they for?” asked Monty.

“For sale, maybe,” said Esmé. “Does the museum have a shop?”

“Of course it does, old sport,” came a voice from the midst of the dry ice. A hand appeared through the fug of smoke, then an arm, then a man.

“Henry J. Henry,” the man introduced himself to Uncle Potty. He was tall and wore a light grey suit. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I guess you are the Potty Magician.”

Henry smiled at them all – he seemed almost like an angel, thought Esmé, appearing from a celestial cloud.

Henry looked at Esmé and Monty. “And you must be...?”

“My niece and nephew,” said Potty, “Esmé and Monty Pepper.”

Monty sniffed the air. “What’s that nice smell?”

“Must be my aftershave, Toujours, Matey.”

Henry gazed down at the children. “I do hope you like our little museum here. We have made use of technology to create a sensational experience. And we want the experience to be experiential, if you see what I mean.” Henry smiled again and his teeth sent out a gleam that Esmé thought could have blinded a small animal such as a shrew or a weasel. The clothes Henry wore were expensive and his hair was smoothed back and sleek. He was one of those people who looked as if he was successful at everything – that all he touched turned to gold. Esmé imagined that Henry J. Henry lived in a mansion that was filled every day with fresh-cut flowers, that he drank champagne from small golden flutes and bathed in goat’s milk when he fancied it.

The dry ice dispersed.

“Welcome to our world, Potty Magician and young relatives,” said Henry. “The Mega-Million Super Museum is at your disposal.”

Then Potty spoke. “We’ve met before, Mr Henry. Weren’t you once a member of the International Magic Guys Club?”

“My, yes, I was,” said Henry, looking back intently at Potty. “But I don’t seem to recall...”

“Not to worry, I was just a whipper-snapper,” Potty said. “Wasn’t Harry Starfeathers your stage name?”

Henry J. Henry looked a little put out that Potty had such a good memory.

“Um, yes. But I got out of the magic business a while ago. There was too much pressure,” he muttered.

“Well, that’s a shame,” said Potty, deciding not to mention Henry’s nickname – Butterfingers.

“I never really had the talent,” continued Henry, “to charm with magic, to entertain. It’s a gift, I tell you, old sport. A gift.”

“There’s always something to improve on, or something new to try,” explained Potty humbly. “You can’t be left behind. Each trick must be better than the last.”

Henry sighed deeply. “It’s so nice to catch up. Anyway, we must talk turkey.”

Potty nodded. “The trick?”

“Yes, the trick,” replied Henry. “The Queen has personally invited you to perform at the Mega-Million Super Museum opening. Apparently she saw you on television and loved your act. She contacted me especially to put you on the bill for next week’s grand event.”

Esmé could see that Henry was stressing the fact that it was the Queen’s idea to invite Potty to perform.

“I am certainly a lucky magician,” said Potty.

“So, what sort of thing have you got in mind for the show?” Henry asked.

“Well, as you know a little bit about magic, I think you’ll understand when I say that I want to create an epic performance,” replied Potty. “Something truly memorable. So... I’d like to make the museum disappear, if that’s all right with you.”