Big Change for Stuart (4 page)

‘Don't know,' replied Stuart, mystified. ‘And what does it mean, “Lead you to my W
”
? What word's missing there?'

‘Winnings?' suggested April. ‘Wand? Watch? Wardrobe?'

‘And the “old pal
”
bit. What's
that
about?'

They looked at each other. ‘“Once you start using magic, it's very hard to stop
”
,' quoted April, her voice breathy. ‘It's another puzzle, isn't it? Another adventure?'

Stuart closed his hand over the star, and felt the six prongs dig into his skin. His heart was suddenly thumping; he felt both excited and slightly frightened, and he knew from April's expression
that
she felt the same. The hunt for Great-Uncle Tony's workshop had been a wild and exciting chase, sprinkled with danger and magic, and now another quest was beckoning. But for what? What was the prize this time?

He felt his hand tingle, and he knew that the object he was holding was so full of magic that over fifty years it had bleached the paper it was wrapped in; he could feel its power.

‘I think we should—' he began, and then stopped as the door behind them opened.

‘Ah, I have located my offspring,' said Stuart's father, looking pleased. ‘I have just been warned by Mr Felton of the impending cessation of visitation hours.'

Stuart groaned in frustration. ‘It's closing time,' he translated, for April's benefit.

‘He informs me that you may recommence your activities in the morn, the portals being flung wide at nine precisely.'

‘So we'll start again tomorrow, then,' whispered Stuart. ‘See you here at nine on the dot?'

‘Quarter past nine. I've got to deliver the
Beech
Road
Guardian
midweek edition first. You won't touch anything till I get here, will you?'

Stuart hesitated. He wanted to start searching for clues this
second
, and the thought of hanging around even for an extra quarter of an hour felt almost unbearable.

‘Please,' said April.

Stuart nodded reluctantly. ‘OK.'

That evening, Stuart's mother arrived home even later than usual. She was a research doctor in a hospital near Beeton, and most of her days were spent peering through a microscope. Most of her evenings, however, were spent worrying about Stuart (at least, that's what it felt like to him). Unlike his father, she spoke in plain English, and mainly in questions.

‘So, do you feel that you're starting to settle down in Beeton?' she asked, sitting on the end of his bed.

Stuart closed his hand over Great-Uncle Tony's message, which he'd been studying. ‘Sort of,' he said. He and his parents had only moved to the town
four
weeks ago, at the beginning of the summer holidays, but it had been four weeks packed with incident, and in some ways he felt as if he'd been living there for years.

‘And you've made really good friends with the little girls next door?'

‘Sort of,' said Stuart again. He was certainly friends with April, but the other two triplets were another matter.

‘And you're not getting too bored?'

‘No,' said Stuart, relieved to get an easy question. ‘I'm not getting bored at all.'

‘Because one of my colleagues is running a junior statistics course for keen young mathematicians next week. I could get you a place on it, if you like.'

‘No thank you,' said Stuart quickly. ‘I've got tons to do. For a start, I'm curating an exhibition at the museum.'

‘Really?' His mother looked astounded. ‘I didn't know that.'

‘Didn't Dad tell you? But he was there when they asked me. He was sitting right next to me.'

She shook her head, her expression worried.

‘Oh well.' Stuart shrugged. ‘You know what Dad's like. He was probably trying to think of a long word at the time, and didn't notice.'

His mother smiled, but the worried look remained. ‘The thing is,' she said, ‘I've just been asked if I can go to a conference in Singapore. It's very last minute – I'd be replacing a colleague who's ill, and I'd be away for nearly ten days. And I'd have to fly out tomorrow afternoon.'

She looked at him anxiously. ‘Would that be all right?'

‘Of course it would.'

‘Can you and Dad manage?'

‘Of course we can. I mean, we'll
miss
you, but—'

‘Will you eat proper healthy meals and not just pick at whatever's in the fridge?'

‘Yes.'

‘And change your clothes sometimes?'

‘Yes.'

‘And go to bed at a reasonable time?'

‘Yes.'

‘And if you go out during the day, will you stick with friends and leave notes for Dad so he knows where you are?'

‘Yes.'

‘Because if you only
tell
him things, he forgets. You have to write it down.'

‘I know.'

She bit her lip, undecided.

‘Don't worry, Mum,' said Stuart. ‘We'll be absolutely
fine
.'

THE NEXT MORNING
he got to the museum early and was walking in small, impatient circles outside the main entrance when the caretaker turned up at ten past nine, shortly followed by the curator.

‘Don't forget your official identification,' said Rod Felton, and Stuart pinned on his hideous
MINI EXPERT
badge and then made his way to the side room. Sunlight was streaming through the window.

‘Can you finish those descriptions by midday?' asked Rod Felton, popping his head round the door. ‘Then we can print them up and laminate them, ready for the exhibition opening tomorrow.'

Stuart nodded, sure that April would remember
a
notebook and pen. He checked his watch and frowned. How could she be late when there was so much to do?

He waited another five minutes. Still no April.

He got the little six-spoked wheel out of his pocket and studied it intently from every angle, but there was nothing new to see.

He trudged along to Rod Felton's office and borrowed some scrap paper and a pencil and – as an afterthought – a tape measure.

He wrote
THE PHARAOH'S PYRAMID
in large careful letters at the top of the page, and then underlined it. Twice. And then checked his watch yet again.

It was ten o'clock.

April was three-quarters of an hour late. She'd said,
Don't touch anything till I get there
, but if he didn't, then he wouldn't be able to describe the tricks properly, and he'd miss Rod Felton's deadline. And besides, they were
his
tricks, even if he couldn't actually prove it to anyone. So of course he could touch them if he wanted to.

‘Right then,' he said out loud, secretly feeling
rather
pleased. ‘I'll just have to start on my own …'

He had to write ‘about' because (as usual) he was too short to measure it properly.

He stood on tiptoe, gripped the nearest snake-shaped handle and pulled. The whole triangular side immediately swung down, cracking him on the head; it was hinged at the bottom, he realized, and was heavier than it looked. He lowered the side to the floor, and stood rubbing his skull for a
moment,
and then he stooped to get a clearer view of the inside of the pyramid.

It was jet black, so shiny that the varnish still looked wet, and the walls were painted with a scattering of red stars. Stuart took the metal star out of his pocket and held it against one of the painted ones. It was exactly the same size and shape.

He put the star back in his pocket and walked round the pyramid again. However hard he tugged at the handles on the other three sides, none of them would shift.

He lifted the first side up again, and it clicked neatly into position, the pyramid complete once more.

Then he tried one of the other handles again. This time it opened easily.

Grinning, Stuart added a line to his description.

He crouched down and stepped inside the pyramid. It was quite roomy – easily big enough
for
an adult to sit in. He could almost imagine the scene on stage, as Teeny-tiny Tony Horten introduced the trick: ‘
Ladies and gentlemen, my lovely assistant Lily will now climb into the Pharaoh's Pyramid. As you can see, once the side is closed again, she will have no possible means of escape …
'

And yet there had to be a way out: a concealed button, or a spring, or a handle, operated from the inside, so that the assistant could secretly get out. Stuart ran his fingertips over the walls and felt, near the top of each, a little loop of metal, just big enough to hook a finger into and coloured the same jet-black as the rest of the surface. He checked, and found that there was one on the open side as well.

He hooked his finger into the latter and heaved. The side began to swing shut.

Should I wait for April?
he wondered.

No
, he thought, pulling harder.
I want to solve this myself
.

After all, what was the worst that could happen? He could be stuck inside the pyramid until April or
Rod
Felton turned up. A bit embarrassing, but not actually disastrous.

Unless, of course, the pyramid was air-tight.

In which case he might start to suffocate and be found unconscious or possibly dead some hours later, so perhaps it wasn't such a great idea after all – and maybe, on second thoughts, it would be better if he didn't actually fully shut the—

There was a loud and definitive
click
, and Stuart found himself in utter darkness. Not the faintest chink of light was visible. He pushed at the walls but they didn't budge. He pulled at the metal loops: nothing.

‘Brilliant,' he muttered, trying not to panic.

And then he saw a glimmer of red light, a glimmer that strengthened and grew and multiplied – a constellation of glimmers all around him. The red stars were luminous!

Nine or ten twinkled from each wall; as he twisted round to look at them, a glimpse of red on the floor caught his eye. One single star shone from the centre of it.