small turbot in my hand explodes and fuses the lights.”
“You had a live fish in your hand?”
“It’s not a real one,” answered Potty. “It’s made out of rubber.” He pointed to his left. “It’s over there.”
“I see,” said Esmé, glancing at the small fish lying on the ground.
“Then I got caught up in the net…” explained Potty. “And now I can’t get out.”
“We’ll help,” said Esmé.
“Wonderful,” beamed Potty. “The fact that I had spring-loaded the fish beforehand may have added to the problem.”
“Oh, dear,” said Esmé, trying to disentangle Potty. She remembered the toaster incident from last summer, when Potty decided to heat up a dynamite sandwich. “We had better phone the theatre owners.”
“No need,” replied Potty, his long, banana-coloured limbs now almost free of the net. “The Table sisters own the place – they live down the pier in the gypsy caravan, to the left of the coconut shy.”
“OK,” said Esmé, moving towards the auditorium door. “You and Monty stay here and tidy things up a bit and I’ll go and let them know what’s happened…”
An excerpt from
Dr Pompkins – Totality Magic
TRICK: How to Walk Through a Postcard
Friends, this is a marvellous trick, which goes back to Victorian times. Tell your chums that you can walk through a postcard.
It seems impossible, but fold a postcard lengthways, take a very sharp pair of scissors and cut like so {see fig. 1}, making a series of sideways slits.
Carefully open the card and see how it expands into a ring of enormous girth. Step into it, pull it up to your middle then over your head.
A resounding, “Amazing!” will be the cry from your audience.
Opening Act
At the start of your show, when the curtains open and you walk out on stage or at a simple gathering, the first thing that everyone will notice is your outward appearance… Walk briskly, as soon as your name is announced – the audience will see that you mean business. Smile to acknowledge the applause and start your act immediately. Confidence is all – get in there and do it.
Your exit is just as important; take your time to smile and bow. If you have performed well, come back on stage again – but only if the audience still applauds. If they have run away, have a big think about becoming a magician. You might want to look into the role of a chartered surveyor instead.
In all totality,
Dr Pompkins
Esmé walked out into the afternoon sunshine. The pier was buzzing with activity. Visitors munched from large bags of candy floss and gnawed at brittle Crab Pie rock. The radio from the coconut shy was playing loud pop music and the seagulls squawked sharply overhead. It was a splendid day, a perfect seaside morning. Apart from the strong breeze Esmé could detect from the ocean. And was that a storm cloud in the distance?
Esmé reached the gypsy caravan within a minute. Outside was a plyboard sign that read “Tabitha and Twinkle Table, fortune tellers to the stars – £10 for a future you’ll never forget!” Underneath was pinned a signed photograph of the boxer Frank Pruno.
Esmé raised her hand to knock at the wooden door of the caravan.
“Come in, deary,” came a voice, a fraction of a second before Esmé’s knuckles touched the wood.
Esmé popped her head through the door. It was completely dark inside. “H-hello?” she stuttered. “I’m Esmé Pepper, the Potty Magician’s niece.”
“We know,” said a voice from the void. There was a fumbling sound and a bare light bulb flickered on. Two smiling ladies were at once visible, sitting around a square table. The Table sisters must have been in their eighties but their eyes shone like baubles on a Christmas tree.
“I’m Tabitha Table, and this is my sister, Twinkle.” Tabitha thrust out a large hand in greeting and smiled, revealing slightly fewer teeth than Esmé had expected. She wore a dusty-pink cardigan, a white shirt and green nylon trousers.
Twinkle Table seemed smaller – and shyer – than her sister. She had a kind expression on her face, and fine features, with a distinctive beauty spot painted on to her left cheek. She wore a purple dress with tassels falling from the hem, and long lengths of russet-coloured chiffon hanging loosely around her shoulders and over her head. From her ears hung large dangly earrings shaped like feathers, which made a soft sound whenever she moved.
The small table in front of them was filled with objects. Two pairs of binoculars, a china teacup and a gleaming crystal ball. From the ceiling of the caravan hung various items – an old gas lamp, a set of wood chimes, a large metal teapot, tea cups, a bundle of small white crystals and what looked like a long jawbone filled with three rows of pointy teeth.
“Mandible of the trout,” explained Tabitha matter-of-factly. Esmé noticed her fingers were adorned with enormous mystical-looking jewellery: a large ring in the shape of a frog, one that looked like a crown and another a skull. They clicked sharply together as Tabitha pointed to the jawbone. “Brings us good luck and you can also use it as a cake ingredient.”
Esmé thought that sounded rather horrible, but chose not to say anything.
“Do sit down,” said Twinkle softly to Esmé. “Would you like us to read your destiny?” she asked, trying to reach the teapot hanging from the ceiling. “The tea leaves perhaps?”
Tabitha took one look at her sister struggling and grabbed the object herself with her well-ornamented hands.
“I’m pretty sure we should be talking about practical matters, like mending the theatre lights,” Tabitha said.
Esmé blinked. How does Tabitha know? Maybe I said something when I came in…
Tabitha eyed Esmé’s practical clothes. Esmé’s cheeks began to go red – she felt out of place in the caravan with all its trinkets and wonder.
Meanwhile Twinkle fiddled with the chiffon on her head, producing a teaspoon from one of its many folds. Once her sister had finished adding tea leaves and water from the freshly boiled kettle to the pot, Twinkle stirred the contents slowly and thoughtfully with her spoon.
Tabitha brought out a packet of sweets from her pocket and offered
