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.”
“I see,” said Henry thoughtfully. “Yes, yes, that should be fine.”
Esmé and Monty glanced at each other. They had expected Mr Henry to react with a little more enthusiasm – or at least surprise. Uncle Potty was suggesting that he make the building vanish – not make a rabbit leap out from a top hat.
“The trick is based on those performed by Nigel Copperfield,” explained Potty, thinking that Henry’s slow reaction was just one of caution. “Nigel made the Statue of Liberty vanish
