Big Change for Stuart (11 page)

STUART TOOK THE
receiver.

‘Hello?' he said.

‘The kid?'
asked a crackly American voice, the voice of someone extremely old.
‘Are you the kid?'

‘Which kid?' asked Stuart. His father was already heading downstairs again, his shoulders drooping rather sadly.

‘The kid who found the tricks?'

‘Yes. My name's Stuart.'

‘Well, thank my stars I can understand you. The guy who answered the phone – was he speaking in code, or what? I never heard a bunch of words like that in my whole life.'

‘That's my father,' said Stuart. ‘He's very clever,' he added loyally.

‘
And how about you? Are you clever? Or are you smart – which is a whole heap better than being clever?
'

‘Excuse me, but who
are
you?' asked Stuart.

‘
You can call me Miss Edie. Maxwell Lacey told me he thought you were a smart boy
.'

‘Who's Maxwell Lacey?'

‘
He's a lawyer. Works for me. He came to see your tricks in the museum – grey-haired fellow with a moustache
.'

‘I remember. He kept asking me if I was related to Tony Horten, and whether the tricks had been found on council property. He went on and on about it.'

‘
Lawyers aren't paid to be interesting
.'

‘But why did he want to know?'

‘
Because I'd given him a job to do
.'

‘What job?'

‘
To buy the tricks. Buy them all. And if he's going to buy them, he needs to find out who owns them
.'

‘I do,' said Stuart.

‘
Can you prove that?
'

There was a pause, and then Stuart shook his
head,
forgetting for a moment that he was on the phone. The voice on the other end of the line was so vivid and vital that he could almost picture the speaker: ancient and white-haired, but crackling with life.

‘
Well?
' she demanded, still waiting for her answer.

‘No …' he said hesitantly. ‘I can't prove it.'

‘
I thought so
.' She gave a dry laugh that ended in a cough. ‘
And I spoke to Maxwell Lacey earlier today. He's been poking about in the basement of that town library of yours and he's found a local law that says everything found on council property belongs to the mayor, unless there's legal proof otherwise. And where's your mayor?
'

‘She disappeared,' said Stuart.

‘
I know she did. So there's a mess. You've got no proof, and the town's got no mayor. Could take years to sort out. And I don't have years – I might not even have months – and I want those tricks
.'

‘Why?'

‘
I promised my gramma I'd get them
.'

‘Your grandma? But she must be … I mean,
the
tricks are about fifty years old, and surely your grandma must have—'

‘
My gramma died eighty-five years ago
.'

‘But—'

‘
And before she died she told me something I've never forgotten. Hidden in one of the tricks – it's well hidden, she said – is Tony Horten's will. And it leaves everything to the person who finds it
.'

‘But—'

‘
It'd be all the proof you'd need. Find that will and the tricks are yours to keep
.'

‘But—'

‘
Or yours to sell. I'd pay you a good price for them
.'

‘Hang on,' said Stuart. He felt as if he were being buffeted by a strong wind – strong enough to push him in a direction that he didn't want to go. He tried to make his voice sound firm and certain. ‘Hang
on
. Even if there
is
a will – and I still don't understand how your grandma could possibly have known that – and even if I could find it, I don't want to sell the tricks. If I can actually prove they're mine, then I want to keep them.'

‘
Fine words
.'

‘But I really mean it.'

‘
I see
.' The speaker coughed again – a dry, jagged sound. ‘
You know, there's something particular about me that you don't know
,' she said.

‘What?'

‘
I'm rich. Very, very rich. I am Rich with a great big golden capital R. My gramma was a businesswoman, the smartest you could ever meet. She left England with ten pounds in her pocket and a headful of ideas, and she set up a factory here in Canada and made more money than you would ever believe. It's all mine now. I'm the last one left, and I can give away as much of it as I like. Do you know what it means to be rich?
'

‘No,' said Stuart.

‘
It means you can get anything you want. What do you want, Stuart?
'

Stuart hesitated. ‘Nothing that I can buy,' he said.

‘
Now that's an interesting kind of answer. Let me see if I can guess what you mean … Maxwell Lacey tells me that you're new in town and you're just a little fella – smaller than the other kids. Must be hard,
especially
when you're starting at a new school in a couple of weeks' time. Kids can be cruel, especially kids you haven't grown up with, and if you've got a name like S. Horten, then you're going to get a nickname real quick. Am I right?
'

Stuart said nothing but he could feel his face grow hot. He thought of all the times in his life he'd been called Shorty Shorten. The phone was sticky in his grasp. Miss Edie's voice continued, crackly and compelling.

‘
Money sure can't buy you height but it can buy you power. The best bike in town, the best computer, the best sneakers, the best parties, the best holidays – you ever been to Disneyland?
'

‘No,' muttered Stuart, his voice hoarse.

‘
You could take the whole class. Wouldn't matter how tall you are then, they'd respect the hell out of you. Take the whole class, except anyone who's mean to you. Buy a Rolls-Royce and a chauffeur to carry you to school, and only give lifts to the kids you like. Buy a house with a swimming pool in the back garden, and see how nice everyone is to you then. Friendship's like any other commodity, Stuart – you
can
buy it if you have enough money
…'

Stuart's chest was thudding as if someone inside it were banging a drum.

‘
You still there?
' asked Miss Edie.

‘Yes.'

‘
You have a real think about what I said. Find that will and I can make your dreams come true. They won't call you the shortest kid in class any more – they'll call you the richest
…'

‘But—'

Before Stuart could say any more, the line went dead.

HE STOOD STARING
at the silent receiver, and then something tugged insistently at the back of his mind, and he fetched the tin money box in which he kept his most treasured possessions, and took out Great-Uncle Tony's note.

‘Lead you to my will,' said Stuart quietly.

So that was it, then – the letters were clues that would lead him to his great-uncle's will, and when he found it, he would have a choice.

For a strange moment he felt as if he were
standing
on a bridge over a dark, rushing river. On one side of the bridge was a feast of magic: Great-Uncle Tony's illusions, and the bizarre adventures that Stuart and April were finding within them. On the other side was a world of money, glittering with all the things that Stuart could buy, if only he were rich. He stood poised in the centre of the bridge, like an iron filing between two magnets.

And then his father called his name from downstairs and he found himself back in the real world, ravenously hungry, and a bit ashamed of himself.

‘Sorry, Dad,' he mumbled, coming into the kitchen. ‘Sorry I was rude to you.'

‘Expiation delightedly accepted. I surmise that you were sorely in need of sustenance and therefore I have prepared a porcine-based comestible.'

He waved a hand towards the table, and Stuart looked at the large, delicious-looking sandwich, stuffed with bacon and oozing tomato sauce. And then he looked at all the other things that his father had spent the entire afternoon cooking.

‘Can I have some soup as well?' he asked. ‘And maybe a small slice of the vegetable flan and a bit of salad. Just a small bit?'

After five minutes of steady chomping, Stuart felt much fuller and much, much healthier.

‘Thanks, Dad.'

His father was looking thoughtful. ‘Do you think it might aid mutual colloquy if I endeavoured to converse in a less polysyllabic manner?' he asked.

‘What does
mutual colloquy
mean?'

‘Our conversation.'

‘And
endeavour
means
try
, doesn't it?'

‘Indubitably.'

‘So what you're saying is,
Would it be easier for us to talk if you used shorter words?
'

‘Yes.'

Stuart nodded cautiously. ‘Well, it might speed things up a bit. What do you want to talk about?'

‘I confess to a mild sense of curiosity about your recently completed telephonic communi—' His father paused and swallowed. ‘Your phone call,' he said, rather slowly, as if speaking a foreign language. ‘Who was it from?'

‘A very old lady. She knew about Great-Uncle Tony's workshop being found, and she wants to buy all the tricks. She's says she's very rich. Dad?'

‘Yes?'

‘Have you ever wanted to be rich?'

‘Such an ambition has never come within the compass of—' His father stopped and cleared his throat.

‘I mean to convey that I have always engaged in wider considerations than—' He cleared his throat again.

‘No,' he said simply. ‘There are more important things than money.'

In the brief silence Stuart heard April shouting his name from the back garden.

‘Can I go and see her?' he asked, and instead of saying something like, ‘You have my unconditional assent,' his dad just smiled and replied, ‘Yes,' and Stuart thought, with a burst of pleasure, how much simpler life would be if his father stuck to this new way of talking.

The fence between the gardens always made Stuart feel especially short; it was too high for
him
to see over, whereas April was tall enough to comfortably rest her chin on it.

She was standing on her side of the fence, sucking a bright blue ice-lolly. ‘Hello,' she said. ‘You look all weird and excited about something. What's going on?'

‘Well, I had this mysterious phone call and—'

The entire top of April's lolly broke off in her mouth and she let out a piercing scream.

Stuart stared at her.

‘It's
cold
,' she wailed madly, hopping from foot to foot. ‘My teeth have gone all
tingly
. Ooooh! It's like pins and needles only in my teeeeeeeeth!'

Stuart folded his arms. ‘You're not April,' he said.

‘What?'

‘She wouldn't make a fuss about something like that. You must be May.'

Instantly April popped up from where she'd been hiding behind the fence, next to her sister.

‘Very good,' she said. ‘We were just testing you. I lent May my glasses and then I hid.'

May laughed. Stuart felt a bit irritated. ‘What did you want anyway?' he asked.

‘To tell you that I can't be at the museum tomorrow morning. We've got to go shopping for school shoes.'

‘OK.'

‘Bye, then.' She walked away, and May trailed after her, still complaining about her teeth.

Stuart watched them go, and then jumped violently as the third triplet suddenly bobbed up from behind the fence.

‘Hi,' she said, grinning. ‘I was hiding too. Did you like our test?'