Big Change for Stuart (28 page)

They were as follows:

Photo 1 showed Rowena tripping over one of her heels;

Photo 2 showed her sitting down heavily on a saucer-shaped wooden platform;

Photo 3 showed her struggling to get up, and grabbing at what looked like a convenient lever;

Photo 4 showed her being catapulted through the air like a giant gold-and-orange firework;

and

Photo 5 showed her landing, with a massive splash, in the circular Roman bath at the far end of the room.

What the pictures didn't convey was the disbelieving silence that blanketed the room as Rowena struggled to her feet in the waist-high water. For a moment she seemed too shocked to speak, and simply stood, mouth open, hair like
dank
seaweed, jacket sodden, buttons half hanging off. And then the silence was broken by one of her golden buttons dropping into the pool with a teeny tiny splish. Like a coin dropping into a fountain.

‘Make a wish,' said someone at the back of the crowd.

There was a smothered giggle, and then Rod Felton rushed forward and everyone started talking and squawking and shrieking at once. Everyone except Stuart, who stood as if rooted; in his head, an idea was beginning to grow.

‘Throw in a coin and make a wish,' he muttered to himself. ‘Make a
wish
.' And then his eyes widened, and he turned and grabbed April's shoulder and said, ‘I've got it.'

‘What?'

‘Where the will is. Come
on
!' And he turned and ran out of the room and along the corridor and down into the basement, April at his heels.

‘The one place we didn't think of …' he said, panting. ‘The trick we forgot about … the illusion it all started with. And Miss Edie gave us the clue,
remember?
She said the will was well hidden. Do you get it?'

The shabby cluster of tricks lay before them. ‘Here, help me move this,' said Stuart, tugging at the Fan of Fantasticality.

Together, they slid it to one side. Behind, fully visible now, was the Well of Wishes, and April laughed with sudden realization. ‘You're right,' she said. ‘
Well
hidden. This is the place.'

THEY STOOD ON
either side of the Well of Wishes. Scraped and battered it may have been, but it was still beautiful, steeped in shadow, dusted with the sparkle of stars.

‘And what else did Miss Edie say?' asked April.

‘
Use the male. Use the male to find it
.' Stuart could almost hear Miss Edie's rasping transatlantic voice.

April stared thoughtfully into the well, and then she gave a squeak and leaned further forward. ‘I can see something,' she said.

Stuart craned over the parapet. Just visible was a series of spidery copper letters, evenly spaced around the inside of the well.

‘It's says something,' said April, almost upside down. ‘It says … hang on … it says
PLACED WHERE IT SHALL BE FOUND
. Or it might be
WHERE IT SHALL BE FOUND PLACED
. All the spaces between the letters are the same.'

She straightened up, her face flushed. ‘I don't understand,' she said. ‘How can those words help us? Either way round.'

And Stuart was just about to shrug when the answer came to him, quick and complete and whole. ‘It's not the words that count,' he said.

‘What?'

‘When Miss Edie said
Use the mail to help you
, she didn't mean M-A-L-E, she meant M-A-I-L! What we call post. And what do you get in the mail? Not words but—'

‘Letters!' shouted April.

‘And the clues we got were letters,' he said. ‘SWOTIE.'

Together, they leaned over the parapet again. The copper letters seemed to glow softly.

Stuart reached out his hand and touched the S of SHALL. The copper letter was slightly raised. He pressed, and it moved inwards with a delicate
click
.

Without speaking, April reached out for the W and did the same thing.

One by one, turn by turn, they touched the letters – O, T, I – and then April paused, arm outstretched.

‘There are
four
Es,' she said. ‘Which one should I press?'

They straightened up and looked at each other.

‘It
was
definitely E in the last illusion, wasn't it?' asked April.

Stuart started to say yes and then stopped. ‘I had to find the right world in the Book of Peril,' he said. ‘
My
right world.
A
had my wrong dad, and so did
B
.
C
was – well,
C
just wasn't right,
D
was my wrong mum and
E
…' He hesitated, and then spoke more quietly.

‘
E
was the wrong me. A taller me. I shouldn't really have chosen
E
at all, I should have
gone
further, only I was afraid we'd get stuck there.'

‘And we nearly did,' said April. ‘So thank goodness you did choose it. But that means the last letter isn't an E – it could be
any
letter further along in the alphabet. So which one should I press?
N
? Or
P
? Or
T
?
T
for Tony?'

‘Or
F
,' suggested Stuart. ‘
F
for final.
F
for finish.'

‘
F
for friendship,' said April. ‘I think that's the one we should try. Don't you?'

Stuart nodded, and April leaned back over the parapet and pressed the letter. With a sound like a gentle sigh, a section of the parapet slid aside, leaving a hole the size and shape of a letter box.

They both peered into it.

‘Go on, then,' urged April, giving Stuart a bossy nudge. ‘It's yours.'

Stuart started to lift his hand, and then he stopped. He thought of April shouting advice to him in the Arch of Mirrors. He thought of her working out how to operate the Reappearing Rose Bower. He thought of her running unhesitatingly
back
into danger to find Charlie.

‘No,' he said. ‘It's not just mine.'

‘What?'

‘It wouldn't be fair. I couldn't ever have got this far by myself.'

April looked puzzled, and then – as his meaning dawned on her – her eyes widened. ‘Do you really mean it?' she asked.

‘I mean it,' said Stuart. ‘We
both
get the will. One. Two.
Three
.'

Together they reached into the letter box, and together their fingers touched a papery cylinder and drew it out. It was tied with a length of red string, and April untangled the knot, and Stuart smoothed out the paper. It was headed:

and was followed by half a page of handwriting, all long, convoluted sentences stuffed with complex words.

‘Complicated, isn't it?' muttered Stuart.

‘May I see?' asked another voice behind them.

They spun round and saw Maxwell Lacey.

‘Because if you've found a will, then I really would advise you to consult a lawyer,' he said, holding out his hand. ‘I guarantee that my current service will be free of charge.'

Stuart looked at April and she shrugged. ‘Might as well,' she said. ‘
We
can't make head nor tail of it.'

Maxwell Lacey read the document carefully and then let it snap into a cylinder again before handing it back.

‘Straightforward,' he said. ‘And fully legal. In essence, the discoverer of the will is the owner of the magical illusions – finders keepers, in other words.'

‘Ours to keep,' said Stuart, his mouth curving into a grin. ‘And ours to sell.'

‘Indeed,' agreed Maxwell Lacey. ‘And I'm sure my client's offer will be to your joint satisfaction. I shall, of course, have to speak to your respective parents, who would be advised to take financial advice of their own, but in the case
of—'

‘Excuse me?' said April, putting up her hand. ‘Can I ask something?'

‘Go ahead, young lady.'

‘I'm just being curious, but what's Miss Edie actually going to
do
with the illusions?'

For the first time, Maxwell Lacey appeared disconcerted. He paused, and appeared to choose his words. ‘I believe that she has a specific destination in mind for them.'

‘You mean a museum or something?'

‘No, I don't think a museum is part of her plans.'

There was a pause. Stuart looked at April, and then back at Mr Lacey. ‘What do you mean, a
destination
?' he asked.

The lawyer gave a short sigh. ‘My client's grandmother, Jean Carr, was a shrewd businesswoman with a particular interest in the invention and manufacture of stage tricks. She emigrated from England to Canada and founded a huge and successful industry.'

‘We know,' said April and Stuart simultaneously.

‘You do? Well, with a portion of her frankly enormous fortune, she had a statue of herself erected outside the factory she owned, with a space underneath for a large metal plaque, detailing her remarkable life and achievements. Some eighty years after her death, the space for that plaque remains empty.'

‘Why?'

‘Because apparently – and I have no explanation for how this is possible – she wished for it to be manufactured from a very specific metallic source.' He cleared his throat and his gaze slid past Stuart towards the objects behind him.

Stuart caught his breath. ‘Great-Uncle Tony's tricks,' he said. ‘She wanted these tricks found and then melted down and made into the plaque!'

Maxwell Lacey nodded stiffly. ‘That is correct. And that is precisely my client's intention.'

‘But that's such a
waste
,' exclaimed April. ‘A waste of money and a waste of
things
– these tricks are fantastic, they're unique.'

‘It's Jeannie Carr's revenge,' said Stuart, with
utter
certainty. ‘If she couldn't have them, then she wanted to make sure that nobody else ever could.'

He felt suddenly protective of the shabby cluster of illusions. They didn't
deserve
to be squashed and ruined; they should be cherished, he thought. Cherished and used. He remembered the strange feeling he'd had of being on a bridge: on one side of him a heap of cash, on the other the world of illusion and adventure conjured up by his great-uncle.

April had her hand up again.

‘Yes?' asked Maxwell Lacey.

‘Why did you tell us?'

‘Excuse me?'

‘Why did you tell us what Miss Edie was going to do with the tricks? Did you have to? Legally, I mean?'

The lawyer's eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Ever thought of becoming a lawyer yourself?' he asked.

‘Yes,' said April.

‘OK, well then – no, I didn't have to tell you.'

‘So why did you?'

‘Because I happen to agree with you that it's a waste. I think Miss Edie could do a whole lot of charitable good with the money she possesses, instead of spending it on some kind of ancient score-settling that I don't happen to understand. However, as her lawyer, I am obliged to carry out her current wishes.'