11

The four of them headed back towards Euston Station in a daze.

‘Well, one thing’s for certain,’ said Zack, blinking in the sunshine. ‘Henry’s certainly heard of The Thieves’ Almanac – did you see the way he reacted when you mentioned it?’

‘Stroke of genius bringing it up in front of everyone,’ said Jonny, flinging an arm round Sophie, who promptly shrugged it off.

‘What about President Pickle, Zack? Did he give anything away?’

‘Not really. Though it did make me think … What if he was the one who took The Thieves’ Almanac?’

‘So you think he might just be pretending to be an idiot?’ asked Sophie, unconvinced. Did President Pickle really have it in him to keep up the act while he secretly canoodled with criminals?

‘Well, he is the president of the Magic Circle,’ said Zack.

‘I wonder why he hates kids so much?’ Jonny mused.

‘He doesn’t seem to mind Henry. Speaking of which, are you OK?’ Zack stopped and turned to face Alex, who took a deep breath and nodded.

‘And did Henry give anything away?’

‘Ju-just that he’s got his eye on us … I think,’ stammered Alex.

A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance and they all looked nervously over their shoulders, like this was some pivotal moment in a horror movie, half expecting to see a bedraggled Henry appear behind them. But instead … Sainsbury’s!

They shook their heads, grinning. That was quite enough overactive imagination for one day! Zack yawned, his early morning start beginning to catch up with him.

‘So, where do you want to meet tomorrow then, sleepyhead?’ asked Jonny as Alex spun his return train ticket in the air and caught it with his other hand.*

‘How about we meet at my tree house?’ Jonny suggested.

Sophie stopped in her tracks. ‘You’ve got a tree house?’ she said, trying to weigh up whether this was either ultra impressive or wonderfully childish.

‘I sure do!’ he said proudly. ‘Green Park, sixty-fifth horse chestnut on the left – please don’t forget to wipe your feet! Completely illegal, of course, but has one hell of a view!’

‘Well, that sounds … perfect,’ said Sophie. ‘Beats my hotel room view any day!’

‘And it’s not somewhere Henry or anyone else can easily pry either,’ added Zack, rubbing Alex’s shoulder reassuringly.

‘Exactly.’ Jonny nodded.

And so the quartet went their separate ways, intermingling with the usual mix of tourists and business people who had no clue that beneath their feet was a magical reference library run by an automaton, which contained a book called The Thieves’ Almanac that had – ironically – been stolen and perhaps used to help break into the Bank of England, just five stops down the Northern line from Euston, Bank branch.

And BREATHE!

That night, the four young magicians drifted in and out of odd dreams like a teacher with chronic diarrhoea might wander in and out of lessons.

On arriving back home, Alex had taken himself straight off to his bedroom – much to the delight of his parents, who were having the Conways round again for another gazillion flagons of red wine and a mince-based meal. He had slept awkwardly once again, his sleep interrupted by a series of nightmares in which he was being pursued by a hideously deformed adult version of Henry, hurling cards at him like daggers. Not even the spluttering sound of Mrs Conway violently throwing up in the bathroom woke him – although the sound did become part of his dream at one point, as Henry spat poison into Alex’s eyes like a dilophosaurus. Rrrretch!

Jonny had decided to pay his granddad a surprise visit, hoping to impress the others with some inside information. But although he was sure that one of the upstairs curtains had twitched, Ernest didn’t seem to be in.

Jonny slowly plodded back home while Googling the various ways in which one might break into the Bank of England. But the search just triggered a whole load of new questions, along with – Jonny suspected – a whole load of alarms at MI5. He quickly tried to dilute his search history with less incriminating queries like ‘pomegranate recipes for one?’ before tucking himself up into his long bed, his feet still poking out of the ends like periscopes.

Sophie had arrived at her hotel and hastily bounded up the stairs to her room, the lift having been out of order since the Cold War. There was something magical about leaving a room untidy and returning to find it spotless, the bed freshly made, everything back where it should be. Oh, if only it could be like this when she got back from school and opened the door to her bedroom at home, she thought as she sank on to the marshmallow-soft bed and closed her eyes. But there was no time for relaxing just yet; her mind was still awash with a whole fuzz of bizarre questions. Who had taken The Thieves’ Almanac from the library? she asked herself. And when? Whose was the face she’d seen high up in the Grand Theatre? And what was Henry hiding? Would the society fold, or would it receive the windfall President Pickle kept alluding to? Was everything linked to the Bank of England break-in or was that simply a coincidence? And was the president of the Magic Circle himself connected to the criminals? How convenient that Scotland Yard should seek advice from the very person they suspected of having a hand in the crime! Or was this all some ingenious ruse? Sophie wondered. A test of their ability to solve the inexplicable – a labyrinthine route to membership of one of the most baffling organizations on the planet?

She dimmed the lights and sat cross-legged on her bed, her go-to meditative pose for times like this when her head was spinning. Perhaps she was going about this the wrong way. A bit like when the automaton had challenged them about Robert-Houdin’s true profession, it seemed like they were missing something … Something or someone that was staring them in the face. As a way of re-imagining the whole dilemma, she tried to think of the person who was the least likely to be in collusion with the thieves. Steve? Deanna’s mum? Both ideas were laughable. But then who? And why did she care so much? Well, she knew the answer to that at least. All Sophie had ever wanted was to become a member of the Magic Circle. ‘Oh yes,’ her mum would say on one of her more lucid days. ‘That’s what you need to do, join t’Magic Circle down London.’ The mere name conjured up images of a brilliant secret society, an enclave of eclectics, somewhere Sophie could truly feel at home. She even had dreams about magic – old tricks given a new gloss using unlikely methods and subtle psychological twists. It was what made her bound out of bed in the morning, getting through the school day so that she could spend the afternoon at the library, scouring books and the internet, reading and learning, honing her craft. But was the reality now that she’d set foot inside the Magic Circle? Well, they do say, Never meet your heroes …

No, the Magic Circle was not at all what Sophie had expected. But that didn’t mean things couldn’t change, did it? She heard the toll of President Pickle’s voice reverberating inside her head like a death knell: ‘Well, yes, but it wasn’t like that in our day. There’s no point in change for the sake of change. Blah, blah, blah, yawn, yawn, yawn!’

She closed her eyes and began to drift off …

She was in the council chamber, beside the spidery cupboard. In front of her sat the silent council members, dressed in dark robes, faces hidden. A chilling fog crept over the floor, covering her toes. She shivered. At the end of the table were President Pickle (with bull’s horns), Cynthia (still with clipboard and pen in hand) and Bill (a skeleton in a floral dressing gown). In one swift move, President Pickle picked up his bloodied gavel and waved it around like a conductor. Instantly the Council started arguing loudly, and shouted at Sophie, pointing, mocking her for being a girl. The nearest cloaked figure slowly turned to face her. It was Ernest. She searched for a kind smile, some words of reassurance, but none came. Instead, he lifted up a long bony finger and put it to his lips. His eyes pleaded with her, and then …

She was in the library, the noise of the council chamber fading away. The mechanical librarian was gesturing at the restricted section. She stared at the cabinet as it shot towards her, the doors falling open. Sophie felt her pulse quicken as she scanned the titles inside, knowing that she wouldn’t find the one they were after. But there, where she expected to see a space, was in fact … a book!

She reached out and prised free the brown volume, feeling its weight and breathing in its smell. Slowly she turned it over. Three words had been etched into the leathery cover: The Thieves’ Almanac. Sophie looked up at the librarian, who stared back at her stonily. Surely he wouldn’t mind if she took a quick peek? She hastily flicked through the book, turning page after heavy page. Don’t wake up! Don’t wake up! She didn’t have time to stop and study the anatomical drawings, the endless diagrams of intricate mechanisms, locks, picks, dangerous contraptions and ill-looking instruments, glossaries of strange terms, chemical formulas, appendices upon appendices, a book within a book … All at once – as if it had a mind of its own – the tome fell open at the start of a new chapter. Sophie’s eyes widened as she read the heading: ‘How to Break into a Bank Vault’. This was it … As she started to turn the page, her heart pounded. Don’t wake up, Sophie! Please don’t wake up!

All at once – a hand on her shoulder, turning her round, shaking her. Sophie looked into the ghostly eyes of … Alf! He smiled at her knowingly – as if she was his now.

Sophie let out a shrieking cry as she blinked awake, still in her meditative pose. Oh hell, why did she always have to wake up at the critical moment! She was going to have to work on this!

Zack too had set about solving the Bank of England puzzle, desperately searching the small collection of magic books in his bedroom for clues and inspiration. Flicking through the well-worn pages of his first ever magic book on theatrical pickpocketing, he remembered with fondness the first time he’d managed to steal a satsuma from his mum’s pocket without her knowing. This, however, was a markedly different challenge.

He lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, covered in glow-in-the-dark star stickers, making it look like there was no ceiling in place at all. How, how, how? he thought. How do you break into the Bank of England without being seen?

How?

How?

HOW?

Oh!

And then, with a jolt that almost made him fall out of bed, he knew the answer.