Disappearing Act Read online

  Dedication

  for Greg Rogers

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: An Appointment in the City

  Chapter 2: The Story of Mattheus Coperneau

  Chapter 3: The Jewelled Sceptre

  Chapter 4: Notebooks and Sadness

  Chapter 5: Son, Grandson, Great-grandson

  Chapter 6: Cooper or Coperneau

  Chapter 7: Alchemy and the Scientist

  Chapter 8: The Maestro

  Chapter 9: Surprises in Montilagus

  Chapter 10: Panacea

  Chapter 11: The First Messenger

  Chapter 12: The Second Messenger

  Chapter 13: The Face Inside the Circle

  Chapter 14: No Longer a Game

  Chapter 15: Distraction and Disgrace

  Chapter 16: Pandemonium

  Chapter 17: The Real and the Impossible

  Back Ad

  About the Author

  Copyright

  1

  An Appointment in the City

  Sydney, 2011

  Matt Cooper took one card at a time from the top of the deck he held loosely in his hand. With his best mate, Hayden, watching like a hawk he turned each of the cards over to let Hayden see its face and then added it to the pile he was building on the kitchen table. The five of spades appeared, the king of diamonds, an ace, then the ten of diamonds.

  ‘That’s your card,’ said Matt, putting the rest of the pack down to show how confident he was.

  Hayden stared in silence for a moment, then sat back suddenly and groaned, ‘How do you do that, Matty?’

  It was the third time Matt had picked the right card, even though Hayden had been especially careful to keep its face hidden as he slotted it back into the pack.

  ‘I have magical powers,’ said Matt.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, and my dog can fly.’

  ‘I can make him fly if you want,’ said Matt with a smile that dared Hayden to dare him. They both knew it was bulldust.

  ‘Nah, Rusty’s afraid of heights,’ said Hayden, playing along. ‘Show me how you do the card thing.’

  ‘That would be breaking the magician’s code.’

  ‘But it’s a trick, right? Someone showed you. Now you can show me,’ Hayden insisted.

  ‘Actually, no one showed me. I learned it out of a book.’

  ‘So lend me the book.’

  Matt had been mucking around with Hayden since they were wearing nappies, which was hardly surprising when they lived in the same street. They had been to the beach with each other’s families, and still went there together these days for a bit of boogie boarding. Although Hayden was fourteen and Matty was still a few months short, they were in the same year at school. But friends or not, Matt didn’t want to give Hayden the book.

  He was saved from saying so when his mum came in from her studio in the backyard.

  ‘Time to get moving, Matt. The appointment’s for eleven thirty,’ she said, wiping specks of yellow and blue paint from her hands with a rag. To Hayden, who was already on his feet, she said, ‘You’ll have to do without him for a few hours, I’m afraid. He’s going to the dentist.’

  ‘Lucky boy,’ said Hayden, drawing out the words. As he left he made a high-pitched noise with his tongue and teeth to mimic a dentist’s drill.

  ‘It’ll be your turn one day,’ called Matt, already on his way down the hall to his bedroom.

  Matt kept the door to his room closed as much as possible, especially during school holidays, not because he was fussy about his privacy but because he wasn’t the tidiest of guys and what his mother didn’t see she didn’t complain about. Right now, he couldn’t see the floorboards for dirty clothes, the sheets spilling off his bed, a spare pillow and the box of old junk he’d found in the garage last month. He’d been going through the box because he was a little bored and was looking for something to interest him. In among used golf balls, some tools and old shirts saved for rags he had come across the book. Now he kept it in a drawer beside his bed so it didn’t get damaged any more than it already was. The thing looked pretty old.

  While he was getting changed, he took the book from his drawer and let it fall open on his desk. It wasn’t the kind of book you bought in a bookshop. This one was handwritten, a notebook really, full of diagrams showing how tricks were done – and just as well too, because the writing wasn’t in English.

  Stacked on the desk were other books about magic he’d borrowed from the library after the handwritten notebook had spurred his interest. He liked the trickery of magic, the way an audience simply couldn’t work out how they’d been hoodwinked. He got a buzz out of it like nothing he’d felt before.

  He looked at the football trophies he’d won years ago in the Under Tens and Under Elevens. He still enjoyed playing, but Hayden and the others took it all so seriously these days, as though they were trying to catch the eye of talent scouts for the big clubs. Matt quite liked being the centre of attention, but let’s face it, he wasn’t going to make it big time as a footy player. Lately though, after he’d practised some of the tricks in these books, he’d started to imagine himself on a stage making something disappear before the eyes of a stunned audience. He liked the look of those dazzled eyes in his daydreams, which was why he wouldn’t tell Hayden how the card trick worked. Once his friend knew, the amazement would be gone from his eyes.

  ‘Come on, Matt, we’ll miss the train,’ Mrs Cooper called from the front door.

  A visit to the dentist didn’t usually require a train journey into the centre of Sydney, but today Matt had to see a specialist about a tooth that was bunged up behind another one and couldn’t grow down, which was why his mother was coming too. Matt didn’t get into the city very often and although he said nothing that might make him sound like a kid he still got a thrill when he glimpsed the Harbour Bridge through gaps between the high-rises.

  ‘Next stop, Martin Place,’ said a muffled voice from the speaker above their heads, and only minutes later they were climbing steps into a wide square surrounded by office towers and alive with the bustle of busy people.

  ‘This way,’ said Mrs Cooper, who was slim and fair-haired like Matt. In front of her easel she could stand for an hour, barely moving, but away from it she treated life like a series of jobs she had to cross off a list. This was just one more and she set off briskly to get it done.

  They’d only walked twenty metres when Matt slowed to watch an old man drawing on the pavement with a piece of chalk. It wasn’t a picture, but words, he discovered, and although he couldn’t read them they seemed familiar somehow. He stopped for a closer look, trying to work out why.

  ‘Come on, we’ll be late,’ called his mother, who’d stopped to wait for him, so Matt had to walk off before he could examine the words more closely. Not that hurrying did them any good because the orthodontist was running late. Most of the consultation turned out to be a discussion between Matt’s mother and the specialist as they inspected a series of X-rays. Finally, they could go; and with something major crossed off her list, Mrs Cooper seemed happy to take her time. The old man with the chalk was still working away slowly in Martin Place and she didn’t object when Matt stopped once more to watch.

  Up close, the bloke looked even older. The skin of his face sagged from thin jaws and the backs of his bony hands were dotted with brown spots. Chalk dust powdered his fingers, some of it ingrained, as though even the toughest scrubbing wouldn’t get it out.

  While they watched, he stood up cautiously and offered the chalk to passers-by.

  ‘Can you finish the words?’ he asked a man and a woman who had stopped alongside the Coopers. He spoke with a strong accent, and instead of a �
�w’ at the start of words he had pronounced it as verds.

  The couple stared down at the writing. ‘I can’t read it,’ said the woman. ‘What language is it?’

  ‘If you know the words, then you will know the language,’ the old man said with a sad smile. He turned away from them and offered the chalk to Matt’s mother.

  Was it some kind of game? Matt wondered. He crept closer. The words were in a foreign language, but that made no difference to what he did next. He picked up a piece of chalk lying on the footpath and let his hand flow through curves and lines until he had written three words without being sure how he knew their shape.

  The old man was facing away, but his mother saw what he’d done. ‘What are you up to, Matt?’ she asked, sounding worried.

  The man turned and, although he was elderly, a storm of anger quickly flashed in his eyes. This isn’t a game for children, those eyes seemed to say. But then, before he could open his mouth, he looked at the words Matt had written and instantly the storm was replaced by wonder.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ said Mrs Cooper. ‘I hope my son hasn’t made a mess of what you’re doing here.’

  The old man ignored her. ‘It has happened. At last it has happened!’ he said.

  There was such astonishment in his voice that others stopped to see what was going on. A pretty girl in jeans asked Matt, ‘What do the words mean?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he told her.

  ‘But you wrote them, you must know what they mean.’

  Matt shook his head.

  ‘Then how could you do it?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I just knew how they should look.’

  ‘Sounds like a miracle to me,’ said the girl, but the expression on her face showed she wasn’t serious.

  A man selling The Big Issue wandered over to see what all the fuss was about. ‘Must be magic,’ he added in a mocking tone.

  At these words, the old man stirred, the lightning back in his eyes. ‘No, it is not magic. Believe me, I know that better than anyone on earth,’ he said vehemently. He was talking to the magazine seller, but his eyes didn’t leave Matt, who felt them on him as heavy as thunderclouds. ‘Who are you? Your name – I must know.’

  For a moment it seemed he might grab hold of Matt’s arm, but Mrs Cooper beat him to it. ‘We have a train to catch,’ she said, tugging Matt out of reach.

  ‘No, wait. I must talk to you.’

  The old man stepped towards them, and just as quickly Matt’s mother backed away, keeping herself between the man and her son. It was all so bizarre, Matt thought. He was the same height as his mother and just as capable as she was of fighting off the old man.

  The more anxious the man became, the crazier he looked. ‘I’ve waited so long – a whole lifetime,’ he said.

  But Mrs Cooper already had Matt on the move towards the stairs leading down to the underground station.

  ‘Please!’ called the old man. He was coming after them in a slow shuffle that left him no chance of catching up.

  At the top of the steps, Matt glanced over his shoulder and saw the old man had stopped. He stood with one hand clutching at his chest, the other stretched out towards them. On his face was a look of utter despair.

  Mrs Cooper was still hurrying, even though they were far below Martin Place now and lost among the many bodies on the station platform.

  ‘Mum, slow down. The old guy won’t catch us. I saw him stop at the top of the stairs.’

  His mother took a long look behind them. ‘I’m sorry you got such a fright.’

  ‘A fright! The only one scared of that old bloke was you, Mum,’ said Matt, stifling a laugh.

  ‘And why wouldn’t I be? He was crazy – he might have hurt you. I bet it doesn’t matter what anyone writes with the chalk – it’s just a trick to get you in and then he pulls some dreadful scam. I should tell the police.’

  But Matt knew there was more to it than that. At home, he closed the door to his room before taking the handwritten notebook from the drawer beside his bed. He’d been thinking about it all the way home, ever since he found himself writing those words he didn’t understand on the pavement at the old man’s feet. What language were they? He had more reason to find out now than ever.

  Two weeks ago, he had shown the notebook to his French teacher at school and to a girl who went to special language classes because her mother was German. Both had recognised some words, but neither could read it in full. Since the words didn’t end mostly in ‘o’ or ‘i’, Matt knew it wasn’t Italian either.

  He flipped through the notebook and looked again at the diagram that had taught him the card trick he’d shown Hayden. He had taught himself a number of tricks from these diagrams and had discovered he was good at them. He got such a rush out of entertaining his friends, and his father too, who didn’t take life as seriously as his mother.

  His dad didn’t know anything about the book or how it had got into the box in the garage. Matt had already asked.

  He opened the notebook at the first page to inspect the single line written there. He’d stared at it many times, following the loops and curves, hoping they would somehow wriggle their way into words he could understand. What was he expecting – magic? Magic or not, he saw now that the words in the notebook were the same words the old man had written in chalk on the pavement. That was how he’d been able to add the last three words, but he still didn’t know what they meant.

  There was one person who certainly did know what they meant – the old man.

  Matt felt haunted by the sadness he’d seen in the man’s face when they’d hurried away from him. He had to go back, had to talk to the guy and find out why those words meant so much to him.

  2

  The Story of Mattheus Coperneau

  Montilagus, 1946

  Europe is not one country, but dozens of them. Everyone has heard of Germany and France and Italy, but if you study the map closely you will see tiny specks among the larger ones, like pebbles in a rock wall. These countries were never important enough to deserve a king and so they made do with princes. That’s why they are called principalities. The most famous is Monaco, because its prince married a beautiful actress from Hollywood. There are others though, such as Andorra and Liechtenstein, and not far from Liechtenstein you will find Montilagus. In its own language the word means ‘mountains and lakes’, which pretty well describes the countryside. For four centuries, Montilagus has been ruled by the Mahling family.

  Montilagans have been smart enough to stay out of the world’s many wars, and because their tiny country is protected by mountains they have kept their customs and language too. To make sure they didn’t fall behind the rest of the world, they built a university in the shadows of the royal Palace and today it remains one of the most prestigious in the world.

  It is possible that a prince from Montilagus has fallen in love with a movie star, but so far none has married one. However, over the centuries, Mahlings have married into the other royal families of Europe and one almost became the queen of France. Fortunately for her, the French chose an Austrian princess instead. Her name was Marie Antoinette and she later died on the guillotine at the height of the French Revolution.

  No members of the Mahling family have ever lost their heads – not on a guillotine anyway, but weakness and grand ambitions have made more monarchs lose their heads than sharp blades. The Mahlings have suffered their share of scandals, from love affairs to madness; and, like any powerful family, when things go wrong they prefer to keep the incident a secret. But there was one disaster they could not keep secret, a shocking event that still haunts them today, and it was all the fault of Mattheus Coperneau.

  The following account explains how it happened.

  For as long as anyone could remember, the Prince of Montilagus had hosted a festival at the height of summer. On the final afternoon, he would lead a grand parade through the streets carrying the precious symbol of his authority: a jewelled sceptre given to the rulers of Monti
lagus by the Holy Roman Emperor in 1594. As centuries passed, it became a tradition that before this parade a show of magical tricks was staged for rich and poor children alike. This was to show that the Prince cared for all his subjects equally, although whether he really did or not was another matter.

  The show took place in the Great Hall of the Palace, with the royal family as guests of honour in the front row. The greatest honour, however, was reserved for the magician chosen to conduct the performance. There was intense rivalry among the contenders, and where there is rivalry, jealousy follows closely behind like a hungry dog.

  On a handful of occasions, famine or disease meant there was little to celebrate; and during the terrible years when Hitler’s war raged in the countries around Montilagus, the festival was cancelled altogether. When the war was finally over, the celebrations were to be particularly grand and although no child over the age of twelve would admit it, they all checked their letterboxes every day hoping for an invitation to the Palace.

  Which magician would be chosen to perform on such an occasion? Many of the favourites had grown old and Prince Edvord, who had ruled Montilagus for more than fifty years, had seen all their tricks. So when a young magician emerged with fresh illusions, Edvord gave him his chance. The magician was Mattheus Coperneau.

  Mattheus was twenty-five years old when the Prince’s messenger brought him the news. He had married only the year before, and his wife, Carrida, had recently given birth to a son, whom they named Mattheus also. The young magician knew this opportunity would make his career. He could move his wife and baby out of the draughty apartment they rented and into a house of their own.

  He prepared feverishly for the performance, practising his best tricks and inventing new ones. These he carefully wrote down in a notebook Carrida had given him while they were courting. He was in love with her even then, and since love seemed to have its own kind of magic, he wrote on the first page:

  Seul li courartem conig magik es actuelle.

  The meaning of words is sometimes difficult to grasp, which makes translating from one language to another a tricky job. In English, the meaning of Mattheus’s inscription could be written: