Usually we stayed two seasons before needing to move town again. Mr Bishop’s guilt increased to the point where he finally decided to do something about it. A switch flicked for him, and he decided he could no longer live like this. I felt little relief, as I could see that behind his genuine intentions, his anger was brewing. This anger was largely directed towards himself for being so complicit in his acts, and he decided to channel this anger for good. Unfortunately, as I had seen time and time again from looking into so many minds, I knew that no one can be fuelled by anger for long before the cracks would begin to show. Mr Bishop quit working for other people, but in strange acts of vengeance, would find causes he deemed noble to channel his anger.

We continued our show, changing the name and tricks enough for each town to think we were just another traveling show. I continued to read people’s minds in the show. My main act saw me as a child star performer. I could do the whole thing in my sleep, and I often changed things up each season to keep it interesting.

I remember my final performance in one town before having to move immediately after the show.

“And now for my little apprentice, Arcadia the All-Seeing!” Mr Bishop announced. “She doesn’t know who you are, but she can see inside your pockets! Who wants to volunteer?”

Enthusiastic hands from the front of the audience shot up, and I did a quick background check of these people to ensure I worked only with good natured people.

“You in the purple top hat, Sir!” I started. “Put your hands in your pockets and I, Arcadia the All-Seeing, will tell you what I see!”

The gentleman in the purple top hat put his hands in his pockets and I looked into his eyes. I could see everything going on in his mind. He was excited. He wanted to trick me, so I played along.

“Ah dear Sir, you think you might have some chocolate in your pocket, or even a spoon! Am I right?”

And he laughed because he was wishing he had something unusual in his pockets that I could not possibly guess. He was imagining a bar of chocolate or a spoon.

“Am I right or am I right, Sir?”

“Of course not!” he grinned.

“Oh well,” I said, “I guess it’s just three silver coins, the key to your house, and an annoying piece of fluff you wish you had taken out already.”

So he turned his pockets inside out and the whole audience saw the coins, the key, and he even revealed the fluff.

“Anyone could have guessed that!” jeered an audience member.

“I know!” I said, in mock shock, “Most people are so predictable, aren’t they? Most people here have a few coins and a key, but not you!” I turned to point to a tall skinny man in the corner who had raised his hand earlier. “Stand up, Sir!”

The tall skinny man stood up, giggling. “Go on then, tell me what I have in my pockets!”

“This is not something that everyone carries around with them, hanging loose in their pockets,” I began. “This is no ordinary item. This is extraordinary!”

The tall skinny man nodded his head with a smile.

“It’s round and shiny, and very very special,” I continued, “but first, can the beautiful lady in the red dress next to you stand up?”

She rose, not knowing what on Earth could be going on. I had already read their minds, and knew this would make for the most fun and memorable night of their lives.

“Now Sir, I can see that this very special object in your pocket has blue and yellow and pink light shining through it. Oh my goodness, it is like none other I have seen,” I paused, genuinely admiring it. “It is so beautiful, but this light alone is not all!”

The tall skinny man was smiling, stifling giggles. He knew that I knew. He had no idea how, but he was in awe, and he had a feeling he knew the direction this was heading. The lady in the red dress next to him had no idea where this was going. The audience was silent on the edge of their seats.

“This beautiful light is surrounded by the finest gold. In fact, the whole thing was forged by the finest maker in the land,” I said. “But I believe it is not my place to say what this is.”

The audience wondered if I was making this all up. The tall skinny man knew I was not.

“Sir,” I commanded, “Get down on your knees!”

The audience looked at one another.

The tall skinny man couldn’t contain his smile.

“Sir, I believe you have a request of this beautiful lady next to you. Take this object out and ask her right now.”

He felt for the ring as he locked eyes with the lady in the red dress.

“Honey, will you marry me?” He produced the sparkling diamond ring.

The audience gasped and cheered as she said yes.

The limelight was taken away from me, I nodded at Mr Bishop standing in the wings of the stage to come out, and we finished the show on a high.

I thoroughly enjoyed nights like this, as I really felt that using my gift in this way was bringing so much joy to so many people. I did my best to create lifelong memories for the audience.

Once the lights were out and the audience dispersed, I went to work cleaning the stage and the seating areas. Usually I would hear Mr Bishop tidying up backstage, finishing before me, but on this occasion I could still hear him after I had finished the front of house.

I walked backstage, passing boxes of stage props. Mr Bishop was still dismantling bits and pieces, but he had nearly finished packing up all our important show gear.

He looked at me and said, “We’re leaving tonight Arca. Pack everything you need. Nothing will be left here tomorrow.”

I looked into his eyes and saw that Mr Baker had paid him a large sum, larger than what the show makes in a year, to make our residence, and the very land we were standing on, disappear.

I hoped that with this large sum we could start again and work with our natural gifts in a way that did not end badly, but I knew this was the start of endless disappearances and a nomadic life of secrecy.

I felt a black cloud hover over me, making me sluggish in my packing. I filled my yellow pack with clothes, costumes, and thirty five gold coins in my purse. I sighed a heavy sigh, and walked outside into the moonlight. Mr Bishop was waiting for me at the property’s entrance gate with two trolleys loaded with boxes. A life on the run awaited.

We arrived at Ginsberg before noon, and walked up the front steps of the finest building I ever did see. It was three stories high, broad and grand, painted clean white, with arched windows decorating the facade. The oversized double front door swung open easily, and a man sitting at a desk greeted us. Mr Bishop asked for Mrs Hinges, and the man disappeared through a door behind him to find her.

I had never been inside a real hotel before. I looked up to see a grand chandelier with at least one hundred candles lighting up the entrance. I looked down to see that I was standing on perfectly polished wooden floorboards, a burst of diamond shapes radiating from the centre.

Resonant footsteps clip clopped their way towards us, and a short plump lady in orange pants and an orange top boomed, “Mr Bishop! So lovely to see you! And you,” looking towards me, “must be Arcadia.”

I smiled with a nod as Mr Bishop keenly shook her hand.

“Nigel,” she called to the man working at the desk, “Take their bags up now, please. I will walk them up to their rooms.”

She was a lovely lady. A real woman of the world. I could see in her mind that she and Mr Bishop knew each other from many years ago. There were no hidden agendas, so perhaps this would be a good place for us to settle.

Mrs Hinges and Mr Bishop talked as she led us upstairs and through corridors. I trailed behind, admiring the woodwork on the floors, the crisp white walls, and the gold framed oil paintings of the sea, which seemed so foreign in this landlocked town. I noticed each painting was signed by the same artist. Perhaps they were local.

“And here are your rooms,” Mrs Hinges said, “Mr Bishop in three oh two, and Arcadia, you’re in three oh three.”

She placed my key in my hand and I admired its ornate beauty as I heard her mention breakfast times. The bow of the key had the letter G stamped on it, with vines weaving their way around the capital letter. Was the G for Ginsberg? Or for Grand Hotel? I looked up to see Mr Bishop had gone already, and the echoes of Mrs Hinges’s shoes were fading down the corridor.

My door had polished brass numbers. I opened it to step inside the most open light airy space I had ever seen. I rushed to look out the arched windows. A few friendly faces wandered the main street below. A patisserie, bank, florist, grocer, news agent, and art gallery, stood out amongst the shops. I turned to look in my room. I had not noticed the tall fresh orange juice sitting on a small table. I took a sip as I my eyes opened wide to the large bed, comfortable bathroom, and kitchen facilities. I felt like royalty here, and realised Mr Bishop must have spent a considerable amount of his recent income on our accommodation here. I put my glass down in the sink and lay back on the soft bed.

I opened my eyes to a dark evening, but I could hear voices on the main street, so picked up my bag and went out to see what a Ginsberg night was like. There was a buzz of excitement with decorative lights strung from shop to shop, piano music coming from a cafe, artists painting in the street, and children running freely. It seemed like some kind of festival, but quick glances into people’s minds told me it was simply a way of life here in Ginsberg.

I stopped outside a window filled with framed paintings of the seaside. I wondered if they were by the same artist as the works in the hotel. I stepped inside to see it filled with artworks, cards, notebooks, sketchbooks, and artist supplies. A notebook with a wild seascape picture on the front beckoned me, and I picked it up. I had never owned a notebook before, and didn’t know what I might need one for, but bought it anyway, along with a pencil.

Feeling hungry, I stepped inside a warm cafe to order pumpkin soup and fresh bread. Seated by the window, I pulled my notebook out of my pack. I didn’t know what to write, but I knew I must write something. One would think, as a magician, I would automatically know what to write, or what to do in any given situation, but that was not the case. My eyes gazed out the window, and then back at the book. The wild blues and greys of the sea spray on the cover is what appealed to me. The cover was made of stiff compressed paper, giving it cardboard strength without the thickness. I knew there was a story to be told in this notebook, but I did not yet know what the story was. I made a mental note to carry it with me always, just in case I knew what to write.

My soup arrived. It warmed my heart and filled me with peace. I gazed out at the people in the street and wondered what would happen next for us, for me.

Three days passed before I finally bumped into Mr Bishop in the breakfast room of the Grand Hotel. Clearly he was in no hurry to start performing again. He was drinking coffee and eating a croissant in the far corner, newspaper spread out over the table. I knew we would have to set up the show again some time, because living in this hotel could not possibly be financially viable for long. I helped myself to a bowl of porridge with fruit and sat opposite him.

“When are we starting the show again, Mr Bishop?”

Mr Bishop looked up from the newspaper with a smile. When I looked into his eyes I saw that the show was over.

“Arca,” he said, “we don’t have to perform any longer. Mrs Hinges needs some help with the hotel, and I am helping her. It’s time to use our magic for good.”

Our magic? I thought, It was his magic that got us into trouble.

“I'll need you soon when I see more clients here. You’ll be able to put your magic to great use, helping me vet clients to make sure we’re working with ethical people, OK?”

Mr Bishop rarely explained things in full to me. He only conversed because it was the regular thing to do. He knew I read his mind to garner all the information I needed, and being a quiet type, I did not require conversation to fill in silence.

The full plan was that Mr Bishop decided he was no longer going to use his dark magic for immoral people. He really wanted to do good, and he felt that as a young apprentice, I ought to be learning more and practising more about doing good with the dark arts. He was determined to do right by the world.

Mrs Hinges hired him to make some things disappear from the hotel. Starting with clutter and mess in the basement so she could open up some rooms down there for music and theatre performances. Then he would remove bad vibes, untrue rumours circulated by the former hotel owner, and even her own doubts about the success of the business. My job would be to read the minds of more potential clients to make sure that Mr Bishop would only be working with the right sort of people. He did not want to get muddled up in his old ways again.

I was impressed with this new way of doing work, and pleased to be involved, but there was something still lurking in the back of Mr Bishop’s mind. Unless he made his own doubts and fears about himself disappear, I could see that trouble would not stay at bay forever.