Archie Greene and the Magician's Secret (11 page)

T
he next morning Archie and Bramble walked into Oxford as usual. They had just turned into the narrow lanes that led to the Aisle of White when a police car passed them.

‘I’ll meet you later at Quill’s,’ Archie began when they reached the enclosed courtyard, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of the siren. Bramble was looking at the ground.

‘What’s that?’ she said.

‘Looks like broken glass,’ Archie replied.

‘Hmmmm,’ agreed Bramble, gazing over his shoulder. ‘And that’s not all. Look!’

‘Oh no!’ gasped Archie. ‘There’s been a break-in at the Aisle of White!’

The area immediately outside the bookshop was cordoned off with yellow fluorescent tape. The shop window had been shattered.

Bramble flashed a look at Archie. ‘You and Thistle got here just in time,’ she gasped. Archie nodded numbly.

They crunched their way across the broken glass and peered through the open doorway into the bookshop. Several of the bookcases had been knocked flat and books were strewn all over the floor, their spines broken. The shop sign was lying on the ground among the debris.

A low sobbing sound was coming from the far end of the shop. The two cousins picked their way through the wreckage to the curtain and peeked through.

Marjorie sat in an armchair with her head in her hands. Her face was puffy and her tears had left her eyes red. Her hair, never her tidiest feature, was sticking up in thick clumps. She would have been a comical sight under other circumstances, but Archie and Bramble were too kind to laugh.

Old Zeb was trying to comfort her. Archie was relieved to see that the bookcase with
The Little Book of Blessings
and the other magic books was still standing.

‘Marjorie, dear, you’ve had a terrible fright,’ soothed Old Zeb. ‘Have a cup of tea, you’ll feel better.’

‘Th … th … thank you!’ She sobbed, her hands rattling the cup in the saucer and spilling most of
the tea. ‘My p … p … poor nerves! I really don’t think I can take any more.’

At that moment she caught sight of the children through the curtain. ‘It’s them! It’s the Greaders come back to finish me off!’ she wailed.

‘Sorry,’ said Archie. ‘We didn’t mean to scare you. We saw the shop and came to see if you were all right.’

Old Zeb put his hand on Marjorie’s arm. ‘There, there, my dear,’ he said kindly. ‘Don’t get yourself all worked up again. You’re safe now.’

‘What happened?’ Bramble asked.

Old Zeb answered. ‘Marjorie was asleep in the chair when someone broke in. They crept back here and tied her up while she slept.’

Marjorie wiped her nose with a handkerchief. ‘I woke up and there he was!’ she howled.

‘Who?’ Bramble and Archie asked at the same time.

‘Him!’ wailed Marjorie. ‘The Greader!’

‘Did you get a good look at him?’ Bramble asked.

Marjorie shook her head. ‘No, it was dark and he was wearing a cloak! He kept asking about a book,’ she sobbed, plaintively. ‘Where was the special book? Where was the book that Mr Screech was expecting?’

Bramble and Archie exchanged looks as she
continued. ‘It’s a good job the almanac was in the mending workshop, because the Greader couldn’t find it. The next thing I knew Dr Rusp was there. Heaven knows he’s not my favourite man but I have never been so pleased to see him!’

‘Rusp was passing the shop and saw the broken window,’ explained Old Zeb. ‘He must have scared the Greaders off. Just as well he did.’

‘What time was this?’ asked Bramble.

‘Oh, it must have been just after one,’ said Marjorie. ‘I heard the old grandfather clock strike the hour.’

‘Odd time to be walking the streets,’ suggested Bramble.

‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ Old Zeb agreed. ‘But he’s an odd fellow, Rusp.’

‘Did the Greaders take anything?’ Archie asked.

‘Nothing as far as we can tell,’ said Old Zeb. ‘Of course it will take days to clear up the mess!’ Marjorie started to howl again.

‘Was anything taken from the workshop?’ Bramble asked.

Old Zeb smiled. ‘No. People know not to go down to the workshop at night. We have some special security down there!’

Archie thought of the beast behind the blue door and gave an involuntary shiver. The old man’s eyes twinkled. Archie wondered again what he was up
to. Was he plotting with the Greaders, or was the beast there to stop them?

‘Anyway, there’ll be no bookbinding today,’ Old Zeb said. ‘Find yourself a broom and let’s get this mess cleared up.’

They spent the rest of the morning picking up bookcases and sorting through the damaged books. Some were beyond repair but most were salvageable. By mid morning a glazier had arrived to repair the window.

‘You two run on home now,’ Old Zeb told them. ‘I’ll look after Marjorie.’

Archie and Bramble were glad to get away. They had things to discuss. They walked home as fast as they could.

‘Marjorie said the break-in was just after one in the morning. That means it wasn’t long after Thistle and I were there,’ said Archie.

‘Yes,’ said Bramble. ‘Let’s hope no one saw you. Bit suspicious that it should be Rusp who came to the rescue.’

‘Yes,’ said Archie, thoughtfully. ‘Why was he out so late?’

‘Well, we know he was interested in a certain book. It could have been him who grabbed you,
and when you told him you didn’t have the book he guessed it was in the bookshop.’

‘But why come back and raise the alarm?’ asked Archie.

‘Perhaps he thought he’d been seen and doubled back to cover his tracks. There’s something else,’ Bramble added. ‘When I was searching through the debris I found this imagining glass.’

‘Let me see,’ Archie said. He turned it over in his hand, examining it. It had a finely patterned silver handle and a rose-tinted lens.

‘Hang on a minute,’ he said, ‘this is the one I saw in the museum.’

‘So if it was dropped by the intruder,’ reasoned Bramble, ‘then it must be someone with access to the museum.’ Her eyes met Archie’s.

‘Rusp!’

W
hen Archie arrived at the Aisle of White the next day, a man was on a ladder hanging the wooden sign back up. A note in the window said, ‘Closed for repairs.’

Archie let himself in, locking the door behind him. Marjorie was nowhere to be seen and Archie guessed she was taking some time off to recover from her ordeal. He hurried down to Old Zeb’s workshop.

‘Ah, there you are,’ the old man said. ‘We have an urgent job to do today. There’s a book that needs to go to the Lost Books Department to be classified. Should have been done sooner. Although I’m not sure it’s the great book of magic they’re expecting.’

The old man picked up his tool bag. Archie glanced at his own tool bag, with his book hidden inside.

‘Now, hurry up because we mustn’t be late.’

Old Zeb led Archie through the Great Gallery past the Scriptorium and through another archway, which led into a smaller gallery. A marble staircase led up to a landing on another floor. They climbed the stairs, and stopped outside a set of double doors. Old Zeb knocked and they went in.

The first thing that struck Archie was how cluttered the room was. It was piled high with items of every description, mostly books and scrolls, many of them yellowing and dog-eared, but there were also paintings and sculptures, glass phials and an assortment of curious mechanical contraptions.

At the far end, a log fire burned in an inglenook fireplace. Leaning against it, with his back to them, was a man in a brown moleskin suit watching the flames. He was of average height and build, with dark curly hair.

The man turned to greet them. That’s when Archie noticed his eyes. They were different colours like his own: one was blue, and the other was grey. Archie had never seen anyone else with mismatched eyes. His Gran had told him it was a sign of special intelligence. It ran in the family, she said, but he had wondered if it was just something
she said to make him feel better when the other kids teased him.

‘Come in, come in!’ the man cried. ‘Gideon Hawke, head of Lost Books. You must be Archie.’

Gideon Hawke! Bramble had told Archie that Gideon was one of the few museum elders to possess magical powers. Was it a coincidence that they had the same eyes?

‘Now then Zeb,’ he said, turning to the old bookbinder. ‘You’re here because of the break-in at the Aisle of White?’

Old Zeb nodded. ‘Yes, terrible business,’ he said. ‘There’s not been anything like it since the fire twelve years ago.’ He shook his head. ‘Marjorie is in a real state. She’s frightened the Greaders will come back.’

‘And Geoffrey Screech?’

‘Still missing.’

‘Hmmm,’ mused Hawke, waving a hand towards a gnarled brown-leather sofa next to a large desk that was overflowing with papers. ‘Please, sit down.’

He regarded Archie with curiosity.

‘In case you are wondering, our job in Lost Books is to identify magical books that have gone astray. When a new book arrives, it comes here to be classified according to its magical strength. I understand that you have a book with a Special Instruction. Can I see it?’

Archie felt his face redden. Hawke was looking straight at him. He must know he’d taken the book! This was a disaster. Archie had broken the Lore and now he had been found out. There was nothing for it, but to admit his guilt and face the consequences. His would be the shortest-lived apprenticeship in the history of the museum. He would leave in disgrace.

Archie glanced at his tool bag where the book was hidden. He was just about to confess what he’d done when Old Zeb said, ‘He hasn’t got it. I have.’ The old bookbinder produced the almanac from his own battered tool bag and placed it on the desk. Archie breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Hawke slowly approached the book. He reached out one hand towards it.

‘The magic doesn’t seem particularly strong,’ he said, raising his eyebrows. ‘I wonder why it’s a Special Instruction?’

Hawke opened a drawer and took out an imagining glass with a black handle. It had a motif of an eye etched into it, and instead of clear glass, the lens was tinted a silvery grey. He inspected the book’s cover minutely, moving the grey lens closer and further away.

He caught Old Zeb’s eye. ‘Mildly mischievous perhaps, but I can’t see anything more than that,’ he said. ‘But I have asked Morag Pandrama
and Wolfus Bone to join us, and to bring their classifying tools.’

Just then, there was a knock on the door. A severe-looking woman with olive skin and large almond-shaped brown eyes entered the room. She had a pince-nez perched on the end of her aquiline nose, and a quill pen pushed into her hair. In her arms she carried a pile of ancient books.

‘I have brought the indexes from the Great Library,’ she said.

‘Morag is the museum’s archivist,’ Hawke kindly explained to Archie. ‘She will tell us if there is any mention of the book in the old records.’

Morag Pandrama stacked the books she had brought with her on the floor and immediately set to work thumbing through one particularly dusty volume. Every few pages she paused to glance at the almanac, and to make occasional tutting noises through her teeth.

There was another knock on the door. The man who entered was the thinnest, gauntest man Archie had ever seen. He was so tall that he had to duck his head to fit through Hawke’s door. This, combined with his frail limbs, made him look like a giant stick insect. The skin on his face and his close-cropped blond scalp was pulled so tight that it barely seemed to cover his skull. In one limp hand he held what looked like a forked stick but
which Archie guessed was a dowsing rod because he’d seen pictures of people using something similar to find water.

Archie knew before Hawke introduced him that the scary-looking man must be Wolfus Bone. His large mouth was crowded with teeth, including two pronounced canines. There was something watchful about him that put Archie in mind of a predator.

‘You have something for me, Gideon?’ the man asked in a thick accent that sounded Eastern European.

‘Yes, a Special Instruction,’ said Hawke. ‘Wolfus is our master magic diviner,’ he added for Archie’s benefit. ‘He will tell us just how strong the magic is.’

The two newcomers barely seemed to notice Archie; their attention was focused on the almanac on Gideon Hawke’s desk. While Morag Pandrama continued to trawl through the old records, Wolfus Bone stood motionless in the centre of the room, his eyes fixed on the book.

Archie gazed around at the curious objects in Hawke’s study. His eyes were drawn to what looked like a black letter opener on the desk. It had a beautifully engraved handle and a blade like a black mirror, which caught the dancing firelight, reflecting sparkling shards of brilliance.

Hawke smiled. ‘I see you are admiring the Shadow Blade. It is made from obsidian, the black glass forged in the heat of a volcano.’

Archie was fascinated by the play of light upon the blade. ‘Why does it sparkle like that?’

‘It is the reflection of a shooting star captured in the glass.’

Archie reached out to touch the blade, but Hawke caught his hand.

‘Best not to touch,’ he warned. ‘It is an enchanted blade and it has special properties. It can penetrate any darkness – and the darkest of hearts.’

Archie felt a chill run down his spine. He wondered why Gideon Hawke was telling him this. Was he trying to impress him or scare him?

‘What about that?’ Archie asked, indicating a gnarled wooden staff with a hook at one end that was mounted on the wall above the fireplace.

‘That is a book hook,’ said Hawke. ‘Used by the old magic writers, it can force magic back into a book, or extract something that is trapped within. It can also destroy spells that won’t obey it.’

‘I am ready to test the book now, Gideon,’ Wolfus Bone interrupted.

‘Very well, Wolfus,’ Hawke replied. ‘Archie, please stand back.’

Archie’s attention shifted to the magic diviner. Wolfus Bone gently held the dowsing rod in his
fingers and approached the almanac on the desk. Very, very slowly, he moved towards the book. The rod twitched in his hand.

‘Hmmm,’ said Bone. ‘On the surface it appears to be a moderately charmed almanac, the sort of thing any alchemist or magician might have around the house. But it is not quite what it seems. The book is deceptive. It has a concealment charm on it.’

‘What would be the purpose of such a charm?’ asked Hawke.

‘To imitate other books, in order to win the trust of their users perhaps,’ said Bone.

Hawke nodded. ‘Or to frighten them?’

‘Yes, possibly,’ said Bone.

Bone suddenly grasped the Shadow Blade and held it over the almanac in a menacing way. Archie heard the book give a shriek and its cover writhed with black worms. He stepped back in alarm.

‘Did you see that?’ Archie gasped. ‘The black worms all over the cover?’

Wolfus Bone chuckled under his breath. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Black book worms. When it is threatened the book is bewitched to imitate a book of dark magic. Ingenious, but a harmless trick. This is not a book to be trusted.’

Archie regarded the book suspiciously. He glanced at Old Zeb. The almanac had made him doubt the old bookbinder. Now he could see that it had deliberately tried to turn him against the old man. He had been naive to be taken in.

‘Morag?’ Hawke enquired, turning to the archivist.

She tutted. ‘I cannot find any record of this book in the archive from Alexandria.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Hawke. ‘So how can we classify it, then? Is it dangerous?’

‘I don’t know, Gideon,’ Bone replied, his eyes roving around the room. ‘I can feel a very strong magical energy but I’m not sure where it’s coming from.’

The magic diviner’s nose twitched. His eyes fell on Archie’s tool bag. Archie pulled it closer.

Archie felt Hawke’s eyes on him. ‘Any ideas, Archie?’

Archie felt his face colour again. He wanted to come clean about the book hidden in his bag, but he was in so deep now that he couldn’t see how he could explain it without getting himself and his cousins into a lot of trouble.

Hawke was watching him closely. He spoke slowly, his eyes boring into Archie’s head. ‘When a book has a Special Instruction, it usually means that it is very powerful and possibly dangerous. The best place for a book like that is here in Lost Books. So if you come across anything of that
nature, Archie, you must come and tell me. Do you understand?’

Archie nodded, avoiding eye contact.

Old Zeb pointed at the almanac. ‘What do you want to do with this?’ he asked.

‘I think we’ll keep it here,’ Hawke said, ‘where it can’t cause any more mischief.’

When Archie and Old Zeb had gone, Wolfus Bone and Morag Pandrama remained behind. Bone warmed himself by the fire. After a while he spoke.

‘Gideon, what’s going on?’

Hawke raised one eyebrow. ‘We thought the almanac was the reason for the break-in at the Aisle of White.’

Wolfus Bone snorted. ‘The almanac may be deceitful but it is no more than that. But …’

‘Yes, Wolfus?’

Bone shook his head. ‘I could sense something else in the room. I am certain the boy had a book concealed on him. A very special book.’

‘Yes, I wondered about that,’ said Hawke.

‘Did you notice the boy’s eyes?’ asked Morag Pandrama. ‘The clearest example of magician’s eye I’ve ever seen. Even more pronounced than yours.’

Hawke nodded. ‘Yes of course I noticed. How could I miss them?’

‘What do you intend to do, Gideon?’

‘For now, nothing. If Archie is breaking the Lore to hold on to a book, I want to know why. I’m going to watch him closely. Let’s keep this among ourselves until we know more.’

‘What about the almanac?’ asked Morag Pandrama.

‘A decoy?’ said Bone.

‘Yes,’ said Hawke. ‘I think we can be sure it’s not the almanac that’s brought the Greaders to Oxford.’