Archie Greene and the Magician's Secret (14 page)

T
he next day at work, Archie was still brooding over what he’d overheard. Was it possible that he had brought the dark magic into the museum without even knowing it?

When Old Zeb said he had a job for him to do it was a welcome distraction.

‘Take this repaired spell book back to Mortal Magic,’ the old man said. ‘And don’t dawdle on the way.’

Archie had noticed that the old bookbinder was finding lots of errands for him of late. Archie suspected that with Greaders at large the old man thought it was better for him to spend more time with the other apprentices. Ordinarily, Archie wouldn’t have minded at all. He loved being at Mothballs. But after what he’d overheard Wolfus Bone say, he wondered whether it was such a good idea.

When he arrived at the museum the apprentices were going about their work. There had been no more attacks since the incident with the flarewolf, but there was a tense atmosphere and everyone was being careful not to go anywhere alone.

The three heads of Magic, Dr Motley Brown, Feodora Graves and Vincent von Herring, were a reassuring presence. The other elders were also making themselves available to accompany apprentices if they needed to leave the main gallery. Outwardly, it was working. The museum seemed calm.

Yet, no matter how hard he tried, Archie couldn’t shift a nagging feeling that something bad was about to happen. He walked through the Great Gallery with a sense of dread. As he stared up at the side galleries he half expected to see that the bookcases were empty or on fire.

Everyone was trying to put on a brave face. Rupert Trevallan was engrossed in research at one of the reading tables, studying a book about dark magical creatures. It was open on a page about vargs – unpleasant wolf-like creatures. As Archie passed, Rupert made a claw shape with his hand and bared his teeth. Then he winked.

Archie grinned and kept walking. Above him,
Bramble was balancing on a stepladder to reach one of the higher shelves. When she saw Archie she held up a book about screaming banshees, waved precariously and then pretended to lose her balance. Archie smiled at her antics.

Even Peter Quiggley, the new apprentice who had been attacked outside Quill’s, was getting in on the act. A thin fair-haired boy, he walked past with a wheelbarrow full of books about magical plants and a watering can perched on top.

‘What?’ he said when he saw Archie’s amused look. ‘They need repotting.’

Archie allowed himself a small smile. He knew that they were all over-compensating, but outwardly at least, everyone seemed confident that the museum elders would come up with a plan to protect the magic books. Archie should have more faith in them. The museum had survived in Oxford for hundreds of years. It would last a few more years yet.

He was just thinking about all the changes that the museum must have seen when he heard a muffled cry behind him.

It was Peter Quiggley. His wheelbarrow was on its side with the wheel still spinning. Archie thought it was another joke until he caught the frightened look on Peter’s face. Then he realised what had scared him. Plants were sprouting from
the magic books. A fast-growing ivy had twisted itself around Peter, its spiky-leafed branch winding itself around his waist and starting to squeeze him. As Archie watched, a blue rose extended its thorny arm and began to coil itself around the boy’s shoulders, and an orange-trumpeted climber snaked its way towards his feet.

‘What’s happening?’ cried Archie, desperately trying to pry the climber off Peter.

‘It’s the books!’ squeaked Peter. ‘They’ve gone wild!’

There was a crash from the galleries and another shout. Archie looked up to see that Rupert Trevallan’s chair was overturned. Rupert was desperately backing away from the book on his table, which was making low growling sounds. Suddenly, a huge grey wolf leaped from the book snarling and drooling. It began to stalk Rupert, its head low and its teeth bared.

‘It’s a varg!’ Rupert yelled, picking up a chair and holding it in front of him. ‘Get help! Quick!’

But before Archie could react there was a cry from above, followed by a high-pitched shrieking sound. The book that Bramble was holding snapped open and out flew three ghostly hags with bloodless white faces and staring eyes. The banshees shimmered with a dull-grey light and their wailing was almost too terrible to bear. Bramble clung to the ladder with her arms and tried to cover her ears with her hands. The banshees soared into the air and shot off in all directions, tormenting the apprentices with their ghastly white faces and their high wailing screams.

Books on the bookshelves were spontaneously disgorging their magical contents. A large volume leaped from the bookcase and exploded with a flash of blue and a stench of sulphur. A demon-faced gargoyle erupted from it and immediately sprang up onto the galleries and began pulling books from the shelves and throwing them into the air, adding to the chaos.

By now the Great Gallery was in a state of pandemonium, with apprentices running for their lives. The air was thick with all manner of vile creatures. They flapped and fluttered in the air like enormous moths. The empty covers of the books they had come from were all over the floor. Somewhere among it all, someone was sobbing. Arabella Ripley crouched under a table with her hands clasped over her head.

‘It’s the grimoires!’ she wailed. ‘They’re releasing their spells!’

At that moment, an entire row of black books leaped from their shelf, flapped open their covers and began ejecting vampire bats like some demonic firework display.

Bramble slid down the stepladder and was trying to fend off one of the banshees with a book. The book in her hands disappeared in a puff of black smoke and when it cleared she was holding a writhing snake. She screamed and dropped the snake, which slithered after her.

By now Rupert Trevallan was backed up against the wall, watching helplessly as a pack of vargs devoured a magic book, ripping it to shreds. Peter Quiggley had disappeared completely in a forest of writhing green ivy.

Archie felt anger welling up inside him. He could hear dark voices calling from the magic books. He knew that he was the only one who could hear them and that he should do something. He had some sort of power with the whispering but he didn’t know what it was. If he tried to use his powers he might make matters worse. But he had to try.

‘Leave him alone,’ Archie cried, directing his voice at the vargs. The snarling animals stopped stalking Rupert for a moment and turned their fierce red eyes on him. The largest varg showed its teeth and gave a growl of warning.

‘I said, leave him alone,’ Archie tried again. But his voice sounded thin and unsure.

‘There’s nothing you can do, Archie,’ Rupert called out. ‘Go for help!’

On hearing his voice, the pack of vargs switched their attention back to Rupert. Just then a banshee swooped past Archie’s face, shrieking with laughter.

‘Get away from me!’ Archie cried. ‘Or I’ll …’ But he didn’t know how to finish the threat.

‘Or you’ll what?’ screeched the hag. ‘Whisper me to death! Ha! Ha! Ha!’

Archie felt a sudden surge of anger. ‘Yes,’ he cried through clenched teeth. ‘I would … if only I knew how!’

The hag soared into the air cackling. Archie gazed around in desperation. What was he meant to do? Nothing he had tried had helped at all.

He was still desperately wondering what to do when the doors to the Great Gallery flew open. Gideon Hawke strode into the middle of the room, flanked by Wolfus Bone, who held a popper stopper in his hands. Bone pointed the phial at the rampaging gargoyle, releasing the white vapour. It curled around the creature but it had no effect. The gargoyle leered maliciously and carried on tossing books off the shelves.

Gideon Hawke’s face looked like thunder. In his hands, he held the hooked wooden staff that Archie had seen in his study.

‘Return to your books,’ he cried, and he struck the ground three times with the staff. The
mayhem continued unabated, but Hawke gave the command a second time.

‘Return to your books or I will destroy you and the books you came from!’

The gargoyle leaped down from the gallery and swept a row of books onto the floor in defiance. Hawke pointed the staff at it. The gargoyle was engulfed in flames and turned to ash.

Hawke turned the staff on the banshees that were still screaming around the huge gallery. One by one, they were incinerated. The vampire bats received the same treatment.

There was a cry of fear from Rupert Trevallan as the vargs leaped at him, their teeth gnashing and their jaws snapping. Hawke wheeled around and pointed his staff again. The creatures were turned to ashes in mid-air.

‘That was close,’ cried Rupert. ‘I thought I was varg meat there.’

Hawke nodded, but his face was grim. There was a muffled squeak from behind him.

‘Peter!’ Archie cried. ‘He was attacked by the magic plants!’ They all turned to look at the tangle of branches and briars.

Hawke pointed the staff at the writhing green ivy. The snaking tendrils were turned to charcoal, leaving a smudge-faced Peter Quiggley gasping for air.

‘You are safe for now,’ Hawke called out in a loud voice. ‘But all of you need to understand what we are dealing with. The dark magic is getting stronger. The creatures did not respond to the book hook’s command. They preferred destruction to submitting to the staff. We cannot rely on it to stop them next time.’

A
rchie was quiet on the way home. The latest attack on the museum had left him very shaken. This time the other apprentices had been in danger, not just him. Something was gnawing away at him and he couldn’t get it out of his head.

‘Sounds like the attacks are getting worse,’ said Thistle when they told him what had been going on. ‘Whatever magic is causing it must be very powerful to control all those books at once. Where do you think it is coming from?’

‘I still think Rusp’s behind it,’ said Bramble. ‘I reckon he’s using it to help him steal magic books.’

‘Well, I suspect the Ripleys,’ said Thistle. ‘They’ve been collecting magic books for generations. Perhaps Arabella is following in her grandfather’s footsteps. What do you think, Arch?’

Archie didn’t answer. He was too preoccupied with his own thoughts.

‘What’s up, Archie?’ asked Bramble.

‘Nothing,’ he said.

‘I thought we said no more secrets?’

‘I just feel guilty,’ Archie confessed. Since he and Bramble had overheard that whatever was attacking the museum might be linked to his book, they’d kept it locked up inside Archie’s bag in case it caused any more trouble. But Archie still felt bad.

‘What if Bone is right? What if I am responsible for the attacks on the museum? Perhaps it runs in the family.’ He couldn’t stop himself blurting out his greatest fear. ‘What if my father was responsible for the fire at the museum twelve years ago?’

‘No,’ said Thistle. ‘I checked with Dad. Alex Greene left the museum before the fire. Dad said there was a huge row over a missing book. Your dad was accused of taking it and he had to leave.’

‘Oh it gets better and better,’ said Archie. ‘So now my dad’s a book thief as well as an arsonist.’

‘But that’s just it,’ said Thistle. ‘If he’d already left the museum he couldn’t have started the fire, could he?’

‘Oh,’ said Archie. ‘I see what you mean. But it still doesn’t explain why he stole a book. Why would he do that?’

‘Hold on,’ said Bramble, ‘you’re jumping to
conclusions again, Arch. We don’t know that he did take a book. And if he did, well …’

Archie raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re going to say that he must have had a good reason, right?’

‘Well, er, yes,’ said Bramble. ‘Just as you had a good reason for taking your book.’

‘But that doesn’t make it right,’ said Archie. ‘It’s still breaking the Lore. What if my book is what’s causing the attacks on the museum?’

‘We don’t even know your book is evil,’ Bramble reassured him. ‘Perhaps it’s one of the Great Books of Magic.’

‘That’s true,’ said Archie, thoughtfully. He didn’t say any more. But he made up his mind to find out once and for all.

The next day, Archie saw his chance. While the other apprentices and elders were busy, he caught Bramble’s eye.

‘Psssst, Bram, I’ve got a plan. But I need you to watch my back.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Bramble asked.

‘I’m going to ask
The Book of Yore
.’

‘Archie, that really isn’t a good idea,’ Bramble said. ‘You got away with it once, but apprentices aren’t meant to consult the magic books.’

‘That’s because they’re not book whisperers,’ Archie said. ‘Anyway, it’s the only way to find out if the book is good or evil. Now, are you with me or not?’

‘Of course I am. But I don’t like it.’

The two cousins slipped unseen into the Scriptorium. As before, the torches magically lit themselves when they entered. Archie approached
The Book of Yore.

‘Why didn’t my father want me to know about magic?’ he demanded.

He heard the rasping voice. ‘You have returned, book whisperer?’

‘Yes,’ replied Archie. ‘I need answers.’

‘You have been warned before about the dangers of dwelling in the past,’ the voice said. ‘Your safety cannot be guaranteed.’

‘I understand,’ said Archie. ‘But I have to know why my father tried to keep me away from the museum.’

The Book of Yore
flipped open, and then slammed shut. A new bookmark had appeared among its pages.

‘It is done. But there is still time to change your mind. Do you choose to consult the past?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Archie.

‘So be it!’

Archie stepped forward and opened the book
to the page with the bookmark.

The date at the top of the page was 14 April 1603 – a month after his previous visit.

As Archie touched the page, the surface rippled as before and he was drawn into the book. He heard Bramble gasp and then he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again he was back in the same book-lined room. He could see the old man sitting at the table as before. Archie now knew him to be John Dee. On the table in front of him was his book.

Sitting across the table from Dee was the same man as before. Again, Archie could not see his face.

‘What have you discovered?’ the man demanded of Dee.

Dee shook his head. ‘I want no more to do with you or this book,’ he declared angrily.

‘But we had an agreement,’ said Dee’s associate. ‘If I brought you the book you would decipher its meaning.’

‘And I have done so,’ replied Dee, ‘but I will not share it with you or any other.’

‘We had a bargain!’

‘And I have kept my part of that bargain,’ declared Dee angrily. ‘I gave you the book whisperer’s name. In return you were meant to bring me the book I desired.’

‘And so I did,’ said Dee’s associate.

‘This is no book of angels!’ spat Dee. ‘It is a book of dark magic.’

The other man laughed contemptuously. ‘Only a fool would expect anything else.’

‘Perhaps you are right,’ said Dee. ‘I was a fool to trust it even though it is written in the language of angels. But no one else will make the same mistake. I have sealed the book with a magical clasp of my own design. It will not permit the book to be opened by any other than a book whisperer.’

The second man was silent while he contemplated this. When he finally spoke it was with a sneer.

‘It is just as well, then, that you have identified one for me.’

‘But that will not be for another four hundred years!’ exclaimed Dee.

‘Oh, but it will be worth the wait,’ taunted the man, snatching the book from the table. ‘The book will pass to the boy.’

‘No!’ cried Dee, flying into a rage. ‘The book must be returned to the Museum of Magical Miscellany! It is the only place it will be safe.’

‘It is a little late for that,’ scoffed the other man. ‘Besides, I have a much better plan.’

Dee’s face turned pale. ‘What do you intend to do?’

‘I have made enquiries at a London firm called
Folly & Catchpole. They specialise in magical instructions and they are very discreet. They will deliver the book to the boy at a future date.’

Dee looked shocked. ‘But how will he know what it is?’ he asked.

‘Oh he will find out,’ jeered the other man, ‘in due course.’

‘I forbid it!’ roared Dee.

‘You cannot prevent it!’

‘Then I must warn the boy.’

Dee made a lunge for the book, but the other man was too quick. He leaped from his chair and ran from the room with it in his hands.

The room went dark and Archie felt himself falling again.

When Archie opened his eyes, he was back in the Scriptorium.

‘There you are!’ cried Bramble. ‘I was starting to get really worried. What did you find out?’

‘I think my book contains dark magic,’ said Archie.

‘Even more reason to get out of here,’ cried Bramble. ‘Now come on.’

‘But I am so close to finding out what it is,’ said Archie. ‘I just need one more answer.’

Bramble looked uncomfortable. ‘No, Archie. Even I know that you shouldn’t mess with
The Book of Yore
. Let’s find Gideon Hawke.’

She moved back towards the door. ‘Are you coming or not?’

Archie glanced up. ‘Er, yeah, I’m right behind you,’ he mumbled. Bramble opened the heavy wooden door and slipped out of the Scriptorium.

Archie was about to follow when
The Book of Yore
suddenly flew open again. Its pages ruffled. When it snapped shut, Archie saw a new bookmark had appeared.

‘Your unspoken question is answered, book whisperer. But the danger increases each time you ask,’ said the raspy voice. Archie did not heed the warning – he was already opening the book. The date marked was 26 July 48 BC.