The Boy Who Went Magic Read online

  Then a shadow moved across the room.

  “Who’s there?” said Bert.

  “Oh, hello,” said a familiar voice. Norton stepped forward out of the gloom. “I was wondering when you’d be back. It’s not the nicest of places, is it?”

  “Norton?” yelled Bert. For a moment, he was too stunned to take it in. He felt like he was in a strange dream. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  Norton shrugged. “I must be in trouble.”

  “But … why?”

  “I don’t know,” said Norton. His face looked blank for a moment while he was thinking. “I suppose they must have imagined we’re working together.”

  When the shock faded, Bert felt a wave of horror. He thought of Voss’s threat. Was it possible he had brought Norton here because he was Bert’s only friend?

  “You have to get them to release you,” said Bert. “You can’t be locked up in this place, just because of me.” The more impassive Norton looked, the sadder Bert felt. He threw himself down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “I just can’t believe they would do this.”

  “It certainly makes you think,” said Norton.

  For a while they were both silent.

  “How did your interrogation go?” asked Norton.

  Bert couldn’t help feeling that Norton didn’t appreciate the gravity of the situation. You might ask how an exam went, or a walk to the shops, but not an interrogation.

  “It went about as well as you’d expect,” said Bert.

  “What did he want?”

  “Apparently, he wants to be my friend.”

  “That’s nice,” said Norton.

  “Not really,” said Bert. “He said I’ve stolen power from one of his experiments, and I get the impression he wants it back.” He looked down at his hand and explained to Norton everything that the doctor had told him about the spirit. There was no point in keeping secrets now. Norton received the information as unemotionally as if Bert were talking about the weather.

  When Bert had finished, Norton said: “I think they’re wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “About being able to control this spirit,” said Norton. “I mean, it’s meant to be powerful, and I suppose it’s clever. Why would they think they could trick it?”

  “They seemed pretty confident.”

  “I don’t think they know what they’re doing,” said Norton.

  Bert took some comfort in Norton’s words. He lay on the hard cot that served as his bed and clutched his aching arm. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “Thank you, Norton.” He closed his eyes, and tucked his clothes tight around himself. Exhaustion pulled him down.

  He dreamt that he was walking down a country lane. There were birds singing in the hedgerows and white clouds drifting by. The sun felt warm on his shoulders. A tree seemed to offer a good place to climb for a better view. Its branches hung low, almost in his grasp.

  But when he raised his hand he heard a rattle of metal.

  He woke feeling depressed. There was a tray holding a bowl of gruel on the floor. He didn’t even have the will to inspect it. He began to sense that he was here for good, or until Voss got what he wanted. It was hard to keep down a wave of despair.

  Norton was sitting on the floor, tracing shapes in the dust.

  “What are you drawing?” said Bert.

  “Just clouds,” said Norton. “They’re not very good though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They look more like just shapes.”

  “Clouds are just shapes, Norton.”

  Norton looked glum. “Well, I don’t know what’s wrong with them then.”

  Bert sat up and tried to clear his head. He was already dreading the next meeting with Voss. His only thought was that somehow he had to find a way to escape. Today he was going to study the walk from the cell, in case there was some weakness he’d missed. His hand gave a twinge, and he looked down at it. He wondered again if the spirit really could help him.

  “Do you believe in all this stuff, Norton?” said Bert.

  “What?”

  “Magic and spirits and things,” said Bert. He went over to the bowl of gruel. “You didn’t seem that surprised when I talked about it yesterday. You just sort of accepted it.”

  Norton continued drawing in the dust. “It’s not really a question of believing, is it?” he said. “I mean, if it’s happening to you, it’s happening to you, and that’s that.”

  Bert puzzled over this statement while he poked at the gruel with his spoon. He couldn’t find any fault in Norton’s reasoning exactly, but it didn’t answer his question.

  Something crinkled under the food bowl.

  He reached down and pulled out a piece of paper. He unfolded it to find a note: Jailbreak, tonight, midnight—be ready to leave.

  Bert’s heart began to beat faster. He read the note over a few times before the words really sank in. “Norton, you should look at this,” he said. “I think someone’s trying to help us.”

  Norton looked at the note dubiously. “It could be a joke.”

  “A joke?”

  “You know, like, from the prison guards. It would be quite funny, if you think about it. Just to put a note in someone’s cell that said ‘jailbreak’—and then nothing happens.”

  Bert frowned. “You really are the worst sometimes, Norton. Of course it’s not a joke. You’d have to be completely insane to do something like that.”

  “Sorry,” said Norton. “What are you going to do?”

  Bert was already peering around the cell for any other scraps of paper or other new objects. But there didn’t appear to be any further clues. “We’re going to be ready,” he said. He sat down on the bed and took a few deep breaths. The only problem now was waiting for midnight. There was no clock in the place. The window was dark but he couldn’t guess how much of the night remained.

  He spent a long time thinking over how the jailbreak would happen. It must be someone inside the prison that was going to help them. They had left the note in his cell, after all. That meant it was probably a prison guard. Unless one of the prisoners had managed to sneak around the building? But then, how had they found him, and why would they help?

  He was still thinking it over when he heard footsteps.

  “This is it,” he whispered to Norton. “Be ready.”

  Norton didn’t appear ready. He was lying on the floor with his ankles crossed and his hands behind his head. He didn’t even seem particularly awake.

  The lock in the door rattled.

  “We’re in here,” whispered Bert.

  A confused-looking guard opened the door. “I know you’re in there,” he said harshly. “I’ve come to collect you for interrogation. You’re to speak with Prince Voss immediately.”

  Bert’s legs felt heavy with fear as the guard marched him down the corridor toward the interrogation room. For a short time he still held out hope that this could be a trick—that the guard would reveal himself to be a friend at the last moment. But he had no such luck.

  The guard shoved him inside the room. “The prisoner, Prince Voss.”

  Voss nodded. He was seated as before, as if he hadn’t moved during the intervening hours. The guard saluted and then left the room, locking the door behind him.

  Bert felt utterly miserable.

  “Have you thought about my offer?” asked Voss.

  “I don’t understand what the offer is,” said Bert. The fear of what lay ahead and his bitter disappointment that this wasn’t the jailbreak made him feel bold enough to speak his mind.

  “You heard the doctor mention a weapon?” said Voss.

  Bert said nothing.

  “He always thought I was crazy,” said Voss. “I suppose it was useful in a way. If he really believed I could do it, perhaps he would never have helped me.”

  “What do you expect me to do?” said Bert.

  “You have a bond with this spirit, Bert,” said Voss. “I know that you’ve already used
its powers in your foolish attempt to escape capture. Now, I want you to make it appear.”

  Bert gritted his teeth and said nothing. He knew that he wanted to call for help more than anything right now. But he was determined not to assist Voss, whatever the cost.

  Voss looked at him blankly. “It won’t help to defy me,” he said. “I know more about spirits than anyone else in the modern world. I’ve studied every collection of writing that exists on the subject.” He opened a drawer of the desk and took out the dark crystal again. “In fact, this whole idea of trapping the spirit wasn’t mine—it was a technique that used to belong to some very nasty mages who lived in the wastes in the north of Ferenor.” He flicked the crystal into the air and caught it. “If a spirit wouldn’t choose to help them, this was their solution. I admire their way of thinking.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “It is a proven method, you see. It will work.”

  Bert remained silent. He had the impression that Voss was testing him, trying to make him feel threatened. Perhaps he thought that it would make the spirit appear.

  “Do you think I’m crazy too?” said Voss. He held the crystal a little closer to Bert, and turned it over in his fingers. “My father used to say that I was crazy …”

  Bert was distracted by something that appeared in the corner of his vision. For a moment he thought he was seeing things. It looked as if a figure had just emerged through the wall of the room. It was shrouded in black and seemed to hover just above the ground.

  “Are you listening to me?” asked Voss. “There is no point in your protecting this thing. It is using your energy to stay alive in our world. It is a leech—”

  He was interrupted by a burst of light.

  The dark crystal flashed out of his hand and shot away over the floor.

  “What?” yelled Voss. He leapt up in surprise.

  The spirit drifted out of the wall.

  Bert stared at the apparition in amazement. It moved quickly over the room and seemed to draw the shadows with it. As it came closer he felt the power building in his palm. The energy seemed to flow over his manacles and the metal turned cold.

  “Guards!” cried Voss. “Guards, get in here.”

  Bert heard a thump, and realized with a start that the manacles and restraints had fallen from his wrists. He ran for the door and raised his hand on instinct.

  A guard entered the room.

  A blast exploded from Bert’s palm and knocked the guard off his feet. The man hit the wall and slumped down, unmoving. His keys jangled onto the floor.

  Bert quickly scooped them up.

  Voss was too occupied with the spirit to intervene. The thing hovered over the room like a small storm. Voss leapt away and snatched up the crystal.

  “Now!” he yelled as he held it up at the spirit.

  The crystal glowed with a sickening green light. But the prince wasn’t fast enough—the spirit flowed away into the wall and disappeared.

  “You think you can escape?” asked Voss. He glanced again at Bert, and seemed to realize for the first time that the boy had escaped from his restraints.

  Bert grasped the keys tight. For a moment fear paralyzed him. He was terrified of facing Voss’s anger, but he knew this was his only chance.

  “Give those to me,” said Voss.

  Bert ran through the door, slammed it shut behind him, and turned the key in the lock. There was a thump on the other side. Voss began to yell furiously but the sound was muffled. There was only one door into the room. As far as Bert knew he had the only key.

  He’d locked the prince up in his own prison.

  He gave a brief chuckle of satisfaction. But the thought of the task that lay ahead brought him back to reality. He dismissed any thoughts of the spirit for now. Whatever its intention, he couldn’t waste time worrying. “I’ve got to get to Norton,” he muttered.

  He ran down the corridor to his cell and turned the lock. For a moment he was confused. Norton didn’t appear to be there. Then suddenly his friend stepped into view.

  Bert flinched in surprise.

  “Are you all right?” asked Norton.

  “You scared me, hiding in the shadows like that,” said Bert. He laughed a little shakily. “You won’t believe what I just saw back there.” He explained as quickly as he could what had happened in the interrogation room, still feeling unnerved. “It must be nearly midnight,” he said. “But we can’t wait around here. It’s only a matter of time before someone finds Voss.”

  “But where should we go?”

  “Anywhere,” said Bert. He led Norton out of the cell and looked to the left. That appeared to be the only option, other than heading back to the interrogation room. He could still hear Voss hammering on the door. Each impact jarred his nerves. “Come on,” he said.

  Somewhere above them he heard a clock chiming midnight. But he didn’t feel like he could just sit and wait in his cell, with Voss so close at hand and the chance of discovery increasing with each passing moment. He forced himself to peek around the next corner.

  He caught his breath and leaned back. There were two guards with swords standing just a few paces from him. There was no way he’d be able to pass without being seen. A panic began to grow inside him. This was his best chance to get out. He would have to try and run for it.

  Just then there was a heavy thump from around the corner and a clatter as a sword fell to the floor. Bert dared to peer out from his hiding place.

  The guards were both lying on the floor, unconscious.

  Finch stood over them, patting her hands. “Now, which way?” she muttered.

  Bert was too stunned to speak.

  Finch spotted him and gave a jump of alarm. “You?” she said.

  “How did you get here?” said Bert.

  Norton sighed. “How did any of us get here?”

  “I broke in,” said Finch.

  Bert was about to explain that he had broken out when he heard a clang from the far end of the corridor. A hole appeared in the door of the interrogation room and a metal hand reached through the gap. “You think that you can hold me in my own prison?” roared Voss.

  Finch stared at the metal hand with obvious interest. “Who’s in there?”

  “Guards,” bellowed Voss from inside the room. “Stop them.”

  Heavy footsteps were converging on their location. Bert grabbed Finch’s hand. “We can talk about all this later,” he said. “We need to find a way out.”

  They ran together down the corridor, heading away from the footsteps and back toward Bert’s cell. “Do you have a plan of escape?” asked Bert.

  “I have a rough idea,” said Finch. She gave a grin that reminded Bert of her father.

  A guard appeared from another doorway. “Stop!” he yelled.

  “Do we stop or not?” said Norton.

  Finch ducked away from the guard’s first clumsy swing and kicked the man’s knee, then spun and fired her other foot into his stomach.

  The man flew back along the corridor and landed heavily.

  “I suppose not, then,” said Norton.

  Bert heard the click of a gun hammer being drawn behind them. He turned just in time to see a guard aiming a pistol at Finch’s back. Again, an instinct told him to raise his right hand.

  The power burned in his palm. The pistol sprang away from the guard and flew into Bert’s grasp. He looked down stupidly at the weapon.

  “Get the light,” said Finch.

  Bert saw what she meant. He aimed at the nearest lantern and fired. The pistol kicked in his hand and the glass lantern shattered, spilling burning amphor across the corridor.

  They ran from the fire to the open cell door.

  Finch frowned. “How did you get the gun?”

  Bert shook his head. “My hand—it just happened.”

  Finch ducked into the cell and pulled a brass cylinder from her pocket. “I need to ready the signal.”

  Bert crouched with her and Norton stood beside them. A shot rang out and shattered a
tile on the wall beside them. The corridor filled with smoke from the burning amphor. They began to cough. “I thought this place couldn’t look any worse,” said Norton.

  Bert could hear more guards approaching. It looked like they had the three of them trapped. He felt terrible. “Finch,” he said. “I’m sorry about this. You should run if you can.”

  Finch frowned and said nothing. She bit the brass cylinder and twisted, then shoved it between the window bars. A cloud of red smoke spilled out with a dull hiss.

  Bert coughed as smoke filled the room from both directions. “What’s that for?”

  Finch pointed upward. For a moment Bert didn’t understand what she was getting at, but then he heard a dull rumbling sound.

  “What’s that?” said Norton.

  “Something flying, I think,” said Bert.

  Finch frowned again. Bert heard a crack that sounded like a gunshot and a distant yell of alarm.

  The engine seemed to be directly overhead.

  “Airship,” muttered Bert.

  Finch grabbed him and crouched low.

  The wall suddenly burst and crumbled. A huge crack appeared in the masonry and the smell of gun smoke filled the room. There was another loud bang and the Professor appeared, swinging a large sledgehammer and looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

  “Thank goodness we got the right cell,” he said. He swung down from a rope and landed in the middle of the floor. Bert could make out the looming hull of the airship lowering into view outside. The cannons were firing colored flare charges all over the prison.

  Guards were yelling, and alarms sounded.

  Bert helped Norton to his feet.

  “Not an easy descent,” said the Professor. “Good to see you’re not too worse for wear.” He looked at the open door, and Bert’s unmanacled hands. “Well done, Finch,” he said. “I’m impressed you found your way.” He took a crossbow from his shoulder and loaded a grapple.

  “There’s nothing wrong with my sense of direction,” said Finch.

  Bert pointed at the crossbow. “What’s that for?” he said.

  “I swung down here,” said the Professor. “But it would take too long to climb up.” The airship was slightly below them now, hovering in the darkness. The Professor aimed the crossbow and fired. A rope went hissing into the night, and the crossbow grapple lodged in the airship’s rigging. There was a wide gap between the wall and the ship.