The Boy Who Went Magic Read online

  “Is that why your father called the ship Lugalbanda?” he said.

  Finch looked confused.

  “Like the old myth,” said Bert, trying not to sound like he was showing off. “A castle floating above the clouds. How the ancient people used to explain lightning.”

  “Oh, right,” said Finch. “I suppose so.” She scratched her head and twirled the fighting stick in her hand. “Maybe he’s right about me not reading enough of those books.”

  Bert left Finch to her duties and rested for a while with Norton at the edge of the deck. The hours rolled by to the sound of the waves and the rumbling engine. The crewmen yelled to one another and hurried about their work. There were about two dozen of them, as far as Bert could tell. They were a brightly dressed bunch, with feathers in their flight caps and patterned scarfs—old and young, from all over the world. They seemed completely different from the professional soldiers back in Penvellyn, and nothing like Voss’s men. But as he watched, Bert became aware of their tense expressions and their backward glances. It occurred to him that they were looking out for pursuers. He felt a shudder as he thought of Prince Voss and his state-of-the-art airship.

  “Land ho!” called one of the crewmen from the rigging.

  Bert looked up in surprise. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed. A band of black lay on the horizon. He could feel the wind rising and saw gray clouds towering ahead.

  The Professor stepped out on deck. “Sooner than I expected,” he said. He turned to Finch. “You’d better get Bert some cold-weather clothing and a weapon. We’ll probably only get one pass at the Sethera Mountains.” He looked at the clouds. “And it might get a little bumpy.”

  Finch took Bert to a small cabin under the hatchway and passed him some winter clothes and a new blade. “Head back on deck when you’re ready,” she said. “And don’t take long.”

  “I won’t,” said Bert.

  He pulled on the thick padded jacket over his regular attire—his old school trousers, and the woolen sweater that the Professor had given him when he’d come aboard—and looked at himself in the reflection of a steam pipe. He couldn’t help feeling proud. He’d only been on board the Lugalbanda for a day and already he was going on his first adventure. He had almost finished attaching his sword belt when he heard someone moving by the door. “Who’s there?” he said.

  Norton stepped into view. “Hello,” he said.

  “What’s going on?” asked Bert.

  “Nothing,” said Norton. “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Well, you know, life.”

  Bert could tell that Norton was unhappy, but he was too occupied by his preparations to give it much consideration. He finished fastening his belt.

  “Bert,” said Norton.

  “What?” said Bert, checking his reflection again.

  “I don’t think you should go down to that wreck.”

  Bert frowned in surprise. “What?”

  Norton spoke hurriedly. “I mean, you can tell the whole thing is going to be miserable,” he said. “You’ve got to get down there to start with, and that looks dangerous enough. And that wreck is probably all musty and cold. And there might be, you know, diseases.” He looked at his feet, as if he was struggling to find the right words. “It’s just not really our kind of thing.”

  Bert was too annoyed to reply. He couldn’t understand why Norton would bring this up now. He felt like his friend was trying to ruin his confidence when he needed it most.

  “So?” said Norton.

  “So what?” said Bert.

  “Will you stay here?”

  Bert fastened up his jacket angrily. “I need to do this,” he said. “You don’t understand. I’m sorry you ended up with us, but if you’re not going to help, just leave me alone.”

  Norton looked hurt. “You don’t want me here?”

  “I didn’t mean that,” said Bert. “I just mean … you know.”

  “Were you going to leave me in Penvellyn?”

  Bert was becoming flustered. “Look, Norton,” he said. “There are more things to this world than sitting around and reading poetry. Sometimes you have to make quick choices.”

  “You weren’t even going to say good-bye?” said Norton.

  Bert sighed. The guiltier he felt, the more frustrated he became. “Why are we even talking about this? I’m trying to do something important. You’re just getting in the way.”

  An angry silence fell between them.

  Norton sighed. “I’m not saying this is easy,” he said. “I’m just saying, maybe you shouldn’t rush into something dangerous. Maybe try waiting to see if the spirit has a plan?”

  Bert scoffed and shook his head. “That spirit has been trouble from the beginning,” he said. “The sooner I find a cure for all this, and get rid of it for good, the better.”

  Norton gave Bert a pained look—something deeper than his usual sadness. He nodded and looked down at his feet, and then shuffled out of the room.

  Bert looked at his reflection. His face was flushed with anger and his eyes were watering. He shook his head and rushed after Norton. “Hang on,” he called.

  When he reached the gangway there was no one there. Norton had vanished. He sighed and paced back to the cabin. “What’s gotten into him?” he muttered.

  His hands shook as he fastened his buttons. He knew he shouldn’t have lost his temper. Norton was only looking out for him, even if he was doing it in an annoying way. He sighed. He knew Finch would be getting impatient. The ship shook in the force of the wind. There was no time to catch up with Norton now. He gave one last look at his reflection, no longer feeling proud of himself and his new clothes, and headed to the deck hatch.

  When he stepped out on deck they were almost at the mountains. Below them lay the land of Ferenor. It didn’t look especially magical. Aside from the looming peaks ahead, he could only see a mass of dark forests and brown rivers. There weren’t even any birds. The hull rocked and the gasbag creaked. The Professor yelled orders to the man at the ship’s controls. Meanwhile, Finch was eating some chocolate. “Do you want a piece?” she said, offering him the packet.

  “No thanks,” said Bert. Even through the thick clothes Finch had given him he could feel the chill. He began to sense why people were wary of this place.

  “Nervous?” said Finch.

  Bert shook his head. He was still thinking about what Norton had said, and feeling guilty. He wished his friend would appear on deck so he could apologize.

  “There it is—the wreck of the Erebus,” yelled the Professor. He pointed over the side of the hull to a small dark shape that was sticking out of the snow of one of the nearby mountaintops. “It looks fairly intact.”

  Bert squinted at the shape. As they drew closer he could make out the rear of a ship. It was mostly buried in the ice and snow. There were black rocks all around.

  “All right, get ready,” said Finch.

  Bert nodded. The excitement was building now. He shook away his other thoughts. The idea of making a foolish mistake scared him almost as much as any physical danger.

  The Lugalbanda battled its way down through the crosswinds and floated beside the wreck. The engine rattled. It was clear that they wouldn’t be able to hover for long.

  “Look after the ship, Peel,” said the Professor. “You should go to the sheltered side of the mountain until we signal. If you need to alert us, fire the guns.”

  Peel nodded and tapped his nose.

  Bert realized that it was just him, the Professor, and Finch that were going to land. “How will we get down there?” he yelled over the sound of the engine. There was the height of a house between the deck and the mountainside, and the wind was too strong for rope ladders.

  “Let’s see,” said the Professor. He tossed a sack overboard and watched it sink into the white blanket beneath them. “Ah yes, that’s perfect,” he said. Without any further explanation, he clambered over the hull and jumped off, plunging into
the snow.

  Finch climbed over too. “Come on, Bert!”

  Bert clung to the side of the hull and looked down. The wind was biting and the sound of the engine rattled through his head. He closed his eyes and leapt.

  His stomach lurched and his ears whistled, then he felt a soft thump as the snow hit his back. In another moment the Professor emerged beside him, grinning through a mask of white powder. “Better than swinging on a rope in these winds,” he explained.

  They grouped together and headed straight for the wreck. The cold was biting, even through Bert’s heavy layers of clothing, and each footstep sank deep into the drifts.

  The Professor stopped before they reached the visible part of the wreck and began excavating. He tossed Bert and Finch a pickax each and pointed for them to dig too.

  They quickly made a burrow through the top layer of the ice and passed into more crumbly snow. After a short time, the Professor struck something hollow. He reached into the ice chippings, searched for a moment, and then heaved open a large wooden hatch. “One of the lower deck entrances,” he explained. “Right where I thought it would be, of course.”

  “You can boast when we get out of the cold,” said Finch. “My joints are seizing.” She swung herself down through the hatch and disappeared into the darkness.

  “After you, Bert,” said the Professor.

  Bert shuffled forward and followed the rungs of a ladder down until his feet touched a strangely slanted floor. The Professor and Finch lit their amphor safety lanterns to reveal a large open space inside the airship. A row of tables and chairs lay piled against the lower wall.

  “We’re in the galley,” said Bert. He noticed food on the plates that lay scattered over the boards. “They can’t have had much warning before they crashed.”

  “Or they hated washing dishes as much as we do,” said the Professor.

  “No, Bert’s right,” said Finch. She pointed her lantern at a dead body by Bert’s shoulder. It was frozen in a seated position, still holding a knife and fork.

  Bert flinched away. “Thanks for that, Finch,” he said.

  Finch smirked and gave a mock salute.

  “All right, you two, follow me,” said the Professor.

  They grouped together again and began making their way slowly through the dark wreckage of the Erebus. The ice creaked above them, and the wind moaned. Bert tried to focus on the Professor’s footsteps. It seemed like he was looking for something in particular.

  “This way,” he said, gesturing to a doorway.

  The light of the lantern revealed a narrow gangway that sloped upward. The boards had ruptured, and piles of snow blocked their way.

  As they knocked aside the last ice barrier, Bert thought he saw something moving. He raised his hand to point it out, but by then it had disappeared.

  “What’s wrong?” said the Professor, reaching for his sword.

  “At the top of the slope,” said Bert. “I thought I saw someone.”

  The Professor let go of his sword hilt and shook his head. “It’ll be another dead body, Bert. Or our own shadows. There’s no way anyone survived in here.”

  Finch poked Bert in the ribs. “Unless it’s a ghost?”

  “That’s not funny,” said Bert. A shiver ran down his spine. He watched the corner where he’d seen the movement as they continued their ascent.

  At the top they came to a closed doorway.

  “We should be getting close,” said the Professor. He knocked ice away from the hinges with his pick, took a running start, and barged the door open.

  Inside was a much larger room, lined with shelves and stacks of barrels. Thick beams crossed the ceiling, and the air smelled faintly of vinegar.

  “Interesting,” said the Professor. “We appear to be in the storage hold.”

  “The ship must have been huge,” said Finch. “Look at all the gunpowder.” She nudged a barrel with her foot as she passed, revealing the warning symbol for explosives.

  “Wonderful,” muttered Bert. He pulled his collar higher and squinted into the darkness. He felt like they were being watched. He’d hated ghost stories ever since he could remember. As they passed by the dark rows of shelves his teeth began to chatter.

  “Are you scared, Bert?” said Finch.

  “Just cold,” said Bert. “Maybe we should move faster?”

  The Professor laughed. “He’s been spending too much time with you, Finch. Your impatience has rubbed off on him.” He made his way forward and opened the door to the next room. “The captain’s cabin,” he said. He stepped aside to allow Bert and Finch to enter.

  The room was colder than the rest of the ship. A row of icicles hung from the ceiling and a frozen figure sat hunched over a large desk. The Professor mimed tipping his hat, and said: “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

  “Did you know him?” asked Bert.

  “Mostly by reputation,” said the Professor. “Anyway, I’m afraid we don’t have time for reminiscences. We need to plunder this logbook and see if we can gain any clues on the mirror.” He moved the body of the captain aside and began to search the desk.

  “Where would it be?” said Bert.

  “I think I’ve already found it,” said the Professor, pointing to a safe under the table. He took some tools from his pockets. “It might take me a few moments to crack this thing open. You two can explore if you want, but don’t go too far.”

  “Understood,” said Finch. She headed back to the storage hold.

  Bert followed, but he couldn’t escape the sense that something sinister was close at hand. As Finch cast the light of her lantern around the room he noticed strange marks in the walls and shelves, and splintered wood on the floor. “Have you seen this, Finch?” he said.

  “What?”

  “It looks like the place was smashed up from the inside.”

  Finch squinted at the marks. “I was hoping you’d found treasure,” she said. “But you’re right. These are sword strikes.” She lifted her lantern high and surveyed the rest of the room.

  “It looks like there was a battle in here,” said Bert. “Do you think that could be part of why they crashed? Maybe they were attacked?”

  “With the captain sitting calmly in his cabin, and people eating in the galley?” said Finch. “And anyway, if there was a fight here, where are the bodies?”

  Bert didn’t like the impression the clues were making on him. He began to suspect something unnatural had happened to the ship—something very sudden.

  There was a thump at the door that made both of them jump, and the Professor reappeared. He passed a thick book to Bert with a smile. “The records we need are inside, just as we thought,” he said, clapping his hands. “I’m going to search the rest of the captain’s cabin. You can have a look around too, Bert—see if anything catches your attention.” He headed back into the room.

  Bert looked at Finch for reassurance.

  “You go on,” she said. “I’m just going to search their supplies a little, and then I’ll come through and join you. I thought I saw a brace of pistols lying around.”

  “All right,” said Bert. He followed the Professor into the cabin and flicked through the pages of the logbook as he went. It occurred to him that he should read the final entries to find out what had happened to the ship. They were made up of a series of hastily scribbled notes. He was about to turn a page when something caught his attention: The young Prince Voss …

  He paused and read it over again:

  The young Prince Voss seemed pleased with the last delivery. I have to say, I was surprised by the depth of his knowledge of Ferenor history, although I hope his enthusiasm does not lead him to tamper with things beyond his control. He appears to have read every text I have encountered on the subject of magic in the old times, and a great many that I have not …

  Bert frowned. It was unnerving to find a famous adventurer like Amleth writing about Prince Voss in friendly terms. It also made it harder to dismiss the prince as a madma
n.

  He gave me an artifact from the royal collection that I have not heard of before—a “ward stone” apparently made by the necromancers of the north—that he claims will protect the ship from evil spirits. Of course, I doubt it is anything but junk, but I am proud to accept any gift from the royal line. Perhaps this means that the king will soon put his full support behind our expeditions, instead of insisting on this mad policy of magic suppression and denial …

  Bert skipped ahead a few pages. For now, he was more concerned about what had happened to the ship than the shady politics of Penvellyn.

  There have been difficulties. We have escaped the storm, but three crewmen are badly injured. Events were as follows: Aeronaut Appleby reported seeing the three crewmen heading into the storage hold to gather supplies. When they failed to reappear, he went to look for them and found them all lying unconscious around the “ward stone” that Prince Voss gave me. It seems the object may have some dangerous powers after all. I blame myself for this blunder. The affected men are unconscious and in serious condition. To make matters worse, a strange miasma seems to hang over the ship, and the light itself seems dull and fetid.

  There was a gap denoting some unspecified passage of time.

  Horrible events. The surgeon reports that the ill crewmen died—then suddenly rose up, and began to attack people around them. The crew managed to restrain one of them but two others are at large somewhere in the lower deck. They seem to be averse to light, and as such are probably hiding in the ventilation pipes. My men are currently investigating. Surgeon Wakes, who was bitten by one of the risen, has subsequently fallen into the same catatonic state.

  “Professor?” said Bert. “You should probably read this.”

  “What?”

  “There’s an account of the crash.”

  “Oh, very good, Bert,” said the Professor. “I just need a moment to pry open this chest. I have a feeling if there were anything else of value, it would be in here …”

  Bert looked back toward the doorway, but there was no sound from Finch—only the moaning of the wind outside. He took a deep breath and continued to read.