The Boy Who Went Magic Read online

  “Don’t let them escape,” yelled Voss. He was already moving for the door, leaving the soldiers to hesitate between doing their duty and preserving their lives.

  Finch pointed to the hole in the wall that she’d made during the fight. There was already the beginning of a burrow in the snow. “I can break through there,” she said.

  A soldier fired another shot at them. The bullet snapped into the planks.

  “Wait for the right moment,” said the Professor.

  Bert put a hand against the floor to steady himself. He felt terrible. The Professor placed an arm around his shoulders and they crouched together, ready to spring.

  “Come out!” ordered a soldier.

  “You should give up,” shouted the Professor. “You’ll get us all killed.”

  “The bloodline guards do not fear death,” yelled the soldier.

  “Great,” muttered the Professor. “That’s just what we need.”

  The flames grew louder and began to hiss.

  A bullet cracked off the surface of the box beside Bert’s head and he flinched away. The soldiers were clearly intent on fulfilling their duty, whatever the cost.

  The smoke in the room grew thicker.

  “Well, we’ve got to go for it,” said the Professor. He gripped Bert tighter and prepared to run. They all knew the risk. It was unlikely the soldiers would miss again.

  “My count,” said Finch. “Three … Two …”

  There was a yelp of pain from across the room followed by a heavy thud.

  A gunshot rang out and crunched off the ceiling. Blades clashed and there was the sound of a struggle. “Traitor!” yelled a startled voice. Another thump followed.

  Bert peeked over the crates.

  A man in a black coat threw one of the soldiers against the wall. A sword appeared in his hand and he went to attack the next man. There was a cry of pain. Three soldiers swung their guns toward the attacker but he seemed to strike them all down in a blur. For a moment Bert felt he was dreaming. His mind flashed to his earliest memories—the man in the hooded cloak, coming to save him once again. He coughed and shook his head in confusion.

  The man sprinted over to them and revealed his face. “Cassius?” Bert gasped. He felt a wave of unease. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  The quæstor put his hand on Bert’s shoulder. “Are you hurt?” he said.

  The Professor frowned. “What answer are you hoping for?”

  “I’m here to help,” said Cassius. “I’ll explain later.”

  Just then the smoke rippled across the ceiling and a torrent of flame shot upward. The fire from the lantern had spread over both walls. Cassius moved in a blur, throwing Bert and Finch toward the Professor. “Get out,” he yelled. The whole of the hold seemed to be taking flame. Bert struggled forward, coughing badly and huddling low to escape the heat.

  He felt Finch’s hand on his shoulder.

  “This way,” she said. She sent a powerful kick into the ice, then began digging with her pick. The others struggled through behind her. The snow closed in.

  There was a sudden rush of air as they reached the surface.

  “Keep running,” said the Professor.

  Bert was weakening fast and the pain in his hand throbbed. But he focused on their voices and felt their hands pushing him along through the deep snow.

  The ground fell away under his feet.

  “Hold on,” said the Professor. He grabbed Bert and they plunged together; sliding down the ice, dropping through space, then crashing into a snowy hollow.

  Bert caught a glimpse of a large gray airship floating above them. A group of soldiers were waving and yelling from the mountaintop. Apparently, they’d been left behind.

  Bert felt a pang of pity for them.

  A huge explosion split the air. Bert felt a snap like a rubber band inside his ear, and everything turned white. The next thing he was aware of was a strong pair of arms pulling him upward as a huge flurry of ice pattered down around them. When the smoke cleared the wreck of the Erebus was no more, and the soldiers had vanished. Bert heard Cassius and the Professor talking—arguing over something—but he wasn’t paying attention. He was staring after Voss’s ship as it faded far into the distance and thinking of his last conversation with Norton. A terrible sense of guilt welled up inside him. It was worse than any fear he felt for himself. His friend had tried to warn him about the wreck and he hadn’t listened. Now it was too late. Norton was gone.

  Bert was barely conscious as they carried him aboard the Lugalbanda. He was vaguely aware of Finch and the Professor talking to him, and of someone mopping his brow with cold water. But the rest was lost to strange dreams and the fierce pain in his arm. He kept seeing faces hovering over him. Sometimes he thought Norton was there. He kept trying to apologize.

  A calm voice spoke to him. “We’re going to get you to help, Bert. There’s a woman who lives out in the wastes of Ferenor—an excellent healer. Just hold on.”

  He faded out of consciousness again and dreamt he was riding in a carriage. The swaying of the airship became the rocking of the wheels. His clothes were muddy. A man in a cloak sat beside him. He had been afraid, and the man had rescued him. He tried to remember farther back. There were two people—a man and a woman. One of them ruffled his hair.

  A shadow fell on him and cold air passed over his skin. He felt as if he was ascending. Clouds hovered in his vision, almost in his grasp. Their peaks looked like castles. His feet set down on the nearest slope and he began to climb. He knew he needed to reach the top.

  “Bert?” said Finch’s voice. “Bert, wake up.”

  He opened his eyes and found himself in bed in an unfamiliar room. Daylight shone through an oval window. The ceiling looked as if it was made from packed earth, crisscrossed with wicker beams. It took him a while to shake away the feelings of his dream, but he quickly remembered the events of the airship and looked down at his hand. It was painful and discolored.

  “Norton,” he mumbled.

  Finch was sitting beside him. “I knew it,” she said. “I told them you’d wake up.”

  “Where are we?” said Bert.

  “Hermatrude’s house,” said Finch. “She’s sort of an aunty of mine. And she’s an inventor too. She’s really clever, Bert. She’ll know how to get you back to normal.”

  “Are we still in Ferenor?” said Bert.

  Finch nodded. “Don’t try to sit up,” she said. “I’ll go get her.” She hurried from the room and returned a moment later, leading a hunched, elderly lady by the hand.

  The lady smiled as she examined Bert. “You were in a bad way,” she said kindly. “He was right to bring you to me. Though he should have brought you sooner.”

  “You healed me?” asked Bert.

  “I treated you,” said the woman. “I’m afraid healing is beyond my skills. I heard what happened to you and your spirit.” She shook her head. “It is a terrible thing.”

  “But he’ll be all right, won’t he?” said Finch.

  Hermatrude took out a bottle of medicine rather than reply.

  Bert felt a pang of anger when he remembered what Voss had done. He clenched his fists and pushed aside the bedsheets. “I have to save Norton,” he said. He tried to stand, but his vision blurred and his arms shook. He sank back against the pillows. “I can feel it,” he said. “The farther he gets from me the worse I feel. It’s like I’m running out of air.”

  Hermatrude picked up a bucket of water and some bandages and inspected Bert’s hand. He felt dizzy. Odd-looking plants hung in the window. The smell of herbs filled the room.

  “That sounds like the spirit line,” she said.

  “You know about magic?” asked Bert.

  “I have learned a little about it,” she said. “Though less than you, I expect.” She washed his palm with a damp cloth and began to apply a new bandage. “This mark is definitely part of a mage ritual,” she said. “But as to whether it will fade, or grow more harmful, I can’t trul
y say. I have given you some medicine to strengthen you through the ordeal—the rest is down to your constitution.”

  Bert swallowed. He knew instinctively that there was no hope for him unless he reached Norton. He couldn’t just wait around in bed, hoping to get better. He had to act.

  “Are you all right?” asked Hermatrude.

  “I need to get up,” he said.

  “You need to rest,” said Hermatrude.

  Bert was struggling to stay calm. “They’ve taken away Norton … my spirit. I’ve let him down.” He shook his head in dismay. The grief was too much to put into words.

  “It’s all right, Bert,” said Finch. She squeezed his hand.

  Hermatrude looked serious. “The line between mages and their spirits is strong. I have often read about the power of the ritual. It has taken on a part of your soul, Bert. You almost died when you were separated. Now you must try to conserve your strength.”

  Bert understood what she was saying, but in his heart he didn’t care about mage rituals or magic powers, only that his friend had been taken. It made him feel hollow.

  Hermatrude looked concerned and gave a sigh. “I am going to tell the others that you are awake,” she said. “Please, try not to exert yourself. You’re already very weak.”

  Bert stared at the patterns of wicker on the ceiling. He knew he needed to leave this place and pursue Voss. But it was hard to keep his eyes open.

  “We should leave him,” said Hermatrude. “And you should rest too.”

  “I can stay,” said Finch.

  “No,” said Hermatrude. “Come and eat something.”

  Bert was vaguely aware of their footsteps leaving the room. He thought back to what Voss had said, about not needing his energy to keep Norton alive anymore. He sensed that the prince was planning something terrible. He forced his eyes open and tried to sit up.

  “I can’t let him win,” he said. He looked down at his hand. The purple tinge seemed to pulse beneath his skin and the pain made his head swim. He clenched his fist. Inside he felt a cold power stirring. The energy strengthened him, even though it hurt.

  He shifted his feet out of the bed and stood up. The shakiness passed after a moment, and the energy kept him standing. He clenched his fist harder and went to open the door.

  He emerged in a burrow-like hallway filled with the scent of wood smoke. He followed the smell to a half-open doorway. He could hear voices on the other side.

  “Where does he think it is?” said the Professor.

  Cassius spoke calmly. “Tralvere. I managed to spy on some of his writings and studied the navigation room. Everything points to something above Tralvere.”

  Bert was shocked to hear the quæstor’s voice. He remembered the rescue from the airship but he still couldn’t believe they were trusting the man who had chased them.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” said the Professor. “Tralvere is flatland, to the north. There’s no high ground there for miles around. There aren’t even any ruins.”

  Bert pushed the door open.

  The Professor and Cassius looked at him in surprise.

  “You’re awake?” said the Professor. “You should be resting.”

  Bert frowned at Cassius. “What’s he doing here?” he said.

  “It’s all right, Bert,” said the Professor. “He’s a friend.”

  Bert frowned. He sensed some sort of trick.

  “I’ll explain,” said Cassius. “But you should at least sit down.” He helped Bert into one of the seats beside the fireplace and threw another log onto the flames.

  “He’s the one who’s been secretly helping us,” said the Professor. “He sent us the message about getting you out of prison. He was trying to help you back in Penvellyn too, though I’m afraid I didn’t appreciate it at the time. I’m sorry about the knocks I gave you.”

  “It’s hardly worth mentioning,” said Cassius.

  “I don’t understand,” said Bert, sitting shakily.

  “I’ve been tasked by the government to investigate what Voss is up to,” said Cassius. “I sensed his interest in you, after the events in the museum, and I tried to protect you—warning you against telling anyone about it and burning your school records.”

  “Why burn my records?” said Bert.

  Cassius glanced at his feet. “I’ll get to that part in a moment,” he said. “I managed to sneak aboard Voss’s airship before he set out in pursuit of you. There was little the government could do officially to stop him—he was, after all, chasing after a pirate ship that had attacked his prison. But I knew that if I stayed close, I might be able to gather what his real plans were.”

  Bert couldn’t argue with the facts and felt himself weakening toward Cassius a little. But he was still wary of letting a government lawman into their midst. “And?” he said.

  “From what I can tell, Voss wants the power of the spirit to activate some ancient weapon,” he said. “It’s something magical, obviously. And something very big.”

  Bert nodded. Cassius’s story matched the hints he’d gathered back at the prison. “He needed Norton to power something,” he said. “That was what the doctor was trying to say.”

  “Norton?” said Cassius.

  “That’s what he’s calling the spirit,” explained the Professor. “Bert was under the illusion it was one of his school friends, apparently. But it was invisible to us the whole time.”

  “Fascinating,” said Cassius.

  Bert felt tears welling up in his eyes. It was hard enough losing Norton. Hearing someone else explain the situation made him feel foolish and alone in his grief.

  “Do you think Norton will help him?” said Cassius.

  “Voss said he doesn’t need the spirit to help willingly,” said Bert. “Whatever he’s planning, he’s already got what he needs by trapping Norton in that dark crystal.”

  Cassius sighed. “This is bad,” he said. “There won’t be time to get help.”

  Bert felt the need to act fast. “We have to go after Voss,” he said. “Norton’s in trouble. I know that Voss is going to do something terrible. If we wait, there won’t be a chance to save him.”

  “You’re in no state to travel,” said Cassius.

  Bert shook his head. “I feel worse the farther I get from Norton,” he said. “I can feel it.” He pointed to his chest. “If he gets too far away, I don’t think I’ll recover.”

  “Are you sure?” said the Professor.

  Bert nodded weakly.

  The Professor stood up. “Then I’ll get the crew ready to fly,” he said. “We’ll make for Tralvere. Hopefully we can work out what Voss is planning along the way.”

  “Thank you,” said Cassius.

  The Professor patted Bert on the shoulder and hurried out of the room. He was left sitting across from the quæstor. He found it hard to feel any warmth for the man who had chased them across Penvellyn, and he still had questions. “Why did you burn my records?” he said.

  Cassius looked uneasy. “I’m not sure you should hear it now.”

  Bert had a sinking feeling. He dreaded to think what could be so serious that the quæstor needed to protect him from it. “Tell me,” he said. “I’m strong enough.”

  “All right,” said Cassius, reluctantly. He looked at his hands, as if unsure how to proceed. “There was an old family that lived in Penvellyn. They used to be very powerful, in their own way, but they were also very wise, and very generous. Their importance meant they were friends with the royal family, even though they had supported the government when the king was forced to hand over his power.” Cassius pulled a face. “We don’t need to go into all of that history now. The important thing is, when one of the family’s young daughters was visiting the royal palace she met a young prince, who was very lonely. The young girl took pity on him and treated him as a friend. This boy spent more and more time at the house of the family, exploring the building and playing in the gardens, and he seemed much happier. He loved their library, which was
filled with books about distant lands and histories of the old times in Ferenor—when mages and monsters still roamed and magic could be harnessed. But though he was welcome in the house, there was one rule—he was not to go to the attic, where they kept their oldest family treasures. To begin with, this seemed like a very reasonable rule to the boy, and it never occurred to him to break it.

  “But then one day he saw the little girl playing with some other children and he grew very jealous. He thought, why shouldn’t he go up into the attic if he was truly welcome? He wanted to be more special than any of the other visitors. He was vain like that. So, he went up, and he found … well, things that he couldn’t explain. Mechanisms that worked on their own.”

  Bert realized what Cassius was getting at. “Magic?” he said.

  “Magic,” said Cassius. “Artifacts from Ferenor.”

  “Were the family mages?” said Bert.

  “No,” said Cassius. “There really haven’t been mages for two hundred years, Bert—that much of what the government tells people is true. But there were once. And from what we’ve seen, it seems as if there is at least one in the world again today.”

  Bert shook his head. He didn’t believe he could claim to be a mage. He’d thought of magic as a curse since the moment he’d seen it. And he had pushed Norton away and made him feel unwanted when he was only trying to help.

  “I don’t have to go on,” said Cassius.

  “No,” said Bert. “I want to hear.”

  Cassius shifted in his seat. “This family traced its origins back to Ferenor, from a time when there were mages, and had persevered some magical objects through the generations. It was one of these objects—I’m not sure which exactly—that drew the boy’s attention. He went over to it and placed his hand on it. And something terrible happened to him. When he woke, his arm was gone and he was in horrible pain. The family found him and got him the medical attention he needed. But the king was furious and would never forgive their household. The boy tried to tell his father that it was a magical accident, but no one would listen to him—they thought that he was just making up a story to conceal his own foolishness. After a long time, the boy grew to hate the family that had welcomed him into their house. He told himself that everything that had happened was their fault, and plotted his revenge.”