The Boy Who Went Magic Read online

  “Structures ahead,” yelled a lookout.

  Bert went to the front of the ship with Finch and stood on the edge of the hull, holding the rigging. The breeze stirred his hair. Ahead he could see stone ruins rising over the tree canopy. They passed a vast archway covered in climbing plants and startled a flight of birds.

  “Is this where you meant, Norton?” he asked.

  Norton gave a casual glance overboard and nodded. The crew were mostly used to Bert talking to thin air by now, although the accordion player still looked a little nervous when Bert passed on Norton’s song requests. “I just wish they weren’t always about death,” the man complained.

  “There’s a good landing ground there,” said the Professor, as he brought the ship lower. “I want ground crews to set up a perimeter. Then we can stretch our legs.”

  The sounds of the engine ceased and the airship glided the last stretch. It seemed peaceful enough below. The crewmen threw ballast overboard and fastened the guy ropes.

  “All secure, sir,” said Mr. Peel.

  “Very good,” said the Professor. He went over the rope ladder and gestured for Bert and Finch to follow. Soon they were standing in a clearing in what appeared to be an ancient courtyard. There were crumbling walls all around them and flagstones peeking through the weeds.

  “All right,” said the Professor. “Lead on, Bert.”

  Bert looked to Norton and his friend began to saunter casually through the ruins, looking this way and that and pointing out the odd feature to Bert as he went.

  “You’ve been here before?” asked Bert.

  “A long time ago,” replied Norton. He walked up a set of crumbling steps and brought them to a castle-like wall. There was an empty doorway ahead of them. “In here,” he said. He glanced at the Professor and Finch. “You should tell them there’s some treasure in that ruin over there.” He indicated a particularly dilapidated mound of stonework.

  “Really?” said Bert. He knew that the Professor and Finch would be thrilled. As he relayed the information it was obvious that they intended to excavate straight away.

  “Are you coming too, Bert?” said Finch.

  Norton shook his head.

  “Not just yet,” said Bert.

  “All right,” said Finch. “We’ll be close if you need us.”

  The Professor was beaming. “You explore if you want, Bert. But remember, this is a very important historical site. If you see anything that looks valuable, put it in your pocket.”

  Bert assured them that he would do just that.

  “This way,” said Norton. He passed through the archway and brought Bert into a large open ruin with an impressive set of steps leading to what looked like a glass throne.

  “What is this place?” said Bert in amazement.

  Norton moved slowly to the seat. “This is where the king used to sit,” he said, simply.

  Bert paused. He could hear the sadness in his friend’s voice. It hadn’t occurred to him that Norton was so old. He wondered at how much he must have seen.

  “You know all the history of Ferenor?” said Bert.

  “Well, I’ve met a lot of mages,” said Norton. “But I’ve never had such a big adventure.” He spoke in a matter-of-fact way. “It used to be common for us to reach out into your world and find a person to share our powers with. We sort of gain energy from it too. It makes us new again.” He looked thoughtful. “You know, Bert—I think you would have enjoyed this place.”

  Bert nodded. “I think I would have too,” he said. He remembered how Finch had talked about places in Ferenor that made you feel as if you had stepped back in time. He could sense it now. The stones seemed to radiate past conversations and forgotten souls.

  Norton fell silent for a while.

  Bert wasn’t sure how to ask, but looking around the ruins brought an obvious question to mind. “What happened to the people who used to live here?”

  “Well,” said Norton. “You know how it is.”

  Bert shook his head. “I really don’t.”

  Norton seemed resigned. “To begin with, this land did well under magic. But once people got used to power, well, they weren’t very nice. Spirits like me would come to this world briefly for each normal exchange. But even so, it was clear that something was going wrong. War broke out. People were less happy each time we appeared and they were getting meaner to one another. So, we stopped giving our power to the people of Ferenor as freely as we once had.” He shook his head. “Of course, they weren’t happy. Some of them made creations like that dark crystal Voss carried. And things like the staff in the floating castle. Those things unmade spirits like me, just to take our power. After a while, there weren’t many spirits left. There was nothing for it—we had to stop passing through the mirrors. If not, they would have destroyed all of us.”

  Bert frowned. It had never occurred to him, even after what he’d seen of Voss’s artifacts, that the mages had caused their own downfall in such a cruel way. He thought of the bond he had with Norton. He felt sick at the idea that someone would corrupt it for power.

  “Then Voss started trying to force a spirit into your world,” said Norton. “I knew I had to do something.” He yawned. “Not that I was very happy about it. It was only when I saw you on the other side that I thought there might be a chance of putting things right. I mean, I could see you had the potential of a great air mage. And they were always the best, in my opinion. But I had to be sure you could handle some power on your own first. It’s sort of part of the process.”

  “Air mage?”

  “I forget you don’t know about these things,” said Norton. “They’re one of the rarest kind, as it happens. There haven’t really been many since the world began.”

  Bert was delighted. He supposed that explained why none of the mage powers he’d read about fit with his own. “So you chose me?” he said. “It wasn’t an accident?”

  Norton shook his head. “It wasn’t an accident,” he said. “In fact, in a way, we’ve always been together, although it’s sort of hard to explain. I suppose you could say we sort of share a spirit.” He looked a little sheepish. “When you were at the museum, I realized that was the best chance to show you what Voss was up to, so I sent you through the mirror.” He looked down at his feet. “Sorry about that.”

  Bert laughed despite himself. It seemed silly to have Norton apologize to him after all they had been through. But he still had questions. “Did you burn the museum too?”

  “Well, I knew that I couldn’t leave that mirror where people could tamper with it,” said Norton. “And they had a few other very dangerous things there too—like the automatons.” He winced and rubbed his forehead. “The automaton wars were just the worst, Bert.”

  Bert found it hard to take in. He still saw Norton as his lazy friend from school, despite everything that he had discovered. It was hard to picture him taking part in grand events. The sun was falling low and the ruins grew darker and more malevolent.

  “There were good mages too,” said Norton. “Even in the last days of Ferenor. It was hard for us to abandon them. But a few must have made the journey to Penvellyn before the final wars wiped out this land completely. You certainly remind me of some of them.”

  Bert hesitated. “Cassius said I’m descended from mages.”

  “It would make sense,” said Norton. He sat down in the glass seat as the first stars began to appear overhead. “But I suppose these are things you’ll have to find out on your own.”

  There was something about the way he said the words that made Bert pause. He began to get a sinking feeling. “Why have you brought me here?” he said.

  “I thought it was a good place to say good-bye,” said Norton.

  Bert winced. “But you’ve just come here—to my world,” he said.

  Norton looked around glumly. “I’ve been here long enough, this time,” he said. “If I stay now my power will drain and it could harm both of us. That’s just the way it is.”

 
“I have so many questions,” said Bert.

  “I doubt I can explain much now,” said Norton. His face was set in its customary miserable way, so that it was hard to tell if he was feeling any worse than usual. “But I suppose there’s time to ask one more thing, if you really think it would help.”

  Bert swallowed, and tried to keep down his sadness. He sensed somehow that this had to happen, but it was still painful. “All right, Norton,” he said. “One last question.”

  “What is it?”

  “Did you enjoy your time here?”

  Moonlight fell on Norton’s seat. He stared back for a long moment, and the ghost of a smile passed over his features. As the next shadow fell, he was gone.

  Bert walked back out into the moonlit courtyard. He felt strangely whole again, even though he was sad about Norton leaving. And he was glad he hadn’t wasted his last moment on some selfish query. He looked down at his hand and saw that the scar seemed to have healed a little already. He couldn’t feel the pull of magic inside him anymore either.

  He supposed that meant his powers had vanished. Norton had destroyed the dangerous magical artifacts at the museum, put an end to Voss and his evil ambitions, and helped rid the world of the castle in the sky. It wouldn’t make sense to leave a mage wandering around—even if they were friends.

  Bert went toward the glow of a lantern, where the Professor and Finch were excavating the mound of stone. They didn’t look particularly happy either.

  Finch noticed him first. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “He left,” said Bert. “He wanted to explain a few things to me before he went, but, you know, he had to leave.” He spoke quickly so he wouldn’t get too emotional.

  Finch knocked some of the dust and dirt off her hands and came to give him a hug. “I’m sorry, Bert,” she said. “I suppose that means no more magic for you?”

  Bert nodded. “I suppose.”

  “Well,” said the Professor, appearing from a hole in the rock pile. “You’re just in time to help us search for treasure. I’ve been digging for some time now and I’ve only found rock.”

  Bert had an inkling he knew what was going on but he wasn’t sure how to put it. “I’m afraid there might not be treasure down there after all,” he said, feeling awkward.

  “What do you mean?” said the Professor.

  Bert cleared his throat. “Norton did say it was there,” he explained. “But based on past conversations, I think that it might be his idea of a joke.”

  The Professor’s face darkened. “You’re sure?”

  “I think so,” said Bert.

  “Right.” The Professor let out a long breath. “Well, he’s got a funny way of showing gratitude, that’s all I can say.” He climbed out of the hole and dusted himself down.

  Now that Norton was gone, Bert felt troubled about his future. “Professor,” he said. “I was wondering. I suppose we’ve done what we set out to do …”

  “You’re wondering where we’re going next?” said the Professor. “Well, don’t worry, Bert. There are plenty of lucrative prospects for a pirate in these lands. We’ll talk it over once we’re back in the air, but I was thinking we might try and explore to the east of here.”

  “Where the basilisks live?” gasped Finch.

  “Where they’re supposed to live,” said the Professor, in an annoyed tone. “If you ask me, I think they’re nothing more than pirate rumors, trying to scare us away from treasure.”

  The two of them walked ahead for a moment and Bert was left smiling to himself. Apparently, it had never occurred to the Professor and Finch that they wouldn’t keep him aboard once his adventure was over. He was relieved. He took a step forward and then hesitated. The rock pile had shifted slightly behind him. He turned around and squinted in the darkness. He couldn’t see clearly without the lantern.

  A silvery light suddenly appeared around him—perhaps it was some lucky break in the clouds—and he stepped closer to peer down into the excavation.

  There was something down there all right. He reached out into the darkness with his scarred hand, and heard a dull rumbling sound below. It almost looked as if the rocks were moving of their own accord. He lowered himself into the hole and looked around, still feeling confused.

  There was a pile of something shiny lying in bags in the darkness, and lots of gleaming objects. “Finch! Professor!” he yelled. “I think you ought to see this.” He picked up one of the bags—it contained dozens of gold coins. Then his smile dropped.

  His hand was glowing in the darkness.

  He looked at the mark on his palm. A silvery light emanated from it. There was no pain or coldness, and no sense of energy being depleted. But he was definitely using magic.

  “What is it?” yelled Finch from the surface. She began to scramble down into the hole, knocking the stones loose as she went. “Is this another joke?”

  “I’m not falling for the same thing twice,” said the Professor.

  Bert quickly hid his hand behind his back and closed his palm. He didn’t want to shock them and he felt it would be better to explain later, when he had some idea of exactly what was going on. Instead he gestured toward the room and tried not to look too pleased with himself. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Finch,” he said. “But I think I just found treasure.”

  The Boy Who Went Magic wouldn’t have come to life without the help of some great people. I’d like to say thanks to Sam, without whose thoughts and ideas I’d never have gotten started; to Callie, for believing someone might want to read it; and to Kesia and everyone at Chicken House for supporting me through its various incarnations. I’d also like to thank my friends at the bookshop for showing so much kindness and enthusiasm towards it. Finally, a big thank-you to Jess, for helping every step of the way.

  Debut author A. P. Winter is a full-time writer and part-time professional chocolate taster living in the city of York. He recently completed a master’s degree in creative writing. In his spare time, he enjoys long-distance running, martial arts, learning new recipes, and avoiding the weather with his cat.

  Copyright © 2018 by A. P. Winter

  All rights reserved. Published by Chicken House, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, CHICKEN HOUSE, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2017 by Chicken House, 2 Palmer Street, Frome, Somerset BA11 1DS.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available

  ISBN 978-1-338-21714-8

  First edition, May 2018

  Jacket art © 2018 by Manuel Sumberac

  Jacket design by Baily Crawford

  e-ISBN 978-1-338-21716-2

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

 

 

 
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