The Boy Who Went Magic Read online

  “Err … keep up, children,” said Mr. Fitzroy.

  Bert could sense that there was something strange about the Professor, but he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly—perhaps it was that the man didn’t quite fit his uniform. His beard and the heavy tread of his stride didn’t seem particularly scholarly either.

  “Right,” said the Professor, waving to some cabinets as they passed. “This is the domestic section, I suppose. You’ll see most of it is just old rags. Not very interesting.”

  Mr. Fitzroy opened his mouth to protest, but the Professor was already hurrying them toward the next room. At the doorway, Bert noticed the Professor stop and listen for a moment before entering. He had the uncomfortable feeling that the man was up to something, but he quickly forgot his misgivings as the class entered the next section and was met with a large model of an adventuring airship in the center of the room—just like Bert had seen in his schoolbooks.

  The Professor folded his arms and nodded appreciatively. “That’s a fine-looking ship,” he said. “This is how we retrieve artifacts from the ruins of Ferenor,” he explained. “It’s too dangerous to cross by sea, but with an airship you can fly over, or fight off, the worst of the perils.”

  Freston put his hand up. “Why is it dangerous?” he asked. He was clearly trying to show off. “I thought there weren’t any native people in Ferenor—not for over two hundred years. The people there weren’t clever enough to survive, and invent machines and things, like us—”

  “Well, there might not be any native people,” interrupted the Professor. “But there are pirates that travel across from our own land, and monsters, and ghosts if you’re unlucky.”

  Some of the children laughed nervously. They seemed to think that the Professor was joking, but Bert wasn’t so sure. He caught a strange look of pride in the man’s eyes.

  “Of course,” said the Professor, “anyone who wants to travel there must get permission from the government, and hand over any treasure or artifacts that they find to the government for study. So, all in all it’s not a very profitable business.” He smiled grimly. “Unless you’re a pirate, of course. Then you can sell your treasures on the black market for a tidy sum.”

  The children laughed again.

  “Excuse me,” said Mr. Fitzroy.

  “Yes?” said the Professor.

  “Shouldn’t we be focusing on the real point of the exhibition?”

  “The real point?”

  “Yes.”

  The Professor scratched his nose. “And what would that be?”

  Mr. Fitzroy stood up straight and raised his chin indignantly. “That this power called ‘magic’ is merely a myth—passed down by foolish generations. Hasn’t that now been proved?”

  “Oh,” said the Professor. “I see. I suppose looking at the pots and pulleys and rags of this exhibit you might imagine that the people of Ferenor never did anything particularly interesting. Especially not compared to our modern amphor engines and gunpowder and adventuring airships. I believe that is the ‘point’ of the exhibition, as you understand it?”

  “Precisely,” said Mr. Fitzroy. He smiled weakly. “So … ?”

  “Well, I’m going to show you all something that isn’t included in the official tour,” said the Professor. “Then you can decide for yourselves.” He headed to a door in the corner of the room, and took a set of keys from his pocket. There was a notice beside it that read: NO ENTRY, UNDER PAIN OF DEATH, BY ORDER OF THE ROYAL CROWN. The Professor tried several keys before it unlocked. “After you,” he said, ushering the children and the teacher inside, and locking the door behind them.

  “I wasn’t told about this,” said Mr. Fitzroy.

  “Then you’ll enjoy the surprise,” said the Professor. He led them down a dark staircase and through a heavy iron door, which opened into a long basement room. The room was lined with shelves and drawers containing all sorts of strange oddities: golden mechanisms that had no purpose that Bert could fathom; suits of armor—or what appeared to be suits of armor—with fierce faces sculpted into them; oddly shaped weapons covered in strange writing. A whole wall was devoted to curious-looking lanterns with gigantic glass bulbs, and there was a rack of what seemed to be metal hands.

  Bert crossed the room slowly, feeling more confused with every step.

  “Hello,” said a strange voice.

  Bert glanced around. He was alert for some trick from Freston, and wary of making the same mistake as when he thought Garnet was speaking to him. He shook his head.

  “Hello?” said the voice again.

  “Can anyone hear that?” asked Bert.

  The other children didn’t acknowledge him. They huddled together nervously as the Professor led them toward a set of cabinets that housed a life-size metal man.

  Suddenly, Bert’s gaze was drawn to a shiny object standing inside a glass cabinet. Without thinking, he stepped away from his classmates and put his fingers against the glass. Inside the cabinet was a mirror with a gold-and-silver frame, and a strange shimmering quality. Its surface appeared more like a pool of water than a piece of glass, and the longer Bert stared into it, the less aware he felt of the room around him. He seemed almost to be floating above the ground. It was a pleasant sensation, and he felt annoyed when a smug voice broke into his reverie.

  “Bert is trying to touch the exhibits.”

  “Is that so?” said Mr. Fitzroy. “You will have detention, Bert.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Bert. As he spoke he felt a wave of indignation. It seemed to grow from his toes and crackle through his mind. “It’s not fair,” he muttered. He turned away from the mirror, feeling deflated. But as he did so he felt the hairs stand up on his neck. He turned back and saw that something odd was happening. A blue light glittered over the mirror’s surface.

  The Professor approached. “What’s that?” he said.

  “Nothing,” said Bert. “I mean, I didn’t do it.”

  The mirror continued to glow.

  “That’s strange,” said the Professor. “It’s active.”

  “What do you mean?” said Bert.

  The children and their teacher took a step back, but the Professor stood with Bert, and placed his hand on the glass. “Well, it looks like it could be worth something,” he said. “You’ve obviously got a good eye for treasure hunting, young man.”

  Bert smiled, but it occurred to him that the Professor didn’t sound much like a museum guide. There was a greedy look in his eyes. “What is it?” asked Bert.

  The Professor frowned. “I really don’t know,” he said. “But I’m afraid I don’t have time for distractions.” He turned his back to the mirror. “Now, where were we?” he muttered.

  Bert sensed something odd in the air around him. The light of the mirror changed to a red glow, and he instinctively sensed danger. There wasn’t time to hesitate.

  “Look out!” He leapt forward and shoved the Professor aside. There was a flash from the mirror. He heard a scream as pain shot through his body. The world seemed to grow suddenly dark. He felt himself drifting away.

  The Professor was kneeling at Bert’s side, apparently telling him to hold on—that he would be all right—to open his eyes. Bert was confused for a moment. He felt as if he was floating again.

  “I’m right here,” he said, feeling dizzy. But the Professor showed no sign of hearing him. Bert looked down and felt a jolt of horror. His own body was lying on the floor, with its eyes closed and face blank. He was floating outside of himself, like a ghost.

  He cried out in alarm, but again no one seemed to hear him.

  Before he could think of what to do next, there was another flash from the mirror. A strange light surrounded him and drew him toward the glass.

  He passed straight into the mirror’s surface and emerged on the other side. A strong light filled his vision. He was in a different room. The ceiling was much higher, and there was a large tapestry on the wall bearing the crest of the royal family. He was floating in front
of another mirror, the twin of the one in the museum. At the back of his mind he felt a twinge of understanding. The mirrors were connected. He had been pulled through some kind of portal.

  A man in a white coat stood opposite him, staring at the mirror, but he didn’t seem to notice Bert. Instead, he looked nervously around the room. He flinched at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching.

  The door creaked open. Prince Voss’s large frame stood silhouetted in the morning light. “Why have you summoned me, Doctor?” he said. “Has something happened?”

  Bert was panicked by the sight of the prince. He tried desperately to turn around and get back to the museum. But the mirror held him in place.

  “I think it’s just an anomaly—” began the doctor.

  “It’s glowing,” interrupted the prince. His eyes lit up as he crossed the room, drawing closer to where Bert was frozen. “I knew it would work if we gave it time.”

  “We don’t know that it is working,” said the doctor.

  “Of course it is,” said the prince sharply. He stepped closer and placed his hand beside the mirror frame. “Bring the crystal. We need to be ready to trap it.”

  The doctor brought a small black crystal over to the mirror.

  “Good,” said Voss. “Now we just have to wait.”

  Bert flinched. He didn’t understand what the prince was talking about, but it sounded threatening. He worried that his position might be discovered after all.

  Another minute passed, and nothing happened.

  “Where is the spirit?” said Voss.

  Bert was terrified. Voss stood with his arms behind his back, staring straight at the spot where he was floating. For a moment, Bert thought the man had seen him.

  “Where is it, Doctor?” repeated the prince, threateningly.

  “I—I don’t know,” stammered the doctor. “We did everything right. The mirror is active, we saw the light, we used the magnetism of the crystal. It should be here.”

  Bert remained completely still, hardly daring to trust his invisibility. The energy of the mirror still seemed to surround him, keeping him from moving freely.

  “I need this spirit,” said Prince Voss. “I thought that you would understand by now just how critical it is to my plans. I thought you would avoid disappointing me.”

  The doctor looked terrified. “Your Highness,” he said. “I have done everything I can. Surely you can’t blame me if such outlandish rituals fail to give us the results you desire.”

  The prince remained silent.

  The doctor laughed uneasily. “Sir, we are dealing with something that has never been proven to exist. I mean, to try to do magic, here, in the modern world …”

  The prince suddenly grabbed the doctor and lifted him off his feet. The sleeve of the prince’s coat shifted upward, exposing a glint of metal. “Does this feel real to you, Doctor?” said the prince. “Does this seem like something from a fairy tale?”

  The doctor was clearly too frightened to reply. The prince pulled him closer and took hold of his head with one hand, forcing him to look at the mirror.

  “That is the difference between you and me, Doctor,” said the prince. “You look at this object, and you only see the past.” He let the doctor drop, and strode over to the surface of the mirror, until he was standing face-to-face with Bert. “I look into it, and I see the future,” he said.

  “I understand, Your Highness,” said the doctor.

  “Do you?” snapped Prince Voss. “Do you understand how badly this country needs a real ruler again—with real power? You, more than anyone, Doctor, should know the lengths I will go to to make that happen. For thirty years, my family has been humiliated. We have no real authority anymore. And still you disappoint me.” He raised his voice toward the door. “Guards!”

  The door opened and a pair of soldiers marched into the room.

  “Take the doctor to Grimwater Prison,” said the prince.

  “Yes, sir,” said the men.

  “Why?” said the doctor, in a quivering voice.

  “Because it is my wish,” said the prince. “Perhaps a little time there will allow you to think of a solution, instead of blaming the gifts that I have suffered to bring before you.”

  “You can’t do this!” yelled the doctor. “The government will hear about it. The quæstors will investigate you. You can’t behave like this in the modern world.”

  Voss gave a deep grunt of amusement. “So I understand, Doctor. And that is precisely why I need your help—to make the world right again.”

  Bert’s head spun, and the room vanished in a blur of light. He suddenly felt the cold stone floor against his back, and drew a deep, welcome breath.

  A hand shook Bert’s shoulder. He gasped and looked around to find that he was back in the real world again, lying in front of the mirror with the Professor beside him. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been oblivious, but he could tell that something bad had happened. The other children were shouting in alarm, and Mr. Fitzroy was trying to gather them together.

  “Are you all right?” said the Professor.

  “I saw something,” said Bert. He blinked dizzily. “I was in another place.”

  “Right, well … that’s interesting,” said the Professor. He seemed distracted. “I’m afraid this isn’t really going to plan. I didn’t imagine they’d have such unstable artifacts.”

  “How could a mirror do that?” asked Bert.

  “It’s happening again,” cried Freston from across the room.

  Bert followed the boy’s gaze to the life-size metal man. The mannequin gave a groan, then suddenly clenched its fists and hammered on the glass. Mr. Fitzroy screamed along with the children. A golden mechanism spun off its shelf and cast a strange green light over the room. The children screamed again. One of the girls ran to the door and tried to open it, but it seemed to be locked. “We can’t get out,” she yelled. “We’re trapped in here.”

  “Now, now, everyone,” said the Professor. “Let’s try to remain calm.”

  Bert was afraid. “What’s happening?” he said.

  “We’re having some problems,” said the Professor.

  “Why did you lock us in here?”

  The Professor was obviously uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “There isn’t much time to explain,” he said. “I need to make sure you aren’t suffering any side effects from that … thing.” He pointed to a row of shelves. “Let’s talk over here.”

  The Professor helped him up and led him away from the other frightened children. Bert felt a sudden stinging sensation in his hand and looked down. A mark had appeared on his right palm. It looked like a burn. To his horror, it began to glow with red light. “What on earth?” he said.

  The Professor took hold of his arm. “Don’t move.”

  The light and noise in the room increased as more objects came to life. A glass bulb glowed and projected a map in the air, and a sword began to crackle with blue flames. The disturbance seemed to center around where Bert and the Professor were standing. Then the lights dimmed, and everything fell still. The pain in Bert’s hand faded. The glowing disappeared but a burn mark remained on his palm.

  “What does it mean?” asked Bert. “What was that?”

  The Professor frowned. “I’m not sure,” he said. He tore some cloth from his cape and tied it around Bert’s hand. “But I wouldn’t worry yourself unnecessarily. There are lots of strange and wonderful things in this world. For now, you should take care of that burn.”

  “It—it’s stopped,” said a quavering voice from behind the shelves. “We’re saved.”

  “Be on your guard,” said Mr. Fitzroy.

  Bert couldn’t help feeling sorry for his terrified classmates.

  “I should never have brought you down here,” muttered the Professor. He seemed to be talking to himself. “But then they’d have noticed the guide was missing …”

  Bert flexed his hand. “But what caused all this?”

  “Perhaps now
isn’t the time to discuss it,” said the Professor.

  “Where is that guide?” yelled Mr. Fitzroy, as he approached their hiding place. He was shaking with fear. He held out his cane. “What kind of professor are you?”

  The Professor straightened. “I’m not a professor,” he said. “I’m the Professor. Professor Goodrich Roberts. And I would suggest that you keep your mouth shut and go and stand with the other children. I do not appreciate the presence of eavesdroppers.”

  Mr. Fitzroy turned pale. “The Professor,” he said. “You don’t mean, the pirate?”

  Some of the children gasped at the word pirate. Even Bert was shocked. He knew there was something odd about the Professor, but he hadn’t expected anything so adventurous.

  The Professor motioned for Bert to follow him farther away from the others. He picked up a sword from a cabinet, turned to the metal suit of armor, and broke the case open. “I need someone to give me a hand with this,” he said. “I’m sorry—what’s your name?”

  “Bert.” He gave a glance to the opposite side of the room, where Mr. Fitzroy and the other children were hovering quietly by the door. From the looks on their faces it was clear that they thought he was crazy for standing so close to a dangerous, wanted man.

  “Well, Bert, I need you to hold this for me.” He passed him the sword.

  Bert took the weapon stupidly and looked around at his classmates. They still appeared terrified, but they had stopped running around at least. Instead, they were all staring at the Professor. Bert was still a little dazed from what had happened with the mirror, but he began to piece his thoughts together. “Those machines coming to life,” he said. “Was that magic?”

  The Professor smiled. “It certainly was,” he said. He reached inside the case where the armor stood and began to study the metalwork with his fingers. “Although I have to admit I wasn’t expecting quite such a dramatic display. They surely wouldn’t have put those things in an open basement if they thought they were fully active. What did you do to that mirror?”