The Boy Who Went Magic Read online

  Garnet raised her hand. “We were talking about ancient beliefs.”

  Norton seemed restless. “Can I be excused?” he said.

  Bert glanced at Mr. Fitzroy, expecting some kind of harsh response, but the teacher simply nodded and thanked Garnet. Like many of the teachers, he didn’t seem to feel Norton was worth bothering with.

  Norton got up hurriedly and headed out.

  “What kind of beliefs?” resumed the teacher.

  “The story of Lugalbanda,” said Garnet.

  Bert felt a shock of recognition at the word. He remembered Finch saying that she lived on an airship called Lugalbanda.

  “Very good,” said Mr. Fitzroy. “Lugalbanda was a name the people of Ferenor gave to a kind of castle kingdom that was supposed to float over the clouds. It appears in numerous stories from the old times.” He paused. “What do we now know it to be?”

  Freston raised his hand. “Lightning,” he said. “Research has shown that Lugalbanda is just an old name for storms, back when people didn’t know what caused them.”

  “Very good,” said Mr. Fitzroy. “This is just one example of how we can compare old myths to what we know in the modern world, and improve upon their superstitions.”

  Bert stopped paying attention. His gaze lingered on the map on the classroom wall. It showed the banana-shaped outline of Penvellyn in red, with Penvellyn City at its northernmost tip. To the south were the icy wastes, to the west were the wild lands beyond government control, over the Far East Sea the Dalis Kingdoms. To the north was the vast island of Ferenor.

  He flinched. Reading the name of the old country hit him like an accusation. He clutched his hand and looked around at his classmates, suddenly feeling alone and vulnerable. His friends had disappeared. His hand was hurting worse than ever. He began to feel dizzy.

  At the back of his mind he heard the voice of Prince Voss.

  “You’re telling me this fire was an accident? This was no accident. The mirror worked. I knew it would work. That boy, he did something to it. He brought it into our world. How else can you explain what the guards saw? A ghost, they said—a creature shrouded in black, firing lightning around the room, burning every magical object to ashes. Destroying my collection. How can you say that was an accident? That boy did something. Maybe he doesn’t know what he did, but he did something. I want him brought here, now …”

  Bert felt a sharp pain and jolted back into reality. He put his hand to his cheek, and realized that he was bleeding. Mr. Fitzroy was standing over him, holding a cane.

  “He’s coming out of the trance,” cried a frightened voice.

  Bert blinked. It took him a moment to realize the full implications of what had happened. His hand was glowing through the bandages, burning so strong that his fingers looked like spent matchsticks against the light. The other children looked terrified.

  “Stop that this instant,” yelled Mr. Fitzroy.

  Bert froze in his seat. He’d been found out. He couldn’t escape being reported and that would mean Prince Voss would hear, if he wasn’t already on his way.

  Where was Finch?

  Mr. Fitzroy raised his cane to strike again.

  Bert’s hand moved automatically. He grabbed the stick before it struck his face and a burst of energy passed through his palm. The cane disintegrated under his touch.

  Mr. Fitzroy leapt back as if he’d been stung.

  “Stay back,” said Bert. His voice shook with terror.

  Mr. Fitzroy hesitated, then grabbed Bert’s arm and pressed his palm down into the desk. “Stop this wickedness,” he demanded. There was a crack of splintering wood.

  Bert panicked. “Let go of me,” he said.

  The desk split into pieces under his hand.

  Mr. Fitzroy released him and staggered back, pale and shaken. The rest of the class huddled against the opposite wall, apparently waiting for instructions.

  Bert couldn’t find a way to calm himself. He remembered Finch’s warning about the danger of the mark and looked down in horror at the flickering glow beneath his skin.

  “Excuse me,” said a deep voice from nearby.

  Bert saw a tall man hovering in the doorway. His first thought was that it was Prince Voss, come to take him away. How had he found out about him so soon?

  “There has been a crime here,” bellowed Mr. Fitzroy. “It must be reported.”

  “I don’t think we should do that,” said the man in the doorway.

  “What do you mean?” said the teacher. “Who are you?”

  “I’m just here for my friend Bert,” said the man. He stepped into the room to reveal a familiar, mocking smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make an appointment.”

  “Professor?” said Mr. Fitzroy. He backed away in horror.

  “Sorry I kept you waiting, Bert,” said the Professor. He strode forward with no sign of fear and examined Bert’s hand. “I see it’s up to its old tricks again.”

  Bert felt a wave of relief. He had been so certain it was his enemy. At the sight of the Professor all his fears seemed to vanish. The pain that had been spreading through his arm grew cooler. The light faded. He could sense that his hand was returning to normal.

  “Try taking a few deep breaths,” said the Professor.

  Bert did as he was told. “Thank you,” he managed to reply. “I think it’s stopping.”

  “We’re not quite in the clear yet,” said the Professor.

  There was a scrape of metal from across the room. Mr. Fitzroy drew an old poker from a cupboard and held it out threateningly toward the Professor. “That boy is staying here,” he said. “He has committed a serious crime, under the old laws, and he will be punished.”

  The children seemed transfixed by the pirate.

  “I don’t have time for this nonsense,” said the Professor. He strode toward the teacher. There was a blur of movement, and the poker went skittering along the floor.

  “Let go of me,” said Mr. Fitzroy, indignantly.

  The Professor pushed the man to the back of the room, forced him inside the stationery cupboard, and broke the lock with a swipe of his hand. “Right,” said the Professor. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your lessons like this, children. We’ll be leaving now.”

  Bert hesitated for a moment, and looked around for Norton. It seemed cruel to leave without saying good-bye, even under these circumstances. But his friend still hadn’t returned.

  “Are you all right?” said the Professor.

  “There was someone … ,” began Bert.

  “There’s no time for good-byes, I’m afraid,” interrupted the Professor. “The lawmen could already be on their way. We don’t want your journey to end here.”

  Bert nodded. Norton would have to understand.

  “I’m fine,” said Bert. “Let’s go.”

  They ran along the corridor, down a spiral staircase, and out through a back entranceway into the street. There was a horse and carriage waiting for them. Finch was sitting in the driver’s seat, looking particularly pleased with herself. “Morning, Bert,” she said.

  “How did you know I was in trouble?” said Bert.

  “We didn’t,” said Finch. “Why, what happened?”

  Bert shook his head in confusion. “I heard Prince Voss’s voice. I think he’s coming after me. He thinks I had something to do with the fire at the museum.”

  The Professor frowned. “Get in,” he said. “I’ll explain the plan along the way.”

  Bert gazed out of the window of the carriage as they hurried past the grimy, gray houses of the side streets. He couldn’t really say what he felt: a strange mingling of doubt and relief. It was the kind of feeling that would only become clear in time. The horse’s hooves thundered over the cobbles, and the carriage sped up, making for the heart of the city. “Where are we going?” said Bert.

  “First, I should explain what I’ve found out,” said the Professor. “This hand of yours is a lot more trouble than I was expecting. I’ve quizzed all of my contacts,
and it turns out that mirror you looked into wasn’t taken from any expedition in the official records.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means it was taken from somewhere very unusual. I suppose I should have expected as much after what happened in the museum—I’ve found a lot of magical objects that respond to simple touch commands, or the will of the person using them, but for things to come alive like that on their own is unheard of. Something strange is at work.”

  Bert shook his head. It still felt weird to talk about magic.

  The Professor seemed to read his mind. “I know this is all odd,” he said. “But we have to focus on the things we do know. Firstly, that the mirror did something to you. Secondly, that Prince Voss isn’t very happy with you, and that usually means something unpleasant.”

  Bert nodded. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Right,” said the Professor. “But first we need to find out as much as we can about that mirror. Now, I think I have a way of doing just that. But it won’t be easy.” He bit his thumb for a moment, then hammered on the hatch at the front of the carriage.

  The hatch slid open to reveal Finch holding the reins of the horse in one hand and a half-eaten apple core in the other. “What’s the problem?” she said.

  “How long until we reach the bank?” asked the Professor.

  “Maybe five minutes. Do you have a plan yet?”

  The Professor slid the hatch closed without replying. “Anyway, I was saying about the mirror. It might not be in any official records, but I know where they keep the unofficial ones. The tricky thing will be getting access to them. That’s why we’re going to the bank.”

  “Which bank?” said Bert.

  “Hammerton National,” said the Professor.

  Bert swallowed. The Hammerton bank was in the center of the city, right next door to the highest law courts and the main government buildings. “Is that safe?” he said.

  The Professor ducked down suddenly.

  Bert was about to ask what was the matter when he caught sight of a group of soldiers on the road ahead. There was a whole platoon of them. They appeared to be climbing into battle wagons—a type of fast, horse-drawn carriage with space for riflemen to stand on top.

  It was only after the soldiers were well behind them that the Professor sat up again. “Don’t mind me, Bert,” he said. “Just keeping a low profile.”

  “Why are there so many soldiers around in the streets?”

  The Professor smiled unconvincingly. “Don’t worry about that,” he said. “The military might have some idea that I’m still in the city. It hasn’t been easy getting all of this information, Bert. Who would have thought getting a pair of legs would cause so much trouble?”

  There was a thump from the front of the carriage.

  “Not that I’m complaining, of course,” said the Professor. “And I really am sorry you got caught up in all of this. I promise we’ll do our best to make things right.”

  Bert felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He already knew he was a fugitive, in a way, but the sight of the soldiers unnerved him. “So you’re sure this bank has what we need?”

  “Certainly,” said the Professor. “And I’m afraid we can’t leave without it.”

  Bert frowned. “But you just said that the soldiers are already looking for you. Aren’t they likely to catch you if you walk into a bank and ask for something?”

  The Professor laughed heartily. “I’m not going to ask for it,” he said. “I’m going to steal it, Bert. In fact, with a bit of luck, you’re going to steal it for me.”

  Finch brought the carriage to a halt at the front steps of the bank. Crowds of people in fine clothes passed on the broad sidewalk, and a steady procession of carriages rattled along the roads. In the distance Bert could make out a government airship floating toward the port. The entrance of the bank was flanked by marble columns, and the structure rose to an enormous domed roof.

  “You look like such a tourist,” said Finch as she opened the door.

  Bert was too stunned to respond to her taunting. He’d heard a lot about the rich district, but he’d never seen it for himself. The buildings seemed too grand to be real.

  “I’ll be counting on you, Finch,” said the Professor. “Keep the carriage on standby for as long as possible. Try not to draw too much attention.”

  “I wish I was going in with you,” she said.

  The Professor hugged her, and she leapt back onto the carriage.

  Bert began to get knots in his stomach. It seemed ridiculous to even dream of stealing from this marble fortress in the heart of the city, especially in broad daylight. There were thick bars on every window. “What are we actually trying to take from here?” he asked.

  “That is a very good question,” said the Professor. “I have reason to believe that there is a vault here that’s used for business relating to Ferenor.”

  “Why would they keep it in a bank?”

  “Because it’s a secret,” said the Professor. “In fact, it belongs to the royal family, I believe. Probably someone you had the misfortune to meet recently.”

  “Prince Voss?”

  The Professor nodded.

  Bert paused on the steps. “We’re stealing records on magical artifacts, at the city’s main bank, from Prince Voss, with the main government buildings just a few blocks away?”

  “Don’t shout it all over town, Bert,” said the Professor.

  They were greeted at the door by a man in a red coat, who invited them into a large foyer. Bert had never seen such a richly decorated room. The floor was marble, and the ceiling was trimmed with gold borders and elaborate designs. “Where do we go?” said Bert.

  “Let’s just loiter by the line for a moment,” said the Professor.

  They stood at the back of the line in front of the cashier desks. There were a lot of people ahead of them. Bert kept looking at his feet to avoid the gazes of the security men.

  “I have two plans, Bert,” muttered the Professor. “But I can’t decide.” He held out his hands. “I need you to pick one for me. Right plan, or left plan.”

  “Me?” said Bert. “You’re asking me to choose?”

  “Beginners have more luck,” said the Professor. He looked amused.

  “Fine,” said Bert. He pointed to the Professor’s right hand.

  “I see,” said the Professor, frowning. “Well, we’ll have to try it.”

  “Wait—can I pick again?”

  The Professor shook his head. He passed Bert a small metal sphere and said: “Get rid of this in the wastepaper bin over there. It’s weighing me down.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just some junk I’ve been carrying.”

  Bert hesitated, sensing a trick, but he could see there was no point in arguing. He crossed the polished stone floor to the bin. The only person nearby was a security guard, sitting next to a metal door with a sword at his hip. Bert took the sphere out, wrapped it in a handkerchief, and threw it in with the rubbish. He returned to the Professor. “What shall I do now?”

  The Professor nodded toward the security guard by the metal door. He lowered his voice and said: “There’s about to be a distraction. Stay close.”

  “What kind of distraction?” said Bert.

  “Well, I’m afraid I’m a bit of a liar. I just told a man in the line that the bank is going out of business. I’d imagine he’ll be eager to get his money out.”

  Even as he spoke there was a murmur from the waiting customers. “If he’s getting his money I want all of my money out too,” yelled a high voice. A jumble of protests broke out, and the crowd surged forward to demand their money from the cashiers.

  “How will that help?” said Bert.

  “It won’t, much. But then there’s your distraction.”

  “My distraction?” said Bert.

  “The smoke bomb you just planted,” said the Professor.

  Bert’s eyes widened in horror. The wastepaper bin across the roo
m ignited with a sudden hiss and spewed a cloud of dense, pungent smoke. The plumes filled the room, and the customers and staff staggered around in panic.

  “Now we move—fast,” said the Professor.

  Bert ran through the smoke with the Professor. People were coughing and shouting all around them. The Professor grabbed the security guard by the collar and said: “Why aren’t you helping to clear the place? Go find the manager this instant.”

  The guard muttered something between coughs, then stumbled back and disappeared into the mass of gray. The metal door was left unguarded.

  “Isn’t it locked?” said Bert.

  The Professor twirled a set of keys around his finger. “I’m not a great pickpocket, Bert,” he said. “But you don’t have to be when there are so many distractions.” He opened the door and led Bert into a long corridor with glass windows at either side. Beyond the windows, rows of clerks were hard at work at their adding machines, oblivious to the chaos outside.

  “I didn’t think it would be this easy,” said the Professor, laughing. His smile dropped as they came to three metal gates. “Oh,” he said. “What’s this?”

  “Isn’t this the right way?” said Bert.

  The Professor sighed. “I think I know what’s going on here. Two of the doors are alarmed. It’s supposed to trick any opportunists. But which do we choose, Bert?”

  “I don’t know,” said Bert. He felt exasperated with the Professor. “Why on earth have you brought us here if you don’t know the way?”

  “Just have a guess,” said the Professor.

  “I’m not guessing again,” said Bert. “It’s too dangerous.”

  The Professor looked puzzled, then gave Bert a shove. The push carried him toward the middle gate, but some instinct told him to dive to the left at the last moment. He braced and clattered against the bars, and the gate swung open in his hands.

  They waited and listened.

  “No alarm,” said the Professor. “Beginner’s luck again, Bert. But I’m afraid you have to do the last part alone. I’m going to try and secure our escape route.”

  “You pushed me,” said Bert.

  “I was just encouraging you,” said the Professor. He passed Bert a key, a large bag, and a diagram. “Tell the guard down the hall that the password is verdigris, and that you’re a messenger boy on an important errand for the government. Say it’s urgent. He’ll lead you to it himself.”