The Boy Who Went Magic Read online

  “Where did you get this key?” said Bert.

  “That’s another story for another day,” said the Professor. “Look at the diagram once you’re inside the vault and it will show you what files to throw in the bag. I know this is all new to you, Bert, but there’s really no other way. Just try to focus and do your best.”

  Bert took a deep breath. “All right,” he said. He tried to hide his shaking hands by putting them in his pockets, but his voice still quavered.

  “Oh, and one other thing,” said the Professor.

  “What is it?”

  “Try to enjoy it, Bert. We don’t rob banks every day.”

  Bert frowned in annoyance, but the Professor had already gone.

  He moved as fast as he dared down the long passageway, feeling painfully aware of the sound of his footsteps on the hard, polished floor. As he rounded a bend he found himself face-to-face with a guard sitting at a metal desk. “Yes?” said the man.

  “I—I need to see a vault,” he stammered. “The password is verdigris.”

  “You’re here alone?” asked the guard.

  “I’m in a hurry,” said Bert. “Files for the prince.”

  “Does the manager know you’re here?”

  Bert thought for a moment about the best response. He held out his palm and showed the man the key. “No,” he said sarcastically. “I broke in.”

  The guard laughed. “Very funny, young sir, but you can’t be too careful. Stranger things have happened in Ferenor, as my father used to say.”

  Bert tried to look like this was all routine to him as the guard led him through several more gates, locking each one behind them. Then he opened the vault.

  “I’ll be waiting for you here, sir,” he said.

  “Thank you,” said Bert. He stepped inside the dark space, and the door closed behind him with an ominous clang. It took a moment for the amphor lights to ignite.

  The room was almost circular, and much bigger than he’d expected. Tall paintings of strange landscapes hung along the curved walls, while a ring of shelves nearby held all kinds of curiosities—from simple vases to the kind of complex machines he’d seen in the museum. He noticed one row that held various metal hands, some of which were tipped with edged weapons. Another cabinet was filled with strange glowing orbs that seemed to give off heat. There were books and notes everywhere too, and a whole quarter of the wall covered in maps of Ferenor.

  His gaze was drawn to a long shelf arrayed with a collection of large lanterns, like the ones he’d seen at the museum. There were countless diagrams alongside them with revisions and notes—something about using crystals to cast the right sort of light. One diagram showed an airship directing a large lantern toward a cloud; another showed a picture of a large castle.

  He couldn’t make any sense of them.

  He noticed a desk with a pen and an uncovered inkstand in the center of the room, and realized with a stab of panic that someone might have been using the vault recently. The thought that Prince Voss himself might walk in at any moment brought his fears to life.

  He hurriedly began to follow the Professor’s instructions, counting his paces until he came to a set of filing drawers. Inside were rows of dated entries, some of which had the names of airships printed across the top, others with long series of numbers. He tossed all of them into the bag and took a few deep breaths, reassuring himself that this was the right thing to do. He had never stolen anything before. Diving straight into capital crime wasn’t easy for him.

  As he made his way back toward the door he noticed a large painting on the wall. It showed a green landscape, and far above it a large castle floating in the clouds.

  He was struck by the detailing of the picture.

  There was a note beside it, with pictures of various airships and the names of their captains. Some of the names Bert vaguely recognized. There were crosses through all of them except one: Professor Roberts. It made Bert feel uneasy, but it also reminded him that the Professor was waiting. He moved on quickly, lugging his heavy bag over his shoulder.

  Just then he heard the vault door open.

  Bert flinched, and looked up.

  Three security guards were waiting for him at the doorway. One of them was holding the remains of the metal sphere that had started the paper bin fire.

  “Come with us, please, sir,” said the guard who’d let him into the vault. “There are some people out here who have some questions for you.” He took the bag from Bert’s grasp. “I think they’ll be interested to see what you were trying to take from our vaults, won’t they?”

  Bert’s heart sank. He put his hands in his pockets and allowed himself to be marched back to the foyer. The customers had vanished and the Professor was handcuffed to the front desk. He had a bruise on his face and his sword was gone. Around him stood a dozen men wearing long coats and short-peaked caps. Bert felt a chill in his bones. The men were clearly quæstors. Cassius stood at the center of the group, looking dangerously angry.

  “Hello, Bert,” said Cassius. “I hoped I wouldn’t see you so soon.”

  Bert was pushed forward by the security guards. He staggered and came to rest beside the Professor at the long front desk. “Sorry,” he said. The guards began to handcuff him.

  “Don’t worry about it,” said the Professor.

  Cassius gestured to the guards to stop. “There’s no need to shove the boy around,” he said. “In fact, you gentlemen can leave now. We have the situation in hand.”

  The lead bank guard looked confused. “Are you sure that’s safe, sir? He was using some strange tricks. Wouldn’t it be better if … ?”

  “We’re quite safe,” said Cassius, curtly.

  The guards looked nervously at one another and left the room.

  Cassius lowered his voice so that only Bert could hear him. “This was not a smart choice, after the warning I gave you.” He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  Bert was too nervous to think of a reply. The Professor cleared his throat and gave him a reassuring look, but it was clear that he was in no position to help.

  “You need to talk to us, Bert,” said Cassius. “I know when I spoke to you before I didn’t press you on what happened at the museum. But there’s no choice now. Things are developing quickly and I need to know where we stand if I’m going to be able to protect you.”

  Bert bit his lip. He couldn’t meet the quæstor’s gaze.

  “What really happened with the mirror?”

  Bert glanced at the Professor.

  “What do you mean ‘protect’ him?” said the Professor. “You government types are all the same. You talk about justice, but you’re as crooked as the royals ever were.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” said Cassius. “Look at me. We want to help. But you have to start by telling us the truth. What exactly happened to you in that museum?”

  Bert looked at the faces of the assembled quæstors. They each looked equally grave and intent, with their hands hovering close to their swords.

  “Bert, if you don’t talk now, you’ll regret it,” said Cassius.

  “You know, quæstors used to kill people that used magic,” said the Professor. He gave Bert a significant nod. “I wouldn’t be inclined to trust anyone with a history like that.”

  The hint wasn’t lost on Bert.

  “That was hundreds of years ago,” said Cassius, angrily. “And I will not take lectures on honesty from a pirate. You have no idea what you’re meddling with, Roberts.”

  Bert felt thoroughly confused. He rested his back against the desk, and considered his situation. He didn’t trust Cassius, but he didn’t see a way out.

  “I’ll be direct,” said Cassius. “Something bad is going on in this country. I want to stop it, before it gets out of hand. We believe that you can help.”

  The Professor snorted and shook his head. “Don’t listen to him, Bert.”

  Bert swallowed and glanced at his hand.

  “Are you all right, Bert?”
said Cassius.

  Bert nodded. He didn’t understand why the quæstor was pretending to be nice to him. Given the situation, it was more unnerving than being treated like a criminal. He began to wonder if all of this was some elaborate trick—maybe Voss and the quæstors were in it together.

  The more frightened he became the stranger he felt. It wasn’t just nerves. There was a cold sensation spreading over his hand, getting worse with each passing moment.

  Cassius’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What have you got there?”

  “Nothing,” said Bert. He backed away.

  Cassius grabbed hold of Bert’s arms and pulled at the bandage. The cloth gave way, and the red light shone across the room. The quæstors behind Cassius took a step back.

  You need to get away, said a quiet, eerie voice.

  Bert felt a chill. It was clear that no one else had heard the voice. Someone, or something, was speaking directly to his thoughts, just like back at the museum.

  “Let go of him,” demanded the Professor, struggling against his handcuffs.

  “What is this mark?” said Cassius. “Tell me.”

  On instinct Bert opened his palm. A shockwave burst out from his hand with a noise like a cannon. It blasted Cassius and the quæstors away and sent them skidding along the floor. The Professor ducked away from the blast. He struck his fists down hard on the floor, and smashed the lock off the handcuffs. When he stood straight again he was free from his restraints.

  Bert blinked in astonishment and looked at his hand. The light fluttered and extinguished, like an amphor lamp, and the scar on his palm returned to normal. “Did I do that?” he said.

  The Professor let out a long breath. “You’d know better than me, Bert,” he said. He picked up his sword and the bag of files they’d stolen, and gestured for Bert to follow. “Perhaps this isn’t the time to worry about it.” As he spoke an alarm bell started ringing and the security gates began to close.

  Two of the quæstors found their feet and tried to intercept them.

  The Professor blocked their swords with a deft swipe of his blade and swung a pair of punches that knocked them down unconscious. “Keep up, Bert,” he yelled.

  Bert was running as fast as he could. The iron gates had almost descended over the main exit. The Professor ducked and rolled underneath, barely squeezing through.

  Bert looked at the gap and hesitated. “I can’t,” he said.

  “Stop right there!” shouted Cassius from across the room.

  The Professor’s arms suddenly appeared under the door, grabbed Bert by the ankles, and pulled him down through the opening. He felt the metal scrape against his ribs.

  He emerged on the other side as the door closed with a sharp clang. The bank alarm grew muffled behind him. “You almost got me crushed,” he said.

  The Professor didn’t seem to hear him. “That should keep them busy for a minute,” he said, cheerfully. He helped Bert up and ran out into the open. A group of soldiers were approaching in a horse-drawn battle wagon. “Where’s Finch gotten to?” he muttered.

  A carriage shot out from an alleyway down the street. Finch was at the reins. She kept her head down and urged the horse on as musket shots whistled by. “I don’t have time to stop!” she yelled, her voice somehow carrying over the rumbling of the wheels and the panic in the street.

  “Jump for it, Bert,” said the Professor.

  “What?” gasped Bert. He stared at the approaching hooves.

  The Professor gave him another push.

  Bert hit the side of the carriage with a thump and clung on. A strong grip helped him up, and in another moment he was inside the compartment with the Professor. Behind him the sound of gunfire grew distant. The buildings of the central district passed in a blur.

  A few minutes later the hatch at the front of the carriage slid open.

  “We’re clear for now,” said Finch. “I’ve got an idea, Dad.”

  Bert’s hands were shaking. “Why aren’t you watching the road?” he said.

  Finch frowned. “I can do two things at once.”

  “What’s the idea, Finch?” said the Professor.

  Finch spat out an apple seed. “Steam train,” she said.

  The Professor took out a pocket watch, considered it for a moment, and nodded. “We’ve already missed the station. Better aim for the bridge.”

  The carriage raced through a series of tight bends. Bert could smell burning wood and gum from the spinning wheels. He still felt shocked about what had happened in the bank, but there was no time to worry about it now. Finch opened the window hatch again. “Just a little farther,” she yelled. She uncorked a bottle with her teeth and poured water onto the smoking wheelbase.

  “We have one minute to catch the train, by my calculation,” said the Professor.

  “Actually, it’s about thirty seconds,” said Finch.

  “How do you guess that?”

  Finch pointed over her shoulder to a plume of steam that had just risen over the rooftops. A shrill whistle sounded. The deep chugging of an engine raced closer. “Hold on,” she said. The girders of the road bridge loomed into view at the next bend.

  “Professor,” said Bert. “Do you know Cassius?”

  “What?”

  “It sounded like you knew him.”

  The Professor shrugged. “I worked for the government a long time ago, Bert. Any legitimate explorer has to, if they want to avoid trouble. But I never agreed with their views on magic.” He leaned closer to the hatch. “Finch, I need you to make your own way to the airship rookery. Ditch this carriage and take a cab. The quæstors aren’t looking for you yet, so you should be fine.”

  “All right,” she said. “But won’t you get there first?”

  She brought the carriage to a halt on the bridge. Bert could see the train on the track below. The steam cloud had almost reached them. “How do we get on board?” he said.

  “Just take care of yourself, Finch,” said the Professor.

  “You too, Dad,” she said with a smile. They clasped hands before the Professor jumped down from the carriage. He waved for Bert to follow him and strode to the edge of the bridge.

  Bert ran to keep up. “What are we doing here?”

  “Catching a train,” said the Professor. Without warning, he grabbed Bert with both arms, and swung him over the top of the railings.

  Bert felt a lurch as he dropped, and saw a blur of steam. He landed with a thump against a tarpaulin cover and lay there stunned for a moment.

  The Professor landed with a heavy thud a few paces behind him.

  “Good luck,” called Finch. She waved to them from the bridge.

  The Professor reached down and pulled Bert out of the tarpaulin. They seemed to have landed on the covering of a pile of suitcases. “Anything broken?” said the Professor.

  “No,” said Bert. He found it hard to keep down his annoyance at being thrown around again. He liked to think he might have jumped willingly. “Just a bit bruised.”

  “Good lad,” said the Professor. He patted him hard on the back. “Now we’d better slip into one of these carriages before we reach the Gulch.”

  “What happens then?” said Bert.

  “Have you never been out of school?” said the Professor. “The train locks on to cables and gets a lift across the canyon. It’s quite an interesting mechanism, actually.”

  “Right,” muttered Bert. He wasn’t really in the mood for sightseeing.

  “You should go on ahead,” continued the Professor. “You can scout out the carriage for me, while I fix a disguise for myself. I’ll pretend I’m a crazy old man or something.”

  What do you mean, pretend? thought Bert, as he rubbed his aching shoulders. He clambered over the luggage and reached the carriage. “What do I say to the people inside?” he asked. “Won’t they think it’s strange that I’ve just appeared?”

  “Tell them you were getting some fresh air,” said the Professor. “It’s all right, Bert. It’ll just be
market traders and nannies at this time of day.”

  Bert nodded, and went to open the door. The hinges were stiff, and when he finally forced it open he stumbled headfirst into the compartment.

  “Sorry about that,” he called out to no one in particular. Then he glanced up and saw a pair of military boots in front of him. His mouth went dry.

  “Are you lost?” said a suspicious voice.

  Bert looked around. The carriage was full of soldiers. They wore the light-blue uniforms of Voss’s royal guards—like the men Bert had seen at the museum. The person who’d addressed him was a stern-looking officer. Bert immediately recalled what Finch had said about Voss’s guards being his enforcers and spies while he was in Penvellyn.

  Bert struggled not to shake under the man’s gaze.

  “Well?” said the officer.

  Bert heard a creak on the floor behind him.

  “We were just getting some fresh …” The Professor trailed off.

  Bert saw that the Professor had turned his shirt collar up, wrapped his sword up inside his coat, and was walking with a stoop to appear older, but it wasn’t much of a disguise.

  “Is this your boy?” said the officer.

  “Err … why, what did he do?” said the Professor.

  “Nothing,” said the officer.

  “Oh, right, well then, yes, he’s my son—I mean grandson,” said the Professor. “Come along, boy.” He pushed Bert onward and they walked down the aisle.

  Bert could still feel the officer watching them, and tried not to look suspicious. The sun shone brightly through the windows, and the soldiers shaded their eyes as they laughed and chatted with one another, but beneath it all Bert could sense something more serious. The officers seemed especially somber as they muttered together over their game of cards.

  He tripped over a scabbard as he passed their table.

  “Watch yourself there,” said a nearby soldier.

  “Keep moving,” muttered the Professor.

  Bert passed a soldier who seemed to be briefing the others: “All being well, we’ll be flying out on the Vulture this evening,” said the man. “They’ve got shrapnel netting prepared, like we asked. Two scout ships had their crews cleaned out over Cape Green last month.”