Wizard Heights - Book 1 - The Legend of the Sorcerer King

by Alexander Scott

  Charlie marveled at it all. "You sure do seem to know a lot about it all," he said. "How do we get in?" For it seemed to him that there was only one entrance—the mansion's magnificent double doors that sat in a lantern-lit alcove—and they were closed.

  "There is another way," replied Whitstable, "but we must wait until the moment is right. You'll see. I've got it all figured out. Tonight Al Sharak will be attending the Starlight Ball at the Grand Palais in the center of the city. If my estimations are correct, he should leave his house within half an hour—that’s when we make our move!"

  Charlie thought it sounded like the perfect plan—the perfectly bad plan, that is. "What if Al Sharak catches us sneaking around in there?" he said. "He could do all kinds of things to us—he's a warlock!"

  "Don't you think that I've already thought of that?" said Whitstable irritably. "That's why I brought these..." From his pocket, he produced two ornate bracelets made of pure gold and inset with intricate jade. They were shaped like intertwining asps, each holding their tails within their mouths. "Here," said Whitstable, handing one to Charlie. "Put this on."

  Charlie examined it with curiosity. "What is it?" he asked.

  "It’s an ancient ward that was recovered from a tomb in the Valley of the Kings in Egypt," replied Whitstable. "They convey upon the bearer the quality of stealth." He grinned guilefully. "My grandfather found them while on the expedition."

  Charlie slipped one of the serpent bracelets over his wrist. It fit snuggly, felt cold and heavy against his skin, and the snake's ruby eyes glittered.

  "Doesn't feel like it’s doing anything," he said, unimpressed.

  "It's not supposed to feel like anything," replied Whitstable with irritation. "You're just supposed to put it on."

  That didn't sound very convincing to Charlie—it looked rather like a good luck charm that you might buy at the fair, and from what he had seen of this night’s expedition, he felt sure that he’d need more than that.

  However, the boys soon forgot about the bracelets entirely. In the distance there came the trundling of carriage wheels down the mansion's gravel drive. An ornate, black carriage drawn by four dark horses thundered toward the mansion and halted before it. The driver, a stout man in a black cape and top hat, jumped down from his seat and strode up the stone steps to the mansion's double doors. Removing his top hat, he knocked upon them and they were opened from the inside, engulfing him in warm, golden light. He exchanged conversation with someone within. Then he ducked inside and the doors closed behind him.

  "Excelsion Magramon," said Whitstable with a serious expression, "carriage driver and horse master. He ferries many of the important dignitaries around in the city."

  "Dignitaries?" asked Charlie.

  "Indeed," said Whitstable. "Mostly magicians. They make all of the really important decisions."

  Charlie was trying to fathom how all of this could possibly exist in Pleasant Valley, California, when the mansion's doors opened again, bathing the flagstones in golden light. A crowd of people who wore velvet gowns with deep cowels, emerged from the mansion. These were rapidly followed by uniformed foot guards in regal wigs, stockings and long coats, who took up positions upon the running boards of the carriage, and last of all by the warlock, Al Sharak. Garbed in a white silk suit, robe, and a turban encrusted with a glittering diamond, he stood upon the mansion's stone steps, gazing toward the starry sky.

  "That must be him!" hissed Charlie.

  "Be quiet!" said Whitstable, pulling Charlie to the ground. He wrapped his arms around Charlie's head and covered his mouth with his hands. "He has acute hearing! He'll hear you!"

  Charlie yelled muffled protestations and kicked and writhed, but Whitstable's hands were held tightly across his mouth. Despite Whitstable’s size, he was strong and he only released Charlie when the coast was clear. By that time, the boys could see the carriage thundering away down the driveway.

  "What did you do that for?" asked Charlie, rubbing his arm and glaring reproachfully at Whitstable. "You hurt me!"

  "Because," replied Whitstable, "Al Sharak is no ordinary man—he can sense things! Things that other people cannot!"

  "Like what?" asked Charlie.

  "Like for instance, two boys hiding in the grounds of his mansion!" hissed Whitstable.

  "Oh," said Charlie, lowering his eyes, "should we cancel the break-in, then?"

  "Of course not," said Whitstable. "Come on. Now's our best opportunity!" He dashed off across the lawn, weaving between the statues with Charlie in hot pursuit.

  Obtaining entrance to the mansion was not as difficult as Charlie had thought it would be. A servant's door had been left unlocked and soon the boys found themselves wandering through a bright, stainless-steel kitchen where endless pots and pans hung above stoves.

  Beyond this they wandered down long red-carpeted corridors which brought them to a small, circular, stone chamber. Around it were a number of alcoves within which sat stone statues of a jackal, sphinx, Ibis bird, flail and crook, vulture, cobra, and a scarab beetle. Four archways gave access to this chamber. Across the top of the grandest of them was a painted procession of ancient Egyptians. They were riding chariots or on foot. Some were bound at the feet and some carried staves, scepters or wands. Others had the heads of birds, jackals, and goats, and between them were herons, owls, birds and cats, and there were other symbols too—eyes and snakes, crosses and scythes.

  Charlie gazed at it all with wonder.

  "Hieroglyphics!" said Whitstable, his eyes following the strange code of symbols and shapes. "The language of the Egyptians..."

  "What does it all mean?" asked Charlie.

  "Mean?" asked Whitstable, silently mouthing the meaning of the strange symbols as he read them. "It's a warning." His eyes flicked ominously toward Charlie.

  Beware he who enters here

  For they that are thieves shall suffer a fate

  such as which will never be spoken by the tongues of men.

  A fate that is worse than death.

  Charlie and Whitstable froze; brisk, echoing footsteps were marching down one of the chamber's adjoining corridors. They ducked into an empty alcove as two stern Egyptian guards dressed in silken robes, wearing turbans, and carrying scimitars marched into the chamber.

  Charlie tensed as the two guards began searching the room. They lifted wall coverings and peered about with their dark, suspicious eyes. He felt sure that he and Whitstable would be found. However, his fears were soon allayed. Staring down at the serpent bracelet on his wrist, he noticed that the snake's ruby eye twinkled as it kept a reassuring bite on its tail.

  And that, supposed Charlie, was what had saved them, for even though the guards peered suspiciously into every crevice of the chamber, they did not see the boys and soon moved on.

  "That was close!" said Charlie, stepping out of the shadows after they had gone.

  "I told you!" said Whitstable, peering about stealthily. "The serpent bracelets hid us from them! Come on. Down here!"

  Down here, meant beneath the archway that the hieroglyphics had warned them about. Charlie was hesitant to follow. "What if the warning is true?" he asked. "What if we really do suffer a fate worse than death?"

  "Worse than death?" said Whitstable, making a face. "What could possibly be worse than death?"

  Charlie pondered it. "Having your eyes pried out of their sockets by a red-hot poker?" he said, pointing up to some hieroglyphics which illustrated ancient Egyptians doing that to their slaves.

  Whitstable glanced up at the macabre scene. He thought a moment. "Right," he said. "Yes ... well ... OK. There are some things worse than death, but don't worry about it. If I say you'll be safe then you will be. Just trust me, OK?"

  Charlie wasn't so sure about that, but having come so far he figured that there'd be no point in turning back, so he reluctantly followed Whitstable beneath the arch of hideous dismemberment and macabre death scenes. What lay beyond didn't seem much like any of those things. It was merely
a small rectangular stone chamber in which torches blazed within iron sconces upon the wall. Its centerpiece was a black sculpture of a slender, bare-chested man who had the head of a jackal. In each corner of the room there were animal skins hanging from sticks.

  "This," said Whitstable, regarding the statue with foreboding, "is Anubis, god of the dead."

  Charlie thought that title sounded disturbing, but it was not nearly as disturbing as what happened next. Whitstable laid his hand upon the creature's snout. Simultaneously there came a loud click from somewhere unseen, a frantic whirring of cogs and wheels, and a screeching of rock against rock. The next thing they knew, an immense block of stone crashed down from above the archway behind them and landed with a solid thump and a cloud of stone dust. The boys leapt back holding on to each other in fear, and as the dust cleared they saw that their exit was now blocked.

  "Great!" said Charlie sarcastically. "Now we're trapped! So much for your serpent bracelets of stealth!" He attempted to pull the bracelet off of his wrist, but as he did he noticed that with every tug on it, the serpents constricting grasp became tighter and its ruby eyes glimmered up at him all the more fiercely.

  "Hey!" said Charlie, regarding Whitstable reproachfully. "It won't come off!"

  Whitstable made a careless expression. "Mine works fine... " he said, slipping it on and off his wrist with ease. "Perhaps you've upset it?"

  "Upset it?" said Charlie. "I'll upset you in a minute! Get this thing off me!" He dug his nails beneath the snake bracelet, but it still would not budge.

  "Calm down! Calm down!" said Whitstable. "It won't come off if you're angry with it!" He pulled Charlie's hands away and looked him earnestly in the eye. "If you calm down it will come off easily. Don't you know that snakes don't like sudden movements? You'll only scare it if you act like that!"

  Charlie wasn't so sure, but he thought that he'd have to believe Whitstable now, for with all of the tugging, his wrist had become red and the snake charm bracelet made no sign of releasing its grasp.

  "Now," said Whitstable, turning once more to the statue of Anubis, "there must be some secret lever here." He ran his hands over its stone head.

  "Don't touch it anymore!" said Charlie. "You'll kill us both!"

  Whitstable gave the statue’s ear a tug, and with a loud click, the stone wall before them separated like elevator doors, revealing stone steps that led down to a blood-lit chamber from which crimson mist crept. This, Whitstable looked upon with the eyes of the exalted. "At last!" he said. "The Crypt of the Undying!"

  "The what?" said Charlie, but Whitstable wasn't waiting to talk about it. Like one who is possessed, he padded down the steps and was promptly swallowed by the all-enveloping, blood-red mist.

  This left Charlie feeling perplexed and anxious. "Whitstable?" he called after him. "Whitstable?"

  There came no sound from the crypt, and that made Charlie even more nervous. Should I go back? he wondered. But then again, how could he go back? An enormous slab of rock that might easily weigh twenty tons blocked the hallway behind him. The choice made for him, Charlie tentatively descended the steps into the blood-red mist, and then quickly wished that he hadn’t. For a moment he couldn’t see anything—the mist was too dense. Taking two steps forward, Charlie saw an iron brazier filled with burning coals in the soupy fog. Charlie peered through the haze for any sign of Whitstable, but found none. Then came Whitstable's haunting voice, "Charlie… Charlie…" It was a mocking voice. The kind of voice that kids used in the darkness on Halloween night when they were trying to scare the heck out of you.

  Clenching his fists, Charlie frowned into the fog. "Stop fooling around, Whitstable!" he said. "This isn’t funny, you know!"

  He waited for a response but none came. Then there was something else—were those lamenting moans that he heard? And what was that? The stirring of chains in water? Could those be the echoes of ancient horns? The thunder of hooves? No, thought Charlie, it was probably his imagination playing tricks on him. He had heard stories about people who were trapped in places like this. How they eventually went mad because of all the things that they imagined. He wasn’t going to let that happen to him.

  Then came Whitstable’s voice again. "I'm over here, Charlie. Come and find me!"

  Charlie took another step forward. The fog swam about his feet in ghostly curlicues. "Where are you?" he asked. Glancing about, he saw primitive stone columns that had inscriptions upon them—the hieroglyphics that he had seen above the doors of the chamber. "Fate worse than death..." mumbled Charlie as he passed between them. How he wished that he could be at home now, curled up in bed in his normal house on a normal street. "Whitstable?" he yelled. "Where are you?"

  "Over here, Charlie!" came Whitstable's voice from the mist. "I think I've found it!" Charlie peered into the miasma. He could see a small crouching figure kneeling upon a stone dais some way ahead of him. Venturing closer he saw that it was Whitstable.

  "Over here!" said Whitstable excitedly. "Come and help me!"

  Charlie hurried on and found himself climbing stone steps. He was rising out of the mist onto the dais, and he could see Whitstable kneeling before an ancient Egyptian sarcophagus that was carved with intricate hieroglyphics.

  "Quickly!" hissed Whitstable, fumbling with chains and a large rune-inscribed padlock that festooned the sarcophagus. "Help me!"

  Charlie knelt down beside him. "Why did you run off?" he asked resentfully.

  "Sorry," said Whitstable, perspiring. "Now," he said, pointing to Charlie's serpent bracelet. "I need the snake!"

  "The what?" asked Charlie. There came a ticklish scurrying around his wrist. At Whitstable’s command, the snake bracelet released its bite upon its tail and slithered across the flagstones into the cupped hands of Whitstable who laughed wickedly.

  "Now," said Whitstable, ushering the serpents into the lock, "do your work, my beauties!"

  Charlie watched with amazement as one by one the snakes slithered through the keyhole into the lock. He uttered a gasp of amazement as, moments later, the lock’s mechanism snapped open and the chains fell free. "Presto!" squealed Whitstable with delight. "Now," he said, struggling with the heavy lid of the sarcophagus, "give me a hand with this!"

  Charlie was alarmed. "Now wait just a minute," he said. "You didn't say anything about a stone coffin! I mean—we're here to find an idol, not wake the dead!"

  "Precisely!" said Whitstable, "but without opening the sarcophagus, we can't find the amulet because it's around the neck of the mummy!"

  "Mummy?" said Charlie, wide-eyed. And then he froze, his mouth gaping, because Whitstable’s eyes bulged and his lips were now fully retracted, revealing little white teeth.

  "Don't try to stop me, Charlie!" he growled, clenching his fists.

  Charlie stepped backwards, his eyes wide with fear. "You're not normal!" he said in a hollow voice. Whitstable crouched on his haunches with his back to the sarcophagus. His eyes fidgeted and his head snapped to the left and to the right like a demented thing. Snarling, he made yapping sounds and salivated.

  "You're not even a magician!" said Charlie, breathlessly.

  Drooling profusely, Whitstable shook his head like a mad dog tearing into meat.

  "Then what," asked Charlie, "are you?"

  And that's when it happened—Whitstable leapt at Charlie, gnashing his teeth and clawing the air. The boys tumbled, grappling to the flagstones. Crazy-eyed, Whitstable grasped Charlie's neck. Charlie struggled beneath him and felt the air rush out of his lungs. When he tried to breathe, nothing came. There was just a terrible force upon his throat and Whitstable's sideways, leering face. Charlie gave one almighty heave and threw Whitstable aside. Whitstable sprung back at him, his eyes afire, more akin to a demon than a boy. And that's when something happened that neither of them could have expected. There came a sudden ferocity of white light that eclipsed everything. Then a deafening thunderclap shook the four walls. This was promptly followed by all-enveloping, billowing, white smoke that
materialized from nowhere. Amongst the white smoke, dark shapes moved. Once it had dissipated, Whitstable had disappeared and Charlie lay unmoving upon the ground.

  Chapter 11

  The next thing Charlie knew, he was groggily opening his eyes, the smoke was gone, and there was a hubbub of conversation around him. Blurry figures moved at the periphery of his vision. Then Count Mongovia appeared and peered closely at him through a monocle. They were adult voices, Charlie realized. As his eyes began to focus he saw that many people stood about him; men in top hats and old-fashioned suits, women in shimmering, silk ball gowns. In the midst of them stood one man who Charlie recognized immediately—it was Lord Sharak. He stared down at Charlie as if he were towering over a vanquished enemy.

  "Y ... y ... you!" stuttered Charlie, pointing up at him. "You're a w ... w ... warlock!"

  "He's come to," someone said with curiosity.

  "What's his name?" said another inquisitively.

  "Where does he come from?" asked a third.

  And then Lord Sharak began to laugh—a deep, baritone laugh that creased the corners of his eyes and made his belly jog up and down. He glared at Charlie with eyes like moons. "Yes, I am a warlock!" he boomed, "but I am not nearly as terrible a thing as that which you have been so fortunate as to escape!"

  "I think he fainted," mused Count Mongovia.

  "You are very lucky to be alive, young man," said Lord Sharak as Charlie was helped to his feet.