The Magician's Key

by Matthew Cody

  If this was indeed the office of a magician, then it was very disappointing. There were no spell books or black candles, no pentagrams drawn on the floor. The desk itself was empty except for some sheaves of blank paper and a few pens. The only thing unusual about the room was the old box, which was done in the same hideous style as the woodcarvings downstairs, with the same nautical motif. When she looked closely, Max saw the latch had been carved into the likeness of drowning men clawing to stay above the waves. Cautiously, she reached for it, but she stopped just inches from the wooden face of a man, mouth open and eyes bulging in horror. The detail was terribly lifelike.

  Loath as she was to touch it, she felt drawn to see whatever was inside. An urgent curiosity drove her forward, and she grasped the latch.

  Then she gave a start as Mrs. Amsel whispered her name. The housekeeper was leaning against the door, listening. “Someone’s coming!”

  Max hesitated. If she could just get a peek at what was inside…

  “It’s not the butler,” said Mrs. Amsel. “They’re coming up the steps!”

  With an effort, Max tore her hand away and left the box unopened. She padded across the room as quickly and quietly as she could in her boots, but it was already too late.

  The door swung open to reveal a portly man in a tattered suit. His beard was brownish grey, the color of river water, and hung all the way to his stomach, and his bushy eyebrows curled up like two horns protruding from his angry brow.

  “Maxine Weber,” said the man in perfect English. “My name is Vodnik, and I have been waiting for you.”

  Vodnik shut the door behind them. Just before it closed, Max caught a glimpse of the butler on the other side, standing guard. Vodnik was plainly annoyed at the butler for leaving them unsupervised, but he put on a polite face for his visitors.

  “Well, what can I do for you, Maxine?”

  “It’s just Max, and how do you know my name, anyway?” asked Max as the magician took his seat behind his desk. The clothes were different, more modern, but otherwise Vodnik looked just like the bearded man from the wood etchings. The man who’d been conversing with the devil. The vodyanoi.

  “As I’m sure you know, I’m a magician,” replied Vodnik. “And we magicians have ways of knowing things.”

  “Spies, you mean.”

  “Well, the pink hair does make you stand out.”

  “Okay,” said Max. “Then I guess you already know why we’re here.”

  “You need a favor?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mrs. Amsel whispered something under her breath; it might have been a prayer. Max didn’t like dealing with this man, and just being in his home made her feel dirty, tainted. It was as if everything she touched left an oily sheen. The air in his office didn’t only smell bad, it tasted bad. She took shallow little breaths, trying to inhale as little of the foulness as possible.

  Vodnik leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard. “What is it you want?” he asked. “Need help house-training your elfling?”

  Mrs. Amsel gasped. “Well! I never.”

  “Mrs. Amsel is my friend!” said Max. She almost said housekeeper out of habit.

  Vodnik chuckled. “Have a sense of humor. So, what did you want to see me about?”

  The sooner Max got what she wanted, the sooner they could get out of there. “I need to get back to the Summer Isle, and we heard that you have the only key.”

  Vodnik sat forward in his chair. “Back to the Summer Isle? So you want me to help you get back?”

  Max didn’t answer. She’d said only what she’d needed to, but she was already worried it was too much.

  The magician stroked his beard again and fixed his eyes on Max. He didn’t sound surprised by what she had told him, but he was clearly interested. “You know, only one other being has managed to make that crossing and come back again. Only one other person has ever managed such a thing. Remarkable. I suppose you didn’t tell your parents.”

  “My parents? No.” What did her parents have to do with anything? Just how much did Vodnik know about her?

  “And what about your brother—Carter, isn’t it? Maybe he came back, too. Is he skulking around here somewhere? Outside perhaps? I thought I heard something moving around in the trees on my way in.”

  “No, Carter’s…” Max looked at Mrs. Amsel for support. How did Vodnik know all of this? But the old woman looked as confused as she was.

  “Her brother is the reason we need to go to the Summer Isle,” said Mrs. Amsel. “He’s still there.”

  Vodnik considered this for a moment, and then he opened the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a small brass chest. “I do have the key you heard about. It’s called the Key of Everything. One of the last bits of real magic left in this world, and it has the power to unlock the last door to the Summer Isle.”

  He flipped the chest around so that Max could see the little brass key sitting in the box’s cushioned interior. It looked too plain against the rich silk lining.

  “For many centuries, I have controlled the only way into the Summer Isle. It’s a service only I can provide. Now suddenly children are coming and going as they please! You can see why that would be bad for my business.”

  “But I can’t come and go as I please,” said Max. “That’s the whole reason I’m here. My brother and I were kidnapped by the Pied Piper and woke up on the Summer Isle. But I don’t even know how he took us there! And to get back, I came through a magic mirror in the Black Tower, but I’m pretty much sure that’s broken now—”

  Mrs. Amsel suddenly cleared her throat, and Max realized she was rambling. “Sorry.”

  “The Piper!” said Vodnik, sneering. “It was the Piper who locked the last door to the Summer Isle. A greedy magician, he laid a curse upon it so that only he could travel back and forth between this world and the world of magic.”

  “But you can open it,” said Max.

  “Yes, thank goodness for my magic key,” said Vodnik, but he wasn’t smiling. “And I suppose you would have me unlock the door and let just anyone cross over. Elflings, trollsons and goblinfolk. All the miserable descendants of magic. Why stop at emigration? What about vacations? I already have the slogan—This year, summer on the Summer Isle!”

  Max didn’t know what the magician was going on about, but he was obviously getting himself worked up. He stopped pacing and leveled his gaze at Max. “You are a very dangerous girl.”

  Then he turned his back to Max and walked over to the hideous box, the one that Max had very nearly opened. “Mr. Twist!” he called.

  The office door swung slowly open and the ghastly butler appeared in the doorway. Then Vodnik opened the box so that Max finally got to see what was inside. Glass jars sat in rows on wooden trays, and in each floated a ghostly mist, a gently swirling vapor. Max wasn’t sure what she’d expected to see, but this wasn’t it. In contrast to the horrible images etched on the outside of the box, the little jars of mist looked peaceful—beautiful, even.

  Vodnik chose two of the newer-looking jars and set them on the desk in front of Max, angling them so that she could get a good look. Inside the jars, the mists began to solidify into shapes.

  When Max saw her parents’ faces in the jars, she screamed.

  Max screamed until Mr. Twist’s long fingers grabbed her neck from behind, and shoved her toward Vodnik’s desk. Out of the corner of her watering eye, she saw the butler had Mrs. Amsel in a similar hold, even as the little elfling woman pummeled him with her handbag. At least, the old lady did that much. Max couldn’t even summon the will to fight. The truth had leached all the strength out of her—somehow, those were her parents in those jars.

  Mr. Twist forced Max and Mrs. Amsel to their knees so that they were eye level with the desktop. Vodnik was using a clean rag to wipe two brand-new, lidless jars. “This is nothing personal, you understand,” he was saying. “Just business. People pay what I charge only because they believe I control the only way into the Summer Isle. People’s despera
tion brings them to me, but you represent an alternative. You represent hope, and hope is a thing I cannot abide.”

  Max was hardly listening. She was barely paying attention to anything other than her parents’ faces floating in the jars. “What have you done to my mom and dad?”

  “They’re not dead, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Vodnik. “We’re not living in the Dark Ages anymore. No, I’ve jarred their souls, but their bodies are just sleeping in a hospital—the victims of unexplained comas. An enchanted slumber, actually, a trick as old as those fairy tales your father is so fond of. I thought they might know how you and your brother had managed to cross over to the Summer Isle, but they turned out to be as ignorant about magic as the rest of humanity. It’s such a shame when parents don’t know what their own kids are up to.

  “They’ll stay that way until their bodies grow old and die. Oh, if this were the old days, I could keep them right here, and with their souls in my possession I could command their bodies to do my bidding, just as I command Mr. Twist there. But too many mindless zombies walking around attract attention. I prefer to stick with one ‘butler’ at a time.”

  “You are a monster!” cried Mrs. Amsel.

  Vodnik leered at her. “These are modern times. These days I’m just a businessman.” The way the shadows fell across his pointed eyebrows and tangled beard, he didn’t look human. “And in business, as in magic, you should always negotiate from a position of strength.”

  “What do you want?” asked Max.

  “Easy,” said Vodnik. “I want you. The girl who came back!”

  Max’s tears of sadness for her parents turned to tears of anger. She fought against Mr. Twist, but the undead servant held her tightly with fingers of iron.

  “That doesn’t make any sense!” said Max. “Why me?”

  Vodnik, however, didn’t have a chance to answer, because at that moment there was a loud crash from downstairs, like the sound of wood splintering, followed by the pounding of heavy feet running up stairs. He looked up, alarmed, and stepped back from his desk as his office door flew open.

  At first Max’s heart sank when she saw the giant hooded figure standing there. Of course, she thought. He’s caught up with us just in time to gloat.

  Then the unexpected happened. Mr. Twist turned his head slightly, as if dimly aware that someone else had entered the room. Vodnik barked an order at Twist, and for a moment Max couldn’t understand why the magician would be ordering one of his servants to attack another one. But Twist obeyed, and he released Max and Mrs. Amsel at the same time that the giant closed the distance between them in two great steps. Twist reached for the giant instead. The giant appeared uncertain, but when the zombie butler reached for his throat, the giant fought back.

  He grabbed Twist’s delicate-looking wrists before those long fingers could reach his neck. For a moment, there was a struggle as Twist tried to break the giant’s grip, and Max was shocked to see how equally matched the two seemed to be. But the giant used his weight to his advantage and shoved his body into Twist, knocking him backward. Pale fingers clawed at the giant’s face and his hood was thrown back, revealing a shock of red hair.

  Vodnik had retreated into a corner and he glared at the giant. That’s when Max realized that she was free and no one was watching the desk. With a swipe of her arms she grabbed the two jars containing her parents’ souls.

  “Let’s go!” she shouted.

  At the sound of Max’s voice, Vodnik seemed to come to his senses. He lunged for Max, but the desk was in the way. At that very same moment, Max heard a sickening snap, and suddenly the red-haired giant came stumbling backward, holding one of Twist’s arms in his hand. It had broken off, like a dry twig, at the elbow.

  For a moment, everyone stood perfectly still. The giant looked in horror at the broken limb in his hand, and Mr. Twist glanced down, expressionless, at his missing arm. There was no blood, just a small cloud of dust where the brittle skin had crumbled into nothing.

  “Kill them, you idiot!” shouted Vodnik.

  “Come on!” cried Max, and she shoved Mrs. Amsel out the door as the giant followed.

  The three of them sprinted down the steps and out the front door and made a dash for the car. The giant realized that he was still holding Twist’s arm and hurled it away in disgust before pulling his hood back down over his face. For just an instant, Max caught a glimpse of boyish pale cheeks and bright blue eyes.

  Mrs. Amsel hopped into the driver’s seat, and Max scrambled in beside her. There was no way the giant, their rescuer, was going to fit into that small car. He looked anxiously over his shoulder as Twist appeared in the mill doorway. The undead butler was slow but in pursuit.

  “Grab the top!” shouted Max.

  “Huh?” said the giant.

  “Can you hold on?”

  The giant crawled onto the trunk of the car, his legs curled up underneath him. His arm span was so wide that he could grip the roof through the open windows on either side.

  “Are you on?” asked Max.

  As if in answer, the roof sagged ominously and the entire car groaned underneath the giant’s weight.

  Mrs. Amsel pressed the pedal to the floor and they sped off along the gravel road, an elfling behind the wheel, a pink-haired girl riding shotgun and a giant clinging to the roof.

  They drove until they’d put miles between them and Vodnik’s horrible mill. They kept going until they were no longer the only car on those back roads, until they realized people were staring at the giant on top of their car.

  Max clutched the two glass jars tightly in her hands. It looked like a trick; her parents’ faces were too gauzy and transparent to be real. Maybe it was the magic, maybe it was a daughter’s bond with her parents, but she could feel deep down in her heart that the jars were genuine. She literally held her parents’ lives in the palms of her hands.

  What would happen if she opened the lids? Would their souls fly back to their bodies and they’d wake up in their hospital beds and tell the surprised nurses that they’d just had the strangest dream?

  Or would her parents just fade away? And what about Carter? Max had failed to get the Key of Everything, which meant that even if they did find the Winter Children, even if there was a door to the Summer Isle, she wouldn’t be able to open it. She wouldn’t be able to rescue her brother without Vodnik’s key.

  It was a few moments before Max realized that Mrs. Amsel had stopped the car. They were in the parking lot of an abandoned gas station, and the giant had slid off the roof and was now standing several feet away, in the building’s shade. Mrs. Amsel watched Max, with eyes that were red and puffy from crying.

  “We will save them, meine Liebe. We will find a way.” Mrs. Amsel reached out and stroked Max’s hair. “You have already rescued them from that awful magician. That was very brave.”

  “It’s my fault they were in danger in the first place.”

  “How can you say that?” asked Mrs. Amsel. “This is not your fault and not your brother’s. You know whose fault this is. You know who started all of it.”

  Max did know. In fact, she’d made a promise to the Peddler back on the Summer Isle. In exchange for his help in rescuing Carter from the Black Tower, she’d promised to spare the Pied Piper’s life, if ever given the chance. It had been an easy promise to make, and she’d never regretted it. Until now.

  “Keep them safe,” said Mrs. Amsel. “This is powerful magic we are dealing with, and I don’t want to do anything rash until we know more about the curse Vodnik has laid upon your parents. So, for now, keep them safe.”

  Max opened her backpack and tucked the jars safely next to the scroll case that held the Peddler’s map.

  “In the meantime,” said Mrs. Amsel, “I think we owe someone a big thank-you.”

  They looked toward the giant stranger, who was rocking back and forth on his feet, as if unsure whether he should leave or stay.

  Max got out of the car and slung her backpack over h
er shoulders—she wasn’t about to go anywhere without it now. She took a few steps toward the stranger but didn’t get too close. After all, this person might have just saved their lives, but he’d also been spying on them for weeks.

  “Who are you?” asked Max.

  The hood turned from side to side as the giant glanced in each direction. He looked like he might bolt.

  “Let me try,” whispered Mrs. Amsel, and she said something to him in German in a considerably gentler tone of voice.

  “I don’t really speak that much German,” answered the giant, in English. “I’m Dutch.”

  His voice was surprisingly high-pitched for someone so big.

  “Why don’t you show us who you are?” asked Max. “It would be easier to talk if we could see your face.”

  The stranger, after a moment’s hesitation, drew back his hood. While she’d gotten a glimpse of him back at the mill—the red hair, the pale skin—she was still surprised by what she saw. This person, this seven-foot-tall giant, was just a boy. Beneath that mop of curly red hair was a heavy brow, but his cheeks were round and plump like her brother’s. A faint sprinkle of freckles dotted his nose. He squinted at them, even though he was standing in the shade.

  “Is that good enough?” said the giant boy. “I have a thing about the sun.”

  “What?” said Max. “You’re just a kid! But you’re, like, twice as big as—”

  Mrs. Amsel cut her off with a sudden gasp. “Oh, mein Gott!” she whispered. “Your size! And the sunlight! You’re a trollson, aren’t you?”

  The boy nodded. “Yeah.”

  “What’s a trollson?” asked Max. Vodnik had mentioned the word, but that had been the first Max had heard of such a thing.

  Mrs. Amsel clapped her hands in delight. “I knew it! You see, Max, trollsons are like elflings, but instead of having elf blood in their veins, they are part troll. Stories say they are descendants of a lost clan of trolls who refused to leave earth for the Summer Isle. I’ve heard of such persons, of course, every elfling has, but I’ve never seen one! I thought you were all…”