Tommy Black and the Staff of Light

by Jake Kerr

  “Cain doesn’t seem like he wants to help us.” We walked back the way we came.

  “That’s part of what we need to talk about,” Mister Ali replied but didn’t elaborate further. The courtyard, which appeared larger than it did when I was last outside, was full of soldiers, moving in various formations. They carried normal weapons, and in the distance I could hear machine gun and rifle fire.

  “Who are these soldiers?” I asked. “They don’t look like magicians.”

  Mister Ali smiled. “That’s because they aren’t magicians. They are part of the British army. This is the Citadel of London, Tommy. Most of the people here are soldiers or officials who work with the armed forces. But there is magic here. Powerful magic.” Mister Ali didn’t say anything else.

  We were about to pass another one of the generic and numerous entrances that led into the building when Mister Ali stopped us. “Let’s stop here, Tommy. I fear our situation has changed, and I have some questions I want to ask Lord Gort. It would be good for you to listen in.” The two of us hobbled up the short flight of stairs to the door, which was made of wood and looked identical to the outside door that opened to the long hall to Cain’s office.

  Mister Ali didn’t knock but rather just pulled the door open and walked in. I followed behind him. Inside looked like the reception area of a busy office. To the left were three wooden chairs, two of which were occupied by young men in British army uniforms. To the right was a bare wall with a bulletin board on it. The items seemed bureaucratic, and the information was not very revealing. Across from us was a wooden desk, featureless and worn. Behind it sat a woman in a uniform. She was young and pretty, with auburn hair and black glasses. She was writing something on a piece of paper when she looked up and noticed us.

  “Can I help you?” She placed the pen down and folded her hands together, all her attention on us. She glanced at my cane, but its meaning didn’t seem to register.

  “I would like to speak with Lord Gort.”

  She looked down again and picked up her pen. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. He is very busy.”

  “Perhaps he is not too busy to speak with the new Archmage.” Mister Ali nodded toward me. I tapped the cane on the floor and then leaned on it. The woman looked at the staff and then at me, and then sighed. She seemed unimpressed.

  “Fine.” She pushed her seat back and stood up. “Have a seat, I’ll have to go find him.” Mister Ali thanked her, and she left through a door behind her desk. We turned toward the chairs, where the two soldiers were staring at us.

  Mister Ali bowed slightly to the two men and sat down in the empty chair. He held his head, and I was alarmed. He looked terrible. “Are you okay, Mister Ali?”

  “I’m fine, Tommy. Fine. I just haven’t had a constriction placed on me in a long time.” He frowned.

  I was going to ask what a constriction was when Lord Gort walked through the door with the receptionist. He stared at both of us with his intimidating gaze and then spoke up. “You both look horrible.”

  “A meeting with Cain will do that to you,” Mister Ali replied. Lord Gort nodded.

  “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.” He turned to the receptionist, “Corporal, I am not to be disturbed.” He then turned back to us. “Let’s go to my office.” And without waiting for a reply he went through the door leading further into the building. We scrambled to catch up. Luckily, unlike the other parts of the building, the hallway was simple, direct, and seemed to make sense.

  Eventually we stopped in front of a simple wooden door. Lord Gort turned the tarnished doorknob and we found ourselves in a large office, with bookshelves and a reading area to the right, and a small round conference table with four chairs around it to the left. Facing us was a beautiful carved mahogany desk. There was a large map of Europe on the wall behind the desk, and a thick Persian rug on the floor. The whole office looked decidedly more elegant than anything I had seen in the Citadel other than perhaps the reading room in the residence wing. The general sat down behind his desk and waved us into two large wingback chairs that faced it.

  To my shock he stretched back, put his feet on his desk, and his arms behind his head. “So how did Cain offend you this time, Ali?” I was annoyed that everyone seemed to treat Mister Ali with disdain, and although Lord Gort appeared to be sincere, the question sounded like a veiled insult. Mister Ali, however, seemed relaxed and appeared not to mind.

  “It was nothing like that, John.” Mister Ali also leaned back and crossed his legs. The two seemed comfortable and at ease with each other. Mister Ali tapped his finger on his leg and then went on, “I expected Cain to show off to the new Archmage, but this was different.” Mister Ali thought for a moment and then continued. “It appeared that he wanted to scare him.”

  “Interesting,” Lord Gort replied. “What did he do exactly?”

  “He had Behnam put a constriction on me, and then he used a fire illusion to set the Archmage on fire to show how powerless he was against his illusions. I expected the show, but not the assault on both of us.” Mister Ali gestured to me.

  Lord Gort dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward. He picked up a pipe from a tray on his desk and started to fill it. “Well, I had hoped he would use tact, but I guess I should have expected that his first inclination would be to use intimidation.”

  “To what goal?”

  “He wants the staff, of course.”

  “What? Impossible.” Mister Ali shook his head. “He can’t even use it.”

  “He knows more of magic than anyone, and he clearly believes he can.” Lord Gort used some instrument to pack down the tobacco in his pipe and continued talking without looking at either of us. “I would tend to think that he’s probably right. How much do you really know about the staff, Ali?”

  “As much as anyone!” Mister Ali dropped his leg to the floor and straightened in the chair.

  Lord Gort didn’t say anything but struck a match. He lit his pipe and finally looked up at us as he sucked in the air, the pipe’s glow giving his face a tinge of red. He took a big puff and leaned back again. The smell of cherry and smoke filled my nose.

  “Regardless, he feels he knows more and that he can use the staff.” He inhaled on his pipe again. Lord Gort answered and exhaled at the same time, his words filled with the scent of cherry. “With what’s happening in Germany, I can’t say I blame him for wanting to try. So where do things stand? I like you Ali, but I want to remind you that I find all this magic a distraction.”

  Mister Ali didn’t say anything, and it struck me as odd. A distraction? Magic—my grandfather’s magic—saved everyone in the Great War, and now it was a distraction? I cleared my throat, and both Mister Ali and Lord Gort looked at me.

  “Excuse me, sir, but how can magic be a distraction? This entire Citadel is a center of magic! Magic won the Great War.” I was respectful, but I had a hard time hiding my enthusiasm. I had just learned about the importance of magic, and to hear anyone—even a member of the Army Council—disparage it bothered me.

  Lord Gort laughed so hard, smoke came out of his nostrils and mouth.

  “Did you say this Citadel is a center of magic?” He stared at me so intently that I shrunk in my chair. I nodded in response. He turned to Ali. “I guess it’s technically the truth, but tell me, Ali, how many magicians are there in the Citadel right now who could be of any help in the case of war?”

  “Well, the masters and Cain, of course.” Mister Ali looked uncomfortable as he answered. “There are a number of journeyman that I’m sure would be of benefit.”

  “Nonsense.” Lord Gort held out his pipe and stabbed it in the air as he talked, tendrils of smoke underscoring his points. “Any five of the boys in the practice fields with machine guns and a competent sergeant would be of more value to me than Cain’s masters.” His arm moved faster as my question appeared to have opened an old wound. “And the journeyman? I’d rather give them a rifle and a canteen and be done with it. They won’t amount
to anything.” He finally turned to me. “Young man, the only magician worth anything on this island is Cain.” He took a puff of his pipe and then added, “Him, I value.”

  I was shocked. It was the Citadel of Magic. Mister Ali told me so. I looked at Mister Ali and was surprised not only that he didn’t object but that he looked chastened. Not only chastened—he appeared weary, as if he had been caught in a lie he had been carrying for a long time but wasn’t quite ready to let go.

  “But what of the German magician, John?” Mister Ali leaned forward. “This Hitler is dangerous.”

  “We don’t even know if he is a magician, Ali. Even if he is, it is some kind of new magic, a magic of the voice that bends wills. At least that’s what Cain is saying, but to be honest, I don’t much buy that either. Cain is just trying to spread his influence.”

  Mister Ali didn’t object to this line of thought, so I spoke up, hoping that he was just being polite in not disagreeing with Lord Gort. “But what about the staff? What about magic in the Great War? I thought this was a center of magic? Certainly the staff can help now with magical defense. Even Cain seems to think so!”

  Mister Ali sighed, “You are correct about the staff, Tommy. And you are right that this is the center of magic in England.” He looked at me and had a sympathetic smile on his face. “I told you that magic was dying, Tommy. I just didn’t tell you how much. It is almost gone. And—again—I must reinforce to both of you—” Mister Ali looked at Lord Gort. “—that the staff is indeed powerful. Tommy, your grandfather did do great things in the Great War, but I was perhaps exaggerating when I said he won it for us.” Mister Ali lowered his head and looked at the floor.

  Lord Gort snorted. “He did a good job at Marne. I’ll give him that.”

  I was in shock. I slumped in my chair. Magic was nearly gone in the world. I couldn’t quite grasp the enormity of that thought. I had seen magicians create shields, shoot detonations, and create illusions. I had seen a magic train. I had fought a magic river. I had seen so many amazing and wondrous and terrible things. Magic couldn’t be dying. It just couldn’t be.

  “You mentioned the staff, Ali…” Lord Gort was speaking, but I could barely pay attention to his words.

  “John, now is not the time.” I was considering the reality that the three masters I had met along with Cain were the only real magicians in England. How many more were there in the world? Dozens? Fewer?

  “Nonsense. I need to know what happened in New York. I thought we had agreed that Declan would give the staff to Vingrosh, and we could move ahead without that risk…” What did this mean to me? Was I that much more important now that magic was so rare? Or was I less important? “…I’m disappointed that things went so wrong. There were deaths.”

  Wait. What had I just heard? I looked over at Mister Ali, but he was looking at Lord Gort and avoided my gaze. “We can discuss that later, John.” Mister Ali’s words came out in a rush. “We need to do something about Cain. He is letting his power go to his head!” Mister Ali glanced at me, nervously. My hands started to shake, and I felt the muscles of my stomach tighten. It was similar to the feeling I had to when I found out my parents had died. My life and everything I had held onto had abandoned me.

  Mister Ali had planned the attack on my grandfather.

  “Vingrosh…” I stammered in a whisper. I wasn’t sure anyone heard me.

  “We have plenty of time to discuss Cain. I want to know about New York. Why all the violence? We had Vingrosh calling in Djinn. Did he really think he could force Declan to do anything he didn’t want to do? And the deaths—” He shook his head. “This was handled very poorly, Ali, and now Cain is all ready to be the savior, which helps none of us, least of all me. I have a war to prepare for.” Mister Ali glanced at me, his face white.

  “You betrayed Grandfather!” I shouted the words, or I assume I shouted them. I was dazed, and could barely think. I was standing, and the heavy chair was on its side on the ground.

  “Tommy, listen to me. It is not like that. He was to give up the staff voluntarily—”

  “He was your friend. You had him attacked!” The end of the staff glowed slightly.

  “Now, now, young man. Settle down,” Lord Gort replied.

  “I had no idea Vingrosh was going to attack him, Tommy. They were just to talk and your grandfather was to hand him the staff. I didn’t know that Vingrosh would try to take the staff by force. I swear!”

  “Why didn’t you tell him that! You lied to him the whole time! And what about the attack? You casually cooked while Grandfather was trying to save our lives? Did you expect him to die quietly since he wouldn’t listen to reason?” I shouted the last words, using Mister Ali’s own words against him.

  The tears flowed down my face. My protector. The man who was to teach me how to use the staff. The man my own grandfather had chosen to help me. He was the one who had betrayed us.

  “It’s not like that, Tommy.” He tried to reach out toward me, but I shoved his arms aside with the cane and ran to the door. I needed to think, to mourn, to figure out what was going on. I was confused, betrayed, and, more than anything, I needed to find out who my friends were.

  “Ali, let him go.” It was Lord Gort. “He’ll understand in time” were the last words I heard as I slammed the door behind me.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  PLANS ARE MADE

  I didn’t remember leaving the building. Maybe I passed people. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe people talked to me. Maybe they didn’t. All I wanted was to find Naomi and tell her what happened. I didn’t know what she would say, but I had no other options. The people in the Citadel didn’t care about me. They wanted the staff. Mister Ali didn’t care about me, either. He just wanted to destroy the staff. I didn’t know why, and I didn’t care. All I knew was that the only person I could count on was Naomi, and even she possibly still hated me.

  I stumbled around, cursing the illusions that were placed on everything. I finally found the door to my quarters. The Academy was further down. I ran to the next door, and it still took longer than I expected. I tried the handle, and it opened.

  I walked in and found myself in another antechamber like the one that had the staircase to my quarters. The floor was dusty and worn, however, and the staircase was marked by chips in the balustrade and damaged steps. To the right was a large door that was closed. To the left were double doors that were held open by doorstops. Beyond them was a long hallway filled with wooden doors with frosted windows. Young men in the same uniform I was wearing wandered here and there. Some had a few medals or stripes, but most were unadorned. They paid me no mind.

  I remembered the Corporal mentioning that they would find room for Naomi in the floor above the dormitories, so I climbed the stairway, which was mostly empty. The top was again similar to my quarters in the other part of the building. I started walking toward the hallway that led to what I hoped were the rooms over the dormitories when a young man exited the hallway.

  He looked at me and squinted. “You shouldn’t be up here. Who are you, and who is your Floor Captain?”

  I nervously tapped the cane on the floor. The young man, who looked about five or six years older than me, crossed his arms. I considered my options and realized I had only one. I was alone. My family was dead, and my friend betrayed me. The only one I could rely on was myself. I stopped tapping the cane and held it up.

  “I’m the Archmage, and I’m looking for Naomi, a student of the Academy. Is she housed on this floor?”

  The young man glanced at the cane, and then looked at my face. “You aren’t the Archmage.”

  I had enough. No one respected me. No one cared for me. I squeezed the staff in my fist, and a dazzling light shone forth. The young soldier shaded his eyes. I didn’t care if I blinded him. “I am the Archmage, and if you don’t help me I will be forced to go to Lord Ainsley and drag him here to help me instead.” The young man stepped back, still shielding his eyes. “I can assure you that Lord Ainsley will not b
e happy.”

  “I’m sorry, Archmage!” He looked down, avoiding the glare of the staff. “She’s down the hall. Third door on the right.”

  I snuffed out the light, and the soldier looked back at me. His eyes were watering. “Do you know if she’s in her room?”

  “Yes, she is. I was just delivering her the schedule for her disciplinary duties.” He inched toward the steps.

  “Disciplinary duties?”

  “Yes, she left her class this morning without permission. She has kitchen duty as punishment.”

  “Punishment?” He nodded. I pictured Naomi being told to clean dishes and laughed. “I will discuss this with her,” I added, trying to sound solemn, although I couldn’t get the picture of Naomi hurling detonations at piles of dishes out of my mind.

  “Can I leave, sir?” The soldier had made his way to the top of the stairway and looked like all he wanted to do was sprint downstairs. I nodded, and he did so.

  I knocked on Naomi’s door. I waited, and as I was just about to knock again the door flew open and there was Naomi, wearing the same uniform as me, her golden hair disheveled and half covering her face, her eyes bloodshot. The snarl on her face fell as she recognized me. “Tommy!”

  “I need your help,” I replied, unable to think of anything charming or witty to say. She grabbed my arm, pulled me into the room, and slammed the door.

  The room was small, maybe ten foot square. There was a cot in the corner, a chest at its end, and a wooden chair next to a small desk. That was it. Naomi slid her hair behind her ears and sat on the cot. “So what’s the problem, streetlight?” She motioned to the chair, and I sat down.

  “It’s a long story,” I replied.

  “Well, I have nothing but time. I’m leaving this place as soon as I can. Do you know what my first class was this morning?”

  “Elementary illusion?” It was the first thing that came to mind after my meeting with Cain.