JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES jp-1

by G. Norman Lippert

  “Au contraire,” Zane announced, producing a slim golden key from his pocket. James recognized it.

  “That’s an Archive skeleton key,” he said, impressed. “Just like the one Franklyn used when we went down to the Vault of Destinies. How’d you get that?”

  Zane shrugged. “I’ve been planning things out for some time now. I figured that you’d eventually warm up to having a little extracurricular adventure. What do you think I agreed to go with Cheshire Chatterly to the costume ball for?”

  Ralph suggested, “Because she looks excellent in a pink taffeta dress?”

  “Well, yes, there is that,” Zane answered thoughtfully, “but that’s not all there is to it. She’s on the maintenance crew that works here in the Archive, and she’s always been on Henredon’s good side.”

  “I can see why,” Ralph nodded.

  James shook his head wonderingly. “You nicked the key from her?”

  “No!” Zane exclaimed, offended. “I just asked her for it. What kind of cad do you think I am?”

  “Sorry,” James replied, blinking.

  “I told her I needed to look up some famous old dancer so I could practice my steps for the ball. She about split in two. Gave me the key that very second.”

  Ralph whistled, impressed. “You danced with a girl just to get your hands on that key?”

  “Anything for the cause,” Zane sighed. “Come on.”

  Using the key, the boys opened the door to the inner archive. After some nervous slinking around, they finally found a gated section locked off with a large chain and padlock. A quick wave of the skeleton key and a tap of Zane’s wand opened the padlock, however, and the three crept slowly into the dark chamber beyond.

  “It’s so dark and dusty,” Ralph commented, keeping his voice unconsciously hushed. “How are we going to find what we’re looking for in all this?”

  “Cheshire told me how they catalog things in here,” Zane answered, holding his lit wand overhead. “Date first, and then the name of the event or person. Look at the top of the aisles. Magnussen taught between eighteen thirty and eighteen fiftynine.”

  “Over here,” James called, peering up at the shelves. The other two joined him and began skulking along the shelves, examining the myriad odd objects and blowing dust off their yellowed note cards.

  A shuffling sound surprised the boys. They froze in place, eyes wide, staring at each other.

  “Was that one of you?” James whispered.

  Ralph gulped. “It wasn’t me. It came from the aisle behind us.”

  “It was probably nothing,” Zane whispered, glancing around. Almost immediately, a faint thump sounded nearby. All three boys jumped. Slowly, James turned toward the sound, lifting his wand. He was barely breathing. As one, the three boys leaned around the end of the aisle, peering into the darkness beyond.

  Something pushed out of the shelf immediately next to James’ face, mashing up against his cheek and making a noise like a tiny motorboat. He cried out and leapt into the air, dropping his wand and scrabbling at his cheek.

  “Patches!” Zane rasped, his eyes bulging.

  James spun around, heart pounding, and looked. Patches the cat stood on the shelf, purring noisily, his bullet head bobbing. There were cobwebs caught in his whiskers.

  “Patches, you rascal!” Zane declared, reaching to scratch the cat between the ears. “What are you doing down here? You about gave James a heart attack!” He laughed nervously.

  “Seems to me you were pretty wigged out too,” James grumped, reaching to pick up his dropped wand. “You try getting some great furry head and wet nose pushed into your face out of the dark and see how you feel about it.”

  “What’s he doing down here?” Ralph asked, stepping forward to pet the cat himself. “I thought he always hung out around Administration Hall.”

  Zane nodded. “He does. I’ve never seen him anywhere else.”

  “Is it just me,” Ralph said, glancing sheepishly between Zane and James, “or does this feel like kind of a bad jinx? Maybe we should call the whole thing off, eh?”

  James expected Zane to scoff at the suggestion, but when he turned to the blonde boy, he saw him studying the cat critically.

  “What’s up, Patches?” he asked the cat where it still stood purring on the shelf. “You here to grant us your blessing? Or are you going to rat us out to the big wigs back at Administration Hall?”

  The cat stopped purring almost immediately. He hunkered low and peered over the ledge of the shelf. A moment later, he thumped lightly to the floor and began to stalk off along the aisle, his tail sticking up.

  “Well,” Zane blinked, “pardon me for living.”

  Ralph said, “Maybe he was offended by the word ‘rat’.”

  “Come on,” James suggested, turning back to the shelves. “Forget him. He’s just a cat. If you remember, he thought we were supposed to be in Igor House.”

  Zane glanced at James. “Have you wondered if maybe he was right?”

  James met his friend’s gaze and frowned. “What do you mean? Bigfoot House fits us just fine. What’s some old cat know that we don’t?”

  “I’m just saying,” Zane replied. “There’s a reason he’s here. Maybe it’s worth thinking about.”

  James felt impatient. He stopped and stared up at the dark ceiling for a moment. “There,” he said, glancing back at Zane and Ralph. “I’ve thought about it. Can we get on with it now? This place creeps me out.”

  Zane shrugged. Dismissing the cat, the three returned to their search of the shelves. A few minutes later, Zane called out. James and Ralph trotted down the aisle to join him.

  “It’s…,” Ralph began, and then swallowed thickly. “It’s… a skull.”

  James held his wand closer. Two objects were pushed into a small cubby hole, and one of them was indeed a human skull, missing its jawbone. The other was a woman’s boot, very old and scuffed, made of black leather. The card affixed to the front of the shelf read: 1859, OCTOBER 5, I. K. MAGNUSSEN INTERROGATION 1.

  “Maybe it’s not real,” James suggested, peering at the yellowed skull.

  “It sure looks real,” Ralph said, shuddering.

  “It’s just an old bone,” Zane said, rolling his eyes and reaching for the skull. “I’ll carry it. Grab the boot and let’s get this over with.”

  As quickly as they could, the three boys carried their acquisitions back up to the room of the Disrecorder. James breathed a sigh of relief as he walked beneath the thick, tiny windows embedded in the domed ceiling. It was dark outside now, but it was nice to see the faint blue glow of the night sky above.

  “Who wants to do the honors?” Zane asked, holding up the skull and peering at it. “What do you think, Mr. Bones?” He moved the skull like a puppet and answered in a higher voice, “I think you should, Zane-brain, since you’re so cool and dashing. And this was your idea after all.”

  James sighed wearily. “Quit it. You’re freaking out Ralph.”

  “I’m not freaked out,” Ralph objected, his face pale. “I mean, yeah, I am. But just a little.”

  “Let’s get to it then,” Zane squeaked, puppeting the skull again. “Upsie-daisy.”

  With a small clunk, Zane set the skull onto the concave bowl of the Disrecorder.

  Instantly, the room changed. It brightened and became much smaller. James, Ralph, and Zane turned on the spot and found themselves in a dim corner, peering into a sort of cramped study. Fire crackled in the brick fireplace and darkness pressed against the tall windows. Three men were seated at a table, two on one side, facing the third. James was not entirely surprised to see that Chancellor Franklyn was one of the men seated at the table. He looked only slightly younger, with a rather less rotund middle. The man next to him wore the black robes and hat of an arbiter, although his skin was dark and he had a thin beard. In the center of the table, looking like a Halloween decoration, was the yellowed, jawless skull. The dark man had just finished tapping it with his wand.

 
“Douglas Treete, General Arbiter of the Wizarding Court of the United States of America, Philadelphia Station,” he said blandly. “Overseeing the preliminary interrogation of one Ignatius Karloff Magnussen, detained for various charges, including theft and misuse of corpses, torture, and suspicion of murder. I have chosen to use this skull as the relic for this interrogation since it serves as Exhibit A for the case in question. I am accompanied by Benjamin Amadeus Franklyn, Head of the Alma Aleron Technomancy Department, and immediate superior of the defendant. Professor Magnussen, if you would state your full name for the record.”

  James turned his attention to the man seated across from Franklyn and the arbiter. Magnussen was large with a barrel chest and a square head crowned with a fringe of short grey hair. His expression was grim, his dark brow lowered over a sharp, finely sculpted nose.

  “I am Professor Ignatius Karloff Magnussen the Third,” he said, and James was surprised by the man’s cultured, pleasant voice. Unlike most Americans, Magnussen spoke with a distinct British accent.

  Zane leaned toward James and Ralph and whispered, “I heard that he never approved of America’s break from England. In protest, he always spoke in what he called ‘the King’s English’.”

  James frowned and listened as Treete, the arbiter, spoke again.

  “You are aware of the allegations against you, Professor Magnussen?”

  Magnussen didn’t respond. He simply stared across the table, his eyes like steel marbles. Treete cleared his throat.

  “For the record, Professor, you are accused, at the very least, of dabbling in forbidden practices that threaten the stability of the dimensional hierarchy. Is it true that you have sought to control the future by exploitation of the Wizarding Grand Unification Theory?”

  Magnussen remained utterly impassive. James could tell that the man was listening, for he stared at the men across from him as if he intended to pin them to a corkboard like butterflies. He simply did not seem to feel the need to respond to their questions. Franklyn, for his own part, appeared completely miserable. His face was pale behind his square spectacles.

  “So be it, then,” Treete said, adjusting his own glasses and peering down at a parchment in front of him. “You are further accused of opening a rift between dimensions, something legendarily referred to as the Nexus Curtain, with no regard to the consequences. How do you respond to this allegation?”

  Magnussen did not stir. He might as well have been an extremely lifelike statue.

  Treete had apparently resigned himself to Magnussen’s silence. “Additionally, sir, you are accused of stealing bodies from the campus graveyard and conducting unlawful dissections of them. This skull, as I have mentioned, is Exhibit A in regard to that allegation. It was found in the basement of this very house, along with the sort of tools one might expect to use for such purposes. Furthermore, you are suspected in the abduction and torture of as many as eight Muggle citizens of the city of Philadelphia. Evidence of hasty Obliviation has only succeeded in destroying these victims’ ability to identify their tormentor, but has left traces of memories of this school and the magical world at large.”

  Treete took off his glasses and stared hard at Magnussen. “Such acts, if they are proven to be true, break any number of very serious laws, Professor, not to mention the law of common human decency to which we all profess to ascribe. None of these, however, are as serious as the final accusation. As you are certainly aware, the corpse of a young Muggle woman, an impoverished local seamstress by the name of Fredericka Staples, was recently found in an alley near the entrance to this school. Her body was mutilated nearly beyond recognition and she was missing a single boot. That missing boot, sir, was discovered two nights past in the basement of this home. I must ask you again: how do you respond to these allegations?”

  Magnussen stirred for the first time, but when he spoke, he addressed Franklyn. “Was it you who summoned the authorities?” he asked, his voice merely conversational.

  “You gave me little choice,” Franklyn replied quietly. “Research is one thing, Ignatius. This…” He shook his head.

  Magnussen smiled tightly. “You always were too weak to appreciate the risks associated with any great endeavor. You, Benjamin, are an academician. You are not like me. You are not an explorer.”

  “Yours is not a dream of exploration,” Franklyn replied, his face darkening. “It is an obsession with power. This is not one of your fanciful stories of the heroic outcast struggling against ignorant foes. Your actions have affected real people. I should have intervened months ago when I discovered that you were experimenting with the Wizarding Grand Unification Theory. The Octosphere was bad enough, but at least it turned out to be harmless. Attempting to observe and measure all things at once, in the name of domination, is a madman’s fantasy.”

  “I was mistaken, I agree,” Magnussen replied, as if he and Franklyn were merely discussing the matter as friends. “I was preoccupied with the microscopic. I fell into the conviction that observing all things meant breaking the world down into smaller and smaller bits, recording the actions of even the most infinitesimal details—the motion of blood corpuscles through the pathways of arteries, the firing of neurons in individual human brains. I studied these things in great detail, learning what I could from the dead, gaining even more knowledge from my systematic studies of the living. You choose to call it torture, of course, and yes, even murder, because you fail to grasp the monumental nature of the end goal. What is mere infliction of pain in the face of perfect understanding? What is one paltry life in the name of the total unification of the cosmos?”

  “Ignatius,” Franklyn interrupted. “Stop! You are only making matters worse for yourself.”

  “Eventually,” Magnussen went on, now leaning slightly over the table, his eyes bright, “I determined that I was thinking too much like my fellows, failing where all those before me had failed. With that realization, I remembered my Heraldium; ‘He who fails to see the mountain stumbles headlong over the pebbles.’ Don’t you see? The secret was not in the microscopic at all, Benjamin. The secret, of course, was in the macroscopic! Not the tiny, but the monumental! Totality of measurement could only be accomplished when one could view the totality of realities! I knew then what I had to do. I had to break out of the confines of this dimension and find a place where I could observe all dimensions at once. What you call a mere legend, I have walked upon with my own two feet. I have been through the Nexus Curtain. I have trod the World Between the Worlds and witnessed the pathways into every other dimension.”

  Treete shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “Am I to understand then, Professor, that you are admitting to all of the allegations leveled against you?”

  “Please, Ignatius,” Franklyn said, nearly pleading with the big man across from him. “Your obsessions have driven you to madness. Whatever you have done, whatever you have seen, it has obviously affected you in some dreadful way. There is help for you here, if you choose to seek it. Beware what you say, lest you forfeit that option.”

  Magnussen chuckled drily. “You think that I should care what this little man can do to me? Let him attempt to stop me. I am beyond the rim now, Benjamin. I am past the event horizon of destiny, incapable of returning even if I wished to. And I do not wish to. I embrace my mission. I will go to it with great relish.”

  Treete pushed back his chair and stood up. “I am afraid that I have no choice then, sirs. Out of respect for your position, Professor Magnussen, and at your personal request, Professor Franklyn, I leave you now to formulate my verdict. You can expect my return within the week, along with a cadre of wizarding police, to escort the defendant to the Crystal Mountain for processing. Professor Franklyn, for the interim, will you state your willing assumption of full responsibility for the guarding of the defendant?”

  Franklyn’s eyes remained locked on Magnussen. “I assume full responsibility for the defendant.”

  “So be it,” Treete said briskly. He retrieved his wand from his sleeve
, reached out, and tapped the yellowed skull that sat on the table before him. Instantly, the room vanished, leaving James, Zane, and Ralph blinking in the darkness of the hall of the Disrecorder.

  “Whoa,” Zane breathed, looking down at the yellowed skull.

  Ralph shook his head slowly. “Franklyn wasn’t kidding around when he said that that bloke was someone the school would like to forget.”

  “Well, now we know why Magnussen went through the Nexus Curtain, at least,” James sighed. “He was convinced that he had to measure everything in every dimension in order to know the future and control it. Is that how it sounded to you?”

  Zane nodded. “Magnussen was one crazy whack job. I see why he was Head of Igor House. But where most of those guys just talk a big game about wanting to take over the world, he actually went out and did something about it.”

  “But we still don’t know how he got through the Nexus Curtain,” Ralph commented. “And that’s the bit we really need to know, right? How else are we going to get through to the World Between the Worlds and see if the real bad guys are hiding out there?”

  Zane took the skull gingerly from the bowl of the Disrecorder. “According to Professor Jackson, the Nexus Curtain can only be opened with a key from some other dimension. Whoever attacked the Vault of Destinies has the crimson thread from the Loom, which would do the trick since it came from some neighboring reality. What could Magnussen have used as a key?”

  James shrugged and nodded toward Ralph, who was holding the second relic, the old boot. “Let’s try that one. Maybe it’ll tell us what we need to know.”

  Ralph looked down at the boot in his hands. “You think this is the boot that they talked about in the vision? The one that belonged to that Muggle woman that Magnussen, er…”

  “Just put it on the thing, Ralph,” Zane said, shaking his head slowly.

  Ralph stepped forward and placed the small boot onto the stone pedestal before him. In response, the hall of the Disrecorder dimmed, but remained relatively unchanged. For a moment, James thought that there was something wrong with the relic, but then he heard a voice, echoing quietly. He followed the sound of it, turning to look about the hall, and saw a single flame burning in a small table lamp. Next to it was Benjamin Franklyn, seated in a wooden chair with a desk attachment, writing. Unlike the previous vision, which had been bright and solid, the image of Franklyn looked almost like a projection on smoke. Franklyn’s ghostly quill scratched on the parchment as he spoke the words aloud, dictating to himself. His voice seemed to come from very far away.