Zane looked hard at James, his eyebrows raised. “Tapestries,” he repeated. “Can we, maybe, see these tapestries?”
Erebus sighed dramatically. “Second floor,” he drawled. “North corridor. And do try not to carry my frame like that, young man. There might be less pleasant views in the world than your armpit, but I am hard-pressed to think of any at the moment.”
“Sorry,” Ralph muttered, taking the frame from beneath his arm.
When they finally arrived at the second-floor corridor, James was surprised to find that they had somehow missed this area during their earlier tour. The corridor was quite high, lined with windows on one side and very old floor-length tapestries on the other. The windows were covered with thick golden curtains, pulled tightly closed.
“It’s so dark,” Ralph said, creeping slowly into the hall. “I can barely see in here.”
“Luminos,” the portrait of Erebus said in a low voice. In response, a series of crystal chandeliers began to glow, flames growing silently from their previously unlit candles.
“The tapestries are quite ancient,” Erebus explained as the boys walked along the corridor, watching as the candlelight flickered over the woven images. “Erebus family treasures, in fact, passed down through many generations. Sunlight has faded them over the centuries, thus they are now kept secluded in darkness, preserved as well as they can be.”
James took a step closer to the first of the huge tapestries. The threadwork was very fine, reminding him of the neat weaving of the Loom of Destinies. Unlike the Loom, however, the images shown here were not abstract. Each illustration was skillfully rendered, even lifelike. James almost expected them to begin moving.
“It looks like they tell a story,” Wentworth commented, his voice unconsciously hushed.
“An astute observation, my friend,” Erebus replied. “These are, in fact, a complete series, telling an ancient tale known as the Ballad of the Rider.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Zane commented.
Erebus chuckled humorlessly. “Nor am I surprised. It is not the sort of tale the wizarding world tends to repeat. It is a tragedy, in fact, and a very dark one.”
James peered up at the nearest tapestry again. On it, a tall, grave man with a black beard sat upon a horse. On closer inspection, James realized that the horse was, in fact, a unicorn, dappled grey, with powerful forelegs and a mane of shimmering gold. Every line and thread of the image implied that the rider and the unicorn were regal, solemn, almost glorious. Behind them, a wildly colourful and ornate starburst stretched from one edge of the tapestry to the other. Along the bottom were dozens of hands and faces, all leering up toward the Rider, pointing, shouting, crying carefully woven blue tears of delight or terror.
“What’s happening in this one?” James asked, a little breathlessly.
“That,” Erebus intoned solemnly, “is the arrival of the Rider. According to the Ballad, his coming was marked by a blinding curtain of light, as if one of the very stars had descended from the night sky and settled, for one twinkling moment, on a hilltop. The Rider appeared from within the light, which vanished behind him. This was in the Dark Ages of Europe, and as you might imagine, his arrival caused great fear among those who witnessed it. The Rider explained himself, however, describing his home in a different reality, one similar to our own, but utterly peaceful and advanced in both the healing and magical arts. To prove his assertions, he described the process by which his world’s foremost witches and wizards had discovered the existence of other realities and learned how they were all bound together by one central core: the Nexus. Using their arts, they created a portal into the Nexus with hopes of reaching out to other dimensions. His purpose, he claimed, was to venture into less fortunate realities and share the wealth of their learning.”
“The Nexus,” Zane whispered, nodding. “This fits perfectly with everything we’ve heard about the Nexus Curtain and the World Between the Worlds.”
Together, the four boys drifted toward the next tapestry. This one showed the bearded Rider standing at the head of a table, surrounded by seated witches and wizards. The Rider’s posture implied that he was speaking, his arm raised in a gesture of conjuring. Over the table hovered a fanciful representation of a globe, covered with jungles, mountains, waterfalls, and placid oceans. The globe’s continents were dotted with magnificent cities, its oceans streaked by sailing vessels with bright blue sails. The vision was contrived to seem as if it was spreading beams of light all around the room, but the listeners at the table seemed not to notice. Their faces were caricatures of wickedness: porcine and bloated, grinning and narrow-eyed, some with their heads bowed together in obvious conspiracy.
“Ohhh,” Ralph said, nodding with realization. “He’s describing his dimension to everybody.”
“Doesn’t much look like they’re listening though,” James added.
Erebus frowned inside his frame. “Indeed not. The Rider fell into the council of greedy witches and wizards, who were far less interested in the gifts of his enlightenment than they were the dark magic they believed could be gleaned from him and his unicorn. Until then, there had been no such beasts in our world, you see, and these crafty witches and wizards instinctively understood that this was a creature of fabulous power. Thus, they bided their time, pretending to listen, all the while plotting how to steal the man’s magic and use it against him. In truth, their intention, horribly, was to learn the use of the Rider’s portal and invade his reality, taking whatever they wished by force and domination.”
“Some welcoming committee,” Wentworth said sourly.
Zane asked, “So were they able to do it?”
“Fortunately for us, they were not,” Erebus replied. “Had their scheme succeeded, our own reality would surely have descended into horrors, taking many more with it, perhaps even to destruction. The balance of the Destinies prevailed, however, halting their evil plans, but not without cost.”
The group stood before the third tapestry now. On it, men in dark robes crowded around the unicorn, which was reared on its hind hooves, pawing at the air, its teeth bared in desperation. Around its neck and connected to the fists of its dark adversaries was a collection of restraining ropes. Worse, a crooked dagger was raised in the hand of one of the dark wizards, pointing toward the unicorn’s dappled flank. In the foreground, the Rider seemed to be in a duel with several of the dark wizards, his face noble yet resigned, as he was hopelessly outnumbered by his foes.
Erebus spoke, continuing his recitation of the Ballad. “Once the horrid plan was placed into action, the Rider was imprisoned. His unicorn was experimented upon and forced to breed with common horses, all in an attempt to create more of its kind. This, of course, is the origin of the few unicorns that still roam the deepest woods of our day, less powerful than their noble ancestor, but still glorious. In the end, the Rider succeeded in mustering his powers for an escape. Being peaceful, he attempted to spare his captors’ lives, but they viewed his mercy as weakness. In the end, they chased him and his unicorn down, subduing them both by sheer numbers. Unable to wrest the secret of the Nexus from him, they eventually killed him and hopelessly wounded his unicorn at the same time.”
James shook his head. “That’s perfectly beastly,” he said in a low voice.
“It gets worse,” Erebus admitted stoically.
The gathering moved to the last tapestry. It glowed in the candlelight, somehow both more vibrant and more ghastly than the others. The scene showed a moonlit forest, dominated by a huddle of the dark-robed witches and wizards. They seemed to be bent over something, obscuring it.
“What are they doing?” Ralph asked tentatively, frowning at the tall image. “What’s all that silvery stuff running all over the ground?”
“Alas,” Erebus replied darkly, “according to the Ballad, the evil witches and wizards realized that their plan had been foiled. They had murdered their only hope of conquering the other dimensions and mortally wounded the creature that might have g
ranted them powers beyond their dreams. In a final, ghastly attempt to harness the magic of that hidden realm, they fell upon the wounded unicorn and consumed its blood, still warm from its failing heart. As they feasted upon it, piteously, the poor beast died.
“Unmoved by the extremity of their crimes and grown cruelly powerful by their draught of the unicorn’s blood, these witches and wizards turned into legends of horror for decades thereafter. They had become virtually unstoppable, you see, darkly magical and inhumanly strong. They were known to strike terror into the hearts of all they met since both their eyes and mouths glowed with a pale silvery light, forever tainted by the blood of their prey. To cover this, they fashioned masks of metal, even more terrible than their human faces, and wore them as signs of their fraternity. For nearly a century, these beasts in human form ruled with mayhem, torture, and murder, known universally by the name that they had chosen for themselves, a name that explained both the source of their powers and the depths of their depravity. ‘Death Eaters’, they called themselves; a word that became synonymous with dark ambition, inhumanity, and power at any cost.”
“They were the original Death Eaters?” James asked faintly, staring up at the horrible image. “But… Voldemort…?”
“The devil cannot create,” Erebus said evenly. “He can only pervert. The villain your age knew as Voldemort adopted the policies of these, his spiritual brethren. He took their name and claimed it for himself, but he did not invent it.”
Shuddering, Wentworth asked, “So, what ever became of those guys?”
“Over the decades, heroes of stout heart and courage hunted them down,” Erebus answered, nodding gravely in his frame. “Many knights died in the attempt, but one by one, the Death Eaters were dispatched, their heads cut from their shoulders and buried while their bodies were burned to dust. In the end, only one remained, a woman named Proserpine. She was finally cornered in her secret citadel, deep in a tractless forest. There, rather than facing her pursuers, she took her own life, leaving her own severed head smiling on the doorstep, its eyes still glowing with dead malevolence. Her body, the legends claim, was never found.”
Ralph shivered. “Hellooo, nightmares,” he squeaked.
“What about the unicorn’s body?” Wentworth asked, shaking his head. “Didn’t they try to preserve that somehow?”
Erebus scoffed lightly. “The Death Eaters cared not for preserving the corpse of their victim. According to legend, however, explorers did eventually find the poor creature’s skeleton, complete with its magical horn. Rather than burying it or bringing it back, they decided to leave it as a memorial, hidden within a seamless blanket of unplottability, forever at rest. They did bring back one thing, though, as proof of their discovery: a single silver horseshoe, which they claimed was still attached to the beast’s right front hoof, gleaming and uncorrupted. For centuries, that very horseshoe was a symbol of humility and regret, kept safe by a council of knights whose sole job was to watch for the appearance of any more delegates from the dimension beyond. If such a delegate were ever to appear, the horseshoe was to be returned to them in homage, a humble, insufficient apology for the crime that had been committed against their people.”
“Wow,” Zane said softly, somber for once. “So are those knights still out there somewhere, guarding the horseshoe and watching for anyone from that other dimension?”
“Alas, no,” Erebus sighed. “My family was the last of those knights, and I was the last of my family, come to this new country in the hopes of finding a permanent hiding place for the relic. As a result, the horseshoe was granted to this college, an heirloom and a sacred trust. Unfortunately, by then, its significance had been all but lost. For many years, it was preserved in the museum atop the Tower of Art, well guarded but forgotten. Now, I suspect, none even remember that it was ever there.”
“Why?” James asked, blinking suddenly. “What happened to it? Where is it now?”
Erebus chuckled ruefully. “That, as they used to say in my time, is the thousand Drummel question. It seems that sometime after my own death, the horseshoe was borrowed from the museum and never returned. Obviously, I myself am less than clear on the details—we portraits have rather a difficult time absorbing much of what happens beyond our own deaths—but I believe that the horseshoe went into the library of a trusted private collector. I suppose I should care more about it, seeing as I was the last of a long line of those whose duty was to protect the relic. But as I said, death offers its own unique perspective, one facet of which is that it becomes exceedingly easy not to give a damn. I can only hope that the horseshoe has been well cared for. Or, at the very least, been tossed into a very, very deep well.”
James’ eyes had grown wide as he listened. Silently, he turned to look at Ralph, and then Zane. Both of them returned his look of speechless realization.
“What?” Wentworth said, frowning. “You three look like somebody just shot Freezing Charms into your underpants.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” James asked quietly.
Zane nodded. “I’m thinking I bet I know who the mysterious patron is that ‘borrowed’ the old lucky horseshoe.”
“But how would Magnussen have figured it all out?” Ralph asked. “We’ve got the portrait to explain everything, but Magnussen didn’t get anything from him, apparently.”
“Magnussen wouldn’t have needed anyone to explain it!” James whispered, flush with excitement. “Remember what Franklyn told us? Magnussen was a guy who loved stories! He’d probably already read all about the legend of the Rider!”
Zane nodded. “Then, later, when he’s out prowling the halls here in the castle, he spies these tapestries and starts putting everything together. He connects the tapestries with the silver horseshoe up in the Tower of Art and bammo, he’s got the dimensional key he’s been dreaming of all along!”
“Wow,” Ralph laughed a little nervously. “So the riddle was right after all. The truth walked the halls of Erebus Castle, right here. The truth was Magnussen and the tapestries put together!”
There was a long meaningful pause as the three boys stared at one another, absorbing the gravity of what they had just discovered. Finally, Wentworth spoke up, breaking the silence.
“Well, this is all marvelous,” he sighed, rolling his eyes and pulling James by the elbow. “I don’t know what any of it means or why I should care, but bully for all three of you. Now, can I maybe go back and finish my lunch?”
18. THE DIMENSIONAL KEY
The first hints of spring on the campus of Alma Aleron were marked by a series of very gusty days. The warm winds first melted the remaining patches of snow and then dried the winter-yellow lawns so that by the week before Valentine’s Day, groups of students could be seen practicing skrim or tossing Clutches over the mall’s yards and empty flowerbeds. After nearly a week of grey days, the sun finally broke through a tatter of stubborn clouds, bathing Administration Hall with beams of shifting golden light.
In the days after the revelation of the Erebus Castle tapestries, James, Ralph, and Zane had begun to plan the next step of their adventure, which was to somehow use the time-traveling nature of the school to go back to the date of Professor Magnussen’s escape and follow him through the Timelock, out into Muggle Philadelphia. There, they would attempt to nick the dimensional key— the unicorn’s silver horseshoe—from the villain professor before he could use it to vanish forever through the Nexus Curtain.
“If we’re lucky,” Zane whispered one morning in Clockwork Mechanics as Professor Cloverhoof assisted another student with her magical cuckoo clock, “we’ll get the horseshoe and see where the Nexus Curtain is at the same time.”
James lurched suddenly backward as his own wooden cuckoo bird sprang from the tiny doors of his half-finished clock. The bird extended on a complicated accordion of wooden struts, began to retract back, and then lurched to a squeaking halt, bobbing back and forth over James’ shoulder.
“Not enough beeswax on th
e joints,” the bird chirped in irritation. “And your measurements are all over the place.”
“Shut it, bird,” James grumped, reaching to force it back into its compartment. To Zane, he whispered, “You mean if we just follow Magnussen without being seen, we can wait for him to lead us to the Nexus Curtain and then try to nick the unicorn’s shoe before he actually uses it?”
“Seems like it’d be cutting things a bit close,” Ralph admitted.
“Yeah,” his own cuckoo bird chirped from where it lay on the table next to him, surrounded by a variety of wooden cogs, tools, and brass gears. “And finesse doesn’t seem to be ya all’s strong suit.”
“Shut it, bird,” all three boys said in unison.
Just to be sure of their information, James had suggested that they take a quick trip up to the museum atop the Tower of Art to learn what they could about the unicorn’s horseshoe. During their Wednesday afternoon free period, they climbed the hundreds of stairs to the top of the Tower and spent some time wandering the museum’s halls, searching for any information about the apparently missing horseshoe. The curator was not at her desk, unfortunately, and a quick look around the museum’s halls revealed no mysteriously vacant display cases or empty frames where the horseshoe might originally have been displayed.
“It’s been gone too long,” Zane insisted, bored. “The portrait said they didn’t even really know the significance of the thing anyway, remember? As far as the curator knew, it was just some silver horseshoe from the Erebus family collection. Totally old and stuff, but still, just a horseshoe. Once it went missing, they probably just closed the display and put in a new bowl of golden scarabs. Let’s go back and see them again, now that I mention it. I still have some of those copper shavings in my pocket that they like to eat.”
“We need to be sure,” James said stubbornly. “Erebus himself said he’s pretty fuzzy on anything that’s happened since his death. I want to know for certain that the horseshoe really was here once and that it went missing around Magnussen’s time. Hold on…”
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