Archie Greene and the Raven's Spell

by D D Everest

  Archie stood on the landing, listening. He couldn’t make out all the words, but he was sure he heard Loretta say, ‘Keep still or you’ll make it worse.’ Her voice sounded strained.

  It was followed by a grunt of pain from Woodbine.

  ‘Careful, woman, that stings!’

  Something was wrong. Archie felt a hand on his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin.

  He turned to see Thistle behind him. His cousin was a few months younger than him, with freckles and a mop of dark hair that was standing up where he’d slept on it.

  ‘What’s up?’ Thistle asked, stifling a yawn.

  ‘Shhhhh!’ Archie whispered. ‘Listen.’

  The low voices had started speaking again. Thistle leaned past him over the bannister, a look of concentration on his face.

  ‘Dad’s back from his trip,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘He was doing a job for Gideon Hawke.’

  Archie nodded. ‘Yes, I know, but something’s wrong. Come on.’

  They tiptoed along the landing and down the stairs, avoiding the creaky steps so that they wouldn’t be heard. The kitchen door was closed and the voices were coming from inside.

  The two boys were creeping along the corridor towards the small dining room when they heard Bramble whisper:

  ‘What are you doing?’

  She was standing at the top of the stairs with her dressing gown pulled tightly around her.

  Archie put his finger to his lips and pointed towards the closed kitchen door. Bramble nodded that she understood and slipped quietly down the stairs. With Archie leading, the three of them stole into the dining room. The serving hatch that connected it with the kitchen was slightly ajar. Archie had overheard conversations this way before. He felt a bit guilty about eavesdropping, but adults were annoyingly cagey about the truth and sometimes it was the only way to find out what was really going on. They crowded around the hatch peering through the open crack.

  What they saw made them gasp. Woodbine was slumped at the kitchen table, but he was barely recognisable. His face was covered with cuts and one eye was so swollen that it was almost closed.

  Loretta was sitting across the table from him with her back to them, dabbing at his injuries with a piece of cotton wool. Woodbine flinched whenever she touched an open wound.

  ‘We didn’t stand a chance,’ he muttered between grimaces. ‘We got there at eight because we thought it would be quiet. We picked up the book but they were lying in wait outside. They hit us with an immobilising spell, and then when we couldn’t protect ourselves they threw a drubbing spell at us for good measure. Wolfus was the first one out of the door so they clobbered him the worst. You should see his face.’

  ‘You were lucky to get away with just a drubbing,’ said Loretta. ‘You could’ve been killed!’

  Woodbine shrugged. ‘We should have put up more of a fight,’ he said, shaking his head ruefully. ‘But it all happened so quickly. Gideon will be furious. He was already angry that the Royal Society had the book all those years without telling anyone. Everyone thought it was lost but it was there all the time.’

  Loretta dabbed at his puffed-up eye. ‘The book,’ she said. ‘What happened to it?’

  ‘Gone,’ growled Woodbine. ‘They took it. They knew we were coming. Someone must have tipped them off.’

  ‘But the Royal Society of Magic,’ gasped Loretta. ‘I can’t believe they would dare to take it from there!’

  ‘They dared all right,’ muttered Woodbine, darkly. ‘The Greaders sense that the wind has changed in their favour. This is just the start; you mark my words. They’re gathering their forces – and they have people in high places.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ asked Loretta, a note of fear in her voice.

  Woodbine touched his swollen eye and winced. ‘Arthur Ripley,’ he said. ‘It’s been four months without any sightings of him. Someone must be sheltering him – covering his tracks.’

  Arthur Ripley was Arabella’s grandfather and a notorious Greader. He had been behind the plot to free the warlock Barzak, and had instigated the second plot with the Alchemist’s Curse and The Grim Grimoire. Archie also knew that Ripley had had a hand in his father’s disappearance, as The Grim Grimoire had let slip that Ripley had trapped Archie’s father, Alex Greene, inside a magical book. Archie suspected Ripley was also responsible for the disappearance of his mother and sister, as they had all gone missing at the same time.

  Archie had spent every spare moment since trying to discover what had happened to them, so his ears pricked up at the mention of Ripley’s name. Gideon Hawke had promised Archie that when Ripley was caught they would find out what he knew about his family.

  ‘But why would anyone want to protect Ripley after what he’s done?’ asked Loretta.

  Woodbine’s brow darkened. ‘There are people in the magical realm who agree with what he’s trying to do. They would have no qualms about using dark magic, and they would follow Ripley if he rose to power.’

  On the other side of the serving hatch the three cousins exchanged anxious glances.

  ‘And now they’ve got the book,’ said Woodbine.

  Archie felt a prickling sensation in the palm of his right hand. He glanced at the small tattoo-like firemarks there.

  Woodbine continued. ‘The authorities will have to do something, and quickly.’ He paused. ‘If the Greaders get a chance to open that book …’

  His voice trailed off and he seemed to slump a little lower in his chair.

  ‘That’s enough of that sort of talk, Woodbine,’ snapped Loretta. She was trying to put on a brave face but her voice shook. ‘The children will be down soon.’

  The three cousins took this as their cue to leave. They crept quietly back up the stairs. They hurriedly threw on some clothes and came back down, making plenty of noise this time to announce their arrival.

  When they entered the kitchen, Woodbine was wearing sunglasses to cover his black eye.

  ‘You’re up early,’ said Loretta, with an unconvincing smile.

  The children sat down at the table.

  ‘What ho, young ’uns,’ said Woodbine, trying to sound his usual upbeat self.

  ‘How did you get on?’ asked Bramble, studying him for a reaction. ‘With the mission, I mean.’

  Woodbine looked away. ‘I’m not allowed to talk about it,’ he said.

  He absentmindedly touched his bruised cheek.

  Loretta shot him a sharp look. ‘Yes, well, never mind all that. How about some cake and eggs for breakfast?’

  Loretta was famous in the Foxe household for her unusual combinations of food. She had a shelf full of cookery books – gifts from well-meaning friends and family – but she never opened them. Loretta preferred to make up her own eccentric dishes. Archie had found it disconcerting at first but he’d almost got used to it now.

  ‘How is Rupert getting on, by the way?’ Loretta asked a short while later, plopping a greasy fried egg onto a large slice of sponge cake and passing the plate to Bramble. ‘I hear the Royal Society asked for him specially. His parents must be very proud. Does he like it there?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Bramble. ‘But he misses the animals from the menagerie.’

  ‘Bound to,’ agreed Woodbine, his mouth half full of cake and eggs. He scraped up the last of his eggy cake crumbs with his fork and shovelled them into his mouth. He’d forgotten that his lips were swollen and winced.

  Archie pushed a knife into his own egg and watched the yellow yolk soak into the porous sponge. He added some tomato ketchup for good measure and hesitantly took a bite. In fact, the combination of sweet and savoury was surprisingly good.

  *

  A short while later, their stomachs full, the three cousins set off for the museum. There was a start-of-term meeting and they didn’t want to be late.

  It was a bright spring morning and the sun was warm on their backs as they walked from the Foxe family home in Houndstooth Road to the centre of Oxford.

  As well as h
is magic-writing duties, Archie was still apprenticed to Old Zeb, the bookbinder, at the magical bookshop called the Aisle of White. The bookshop was on one side of a small courtyard just off a square near the Bodleian Library. The bookshop served as a place to sort the magic books from other books that people came to sell. It was the only part of the museum open to the Unready – people who didn’t know about magic.

  The main museum was on the other side of the courtyard and strictly off limits to the non-magical world. To enter it, apprentices went through Quill’s Coffee & Chocolate House, which was where they were headed now.

  *

  When they arrived at Quill’s, Pink, the waitress, was standing behind the bar. A tall, slim woman with pierced eyebrows and lots of tattoos, she controlled the door ray, the secret entrance which connected the front of Quill’s, the part that was open to the public, and the back of house where the apprentices met before going to the museum.

  Separating the two sides was a magical barrier called a permission wall, which was enchanted so that the back of house was invisible to the Unready.

  ‘Hurry up,’ said Pink, waving them through the door ray. ‘The meeting starts in five minutes.’

  The back of house was full of excited chatter. Archie, Bramble and Thistle had spent the Easter break in Oxford, but some of the apprentices had been away on holiday and hadn’t seen their friends for a while so there was a lot to catch up on.

  The three cousins found Arabella. She told them about her visit to Prague.

  ‘There’s a place called Alchemists’ Alley inside the castle,’ she said. ‘My parents insisted we go there. They wanted to see the bookshop where that Greader attack happened last year.’

  Archie shuddered at the memory. A Greader named Amos Roach had killed an elderly couple called the Krones on the instructions of Katerina Krone, their adopted daughter. Katerina was descended from the Nightshade family whose ancestors included Hecate the witch, the author of The Grim Grimoire. Arthur Ripley had written to Katerina to tell her that the book was hidden in the Darchive inside the museum and was her inheritance. When Katerina had tried to make Archie complete the unfinished spell so she could take Hecate’s powers for herself, the Grimoire had put a curse on her, which had left her spellbound.

  Archie and the Alchemists’ Club had foiled the plot, and Katerina had been sent to an asylum for the magically ill. Amos Roach, like Arthur Ripley, was still on the run.

  Bramble told Arabella about the black flame and the vanishing spell.

  ‘That’s weird,’ said Arabella. ‘I’ve never heard of spells disappearing like that. I wonder what it means. Have you told the elders?’

  Archie shook his head. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell Old Zeb straight after the meeting. He’ll know what it means.’

  Feodora Graves, the head of Supernatural Magic, clapped her hands and cut their conversation short.

  ‘Welcome back to another term at the Museum of Magical Miscellany,’ said Graves in her clipped voice. ‘If you would please take your seats we have some very important notices to give you.’

  Arabella and the three cousins joined the crowd of apprentices making their way to the function room in the back of house at Quill’s, where the meetings were held.

  The four of them sat down together, leaving an empty seat. Then they remembered that Rupert wouldn’t be joining them because he was in London. Archie felt a pang of nostalgia for the days when the five of them were always together. He knew that Rupert was excited about working at the Royal Society, but that didn’t stop him missing his friend.

  As usual, the museum elders had taken their places on the raised platform at the front of the room. Dr Motley Brown, the head of the Natural Magic Department, a short man in a tweed jacket, was talking to Gideon Hawke, the head of Lost Books.

  It was the job of the Lost Books Department to track down dangerous magical books. Brown and Hawke were having an animated conversation. Archie guessed they were talking about Woodbine’s failed mission. Brown was shaking his head. Archie caught a few words.

  ‘It’s too bad, Gideon, but you really should have collected it yourself. I mean, of all the books to have stolen from under your nose, it had to be that book …’

  ‘Someone tipped them off,’ said Hawke.

  Archie switched his attention to Hawke. The head of Lost Books was of medium height with dark hair, and wore a brown moleskin jacket. It was well known among the apprentices that he was the most magically talented of all the museum elders. Archie had seen him perform spells on several occasions. But to look at him there was little to indicate his magical abilities, except that, like Archie, he had different-coloured eyes: one was blue and the other grey. Archie had often wondered how old he was, but it was impossible to tell.

  Just then, he noticed a tall man, with long, grey hair and a beard that was frosted with white, sitting next to Hawke. He was dressed in a midnight blue velvet jacket, with pointed shoes that had silver buckles. The man was listening to the other two in rapt concentration. He had a faintly amused expression as if he knew something that no one else did. By the deep creases in his face he looked old, but the twinkle in his eye was youthful.

  Graves took her place among the elders. She wore a worried frown. Standing, she raised her voice above the hubbub of chattering apprentices. ‘Please take your seats so we may begin.’ She cast a sharp-eyed look around the assembled faces.

  ‘First, I’d like to introduce Faustus Gaunt,’ she said, indicating the tall man with the beard. ‘Faustus is an expert on magical prophecies. He is helping with some research in Lost Books, and we are delighted that he will be filling the vacancy as head of Mortal Magic.’

  At the mention of his name, Gaunt gave the slightest of nods.

  Graves paused, and took a breath. ‘I have some other important news,’ she continued. Her frown deepened. ‘A very dangerous book has been stolen from the Royal Society of Magic. If you or anyone you know has any information concerning the missing book, you must report it to one of the elders.’

  As she spoke, her gaze fell on the four members of the Alchemists’ Club and seemed to linger on Arabella. ‘It is very important that we recover the book. Do I make myself clear?’

  *

  The apprentices left the function room chattering about the stolen book.

  ‘It must be the same book that Dad was talking about,’ said Thistle, as soon as the four of them were alone. ‘The elders seem really worried about it. I’ve never seen them so jumpy.’

  ‘Woodbine said that the authorities would have to act quickly,’ said Archie, ‘before the Greaders got a chance to open it. I wonder what book it is?’

  ‘It’s got to be the last of the Terrible Tomes,’ said Arabella. ‘It’s the only thing that would alarm them like that.’

  There were seven Terrible Tomes in all. When Archie had first arrived at the museum, four had already been found and locked away in a room called the crypt inside the museum. Thanks to Archie and the Alchemists’ Club, two more of the Tomes – The Book of Souls and The Grim Grimoire – were also now under lock and key. That left one unaccounted for.

  ‘The seventh Tome …’ said Bramble.

  ‘Yes, but what is it?’ mused Archie.

  None of them had an answer, but Archie had just had another thought. ‘Woodbine said the book was stolen at just after eight o’clock. That’s when you woke me up in the Scriptorium, and the spell disappeared shortly after. Do you think it could all be connected?’

  Bramble shot him an anxious glance. ‘It’s possible,’ she said. ‘That’s even more reason to ask Old Zeb about the black flame when you see him.’

  3

  The Diviner’s Mark

  The bell clanged noisily as Archie opened the door to the Aisle of White and stepped inside. He made his way between the dark wooden bookcases towards the counter at the back of the bookshop. The shelves were full of old books, but the magical ones were kept behind a velvet curtain, waiting to be mended or sent to
the museum for classification.

  Geoffrey Screech, the bookshop’s owner, was standing behind the counter as usual. A narrow-shouldered man with a goatee beard, Screech wore a green waistcoat and a yellow bow tie. It was his job to check if any books that came into the shop were magical.

  ‘Hello, Archie,’ he said, looking up, his face creasing into a friendly smile.

  ‘Is Old Zeb in yet?’ Archie asked.

  ‘He’s downstairs,’ Screech said. ‘Is something wrong?’

  But Archie had already disappeared through the curtain. He glanced at a bookcase there as he passed. It was full of repaired magical books waiting to go to the museum.

  ‘Hello, Archie,’ said a papery voice.

  A chorus of other rustling voices joined in. Archie was only just beginning to understand the importance of being a book whisperer – especially as he was the only one – but it still gave him a thrill of excitement every time a book spoke to him. Today, though, he had to get on.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t stop to chat,’ he said. ‘I’m in a hurry.’

  ‘Shame,’ said another papery voice. ‘It’s so nice to talk to someone who isn’t a book.’

  ‘Yes,’ said a deeper voice coming from a large book with a red leather cover. ‘We don’t get out much.’

  Archie smiled to himself. ‘All right then,’ he said. ‘But just for a moment.’

  He glanced at the book’s spine. Its title was Magical Mysteries. He remembered repairing it a few days earlier.

  ‘Broken binding,’ he said, ‘with a small rip in the cover?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the book. ‘But you fixed me up like new.’

  Archie glanced at the other books.

  ‘You were in for a broken clasp,’ he said to the first one. ‘And you had a crooked spine,’ he said to the next. ‘And you …’ he added, touching the cover of the fourth book, ‘now let me see. Hmmmm. No, don’t tell me … you needed a new jacket because your old one was worn out!’