by D D Everest
He was pondering this when his thoughts were interrupted by a sound at the window. Tap, tap.
Horace crossed the room and opened the blind. A raven was perched on the outside windowsill. As Horace peered at it, the bird tapped its beak on the glass again. Tap, tap.
Horace opened the window and the raven hopped inside. It landed on his desk. Horace wondered whether this was the same raven that had once collected a ring for Archie Greene.
‘Who are you here on behalf of?’ he asked the bird.
The raven cocked its head on one side. ‘Fabian Grey,’ it cried.
Horace glanced at the package. ‘I’ll need some proof,’ he said.
‘Its record says: “Property of Fabian Grey. Do not remove. Owner will collect”,’ the bird said.
‘That doesn’t prove anything,’ stammered Horace.
‘How else would I know the instruction?’ said the raven, giving him a scornful glare.
Then, before Horace could respond, it grasped the leather twine in its claws and tried to fly away. But the package was too heavy for it and it only succeeded in dragging it off the edge of the desk onto the floor. Fluttering down beside it, the raven seized the twine a second time.
But by now Horace had recovered himself. ‘Not so fast,’ he said, standing in front of the window. ‘I’ll need better proof than that!’
With a cry of frustration, the raven dropped the package. It fixed Horace with its beady-eyed stare. ‘I’ll send another,’ it said. Then it flapped its wings once and arrowed past him out of the open window into the night.
11
The Green Bottle
When Archie arrived at the museum the next day, he went straight to Lost Books. He was desperate to tell Hawke about his dream. But Hawke wasn’t there.
Archie decided to look for him in the archive. He found Morag Pandrama searching through some ancient texts. A severe-looking woman with olive skin and almond-shaped eyes, her pince-nez were perched on the end of her aquiline nose.
As Archie arrived she made a loud tutting sound and closed the volume she was examining, placing it on an ever-growing pile of discarded books on the left of the table. On the right was an even larger stack that she had yet to open. When she heard Archie come in she looked up with a frown, indicating she was very busy and didn’t want to be disturbed.
When he asked for Hawke, she shook her head. ‘I haven’t seen him,’ she said. ‘Even he takes a day off once in a blue moon.’
She opened another book and buried her nose in it.
‘When will he be back?’ Archie asked.
Pandrama regarded him over her pince-nez. ‘Tomorrow I expect,’ she said, and carried on scanning the pages.
Archie was crestfallen. Hawke had said he was to let him know if he had any more dreams about Grey or the raven. He was sure that this latest one was important. But when he recounted it to Pandrama she shook her head.
‘Sorry, Archie, I don’t know anything about dreams. But I do know that I’ve got a lot of research to get through and very little time. Gideon has made it very clear that we have to find out what Grey saw. So unless your dream told you which of these texts to look at first –’ she gestured at the shelves crammed with books and scrolls – ‘then it’s not much help to me.’
‘But I dreamed about The Book of Night,’ he said.
Pandrama smiled at him. ‘Well, I’m not surprised. I think Gideon dreams of nothing else, but you need to talk to him about that.’
‘I just thought I should tell someone, that’s all,’ said Archie.
‘Tell someone what?’ asked a sharp voice. Archie turned to see Aurelius Rusp standing in the doorway. Rusp was one of Archie’s least favourite people. Ever since he’d discovered the fire in the museum thirteen years earlier, Rusp had become a real grouch. He didn’t seem to have a kind word to say to anyone, especially Archie. Sometimes, though, he helped Hawke in Lost Books.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Archie said.
Rusp shrugged. ‘Well, then, don’t loiter, boy. Some of us have work to do.’ He addressed Pandrama. ‘Morag, I saw Gideon yesterday and he asked me to help you look through the records.’
Pandrama looked up. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘I thought Faustus was meant to be helping me but he must be busy with something else. Perhaps he’s at the Royal Society today. You can start with those,’ she said indicating the untouched stack of books on her desk. ‘I’ll put the ones I’ve already been through away and get some more,’ she added, scooping up the other pile.
She hurried towards one of the smaller rooms that adjoined the main archive. Rusp took her place at the table and continued thumbing through the texts where she’d left off.
They seemed to have forgotten Archie was even there. He watched for a while and then slipped away. While he was here, he might as well do some research of his own.
He looked up drawing books in the reference book.
Drawing books: These are among the most dangerous of all magical books. They have the power to draw people into them. The most famous drawing books are The Book of Yore and The Book of Prophecy. Together with The Book of Reckoning, these are sometimes called the three Books of Destiny. But The Book of Yore is not concerned with destiny because it deals with the past. However, by revealing the past it may change the future.
A number of people who have consulted drawing books have gone missing. If the book is closed while someone is inside and the page is lost, then it is notoriously difficult to find the place again. In other cases, people have been unable to return because they have broken the natural lores of magic.
The Grim Grimoire had said that Alex Greene was trapped inside a book and that Arthur Ripley was involved in some way. What exactly did that mean? Had Ripley closed the book with his father inside it, deliberately losing his place so that he couldn’t get out? And where were Archie’s mother and sister? Were they trapped with his father?
He wondered again if The Book of Night was a drawing book and whether his family might be trapped inside it. It gave him a sick feeling in his stomach.
The very time that he needed to talk to Hawke and the head of Lost Books wasn’t around. But he had to tell someone about his dream so he went to find Old Zeb. The bookbinder was a good listener.
*
When Archie told him about his dream, the old man looked alarmed. ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ he said, covering his mouth with his hand.
‘What does it mean?’ asked Archie.
‘You saw the Greaders opening The Book of Night,’ the old bookbinder said solemnly. ‘Which means either they have already opened it or they are about to. You must tell Gideon as soon as possible.’
Archie felt the knot in his stomach tighten another notch. It was just as he’d feared. He looked at his hand. His new firemark was glowing faintly.
‘But why did I dream about it?’ he asked.
Old Zeb shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Archie. What does Gideon say?’
‘He says that magic comes more easily to me because I am a book whisperer.’
‘You certainly picked up bookbinding very quickly,’ mused Old Zeb, ‘so he’s probably right. But that makes you more sensitive to magic, too. You must be careful. You consulted the Books of Destiny. They are very powerful magical books. It can’t be good for your mind. The Book of Yore is bad enough, but The Book of Prophecy …’
He shook his head again. ‘That book has sent people mad. And now you’re having bad dreams … dreams that seem to be prophetic. That’s why Gideon has always said that consulting The Book of Prophecy should only be considered as a last resort. It’s too powerful for mortal minds.’
Archie could see concern in the old man’s eyes.
‘I’ve wondered about that,’ said Archie. ‘Why didn’t it affect me the way it affected Fabian Grey? I must have been protected by my retrospectre.’ The guarding spell using the Emerald Eye enabled him to safely leave his physical body behind and enter drawing books.
‘Perhaps,’ said
Old Zeb, but he didn’t look convinced and avoided Archie’s eye. ‘That’s something else you should ask Gideon about.’
I would if I could find him, Archie thought to himself.
On his way out, Archie was thinking about what the old man had said. Was it possible that because he’d consulted The Book of Prophecy he was dreaming about the future? He was just passing the second door, the blue one that was guarded by the stone griffins called the bookend beasts, when he felt an icy blast of air. He noticed that the door was slightly ajar. That was very odd.
For one thing, the door had an invisible handle, which made it difficult to open, but, more worryingly, it was also a secret entrance into the crypt where the other Terrible Tomes were kept.
Someone’s been in here, thought Archie, nudging the door open and feeling the icy air catch in his chest.
He noticed two sets of footprints in the frost on the flagstoned floor; one set leading in and another leading back to the door.
Both sets of tracks looked like they were made by the same feet. The footprints going in were close together, but the ones coming out were much further apart.
Whoever made them had crept in slowly but left very quickly. The second set of prints was further apart because they were running. The good news was that it looked like whoever had tried to get into the crypt had failed.
It was something else to tell Hawke when he saw him. He hurried back to Lost Books.
*
Pandrama and Rusp were ploughing through more books. They mostly ignored him.
Archie wandered through the maze of rooms that made up the archive. He noticed the alcove he’d seen before. When he investigated, there was a small door that led into another room. He wondered what was in there.
‘What are you up to?’ growled a voice behind him.
Archie spun round to see Rusp glaring at him. ‘Erm, nothing,’ he replied, startled. ‘I was just exploring.’
‘Well, you’re wasting your time there,’ said Rusp. ‘That’s Fabian Grey’s cloakroom. It’s got a locking spell on it. People have been trying to open it for centuries but no magic seems to work.’
Archie glanced at the door again. He’d had a funny feeling about the place. Perhaps that was why.
‘Grey was arrested here in the archive after the Great Fire of London,’ Rusp continued. ‘He was taken by surprise – didn’t even have time to get his cloak.’
‘Now, take these texts through to Morag. She’s waiting for them,’ he added, indicating a pile of heavy-looking books.
Archie did as he was told. For the next hour or so Rusp kept him busy carrying books to Pandrama. But after a while, they were both too preoccupied looking through the records to pay him much mind.
As the afternoon wore on, Archie decided to see if Hawke was back. He went to his office and knocked. When there was no answer he tried the door. It was unlocked so he let himself in.
He looked around the study. There was no one there. A thought occurred to him. This was a chance to find out about Hawke’s mysterious green medicine bottle. He crossed to the desk and opened the drawer.
It was cluttered with all sorts of curious objects. The imagining glass with the black handle and silvery lens Hawke used to examine magical books was in there, and there was another broken one with a pink lens that Archie had retrieved from a break-in at the Aisle of White. But it was the green glass bottle that Archie was interested in. He picked it up and read the label. ‘One teaspoonful to be taken twice a day.’
He took out the stopper and sniffed it. It smelled foul. So it was medicine!
He replaced the stopper and put the bottle back where he’d found it. Hawke was on some sort of medication. But what was it for?
‘Looking for something?’ asked a voice behind him, making him jump.
Archie looked up to see the tall, thin figure of Wolfus Bone standing in the doorway. The magic diviner looked even more emaciated than usual. His face was still badly bruised from the drubbing he’d had at the Royal Society and he was walking with a stick. The attack had obviously left him very frail.
‘Erm, no,’ said Archie, trying not to look as guilty as he felt. ‘I was just tidying up.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Bone, giving him a knowing look. ‘I’ve come to help with your divining lessons,’ he added, his tall frame hunched over his walking stick.
*
Archie spent the rest of the afternoon practising delving spells with Bone.
As he walked home from the museum that night, his mind turned back to the green bottle. If Hawke was ill, what was wrong with him? He was still thinking about this as he passed the entrance to the Bodleian Library in Broad Street.
He didn’t notice the pale figure that followed him along the road. It slipped from one pool of darkness to the next, moving closer and closer to Archie as he made his way home to Houndstooth Road.
When Archie opened the gate to number 32, the white spectre stole up on him like mist. Archie felt a shiver run up his spine as if someone had walked over his grave. The air around him turned cold and something dark entered his mind like an unwanted memory. He heard a hoarse voice that seemed to come from inside his own head.
‘What’s it like to be so unloved and alone?’ it whispered. ‘Your parents abandoned you. They left you when you were a baby because they knew you couldn’t be trusted with magic.’
Archie was startled. Where had that thought come from?
‘My parents had to leave,’ he said to himself, correcting the stray thought. ‘They had no choice. They left me with Gran because they wanted to keep me safe.’
‘Really?’ the cold voice persisted. ‘Then why did the old woman leave you, too, as soon as she could?’
Archie was shocked by the thought. But now he came to think of it, Gran had seemed relieved to send him away to stay with the Foxes. That was because she wanted him to meet his cousins, he reassured himself. It was true that she had gone away immediately afterwards … but maybe she’d always wanted to travel, and who could blame her?
But then again, what if the voice was right and she couldn’t wait to get away from him? She hadn’t asked to raise him after all. She had been lumbered with him when his parents disappeared.
Perhaps Gardenia Greene hadn’t really wanted him! Archie suddenly found himself doubting everything.
‘She doesn’t even visit you,’ whispered the voice in his head.
‘That’s because she’s been travelling,’ Archie thought, trying to convince himself. But he wasn’t so certain as he had been.
‘Don’t you wonder why, though?’ persisted the voice. ‘Why does she choose to travel instead of visiting you?’
‘She’s told me in her letters – she’s searching for … answers.’
‘Ha! That’s convenient. Searching for answers to what? Searching for excuses to stay away from you more like!’
Archie felt hollow inside. The whispering voice sensed his uncertainty and pressed home its advantage. ‘Your parents and sister were happy until you came along. If it hadn’t been for you they would still be together. You are the reason that your family broke up.’
No, that’s not true! Archie thought. The voice was wrong. It was just bad timing that his family had disappeared soon after he was born. It wasn’t his fault. If Arthur Ripley hadn’t trapped his father in a book, he’d still be around.
The voice in his head heard his thoughts. ‘Bad timing?’ it sneered. ‘Yes, it was bad timing for them, all right! You brought ruin on your family. You can’t blame Ripley. It’s all your fault! Your cousins know it, too. They wish you’d never come to Oxford. They hide it well but they don’t want you around. They know you’re dangerous. You’ve nearly got them killed – twice. Third time they won’t be so lucky.’
‘No,’ cried Archie, but the tears were welling up in his eyes. The voice was right. His whole life was one big mistake – one disaster after another. He felt himself falling into a dark hole. He still had his hand on the gate. The lights were on in
side number 32. Bramble and Thistle were inside with Loretta and Woodbine, where they belonged. Archie didn’t belong there. He was a cuckoo in the nest.
‘They wouldn’t miss you!’ sneered the voice in his mind. ‘They’d be better off without you. Everyone would be better off without you.’
Archie glanced at the lights in the house. He could see the Foxe family through the window. They looked happy. The voice was right. He knew it was right. They were perfectly happy without him. He felt the tears hot on his face and turned away. He ran blindly out into the road just as a car turned into the street. He saw a glare of headlights and heard a squeal of brakes as it nearly hit him. Then an angry voice bellowed from the car window.
‘What’s the matter with you, kid? Are you stupid?’ An angry red face danced in front of Archie’s eyes and then with another squeal of tyres the car roared off into the night.
Archie turned and tripped on the pavement. His head hit something hard and he landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him. His head was spinning. The voice was right. He was worthless.
Archie’s eyes dimmed. He felt himself being pulled into darkness. He saw a pale figure bend over him. ‘What’s this?’ it hissed. ‘John Dee’s scrying stone!’ Its breath smelled like rotten fish. A ghostly hand reached for the Emerald Eye around his neck. Its long icy fingers closed around the crystal pendant.
The next thing Archie heard was someone running and then voices. Familiar voices.
He was aware of people leaning over him and the touch of warm skin on his hand.
‘Is he breathing?’ asked Bramble’s worried voice. Archie felt someone put an ear to his chest.
He heard Woodbine’s voice. ‘Thistle, Bramble, take an arm each and help me get him into the house.’
