Royal Institute of Magic: Elizabeth's Legacy

by Victor Kloss

  Ben rubbed his eyes. “I’m not sure.”

  Inside the little drawer were a couple of cards on top of a piece of paper. Ben went for the cards, but the piece of paper below caught his attention.

  It was a letter. Ben picked it up.

  It wasn’t your typical A4; it was thick, yellow parchment with elegant handwriting that he could barely decipher. At the top of the letter was a logo with the letters R.I.M. embossed over an elaborate coat of arms. The logo looked familiar somehow, but Ben couldn’t place it.

  “Dear Jane,

  “It has been a week since you and Greg have been in. If you don’t arrive tomorrow morning, I shall be forced to come knocking on your door.

  “I do not believe the rumours, but there is no doubt they could put you and your son in considerable danger. I know your views on keeping Ben unaware of us, but the Institute is still the one place the enemy cannot reach. I implore you and Greg to come see me.

  “Regards,

  “Wren Walker”

  The letter was dated the day before his parents disappeared.

  Ben re-read it three times and stared at it long after he was finished. His head was spinning and his stomach was doing somersaults.

  “I think we have something,” Charlie said softly, breaking Ben’s trance. He had read the letter over Ben’s shoulder.

  There were so many questions, Ben hardly knew where to start. Charlie, however, had no such problem. He was already moving back and forth on the carpet like a mad scientist brainstorming.

  “Your parents must have known they were in danger. Apparently you were also in danger.”

  “I’ve never felt in danger,” Ben said, his head going side to side to track Charlie’s pacing.

  Charlie nodded. “And since it’s been two years, I think we can assume you’re safe.”

  “What sort of danger could my parents have been in?” Ben asked. “They worked at Greenpeace, not MI5.”

  “The logo on the letter has nothing to do with Greenpeace.”

  “What else could it be?”

  “I have no idea, but I know how we can find out.”

  Ben looked down at the letter. “By finding this Wren Walker lady?”

  “Exactly. Who is she? More importantly, what is this R.I.M. logo? I bet it belongs to the institute she refers to. If we can identify the logo, we might be able to track her down.”

  Charlie’s face was red and he was breathing a little quickly from talking so fast.

  Ben stared at the logo on the parchment again. There was definitely something familiar about it. The coat of arms was shaped like a shield and cut into four quarters. Each quarter alternated between a red background with golden lions and a blue background with peculiar flowers, also golden. Where had he seen it before? Ben shut his eyes trying to visualise the moment he’d seen it. In a museum perhaps? No. On TV? No. On a building somewhere? Yes! In town…

  Ben’s eyes shot open.

  “I don’t believe it,” he said.

  Charlie looked confused.

  “I used to pass this logo every weekend.” It was Ben’s turn to stand up and pace the room.

  “There is a Sainsbury’s near the town centre. I used to walk there every Saturday morning. On the other side of the main street was an old, narrow building. I remember because there was always a security guard standing outside a revolving door. Above it, where shop signage normally sits, was this.”

  Ben pointed to the R.I.M. logo.

  Charlie, normally so vocal, was struck dumb. He kept opening and closing his mouth, but no words came out.

  Ben felt like dancing, but settled for an ear-splitting grin. He headed for the door, giving Charlie a pat on the shoulder as he passed.

  “No time to lose, Charlie – let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “To get some answers.”

  “If they have a security guard stationed there, I don’t think we’ll be able to just walk in, do you?”

  “Of course not,” Ben said. He stopped and turned to face Charlie who was biting his lip.

  “We’re not going to do anything against the law again, are we? I always feel uncomfortable with that.”

  “Charlie, please – I have two, possibly three, solid plans brewing before we even have to think about breaking the law.”

  “How wonderfully reassuring.”

  — Chapter Four —

  The Impossible Lift

  Ben walked quickly, weaving his way through the morning shoppers. He wanted to jog, but Charlie was already huffing and puffing to keep up.

  “So what’s your plan?” Charlie asked. He had produced a white handkerchief from his pocket and was using it to dab his forehead.

  Ben side-stepped an oncoming pram. “I need to see the building again.”

  Charlie groaned. “You don’t have a plan, do you? You’re just going to make something up when we get there.”

  “Nonsense,” Ben said, flashing Charlie a look of mock outrage.

  He did have a plan, of sorts, but he was hoping he’d have a better one when he got there.

  “What about the textile expert?” Charlie asked.

  “We’re still going, but the appointment isn’t until 3pm. We’ve got plenty of time.”

  It had been a while since Ben had been down this road, but it hadn’t changed much. There were several department stores, as well as the usual array of mobile phone and coffee shops. Ben didn’t slow his pace until he saw the orange signage of Sainsbury’s in the distance. He scanned the row of shops carefully, his stomach tightening with the thought that the strange building might now be gone.

  There it was! Squashed between Starbucks and an O2 Mobile shop. The front had a revolving door and frosted windows. Above the door, inlaid into the brickwork, was the logo they’d seen in the letter. The letters R.I.M. were cast in bronze over a coat of arms. With the glow from the surrounding shop signs it was easy to see why the building received nothing more than the odd curious glance.

  “Incredible,” Charlie said, staring up at the logo with his mouth open.

  Ben gave him a little shove. “Keep walking.”

  They crossed the road and stopped next to Waterstones. Ben made a show of inspecting the books in the window.

  “What are we doing?” Charlie asked. He was still staring at the strange building when Ben grabbed a cheek and turned his head away.

  “Trying not to be suspicious,” Ben answered, “though your gawking is ruining it.”

  “Sorry. What could a place like that be doing here?”

  “It’s not selling anything, that’s for sure,” Ben said, sneaking a glance at it. It was impossible to see anything beyond the frosted windows. “Do you see the guard?”

  “It’s hard not to.”

  The guard stood in front of the revolving door. His black suit stood out amongst the crowd of multi-coloured shoppers, as did his huge bulk, which would struggle making it through the door.

  “I think now is a good time to reveal your plan,” Charlie said.

  “It’s simple really. We go through the front.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “It’s a revolving door,” Ben said. “It’s built to help people come in and out freely. If we act like we belong, we’ll be fine.”

  Charlie looked at him as if he were mad. “What’s the point of the troll-like guard then? To wish you good morning?”

  Ben knew his logic was dubious. The frosted windows were a clear sign that they didn’t want to attract attention, but it was the best he could do. He had hoped he could enter from the back or through one of the adjacent buildings, but that seemed impossible.

  “He’s just to deter shoppers,” Ben said.

  “You don’t believe that and neither do I.”

  Ben gave him a lopsided smile, his blue eyes lighting up. “We’ll soon find out. Are you ready?”

  “Are you serious? Of course not.”

  “Do you have a better idea?” Ben asked, feeling a stab of frustrati
on. They were so close to unravelling the mystery behind the letter, yet it was tantalisingly out of reach because of one stupid guard.

  Charlie took his hanky out and dabbed his forehead.

  “I think we should wait,” he said. Ben was about to protest, but Charlie raised a pudgy finger. “Fifteen minutes, to see if anyone else goes in so we can see what security procedure they go through.”

  “And if nobody does?”

  Charlie gave a theatrical sigh. “Then we do it your way.”

  They lounged by Waterstones, chatting idly and taking turns to keep an eye on passers-by, hoping someone would walk into the building. After less than ten minutes, Ben spotted a well-dressed man in a purple shirt walking twice as fast as the surrounding shoppers. The purpose and intensity of his stride reminded Ben of someone late for work.

  “I see him,” Charlie said when Ben picked him out.

  The purple-shirted man stopped in front of the building. For a moment Ben thought it was just to answer his phone, but then he turned to the security guard and showed him something in his hand. The guard nodded and the man walked through the revolving door.

  “Did you see that?” Ben asked. It was over in a heartbeat. “He must have showed the guard some sort of ID or pass.”

  Ben turned to Charlie and was surprised to see his face flushed with excitement. His hand was rummaging around in his pocket.

  “I had a feeling these were important,” Charlie said. He took out two cards and handed one to Ben. “They were lying on the letter. We left the house in such a rush that we didn’t have time to inspect them.”

  Each was the size of a credit card, but the similarities ended there. They were made of silver and heavy enough to feel valuable. Embossed on them was the now familiar logo. The name “Greg Greenwood” was etched into the silver with four tiny green diamonds next to it. Ben’s heart gave a great leap at the sight of his dad’s name.

  “Charlie, you genius, this is it!”

  But Charlie’s own elation was fleeting and soon replaced with worry.

  “These are your parents’ ID cards. I’m not sure they will work for us. How am I supposed to pass as your mum?”

  Ben refused to be downcast. “There’s no photo on them so I doubt they check if you’re the card holder.”

  “What if they do?”

  “Then he’ll tell us to get lost. He’s not going to chop our heads off in the middle of a busy shopping street.”

  Charlie tucked his hanky away and took a deep breath, his little pot belly expanding until he resembled a teddy bear.

  “I’ll approach him first,” Ben said. “Just follow my lead and act casual. We won’t have any problems.”

  Ben crossed the road, whistling softly to himself, one hand holding the ID card in his pocket. On the outside, he was calm; inside his heart was thumping like a drum. If this didn’t work, they would have to come back at night and break in. But that was messy, illegal and, worst of all, a whole twelve hours from now.

  As Ben approached he made eye contact with the guard and gave him a polite smile. The guard was big enough to wrestle a polar bear and had a face that could give you nightmares. When he was close enough to smell the guard’s unpleasant breath, he stopped and produced his ID as if the guard were a train conductor. The guard’s eyes flicked to the card and Ben felt his stomach lurch, though he kept a cool exterior. The guard’s eyes narrowed for a split second and then he nodded. Ben wanted to punch the air in celebration; instead he pushed the revolving door gently until he was inside. He glanced back in time to see the guard waving Charlie through.

  The moment he entered Ben felt a million miles from the bustling shops outside. The building was narrow but longer than he had expected. It looked like a hotel reception yet to be furnished, with high ceilings and a pristine white marble floor. The room was empty except for one large reception desk to the side, manned by a woman tapping away on a computer. Charlie was right, this place had nothing to do with Greenpeace.

  “Incredible,” Charlie said. He had passed through the revolving door and was staring at the long, spacious room.

  Their gawking was interrupted by a couple of women entering the building. They quickly stepped aside and watched the women walk to the end of the room, where they stopped and waited. After a moment the wall slid open. It was a concealed lift, Ben realised, and the two women stepped inside and disappeared.

  Ben exchanged a curious glance with Charlie.

  “Now what?” Charlie whispered.

  “Follow me.”

  He strode towards the expensive-looking reception desk. It came up to Ben’s chest, but he still attempted to look at home, folding his hands and resting them on the top surface.

  “May I help you, sir?”

  The woman’s voice was polite and efficient, a perfect match for her crisp suit and pulled-back hair.

  “I’m looking for Wren Walker. I have an appointment,” Ben said with a smile.

  Ben wanted to kick Charlie to stop his fidgeting. Thankfully, the receptionist didn’t seem to notice, nor did she seem surprised by Ben’s request.

  “May I have your name, please?”

  “Ben Greenwood.”

  The receptionist’s reaction was subtle, but Ben caught it – a widening of the eyes, a look of recognition and a quick intake of breath.

  “Ben Greenwood?” she repeated, recovering quickly, but he noticed the way she emphasised his surname. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll see if I can find Ms. Walker for you.”

  She disappeared through a discreet door behind the desk.

  As soon as she left, Ben’s plastered smile vanished.

  “What do you make of that?”

  “Intriguing,” Charlie said. “Did you see the way she reacted to your surname? She recognised it instantly.”

  Ben ruffled his mop of blond hair. There was something he didn’t like about the receptionist’s reaction. He was beginning to doubt she had gone to get Wren. He glanced at the revolving door, then at the concealed lift at the end of the room. They could either wait for the receptionist to return or — he slapped the desk.

  “Let’s go.”

  To his surprise, Charlie didn’t protest.

  Ben walked quickly, but resisted the urge to run. Their steps echoed so loudly on the marble floor that Charlie kept glancing anxiously back to the reception desk. The lift doors blended into the back wall and Ben would have missed them had they not opened before. He pressed a small button and the doors slid open. He was expecting to see a small empty cubicle. He was wrong.

  “What on earth is this?” Charlie asked.

  Facing them were rows of black leather seats, complete with arm and headrests, inside a space far larger than your average lift. Each seat had a padded bar that you could pull down over your chest, reminding Ben of a roller-coaster ride.

  “I have no idea, but I suggest we buckle up,” Ben said, and sat down in one of the middle seats. Charlie ogled the chairs a moment longer before sitting next to Ben.

  The doors remained open, leaving them staring at the reception desk and the exit in the distance.

  “How do we shut this thing?” Ben asked.

  He was still searching for a button when he heard the tapping noise. Shoes against marble floor. The receptionist was back and with her were two guards.

  “Mr. Greenwood!”

  Ben searched frantically for something to shut the doors, but there was simply nothing there.

  “Mr. Greenwood! Do not use that lift!”

  “Oh god, we’re in trouble,” Charlie said. He wiggled his legs, which were dangling off the chair. “Go, you stupid lift – go!”

  Both guards were now running, the soles of their shiny shoes making a terrible clacking noise that echoed right into the lift.

  Ben squeezed the armrests, willing the doors shut. The guards were less than twenty paces away. He could see the shine of sweat on their foreheads.

  The doors closed, locking with a satisfying click.

&
nbsp; Ben heard a thud as the two guards reached the lift and started hammering the button. The lift was still stationary and Ben thought for a moment that the doors would slide open again.

  The lift gave a jerk and started descending.

  “Yes!” Ben said, thumping the armrest.

  “My heart,” Charlie gasped, clutching his chest. “I think I just had a minor heart attack.”

  The lift descended slowly and Ben wondered why there were seatbelts, though he didn’t take his off. Now that they were safe, Ben looked round the strange lift in more detail. He counted thirty chairs in rows of five. Above the lift doors he spotted the R.I.M. logo. Below it was some writing.

  Ben read the words. His mouth opened slowly and he blinked. He read them again, not believing his eyes.

  “Ben, can you stop that?”

  He was tapping Charlie repeatedly, unaware where or how hard. He pointed a shaky finger at the lettering.

  Royal Institute of Magic.

  R.I.M.

  “No,” Charlie whispered. “That can’t be right.”

  They both started talking at once, but their incoherent blabber was cut off by a violent lurch. Ben gripped the armrests instinctively.

  The lift plummeted.

  Their shoulder straps saved them from smashing into the ceiling, but they did nothing to stop Ben’s stomach, which stayed behind as they went into a free fall. He screamed in horror and then delight when his brain had time to process what was happening.

  Ben tensed himself for the stop, but it didn’t come. Down they went, until it felt like they were going to hit the Earth’s core. Just as Ben was starting to relax, the lift slowed dramatically and gravity squashed him against his seat.

  The lift came to a gentle halt.

  There was a soft ding and the doors opened.

  — Chapter Five —

  No Electronics Beyond this Point

  A stone corridor greeted them, lit by torches hanging from the walls. It seemed to go on forever, the light and dancing shadows slowly fading in the distance, ending in ominous blackness.

  Ben and Charlie lifted their shoulder straps and stumbled out of the lift. The doors closed behind them and an instant later, they heard the lift depart.