Royal Institute of Magic: Elizabeth's Legacy

by Victor Kloss

  Everything was silent except the soft burning of the torches and each other’s breathing, which sounded like two Darth Vaders – such was the echo.

  Ben stood there, motionless, seemingly hypnotised by the torches. Charlie did the exact opposite. He started pacing back and forth, huffing and puffing like he’d run a marathon.

  “Deep breaths, Charlie, deep breaths,” he kept repeating.

  Ben watched him for a moment, torn between amusement and impatience.

  “Whenever you’re ready, I need your help to work out where we are and what’s going on.”

  Charlie kept his manic pacing. “Where we are? That’s easy. We’re so far below the Earth’s surface we should be dead – crushed by the pressure or boiled to a crisp.”

  Ben raised a hand. “It is rather warm here, isn’t it?”

  “Let’s try to ignore the unexplained miracle of our continued existence,” Charlie said, ploughing on at a million miles an hour. “What is this place? How does it even exist? I have so many questions circling my head I can’t think!”

  Ben grabbed Charlie by the shoulders and pinned him against the wall.

  “Would a slap help?”

  Charlie took a deep breath. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I need to calm down.”

  Ben released him and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

  “Let’s start at the top with the most important issue:

  why did the guards try to stop us coming down here? Is this because the receptionist recognised my surname?”

  “Is that really the most important issue? What about the fact that we’re trapped a mile underneath the earth?” Charlie asked, already struggling to stay calm.

  “One thing at a time.”

  Charlie took a deep breath. “The receptionist must know your parents.”

  Ben wished he could have asked her, but it was too late now.

  “What do you make of this 'Royal Institute of Magic’?” Ben asked.

  “Normally an institute is an organisation founded for particular work, such as education or research,” Charlie said. “But an institute for magic?”

  Ben nodded. “Magic tricks, illusions achieved through the sleight of hand.”

  Charlie gave him a quizzical look. “Why would an institution like that build something like this?”

  “We’ll soon find out.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by a noise from behind, making them both jump.

  It was the soft ding of the lift.

  They exchanged alarmed looks and Ben cursed. Why had they dallied? They could flee down the corridor, but they had no idea where they were going and almost anyone could outrun Charlie. Ben grit his teeth. Whatever happened, they weren’t going back, not when they’d got this far.

  The lift opened, but it wasn’t the guards.

  A dozen men and women strode out, chatting amongst themselves. Ben and Charlie flattened themselves against the passageway as they walked by, giving the boys no more than a passing glance.

  “What happened to the guards?” Charlie asked, once everyone had passed.

  Ben was wondering the same thing.

  “Let’s follow these people before they get away.”

  Charlie gave a longing look at the open lift. With a puff of his cheeks he turned his back on the quick way out and set off with Ben down the tunnel.

  The stone passage had a vaulted ceiling, creating a rounded tunnel like a miniature version of the Underground. Occasionally the corridor turned and they would momentarily lose sight of the people in front, but their echoing voices were always present. Ben was so intent on following their target that he was only dimly aware of Charlie’s frequent remarks about the length and scope of the tunnel.

  Eventually the group ahead stopped and formed a queue down the tunnel. They had no choice but to catch up and join the line.

  “Try and act casual,” said Ben.

  Ben peered ahead and saw the tunnel open up to a small room, which people were entering one at a time. Just before the entrance was a slab of stone jutting from the ceiling. On it the word “SECURITY” was engraved in Gothic font. They were glowing, as if LEDs had been embedded into the letters.

  “If this leads to another heart-attack-inducing, free-falling lift, I’m turning around,” Charlie said.

  The queue moved forward quickly and before Ben knew it, he was next in line, standing at the entrance.

  The room was small and bare except for a large woman who stood in the middle. Ben’s blue eyes strayed past her to a peculiar stone archway that stood just in front of the exit. It was black and engraved with silver hieroglyphs. At the top was a large, green eye that looked so real Ben could have sworn it blinked. He was so captivated by the eye it took a moment to notice the sign next to him.

  Warning:

  Electronics at serious risk of spontaneous combustion beyond this point. Please dispense with all such items before proceeding through the arch.

  Maximum penalty for smuggling science: £10,000 and three years in prison.”

  “We don’t have all day, luv. Remove all electronics and step through,” the large woman said, beckoning him impatiently with her hand.

  Her order went in one ear and out the other the moment he saw what she was wearing. Strapped to her ample waist was a holster carrying the strangest-looking gun Ben had ever seen. It was made of wood and the barrel was a gnarled, tapered stick with no visible exit for bullets. On top of the handle sat a glass orb, partially encased by delicately carved tendrils of wood. Inside the orb were dozens of small, coloured pellets that floated around like they were in water.

  “Just because there’s no queue behind you doesn’t mean you can stand there like a lemon,” she said.

  “Sorry,” Ben replied, pulling himself together and giving her a sheepish smile. He slapped his jeans, pulled out a mobile phone and looked at her quizzically.

  “In the safe,” she said, pointing a long, pink-nailed finger at the wall to Ben’s left.

  Ben saw nothing but stone. There was clearly no safe anywhere. He walked to the wall anyway, examining every crevice. When he got there he was forced to give the lady another enquiring look.

  She rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath. Walking over to him, she thrust her hand out.

  What did she want? Ben thought fast. He delved into his pocket, past the peculiar piece of fabric, and pulled out the ID card. She snatched it from him and inserted it into a tiny gap in the wall. Ben could have spent an hour looking and not seen it. It was the size of a card slot in an ATM machine.

  There was a soft humming noise and the stone in front of him faded away, revealing a small empty cubicle within the wall.

  He stared at the cubicle in astonishment, thrusting an experimental hand inside.

  “It’s for your phone, not your hand, luv,” the lady said. “Phone in, card out, today if possible.”

  Ben did as she asked and the stone faded back into existence.

  “Step on through,” the woman ordered.

  Ben wanted to examine the disappearing stone, but he could feel her growing irritation. He walked to the exit, approaching the black arch slowly. To his amazement, the green eye followed his progress. Underneath the arch, the air appeared to be shimmering and beyond it everything looked out of focus.

  He could feel the large woman’s eyes on him. His incompetence was arousing suspicion and he knew he couldn’t afford to attract any more attention. If she stopped to question him, they would be in trouble. Trying to ignore the eye, he passed under the arch. His skin tingled and there was a moment of resistance, then he was through and into the passage beyond.

  A few moments later a bug-eyed Charlie appeared.

  “Ingenious,” Charlie said, his voice brimming with excitement as they resumed their journey. “That illusion with the stone was as good as I’ve seen. I wonder where they hid the projector.”

  For some reason Ben felt disappointed at Charlie’s logical explanation.

 
“That archway was odd, wasn’t it?”

  Charlie shrugged, as if the shimmering archway with the green eye was nothing compared to the disappearing stone.

  Ben wasn’t so easily convinced. “What did you make of that warning about electronics blowing up?”

  “A silly joke,” Charlie said, waving his hand. “You were right, by the way. The magic refers to illusion and trickery. I’ve heard of other such organisations, like the Magic Circle.”

  Ben didn’t want to burst Charlie’s bubble, but the idea of his parents spending endless hours mastering crazy card tricks was unthinkable. And how much trouble could one get into being in the magic business? It didn’t add up.

  Before he could argue the matter, the sound of voices echoed down the tunnel. Lots of voices, too many for a narrow tunnel, unless there was an almighty queue ahead. But they could see nothing for the passage curved out of sight.

  A rush of air threw Ben’s tousled hair back and he exchanged a surprised look with Charlie. There shouldn’t be any wind underground.

  Ben hurried forward, ignoring Charlie’s pleas of caution. With every step the noise grew – voices, footsteps, even laughter. As he approached what must be the final bend, Ben saw a sign hanging from the tunnel ceiling. He recognised it instantly and stopped.

  It was the London Underground symbol: a red circle with a blue horizontal bar and the word “Croydon” written on it.

  He stared at it until Charlie caught up. Neither of them said anything. They both knew Croydon had no Underground station and if it did, it certainly wouldn’t be this far below the Earth’s surface.

  With overwhelming curiosity, Ben rounded the final bend.

  — Chapter Six —

  Trains and Dragons

  Despite the sign, Ben didn’t believe they were about to enter Croydon Underground Station. He assumed somebody had put up the symbol as a joke, a memento or maybe even a tribute to the real Underground.

  He assumed wrong.

  It wasn’t the same as the more familiar London Underground, but there was no denying this was a station. The platform was half the usual length and the track only a foot below the ground. A gentle glow came from the great vaulted ceiling, casting ample light on the scene below.

  The platform was buzzing with people. Some were waiting at the edge of the platform, others sat around circular wooden tables chatting. Several had drinks and food, perhaps sourced from the small shops that hugged the back of the platform. Ben spotted people wearing holsters with the strange toy guns, but nobody was giving them a second glance.

  Ben and Charlie stood together, staring openly at everyone and everything. After a moment, Ben realised something wasn’t right.

  “Ben,” whispered Charlie. He was watching the nearest table, looking slightly bemused. “Look closely at the two on the left,” Charlie said softly, pointing.

  They were wearing elaborate masks, giving them pointed ears, unnaturally high cheek bones and big, slanted eyes. Their casual jeans and long-sleeve shirts were a bizarre contrast to the facial get-up.

  It wasn’t just them, Ben realised. There were three on the next table with painted green faces and several others walking round with similar costumes.

  “They must be going to a fancy dress party.”

  “Why would they walk around like that here though?” Charlie asked. “Check out that guy on that table. If he ever came to our school, the bullies would forget I ever existed.”

  Ben’s reply died in his throat. Standing near the platform’s edge was the most peculiar man Ben had ever seen. He was less than three feet high and painted green from head to toe. He had huge ears, a pointed nose and a comically long chin. His pot belly was poorly concealed by a faded green t-shirt. He was holding a tall sign that said “INFORMATION”.

  “Do you see that?” Ben asked.

  Charlie’s dramatic gasp was a “yes”.

  Ben turned his attention to the big sign. “Information – that’s just what we need.”

  “Can we ask someone who doesn’t look clinically insane?”

  But Ben was already moving, picking his way through the crowd along the platform edge.

  The mask the little man wore was extremely good, right down to the sharp, yellow teeth, but the effect was ruined slightly by the chewing gum.

  “Alright, lads,” the little man said in a high-pitched voice. “What can I do for ya?”

  Obvious questions would arouse too much suspicion, but Ben had to ask something.

  “Where does this line go?”

  “Northbound takes you into London Victoria. Southbound takes you to Taecia. From there you can pretty much get to any kingdom you choose.”

  Ben attempted a casual nod of understanding, trying to disguise the fact that he had no clue what the man was talking about. He decided to take a calculated risk and ask a more direct question.

  “Can you tell me how to get to the Institute?”

  “You want the next train, which arrives any minute now. Anything else?”

  Ben thanked him, unable to think of anything further to ask.

  “Something wrong with your gawking friend? He looks like he’s never seen a goblin before.”

  Before Ben could reply, the ground shuddered. It felt like a mini earthquake.

  “Your ride,” the goblin said.“You should step back, unless you want to be eaten.”

  The goblin had already taken his own advice, stepping away from the platform. Everyone else near the edge was doing the same. Several people were now peering into the inky blackness of the tunnel to their right.

  Ben heard a soft rumbling noise, which quickly got louder until it sounded like a jumbo jet was careering down the tunnel right at them. The wind picked up, sweeping his hair back. Two green dots appeared in the depths of the tunnel; their oval shape and colour were an unusual choice for headlights.

  The headlights blinked.

  A dragon came flying down the tunnel and entered the platform with a deep-throated roar. It had teeth the size of daggers, flaring nostrils and red, scaly skin. Its leathery wings were short and stubby, suited to the deep tunnels rather than the open air. Ben flung himself backwards at the last minute, taking Charlie with him and landed hard on his backside. The sight before him made the pain insignificant. The dragon was pulling a dozen bright red carriages. They were far smaller than their London Underground counterparts. Elbows rested on half-doors and the windows had no glass, leaving the passengers open to the elements. It reminded Ben of the trams at theme parks, which took you from the car park to the entrance. On the dragon’s neck sat three men on a huge saddle, each holding a harness.

  The dragon came to a halt, steam hissing from its nostrils. The small half-doors swung open and people started filing out as if it were nothing more than the 9:07 from London Victoria.

  Impossible. Impossible! But there it was, living and breathing. The shades of red on its scaly armour, rising and falling with every breath, were so real that Ben had the insane urge to touch them.

  “I’m dreaming,” Charlie whispered. “It’s the only possible explanation.”

  They picked themselves off the floor, eyes still glued to the dragon.

  “You’d better get in. Next one’s not for an hour.”

  It was the little green man, or goblin, as he called himself. Was he a real goblin? A minute ago Ben would have scoffed at the prospect, but then came the dragon.

  Charlie was lost in his own world, incapable of thought or reason. Ben gave the goblin a nod of thanks and shoved Charlie into one of the carriages, shutting the door behind him. It was crowded and Ben squeezed into a seat on the end, his elbow resting on the top of the small half-door.

  “All aboard – she’s about to depart!” the goblin shouted.

  After a final flurry of doors closing, the goblin stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. The carriage gave a gentle jerk and starting moving slowly along the platform. Ahead, Ben could see the mighty black tunnel. The dragon broke into a gentle c
anter, flapping its stubby wings to help it along. The black tunnel engulfed them. For a moment Ben couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, then the roof lit up, casting a soft, warm glow on the passengers. The wind rushed in, gently buffeting their faces.

  Ben sat in silence until his heart rate returned to something approaching normal.

  “Well, we’re on our way,” he said with a smile.

  Thankfully, Charlie seemed to have returned to the world of the living. He still looked pale, but his crazed eyes had disappeared.

  “Where to?”

  “The Royal Institute of Magic, of course.”

  “But where is that?”

  Ben shrugged. “We’ll soon find out.”

  As the train trundled along, Ben thought of his parents. Had they known about all of this? If so, why keep it secret? Ben was starting to feel he had been missing out on something huge.

  An announcement interrupted his thoughts. It came from the ceiling, though Ben saw no speakers, and had the same poorly masked boredom associated with most train conductors.

  “Welcome, those joining us from Croydon,” the voice droned. “We have a clear tunnel all the way to Taecia this morning, which means our journey time will be approximately forty-eight minutes. Thank you.”

  Ben frowned. “Taecia? I thought we were heading to the Institute?”

  “Maybe the little green man lied to us,” Charlie said.

  Ben glanced cautiously at the nearby passengers, but thankfully nobody seemed to have heard Charlie’s comment. With the noise from the carriage, plus the general murmur of conversation, Ben was fairly certain no one was listening to them. Nevertheless, he tried to keep his voice down.

  “The goblin, you mean.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Charlie said.

  “Why – because goblins don’t exist?”

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but no, goblins don’t exist.”

  Ben didn’t know whether to laugh or to slap Charlie round his ample chops.

  “Have you seen what’s pulling us along?”

  Charlie gave a furtive glance towards the back of the dragon’s mighty neck. He shook his head, looking troubled.

  “I can’t,” he said.