Royal Institute of Magic: Elizabeth's Legacy

by Victor Kloss

  “Try harder.”

  Charlie took his hanky out and wiped his forehead. “How do you do it? How do you simply accept all this?”

  “Because it’s happening.”

  “I could be dreaming,” Charlie mused. “Or maybe someone spiked our drinks. Maybe I’m hallucinating. Or maybe—”

  “Do you want me to slap you?” Ben asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  But Ben didn’t. “It’s not easy for me either. Every time I look outside I want to pinch myself.”

  This seemed to help Charlie relax and he put his hanky away. “If the goblin” – Charlie faltered, but only a little – “isn’t lying, then perhaps Taecia is where the Royal Institute of Magic is.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “A more pressing question,” Charlie said, “is the location of Taecia.”

  “Have you worked out where we’re going?”

  Charlie ticked off the facts on his stubby fingers. “I’d say we are doing no more than 40mph and we are heading south-west. The conductor says we will be travelling for forty-eight minutes, which means we will end up somewhere short of Portsmouth.”

  Ben didn’t doubt Charlie’s calculations or his in-built compass, which had saved them many times before.

  “Seems like a lot of work for a simple network between towns. We already have trains and buses,” Ben said.

  The conductor’s voice intervened before Charlie could reply.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to take off. Please brace yourselves.”

  Ben exchanged an alarmed look with Charlie, whose face went pale, having only just regained colour.

  “Take off?” Charlie said, a little too loudly for Ben’s liking. “We’re in a tunnel.”

  Ben’s initial anxiety was tempered by the calm exuding from the other passengers. They didn’t even seem to be doing anything to brace themselves. A moment later, a metallic bar fastened to the back of the seat in front started sliding forward until it pressed down gently on their laps.

  “Is that it?” Charlie asked, staring at the bar. “How about some seat belts, air bags or at least something that has a slim chance of preventing our untimely deaths?”

  Charlie had a point. The bar reminded him of a cheap theme park ride, one that he could climb out of if he desired.

  Ben wanted to reassure Charlie by pointing out that nobody else was panicking. He didn’t get the chance.

  The carriage accelerated like a modern-day roller-coaster. Ben’s head yanked back and he grabbed hold of the metal bar for dear life. The wind buffeted him, screaming in his ears, watering his eyes. The carriage gave a little hop and its wheels left the ground. The roof screeched as they grazed the top of the tunnel. Ben braced himself for impact, but the carriages levelled out. There was a bang, like a gun being fired, and immediately the wind stopped, as did the rocking. The train cruised along smoothly through the tunnel, making a gentle purring noise.

  Ben stuck a tentative hand against the side of the carriage, where a window would have been, and felt an unseen barrier. He poked it, softly, then harder – the barrier bent his finger painfully.

  “Some sort of invisible shield,” Ben said.

  Charlie had his hand half-extended, perhaps wanting to touch it, but not quite daring.

  “The technology doesn’t exist for that yet,” Charlie said.

  “Maybe it’s not technology,” Ben said after a moment.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe it’s something else. Something other than science.”

  “Please, don’t go there,” Charlie said, massaging his temples.

  “Is the prospect of magic any more outrageous than a dragon train?”

  Charlie had no reply and Ben decided not to press the matter. Instead he turned his attention to the tunnel, which was now just a blur.

  “If we were going 40mph before, what are we doing now?”

  “It’s hard to be accurate, but I would say at least 300mph.” Charlie tapped his fingers together. “Which means, if we maintain this speed, we will end up somewhere in the Celtic Sea, south-west of England and west of France.”

  “What’s out there?”

  “Water, Ben – just water.”

  “No islands or anything?”

  “Nothing that far out. The Isles of Scilly are the closest, but at this rate we will go way past them.”

  “Well then, I’m sure we’ll slow down,” Ben said.

  But for the next forty-five minutes, the dragon train didn’t slow down. Several times Ben was tempted to ask one of the other passengers, but the danger of arousing suspicion always stopped him. Nobody else seemed concerned, which reassured him, but did nothing to ease his curiosity.

  Ben never thought he would get bored being pulled by a flying dragon in a carriage at 300mph, but he was grateful when the conductor’s voice finally echoed throughout the cabin.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching Taecia. We will be coming out of Dragon Flight momentarily. For those of you travelling onwards, please note that all transport to Aven is currently suspended while the Empire determines whether they are now hostile. Have a pleasant day.”

  “What was that?” Charlie asked.

  “God knows. File it for later. We’re about to stop.”

  Ben had barely finished his sentence when the carriage suddenly broke hard. His stomach squashed against the metal bar and the train’s wheels screeched as they touched the ground. There was another bang and the invisible barrier vanished, letting the rushing air in. Soon the dragon was cantering along no faster than a horse.

  The tunnel started heading upwards and they began ascending.

  “This isn’t possible,” Charlie said. His fingers were white, holding the metal bar in a death grip. “We’re going to pop up in the middle of the sea.”

  Ben saw bright sunlight rapidly approaching as they neared the surface.

  “Let’s see, shall we?” Ben said, grinning at Charlie’s horrified face. “You might be wrong.”

  “I’m not wrong,” Charlie said, breathing so quickly that he was almost hyperventilating. “Did you know I can’t swim?”

  — Chapter Seven —

  Tea and Treason

  They weren’t in the middle of the sea. They had emerged into what loosely resembled an overground train station, with platforms left and right, some of them occupied by other squat dragons pulling carriages. Above the platforms was a walkway that crossed over the tracks. Their train came to a gentle stop, signalled by a jet of smoke from the dragon's nostrils. Ben pulled the handle, the door swung open and he stumbled out.

  There was so much to see Ben didn’t know where to look first. His attention was drawn to the people; they ranged from the ordinary to off-the-wall. Some had pointed ears so subtle he barely noticed until they passed by. Others were over seven feet tall and looked carved from rock. Then there were those no higher than his waist, with beards that swept the ground. In the middle of the platform was a large map illustrating a complex network of rail lines. Most of the station names he didn't recognise, but he did spot Croydon, as well as other familiar places, like New York, Johannesburg and even Sydney. On top of the sign was a heading that read “Her Majesty's Dragonway Transport”.

  “Excuse me,” a nearby voice said.

  Charlie was standing by the door of the carriage, stopping people from exiting. Ben hauled him to the middle of the platform, right next to a sign that read, “Welcome to Taecia: Founding Kingdom of the Elizabethan Empire and Home to the Royal Institute of Magic.”

  They could have stood there for hours – Charlie certainly would have – but Ben shook himself out of his stupor and they wandered down the platform. There were stairs at the end that led to the overhead walkway and, Ben assumed, the way out of the station. He constantly fought the impulse to stop and stare and followed the exit signs that led up to and along the gangway. Eventually they spilled out into a town that belonged in another era. The buildings were white, wi
th timber frames and narrow doors and windows. They looked like Tudor houses, if Ben remembered his history correctly. The road was cobbled and filled with horses and other animals Ben was sure only existed in fairytales and video games.

  They collapsed on a nearby bench and, like tourists, stared at everything that moved.

  “Looks like our sun,” Ben said, glancing up at the clear blue sky.

  It was a ridiculous comment, but instead of scoffing, Charlie just nodded.

  “How do you hide an entire island? It’s not possible.”

  Ben didn’t have an answer. The more he looked around, the more incredible the place became. He felt like he was dreaming.

  Ben leapt off the bench and rubbed his hands together.

  “Are you ready?” he asked Charlie with a grin.

  Charlie took a deep breath and nodded. “Where can we get directions for the Institute?”

  Ben spotted a road sign that stood at a four-way junction. When they got close enough, one of the directions read “Royal Institute of Magic: 500 yards”.

  “Uphill – my favourite,” Charlie said, patting his little pot belly.

  The town was built on a steep hill and at the top was a castle wall, which they could not see beyond. Ben guessed it protected the Institute.

  They made their way through a hodgepodge of winding lanes and crooked intersections. Horses and antique cars shared the roads, reminding Ben of early 20th century photos he had seen in libraries. Occasionally they took a wrong turn because they were too busy looking at everything and had to double back to continue up the hill. Many of the shops looked as though they had been around for centuries. There was an ironmonger, a dress maker and all sorts of food stores, including some divine-smelling bakeries. Among them were modern establishments – Ben spotted a Tesco’s, a Greggs and even a Starbucks. How on earth did they get here? Apart from the logo and branding, they managed to nestle in among the older shops without looking too out of place.

  Ben’s stomach rumbled as he passed a Starbucks, but it was Charlie who stopped, staring at the familiar logo that hung out the front, his nose twitching at the smell of coffee.

  “Do you think it’s the same as home?” he asked, rubbing his stomach absently.

  “They’re always the same, Charlie.”

  Ben peered through the window. It certainly didn’t appear too different, though he noticed the lack of electrical equipment and wondered how they made the hot drinks.

  “Let’s find out,” Ben said, pulling open the small wooden door.

  The moment he entered, Ben felt the hairs on his neck rise. A flash of light caught his eye and he turned sharply, stopping right under the doorway. Charlie ran into him and the momentum took them both into the café.

  “Ow – what was that for?” Charlie asked, rubbing his nose.

  Ben peered out of the window. “For a moment I thought someone was watching me.”

  Charlie’s eyes widened. “Did you see anyone?”

  “I'm not sure. I may have just imagined it.”

  Charlie was shaking his head before Ben finished speaking. “You’re forgetting your incredible sixth sense – not that I believe in that sort of thing. Someone must have been watching you.”

  Ben knew Charlie was right. “Let’s eat and see if they’re still out there when we leave.”

  He forced the problem aside and went up to the counter. The sandwiches and drinks were similar to home, but there were also some strange additions. The “Elf Espresso” (roasted especially for the coffee connoisseur) and the “Pixie Latte” (sweet and spicy) caught Ben’s eye.

  “This Dodo salad sandwich sounds good,” Ben said, taking one from the display.

  “I’d say they became extinct in the 17th century, but what would be the point?” Charlie said, taking the same sandwich himself.

  The lady serving them had perfect pale skin, huge almond eyes and ears that, at home, would be common at a Star Trek convention.

  Ben had a sudden thought as he went to pay.

  “Do you accept English currency?” Ben asked. He was trying not to stare, knowing Charlie was doing enough gawking for both of them.

  “Of course,” she said, giving him a quizzical look.

  Ben slapped his pockets and realised he was broke. The sickening thought barely had time to register before Charlie slapped a ten-pound note on the counter.

  “You are new here,” the lady said as they made their way to a table.

  “Is it that obvious?” Ben asked.

  The lady smiled. “I see it in your faces.” She gave them both a searching look. “You know the Institute is watching you?”

  Ben almost dropped his sandwich. “How do you know that?”

  The lady turned to the window. “I can see with more than just my eyes. There is a Warden standing outside the bar across the street. He watched you come in.”

  “A Warden?”

  “They are responsible for border control and immigration. You don’t fool around with them.”

  More customers entered and the lady turned away to serve them. Ben and Charlie sat themselves down on a small wooden table, next to a group of elves drinking coffee.

  “The receptionist,” Ben said, leaning forward so he could speak softly, “she must have sent warning.”

  Charlie was still looking at the lady who had served them, a peculiar glint in his eye. “Security cameras,” he said, after a moment. “Do you think that’s what she meant when she said she sees with more than just her eyes?”

  Ben slammed his hand on the table with such vigour that Charlie nearly fell off his seat.

  “Stop trying to explain everything scientifically,” Ben said loudly enough to disturb the nearby table.

  “I can’t help it,” Charlie said, his voice rising an octave in desperation. “I know it’s ridiculous, but I keep trying to rationalise everything and it’s driving me crazy. Did you spot that flying horse earlier? I found myself trying to explain it with Darwin’s Theory of Evolution.”

  Ben would have laughed if it weren’t for Charlie’s genuine look of concern.

  “Look, I know this is crazy, but I’m sure when we get to the Institute they will explain everything.”

  Charlie brightened considerably at the prospect and the dazed stupor that had gripped him finally dissipated. “You’re right. I will feel better once we get some answers.”

  He stared at his sandwich with the sort of look Ben was more accustomed to and tucked in. The dodo, as it turned out, was delicious.

  Ben kept thinking about the Warden, wondering why they were being watched. He was tempted to go outside and ask.

  “We could ask if there is another way out,” Charlie said, licking the last bits of sauce from his fingers.

  “What’s the point? We have nothing to hide. I say we continue to the Institute. If he wants to stop us, he’s welcome to. One way or the other we’ll get answers.”

  They left Starbucks with a full stomach and resumed their journey. As they climbed the hill, the buildings got bigger and the roads, such as they were, became wider. Trees and torch-lit lamp posts started lining the cobbled path and they soon had a clearer view of the stone wall at the top of the hill. It was at least ten feet high and spanned as far as the eye could see. Ben imagined it forming a ring round the entire top of the hill, fortifying the Institute. Other roads joined the main one, which led to a large open gate. It appeared to be the only way in.

  Ben felt his body start to tingle with anticipation. He felt sure they were on the verge of unravelling something huge. Would this “Wren” person know what happened to his parents? Were they really still alive? Ben had never doubted it, but what if the news were bad? The thought made him shiver and he cast it from his mind. He felt the peculiar fabric in his pocket; surely he would get answers here.

  “Can we take a breather?” Charlie asked from behind. He was bent over, hands on knees, panting heavily.

  Ben realised he had been practically running up the hill. They were
a mere twenty yards from the gate, but he waited for Charlie to get his breath back. There were two guards either side of the open gate, doing a good impression of the ones at Buckingham Palace. Both wore the strange toy guns by their sides. Hanging on the stone wall was a black marble plaque with the words “Royal Institute of Magic” etched in silver. Above it was the same coat of arms Ben had seen outside their building in Croydon; a shield with four distinct quarters, alternating between a red background with golden lions and a blue background with three golden flowers.

  Neither guard moved a muscle as they passed through the gate and into the grounds of the Institute.

  Ben never thought he’d have the patience to stop now that he was this close, but one look at the Institute and they both came to a standstill.

  To call it a house would have been an injustice, but it did look like a mighty version of the Tudor homes that populated the town. It was pristine white, dotted with dozens of leaded windows with black-timbered frames. Ben counted a dozen gables, creating a mini mountain range, and half a dozen outside balconies. There was a pair of mighty wooden double doors at the front. Above them the words “Royal Institute of Magic” were etched and seemed to pulse with a warm, silver glow.

  An open courtyard surrounded the building, consisting of manicured gardens, trimmed hedges and even a water fountain. A generous cobbled path led to the entrance and there was a welcoming light coming from within.

  Ben was concentrating so hard on peering through the windows that he didn’t hear Charlie’s cry of alarm as they approached the entrance. Ben felt something grab him from behind and yank him to a standstill.

  Charlie was staring in horror at a large noticeboard. Ben hadn’t even seen it, so intent had he been on reaching the front doors. It was big enough to warrant its own gable and on it were several A4-sized notices. But Ben saw only one. It was a head shot of his mum and dad. Underneath it read:

  “Wanted on suspicion of high treason:

  Greg and Jane Greenwood.

  Rewards given for any information leading to their capture.”

  — Chapter Eight —

  An Unpleasant Welcome