by D D Everest
Old Zeb was talking again. ‘Now there’s just a couple more things you need to know. The Lores – they’re all up there, all five of ’em.’ He pointed at a sign on the wall and began to read aloud.
‘The First Lore states that all magical books and artefacts must be returned to the Museum of Magical Miscellany for inspection and classification.’ He looked at Archie. ‘No ifs or buts – understand?’
Archie nodded.
‘Good lad. The Second Lore says that magical books and artefacts may not be used or bought and sold until properly identified and classified. Self-explanatory, I think.
‘The Third Lore forbids the unauthorised use of magic outside of magical premises. And the Fourth Lore says that hoarding magical books to accumulate personal power is outlored under the prohibition of dangerous magical practices.’
Old Zeb’s face turned serious. ‘It is our duty to make sure the magic books are safe. We can’t have them falling into the wrong hands.
‘Finally, the Fifth Lore says the mistreatment of magical creatures is forbidden.
‘Now, I want you to be on your guard because we suspect that Greaders are operating in Oxford. Professor von Herring will tell you more about that at the apprentices’ meeting tomorrow. You know about the meeting, I take it?’
‘My cousin said something about it,’ Archie replied.
‘Good,’ nodded Old Zeb. ‘Make sure you attend.
‘Well, that’s enough theory for one day.’ The old man rubbed his hands together like an excited child. ‘Right, let’s get on to the practical stuff. See these books here?’
He indicated two shelves on the wall above the workbench. ‘Everything you need to know is in these books,’ he said.
Archie scanned the bookshelves. There were several books about bookbinding and repairing spells, but the one that caught his eye was called Magic Collectors Past & Present. He was going to ask about it, but Old Zeb drew his attention to a volume called Bookbinding for Beginners by Basil Gumtree.
‘I was apprenticed to Basil Gumtree myself,’ the old man said, shaking his head fondly. ‘Best bookbinder I’ve ever seen. Course, I was a young lad then starting out on my apprenticeship, just like you.’
‘Yes, well, about that,’ said Archie, feeling awkward. ‘Do you really think I’m the right person to be your apprentice? I mean, I appreciate the offer and everything, but I don’t know the first thing about magical books, or magic for that matter. Are you sure you aren’t making a mistake?’
‘Mistake?’ the old man’s brow creased. ‘Impossible! The Flame decides and the Flame chose you. The mark of the Flame is binding. Book binding in this case!’ he added with a grin.
He gave Archie a knowing wink. ‘You are my apprentice and that’s the end of it. Now let’s get on with our work. The books won’t bind themselves!’ he said, his face breaking into a smile then immediately turning serious. ‘Actually, sometimes they do! Some of them can’t be trusted you see.’
*
Later that morning, Archie and Old Zeb were sitting on their tall stools at the end of the long bench. At the other end were two piles of books labelled ‘Pop-Ups’ and ‘Pop-Outs’. Archie regarded them curiously, thinking about the pop-up storybooks Gran used to read him.
‘I see you have an eye for the poppers.’ Old Zeb grinned. ‘But be careful with those. There’s no telling what might pop out of them! Now let’s see what else we’ve got. Pass me that brown book over there.’
Archie picked up a book that smelled earthy.
‘A natural magic book,’ Old Zeb explained. ‘Written by the magician who tended the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.’
The old man peered at it through a large magnifying glass. ‘Quite straightforward,’ he said. ‘Couple of small rips in the cover – look like they were made by rose thorns. And it’s shedding some of its leaves. Nothing that some manure and a drink of water won’t fix!’
The old bookbinder picked up a small hole punch and a hammer and made two holes in the book’s spine. Then he took a large needle that looked like a hook for catching very large fish and threaded it with green gardening twine. With surprising speed the old man stitched the loose pages back, carefully knotting the twine before cutting off the end with some garden shears.
Next, he applied some glue from a small pot on the workbench to the tear in the cover. Then, to Archie’s surprise, he picked up a battered old watering can and liberally sprinkled it with water.
‘Nearly done,’ he muttered. ‘Just needs a bit of manure. Stick it in that bucket over there,’ he added, pointing to an old wooden one in a corner of the workshop.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ he added when Archie looked unsure. ‘Just bury it deep in the muck. Be good as new in no time.’
Archie gave him a quizzical glance, but realised that he was completely serious.
‘Right,’ said Old Zeb, ‘I’m just nipping out for a moment to see if Marjorie has anything urgent for me. Won’t be long. Finish what you’re doing and have a cup of tea. Don’t touch anything.’
The old bookbinder opened the workshop door and stepped out, whistling his way along the passageway. Archie picked up the bucket. He plunged the gardening book into the manure, being careful not to get it on his hands. The book had a sweet smell like magnolia blossom. He smiled to himself. He felt a bit silly burying a book in horse dung.
When he was finished he collected the teacups from the workbench and was just putting the kettle on the stove to boil, when he caught sight of the poppers.
Archie felt a little surge of curiosity. He glanced over at the door. What harm could it do to have a quick peek as long as he was careful?
He turned his head sideways, reading the spines. One in particular caught his eye: Medieval Magic: Charming Knights.
Archie opened the book and ran his eye down the table of contents. The names of different knights were listed. Half way down he spotted Sir Bodwin the Bold. His coat of arms was a roaring lion and the reference said he was the bravest knight in all of England. Archie opened the book to the page, expecting a three-dimensional image to pop up.
Sure enough, out popped a parchment knight in full armour seated on a black horse. Archie couldn’t see anything magic about it. He noticed that instead of sitting up straight on his horse, the parchment was torn so that Sir Bodwin was tilted at an angle as if he was falling out of his saddle. It made the knight look rather comical.
Only a small repair was needed and Archie couldn’t resist having a go. He took Old Zeb’s needle and put in a stitch that pulled Sir Bodwin back into an upright position. He stood back and admired his handiwork just as the kettle started to whistle.
He was taking the kettle off the heat with his back to the popper when he detected a sulphurous smell, like a match being struck. There was a loud popping sound behind him, followed by the whinnying of a horse.
‘Steady, girl,’ said a man’s voice.
For a moment, Archie didn’t trust himself to turn around.
When he did, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Standing in the workshop, with its tail swishing and its nostrils flaring, was a full-sized black warhorse clad in silver armour. Mounted on the horse was a knight, also in full armour, with a red plume sticking out from his iron helmet, and a crest of a lion. He was so tall on his steed that his plume touched the ceiling of the workshop. In his hand, the knight held a huge iron mace with nasty looking spikes. He had his visor open, revealing a thickly bearded chin, and was making a clicking noise with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, so the horse’s ears twitched.
Archie knew they must have popped up from the book, but for a moment he could only stare. The magic he’d seen at Quill’s and the museum had been impressive but this was something else. Archie felt goosebumps on his skin.
Then the knight spoke.
‘Well met, young sir,’ he said, and he raised his gauntlet-clad hand in a salute. ‘I am Sir Bodwin the Bold. You have rendered me a great service. I’ve been stuck at that angle for y
ears – very uncomfortable. But now I am restored to my former glory, thanks to you. What is your name, Sir Squire?’
‘Archie Greene,’ Archie stuttered, staring at the knight. He knew it was rude, but he couldn’t help it.
‘I am at your service, Archie Greene,’ Sir Bodwin said, bowing so low that the plume in his helmet almost tickled Archie’s nose. ‘How can I repay you for your noble deed?’
‘Urm … you really don’t have to,’ said Archie, not sure what else to say.
The knight continued. ‘It’s very embarrassing being a knight when everyone laughs at you. But now I can hold my head up high once more – literally! I am forever in your debt. What quest would you have me fulfil?’
Archie was desperately racking his brain for a response when the door to the workshop opened and Old Zeb’s face appeared.
To Archie’s immense relief, the old bookbinder did not seem in the least put out to find a very large horse and a fully armed knight in his workshop. In fact, he just chuckled.
‘Been at the poppers then, I see, young Archie?’ he said. ‘I warned you about that!’
Archie opened his mouth to reply but at that moment a steaming pile of horse dung landed on the ground next to his foot. Old Zeb chuckled at the sight of it. Relieved, Archie laughed with him.
The knight raised his hand in salute. ‘Well met,’ he said cheerily. ‘I am Sir Bodwin the Bold. My sword is at this boy’s service.’
‘Well, that’s very kind, I’m sure,’ Old Zeb replied, ‘but he doesn’t need your help just now.’
He reached into his pocket and produced a small glass phial. He pointed it at the knight and removed the stopper. A wispy white vapour drifted out and coiled around Sir Bodwin and his steed. There was a crackling noise like static electricity as the white vapour was sucked back into the phial and the horse and knight vanished in front of Archie’s startled eyes. Old Zeb immediately replaced the glass bottle’s top.
Archie blinked. Sir Bodwin and his horse were gone. All that was left to show they had ever been there was the steaming pile of horse dung.
Old Zeb raised his eyebrows knowingly.
‘There, now,’ he chided. ‘Let that be a lesson to you, young Archie.’
Archie felt the colour rise to his cheeks. ‘How did you get rid of them? Where did they go?’ he asked.
‘I phialled ’em away, of course!’ said Old Zeb, grinning. ‘With my popper stopper,’ he added with a twinkle in his eye. ‘All the museum elders have them. Don’t know where we’d be without them. Well, yes I do, we’d be overrun with poppers. That’s where we’d be!’
Archie smiled. ‘I think I’d like to get one,’ he said, eyeing the glass bottle.
‘Not allowed,’ grinned the old man. ‘First and second hand apprentices are strictly forbidden from carrying them. Third hands, with three firemarks, are allowed to use them under supervision. Makes it too easy, you see, to start opening poppers without due care and attention. Far too dangerous.’
Old Zeb placed the glass phial on a shelf. ‘That will have to go back to the museum later, but it will be safe enough there for now.’
Archie looked at the horse dung on the floor of the workshop.
The old bookbinder grinned again. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘now get a shovel and clear that up – it’ll go a treat on that gardening book. And I’ll take the rest home for my tomatoes!’
16
A Visitor
Later that afternoon, when Archie had finished at the bookshop, he met Bramble outside Quill’s. As they walked home, he told her about Sir Bodwin.
‘So, you found out about poppers, then?’ she said, with a giggle.
‘Yes, you could say that,’ Archie said, feeling a little foolish. ‘But it was worth it. It was absolutely brilliant!’
‘Yes,’ said Bramble. ‘But be careful with them. Poppers can get you into trouble. There was an unfortunate incident a few years ago involving a rhinoceros and a china shop. Actually, it was more a priceless collection of porcelain, really. Quite a big one.’
‘And the rhinoceros?’ Archie asked.
‘Yes, that was quite a big one as well. It lasted three days and there wasn’t a single piece of china left.’
Archie raised his eyebrows. ‘Smashing!’ he chuckled.
Bramble grinned. ‘Exactly, but it caused a bit of a fuss at the time and Dad got into a lot of trouble.’
‘You mean Uncle Woodbine let the popper out?’ exclaimed Archie.
Bramble pulled a face. ‘Yes, ’fraid so,’ she said. ‘That’s why he doesn’t work at the museum any more. He had to leave after that.’
Archie looked thoughtful. There was more to his uncle than met the eye. ‘What does he do now?’ he asked.
‘He’s a finder. Most of the jobs at the museum are for minders – they look after the magic books and keep them safe. There are a few binders, like Old Zeb. Then there are finders who get paid for any lost magic books they find. That’s why we collect the old books.’
‘I see,’ said Archie. ‘And that was all because of a popper?’
‘Yes,’ said Bramble, ‘but it’s the drawing books that you really need to look out for. They are the most dangerous of all.’
‘How can a drawing book be dangerous?’ asked Archie, incredulously.
Bramble ignored his sceptical tone. ‘Trust me, they can. Drawing books draw you in,’ she said. ‘You can end up being a character in the story.’
‘That’s weird!’ said Archie.
‘It’s more than weird,’ cautioned Bramble. ‘You can end up trapped forever and unable to escape. This isn’t a lark, Archie. Some magic books are not very nice at all! You’ll find out more at the meeting about dark magic tomorrow. Mum’s given me a keepsafe because she says you can never be too careful with Greaders around.’
She showed Archie a gold charm bracelet around her wrist. It had a tiny heart, an anchor and a bow and arrow. ‘It’s a magical gift that protects you. I got it when I started my apprenticeship.’
‘Do you think we’re in danger then?’ Archie asked.
Bramble shrugged. ‘Better to be safe than sorry.’
*
When they got back to Houndstooth Road, Loretta met them in the hall.
‘Good timing. You’ve got a visitor, Archie. Says he got our address from Granny Greene.’
Archie and Bramble went through to the kitchen to find Horace Catchpole drinking elderberry squash with Thistle.
‘There’s something you should know,’ Horace exclaimed when he saw Archie. ‘There’s a second message. It was added later. It should have been delivered with the package and the first scroll, but somehow it got overlooked.’
‘What does it say?’ asked Archie.
‘It’s in Enochian Script,’ said Horace, ‘the language of angels.’ From his pocket he produced a scroll tied with a bottle green ribbon.
‘The language of angels is the purest magical language of all. Several of the great books of magic were written in it, including The Opus Magus. But it’s even more obscure than the alphabet of the Magi, the magical language the first message was written in. It’s a devil to translate.’
Archie didn’t have the heart to tell Horace that he’d got the first translation wrong.
Horace continued. ‘Anyway, it’s a riddle.’
‘You mean you don’t know what to make of it?’ asked Thistle.
Horace pulled a face. ‘Well no, it really is a riddle. It rhymes and everything.’
‘I see,’ said Archie, wondering whether Horace’s translation could be trusted after the last one.
Horace straightened his glasses, and referring to his notebook he began to read. Bramble grabbed a pen and started transcribing what was being translated.
‘Buried deep in caverns cold
A secret that remains untold
Two ancient sentries guard the prize
With lion heart and eagle eyes.’
Archie gazed at the scroll. As Horace read out the words, the
strange letters began to shimmer and rearrange themselves into words that he could understand. He rubbed his eyes.
‘What does the second verse say, Horace?’ asked Thistle.
Horace continued:
‘In stony silence shadows sleep
The final gift is safe to keep
To pass requires a simple test …’
But it was Archie who finished the verse. ‘Name the one whom I served best.’
The other three stared at him.
‘How did you know that?’ gasped Horace. ‘It took me hours to translate it and you got it in seconds. Who taught you to read magical languages?’
Archie felt confused and embarrassed. ‘It must have been a fluke,’ he said, but he knew that no one believed it. He didn’t even believe it himself.
‘What does the riddle mean?’ he asked, trying to change the subject.
‘Beats me,’ shrugged Horace. ‘But I thought you’d want to know about it. It goes with the first scroll and package but it was sent after they were.’
‘Who sent it?’ Bramble asked, impatiently.
‘We can’t read his name in our records,’ confided Horace. ‘The ink is smudged. But we do know that he was a magician.’
‘A magician!’ exclaimed Archie. ‘I wonder if that’s who sent me the book as well!’
Horace shrugged. ‘The scroll has this weird symbol on it,’ he added, holding it out so they could all see.
‘Does that mean anything to you?’
‘Yes,’ said Archie slowly. ‘It’s the same one as on the clasp of my book.’
*
When Archie went up to bed that night to ponder the riddle, he found a letter on his pillow – it was from Gran! Loretta must have put it there in case he wanted to read it in private. Hungry for news, he tore it open.
Dearest Archie
I hope you are settling in well with the Foxes.
By now you will have discovered some things that you did not know about your family and especially your father’s past. You are probably wondering why I kept so much from you.
