by D D Everest
‘Exactly,’ said Thistle. ‘But Dad says no one can prove it. And there’s something else. When Arthur Ripley was head of Lost Books he had an assistant.’
‘I never heard that before!’ said Bramble.
‘Well no, you wouldn’t have,’ said Thistle. ‘You see Arthur Ripley’s assistant was Alex Greene – Archie’s dad.’
‘What?’ gasped Archie, shocked. He felt his stomach twist.
‘After he was apprenticed to Old Zeb, Alex went to work with Ripley,’ Thistle continued. ‘But he left under a cloud. Dad didn’t want to talk about it, but there were rumours that he was working closely with Ripley.’
Archie’s stomach lurched again. He felt sick. Just as he thought he knew who his father was, he felt like the rug was being pulled from under him. ‘Oh that’s great,’ he said, ‘so my dad was working with Arthur Ripley when he tried to steal the Terrible Tomes and set fire to the museum!’
‘Hold on,’ said Bramble. ‘We don’t know what really happened. Your dad’s not here to tell his side of the story so I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt. And if he was, then I’m sure he had a good reason.
‘And talking about people getting into the crypt, that reminds me. Vincent von Herring has called an emergency meeting. Apparently, the museum elders are so worried about the break-in at the Aisle of White that they are beefing up security at Mothballs. All apprentices have to attend.’
*
Later, when he went to bed, Archie was still thinking about what Thistle had said about his father. It bothered him. Had Alex Greene been involved in starting the fire in the museum twelve years earlier?
He took out the shoebox with his father’s things and rummaged through it until he found the photograph of Alex and Loretta. He inspected it minutely. Quill’s had hardly changed at all. His father and Loretta looked so happy. He wondered what had caused the rift between brother and sister that had kept him away from his cousins for so many years.
Archie picked up the scrapbook and flicked through the pages. There were some faded photographs and newspaper cuttings. The last entry was a photograph of a baby in a pram. ‘Archie aged six weeks,’ said a handwritten caption underneath. He turned the page and as he did a sheet of paper fell out.
It was a letter dated the day Archie was born. It was from Loretta to his father.
Dearest Alex,
Congratulations on the birth of your beautiful baby boy! I know that you will be a wonderful father to him and his sister.
You must be feeling many emotions today – great joy and great apprehension. I know that you consulted the Books of Destiny and that they did not tell you what you hoped for. But the future is shaped by what we do today as much as by the past.
Archie is just a baby at the moment. I know that you will do whatever you can to protect him. I understand your desire to keep him away from magic, but I beg you to let him take his place at the museum. He needs to understand our world – the world that he was born into. And he needs his family. Please don’t hide him away.
Your loving sister,
Loretta
Archie slipped the note back into the book and closed it. He did not understand it completely but it was clear that his father had discovered something about his newborn son that troubled him. What had alarmed his dad enough that he decided to keep Archie away from the world of magic?
Archie examined the black-and-white photograph of Alex and Loretta again. Loretta had said Archie resembled his father. He looked closely at the photograph. He could see the likeness. He wondered if his father had different coloured eyes just like him. Among the Flame Keepers, mismatched eyes were seen as a sign that someone was born with magical powers – or touched with magic. Was his father touched with magic? Had Alex Greene been a book whisperer, too? Was that his secret?
And then Archie had another thought. What if being a book whisperer had made his father do terrible things. He was Arthur Ripley’s apprentice after all. Perhaps he had something to do with Ripley’s plot to steal the Terrible Tomes. If so, his father might have been tormented with guilt. And then to cap it all, his son was born with mismatched eyes. He would have known that he was also likely to be a book whisperer. That might have been what spooked him. Or was there some other secret that his father knew?
What ever it was, Archie had to know. And he had an idea how he might find out.
26
The Book of Yore
At Quill’s the next day, Pink was checking firemarks. She glanced at Archie’s hand before making him a motion potion.
‘Orders from the museum elders,’ she said. ‘Can’t be too careful with Greaders about.’
Archie nodded. When he arrived at the Great Gallery, he found the place subdued. The apprentices were going about their usual tasks but there was none of the chatter and high jinx that normally accompanied their work. It was as if all the fun had been sucked out of the place. The break-in at the Aisle of White was weighing heavily on people’s minds. If the bookshop wasn’t safe, then where was?
As Archie passed a group of apprentices, he overheard a whispered conversation.
‘My parents say that the Greaders are getting bolder,’ confided a boy whom Archie didn’t recognise. ‘They say that if there’s any more trouble then they will keep me at home.’
‘My mum says that the museum will be next,’ said Meredith Merrydance. ‘The Greaders won’t stop until they find whatever book they’re after. She says it’s the worst she can remember.’
‘That’s the least of it,’ announced Enid Drew. ‘My dad says that if this Greader plot succeeds then Mothballs will be finished.’
‘Well I heard that Professor von Herring is going to close the museum and send all the apprentices home because it’s too dangerous,’ said Meredith. ‘Apparently, that’s what the meeting is about.’
Archie hurried on. Glancing quickly around to make sure he was unobserved, he opened one of the double doors and slipped into the Scriptorium. As he stepped inside, the torches on the walls ignited, lighting the room.
Archie saw the glass dome at the far end containing the Books of Destiny. But it wasn’t the future that interested him. It was the past. Bramble had said that the past was best left alone, but he had to know what happened when he was born. He needed to know why his parents had felt it necessary to keep him away from the museum.
He turned to The Book of Yore and spoke to it in what he hoped was a clear commanding voice.
‘What frightened my parents when I was born?’
The book was silent and still, its dark-brown cover firmly closed.
Archie tried again. ‘Why didn’t they tell me about the magical books?’ he demanded.
The book remained closed, but Archie heard something – a voice so quiet that he might have imagined it. Like the wind blowing through the brittle branches of an ancient long-dead tree, it sounded as old as time itself.
‘The past is gone,’ the voice rasped. ‘Those who disturb it cannot change it, but they may be changed by it.’
Archie knew it was a warning, but his need to know spurred him on.
‘That is a chance I have to take,’ he declared, hoping he sounded braver than he felt.
‘Very well.’
The Book of Yore suddenly flipped open. Its pages turned as if some unseen hand rifled through them. Just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, and slammed shut again. The book was still, but a bookmark had appeared in its pages.
‘What is shown to the curious is not always what they hoped for,’ rasped the voice. ‘The Book of Yore reveals what they need to know, not what they wish to know. Your page is marked. I ask you again, do you choose to consult the past?’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Archie.
‘So be it!’
Archie stepped forward and opened the book to the page with the bookmark.
A date was written in neat copperplate script. Archie had expected it to be his birthday, but The Book of Yore had opened to a date four hundre
d years earlier, 15 March 1603.
Archie traced the date with his finger, and the surface of the book rippled as if he was disturbing the surface of a pond. His finger disappeared into the page, followed by his hand. He felt a cold sensation working up his arm. He tried to resist but the force was too strong. By now his arm had disappeared up to the elbow and still he was being pulled.
Archie tried to wrench his arm free, but his other hand touched the page and disappeared. The tug was too great for him to resist. He closed his eyes. Too late, he realised what sort of book The Book of Yore was – a drawing book! There was a rushing sound in his ears like wind and he was sucked into its pages. He felt himself falling.
*
When he opened his eyes again he was in a dark, book-lined room. A candle guttered and in the flickering light he could see an old man with a long white beard and a black skullcap sitting at a table. He was staring at a crystal pendant in his hand, deep in concentration. Archie recognised the symbol engraved on the pendant.
Sitting across the table from the old man was a younger man. He had his back to Archie so he could not see his face.
‘You promised to bring me the book written in the language of angels,’ the old man said.
‘And here it is,’ the younger man replied, sliding a book towards him. It was the same book that Horace Catchpole had delivered to Archie.
The old man rubbed his hands together. ‘At last!’ he cried. ‘I will be able to speak with the angels!’
The old man’s hands grasped the book, but the younger man pulled it back. ‘We had an agreement,’ he declared.
The old man looked up. ‘And I have kept my part of the bargain,’ he said. ‘I used my scrying skills to discover the book whisperer as you asked. I have his name, even though he will not be born for another four hundred years.’
He reached for the book again. The other man still held it back.
‘The book whisperer’s name?’
The old man looked at him imploringly. ‘I cannot tell you that. It goes against the natural Lores of Magic,’ he protested.
‘I do not care about the Lores of Magic!’ scoffed the younger man. ‘If you want the book you will give me his name.’
The old man hesitated, torn between desire and duty. Desire won.
‘Archie Greene.’
The room went dark. Archie felt himself falling again and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was back in the Scriptorium and The Book of Yore was firmly closed.
27
Glyph Hanger
Archie found it hard to concentrate for the rest of the day. His thoughts were on what he’d seen in The Book of Yore. He was so distracted that he forgot to put water in the kettle and it boiled dry, and then he nearly put a magical book in the furnace instead of a log. In the end, Old Zeb sent him home early.
‘I don’t know what’s got into you,’ the old bookbinder said. ‘See you tomorrow – and remember to bring your head with you,’ he added, shaking his own in disbelief.
For the rest of the evening Archie could think about nothing else. He must have been sent the book because he was a book whisperer. But what he was meant to do with it and why it had frightened his father so much was still a mystery.
Loretta’s note to her brother said that Alex Greene had looked into one of the Books of Destiny, but it didn’t say which one. Could Archie’s father have consulted The Book of Yore? If so, had he been shown the same thing as Archie? And if he had, why had this caused him to keep his son away from the museum and his cousins?
Another thought occurred to him. What if his father had not consulted the past at all: what if he had looked into one of the other Books of Destiny and seen the future? Could Alex Greene have foreseen some terrible event that hadn’t happened yet and tried to change the path his son was on? Whatever it was that Alex Greene had seen, it had alarmed him enough to keep his son away from magic. Archie knew he might be in danger, but he didn’t know how.
That night, he dreamed that he was trapped inside a glass cage that was filling up with sand. He was inside the hourglass on the spine of The Book of Reckoning and could not get out. He woke in a cold sweat, relieved to find he was safely tucked up in the bedroom he shared with Thistle.
*
‘Right,’ said Old Zeb the next day, taking a mended reference book from the clamp. ‘Put this back on the shelf. I’m just popping up to make sure Marjorie is all right.’
Marjorie had not been the same since the breakin. Old Zeb said her nerves were bad. In fact, everyone involved with the museum seemed to have got the jitters.
As Archie replaced the book, he noticed Magic Collectors Past & Present on the same shelf. It reminded him that he had been meaning to look up Arthur Ripley. He took the book down and skimmed through the pages. The first name he came to was Alexander the Great.
Probably the most famous of all the magic collectors, Alexander sought out magical texts and instruments from the territories he conquered …
A line-drawing of Alexander showed a fair-haired young warrior. Archie turned the page. A very different face confronted him. It was angular with hollow cheeks, a hooked nose and dull black eyes. Archie read the entry.
A collector of dark magic, Barzak was the most feared warlock of his time and was responsible for causing the magical conflagration that burned down the Great Library of Alexandria.
Archie shivered. ‘Well I certainly wouldn’t want to meet him on a dark night!’ he muttered to himself.
He looked at the index and ran his finger down the list of names. There were several Ripleys including a Morton Ripley and a George Ripley. But it was Arthur Ripley he wanted to know about. He turned to the entry.
The face that stared back at him bore a striking resemblance to Arabella. Arthur Ripley had the same cold grey eyes.
Among the most infamous modern collectors was the English book antiquarian Arthur Ripley. Ripley used his position as Head of Lost Books at the Museum of Magical Miscellany in Oxford to search for the Terrible Tomes, the seven most dangerous books ever written. Ripley is believed to have died in a fire at the museum, although his body was never recovered. This has led to persistent but completely unsubstantiated rumours that Ripley is still alive.
There was no mention of his assistant Alex Greene. Archie turned the page and was about to close the book when something else caught his eye.
He felt his heart skip a beat. There it was – the mysterious symbol! The same one he had seen on the crystal pendant.
Beneath it was a short explanation: ‘The glyph or symbol designed by John Dee to express the mystical unity of all creation.’
Next to it was a portrait of an old man with sparkling blue eyes and a long beard of purest white. He wore a black skullcap and a large white ruff around his neck in the Elizabethan style. Hanging from a silver chain around his neck was a diamondshaped pendant made from green crystal. It was the old man that Archie had seen in The Book of Yore.
Below the portrait was a brief description of his life.
John Dee (1527–1609). Dee was an English mathematician, astronomer, astrologer, alchemist and navigator. One of the most learned men of his age, Dee was Queen Elizabeth I’s court magician.
Magician! Archie read on.
Dee amassed one of the largest private libraries in Europe, including many rare and magical books. He dedicated his collection to Queen Elizabeth, whom Dee referred to affectionately as Gloriana.
Dee was famous for his use of crystal balls and other scrying instruments to see into the future. Several of his crystal balls are now displayed in the British Museum, but his favourite scrying crystal pendant, the Emerald Eye, has never been found. Dee spent the latter part of his life trying to find a legendary book from the Great Library of Alexandria, which he believed would allow him to speak to angels. His association with Greaders tarnished his reputation within the magical community and he died penniless.
*
‘I’ve found the magician!’ Archie announc
ed to his cousins later. ‘His name is John Dee, and he was Elizabeth I’s court magician. He collected magic books. But he was also fascinated by their power. It is his symbol on the clasp and on the scroll, so he must be the one who sent me the book.’
‘But we still don’t know what he wanted you to do with it,’ Thistle replied, ‘or how you should use your book-whispering powers.’
‘I know,’ Archie said. ‘But we’re a lot closer to finding out. The riddle holds the key, I’m sure of it.’
28
Under Attack
When the emergency meeting took place the next evening at Quill’s, the room was full of worried faces. The apprentices were talking among themselves in whispered voices.
Gideon Hawke, Wolfus Bone and some of the other museum elders were seated at the back of the room. Archie thought he recognised a short man with a goatee beard wearing a tweed suit. He was sitting with a grey-haired woman.
‘That man next to Hawke,’ Archie whispered to Bramble. ‘I think he was in the photo Old Zeb showed me …’
‘Yes, that’s Dr Motley Brown,’ confirmed Bramble, ‘head of Natural Magic. And he’s talking to Feodora Graves, head of Supernatural Magic.’
Vincent von Herring strode onto the raised stage. He held up his hand for silence.
‘Good evening apprentices,’ he said with a curt nod. ‘I do not wish to alarm you again, but we have some important information to tell you.’ He glanced across at the other elders. Their faces were grim. Von Herring took a deep breath.
‘We believe that the museum is under attack,’ he said. There were horrified gasps from around the room. Von Herring continued.
‘You are aware of the break-in at the Aisle of White. We believe that something or someone is also stealing magic from the museum. We must assume that the enemy has found a way to infiltrate our defences.’
