The Magi Menagerie

by Kale Lawrence

  His parents had lied to him.

  They lied by omission. By pretending they lived in a world without the existence of magic. Without the Magi and the Legerdemain Brotherhood. Every trace of evidence he had stumbled upon in the past month had been hidden away in hopes that—

  As Ezra straightened and leaned back on his heels, he realised he wasn’t quite sure his parents’ intentions for keeping it mum. They obviously wanted him to be safe. But what was so fear-inducing about a twelve-line quatrain and a Babylonian artifact? What crime could they have committed that was so offensive to the Magi that it warranted the permanent confiscation of their magic?

  No matter the reason, they had left him to face the reality of who he was without their guidance. Especially his father. And something about that did not settle well in the pit of Ezra’s stomach.

  Ezra slipped his hand into his trouser pocket and grasped the crystal quartz wand Jonas had given him. He ran his fingertips along the glacial edges as he reflected on the words Jonas uttered just before accompanying him back to Belfast Royal Academy.

  "You have a tremendous connection with the Celestial Lifeforce, Ezra, and these abilities must be practiced in the proper manner," Jonas’ voice echoed throughout his mind. "The Third Order is here to help guide you through the chaos."

  Ezra was grateful for the Irish Chapter’s support but to accept Jonas’ call-to-action of training would sign and seal his existence as a Magus. And he was not sure he was ready to tread that path. Not when it had been a death sentence for his mother and gave his father the ability to disappear from his life.

  Someday he would be wiser. Someday he would know how to navigate this path. Someday his steps would fall true and sure.

  But not today.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Irrevocable Moral Obligations

  “I must say, the Council commends you for your success,” Mr. Edwin Mears said before shovelling a spoonful of beef stew into his mouth. Midday light spilt through the freshly scrubbed pub windows, streaking gold across the otherwise dark décor. “In fact, they agreed to overlook your recent offences in light of what you learned in London.”

  Glancing up from his ale, Jonas examined the Administration official, reading the honesty in his features. “So, what happens next? While my own standing is important, I am more concerned over the state of the world.”

  “Well,” Edwin mused. He chewed his lunch like a cow savouring his cud. “The Magi Gendarmerie and the Investigative Division are being briefed by the Council today. From there, we’ll assign a task force to combatting further acts of Legerdemain violence. I will be leading a team to look into Consul van der Campe and Deputy Consul Bellinor’s activities regarding the Tablet of Destinies.”

  Jonas nodded and took a sip of his beverage.

  “Let me also make something explicitly clear,” the official stated, wagging his fork to articulate his point. “Now that we have our heading, please do not muck it up by doing something rash.”

  “And how would you define ‘rash?’” Jonas fought back his amusement at the question. At least Diego would be proud of him for asking.

  The plump man lowered his bushy eyebrows. “Stay out of these affairs, as we previously discussed. Not only would it impede the Administration’s investigations, but you are too closely tied to the offending parties. I would hate to have to rescue you.”

  “Who says I’ll need rescuing?”

  If it weren’t for being in public, Mr. Mears looked as if he wanted nothing more than to dump his stew in Jonas’ lap. “Just do as we ask, Mr. van der Campe. Stay in Belfast. Keep to your local duties. And that is that.”

  For some reason, the official’s statement felt suspiciously like house arrest.

  “Oh, and for the record, we must discuss the Newport boy.”

  Jonas abandoned his ale. “Yes, we must. Contrary to popular belief, he is indeed a Magus. I thought you said that seemed like an impossibility.”

  “People make mistakes,” Edwin said with the air of someone who never made a mistake. “Besides, you would know all about that.”

  While he was not positive, Jonas was starting to think this Edwin Mears fellow really enjoyed dangling his past infractions in his face.

  “Nevertheless, you are to break your ties with him at once,” Edwin commanded, forking more food beneath his moustache. “The Council will be sending an agent to collect him from Belfast Royal Academy within the week so we can bring him to Constantinople for safekeeping. Of course, we’ll need to go about all the proper methods through the courts. If the Legerdemain Brotherhood is truly after his parents—his father—for his knowledge on the translation and it truly has to do with the Tablet of Destinies, he needs the protection of the Third Order more than ever. In a place where we can keep a close eye on him.”

  Jonas frowned. “But why can’t I—”

  “Young man, the sooner we can do our jobs and get to the bottom of this, the sooner the world will be out of the Legerdemain Brotherhood’s foul grasp. Do you understand me?”

  He lowered his gaze to the table, watching the bubbles in his ale rise to the surface, much like his annoyance. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good man.” The official dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin and placed it alongside his plate. “I trust you understand we are only doing this for your safety.”

  While Jonas knew Edwin spoke the truth, something reminiscent of disappointment intermingled with the arrogance in his voice.

  “Remember, the Council took a chance on you when they granted you this leadership position,” Mr. Mears reminded him. “Do not make them regret it.”

  WITH HIS HANDS DEEP in his jacket pockets, Jonas strode back toward High Street. On one hand, he felt secure knowing the Administration was on top of the situation but on the other, he was mildly offended that they still did not want him to assist. Especially with Ezra. The boy was exhausted, lost, and while he never admitted it, terrified beyond words. Being chauffeured to the headquarters of a secret society he was only just coming to terms with did not seem like a wise venture. In fact, Jonas could think of three different scenarios better suited to Ezra’s needs.

  But, as Edwin Mears so often stated, the Administration had it under control. Jonas had his own local, irrevocable moral obligations to focus on.

  And, as Edwin would say: “That was that.”

  Jonas ambled along past the Post Office in a daze, colliding with a body exiting the building.

  “Oof! I’m so—” Jonas began, but stopped when he realised it was Diego. “Oh. It’s just you.”

  A twisted expression made its way across the young man’s face as he straightened his flat cap. “You know, you could have said, ‘Oh, hello, Diego.’ ‘Good day, Diego.’ Nice to see you, Diego.’ Not whatever borderline obnoxious thing you just said.”

  Jonas forced a polite smile, but he was sure it came off as a scowl. “You certainly have a way of making a run-in seem like a personal infringement.”

  “And you certainly have a way of making me feel I was the last person you wanted to run into.”

  “Apologies,” Jonas replied, resuming his trek. “I never wish to make you feel inferior.”

  “Uh huh,” Diego muttered. He fell into stride alongside him. “Yet that happens every time you open your mouth.”

  Jonas restrained a roll of his eyes. “What were you doing at the Post Office anyway?”

  “Ay, Dios mio!” Diego threw up his hands in exasperation. “I can’t even send a telegram to my abuelita without it being an offence?”

  “I never said it was.”

  “You implied it.”

  Silence. Then,

  “Look, Diego, I know this is...difficult for both of us. But I am trying. I really am.”

  More silence.

  Clenching his fists within the confines of his pockets, Jonas pressed on. “The Administration is watching me like a hawk. I have to be on my best behaviour right now and that means—”

  “Being a pric
k?”

  “No, it—”

  “Ah, no, I understand,” Diego cut him off. “It means hurting someone who loved you. Leaving him broken and upset. Forcing him to move on even though that was the last thing he wanted.”

  “God, it’s been six months!”

  “Six months of wondering what I ever did to you for you to just abandon me like that!”

  “Diego,” Jonas said warningly, surveying their surroundings to make sure no one had overheard. That was the problem with private conversations. They always seemed to manifest in the most inappropriate places. However, based on the oddly barren streets, it looked like they were in the clear. “You did not do anything wrong. Neither of us did. But the government sees it differently. So does the Council. And, in your case, so does the Vatican. We must respect their laws.”

  Scowling, the young man opened his mouth to retort but nothing made it past his lips. Instead, Diego heaved an aggravated sigh, shot him a vicious glare, and picked up his pace.

  “Fine. Good day, Señor van der Campe.”

  With a sinking feeling eradicating any shred of happiness he had left, Jonas watched as Diego disappeared down the street and around the corner. The Magi Administration had given him everything and somehow, they’d simultaneously taken the most important things away: His accomplishments. His responsibility for Ezra’s safety. And most excruciating of all, his whole heart.

  With the sun beginning its descent in the west, Jonas aimed his steps toward the Emporium of Exotic Trinkets, repeating the same phrase over and over as if that would somehow extinguish the pain:

  Do this for Felix.

  Do this for Felix.

  Do this for Felix.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  A Future to Stand Behind

  The evening sun cast a mosaic of geometric shapes across the corridor. Ezra squinted, reaching as far as he could to trace the grooves of the stained-glass window with a feather duster.

  After the harrowing events on Monday, the rest of the week had fallen back into comfortable complacency. Oliver had made his return to school midweek and found himself surrounded by curious students wanting the inside scoop on the explosion. Honestly, he had become somewhat of a hero, even earning a kiss on the cheek from a girl in House Shaw.

  Ezra’s classes were going exceptionally well, and his latest project in Miss Newton’s art class had earned him a top score and glowing praise from both faculty and his fellow classmates. Even his cleaning responsibilities inspired a sense of serenity he could not find elsewhere.

  Which was quite ironic due to the fact every centimetre of school property needed to be spotless. An upcoming celebration honouring the 26th anniversary of the academy’s current location loomed on the horizon. With this in mind, Headmaster Willigen had increased his demands on the state of cleanliness. And, while Ezra acquiesced, he could not help but wonder if the requirements were just the headmaster's way of reminding him of his lacklustre post-graduation fate.

  Graduation. The mere idea seemed more daunting than being a Magus. Three months remained before he would be released into Belfast with a secondary school degree and nowhere to go.

  Except—

  Ezra sighed as he watched dust particles sparkle in the dwindling daylight. Of course, the open invitation to join the Irish Chapter was still on the table. The more he considered it, the more tempting it became.

  But this was real life. And real life required he enter the workforce. Not chase potentially dangerous affiliations that made him a moving target.

  Or, more of a moving target than usual.

  “Mr. Newport.”

  Ezra started in surprise and whirled around to see an expectant Headmaster Willigen examining the state of his cleaning. “Oh, er, my apologies, Headmaster,” he breathlessly replied, attempting to calm his frenzied heart. “I didn’t notice you were there.”

  The man looked more impatient than usual. “Follow me, boy,” he demanded. He swivelled on heel and hustled the other direction.

  Frowning in confusion, Ezra grasped his duster tighter than was necessary and followed the headmaster on the familiar journey to his office.

  When they arrived, the visibly bothered headmaster shoved open the heavy office door and waved him in. "Come on, boy. Don't dawdle," he commanded.

  Ezra hurried into the office, feeling the rush of air behind him as Willigen shut the door.

  At the front of the headmaster's desk sat a familiar-looking man smoking a pipe. When he heard the door click shut, he turned around in his seat, revealing his identity.

  The magistrate.

  Ezra had not heard a word from him since he first arrived in Belfast. For one disturbing second, Ezra wondered if perhaps the magistrate had news on his father. The very thought sent his stomach into somersaults.

  "Great to see you again, Mr. Newport," said the magistrate as he stood and held out his hand in greeting.

  Hesitantly, Ezra shook it. "You as well, sir."

  "I do hope you have been getting on well at Belfast Royal Academy."

  "As well as I can, sir."

  Headmaster Willigen scoffed and attempted to disguise the mockery as clearing his throat.

  "Headmaster, I wonder if Mr. Newport and I may speak in private," the magistrate suggested forwardly.

  "Er, well, yes, of course," Willigen fumbled, looking a bit pink in the face with embarrassment. He turned to leave the room, glaring at Ezra before shutting the door behind him.

  The magistrate gestured for Ezra to sit at his side. He put down his pipe and retrieved a folder of some type of paperwork from his briefcase.

  "Is this about my father?" Ezra blurted out.

  "What? Oh. No," answered the magistrate. "Your father remains missing."

  "Oh," Ezra sighed in disappointment.

  "No, this conversation is on a much happier note," said the magistrate. "According to my records, you turn eighteen this October, correct?"

  "Yes, sir," Ezra replied. "The thirty-first of October."

  The Irish official glanced up briefly, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Ah. An All Hallows Eve boy."

  Ezra just stared back at him in confusion.

  "Never mind," the man chuckled. He seemed to be in a much more light-hearted mood than the day they had first met in the magistrate's court office. "Have you thought about which trade you would like to pursue after your graduation from the academy?"

  Ezra cast his gaze toward his leather shoes. "Architecture and engineering have always been a dream of mine, sir."

  "Ah, well. Then this conversation should intrigue you," replied the magistrate, laying a paper down on the desk in front of Ezra.

  He immediately recognised it as his recent art project: the pencil-etched recreation of the Hagia Sophia mosque. Ezra studied the magistrate in curiosity.

  “You are quite talented,” he said in all honesty.

  “Oh, er,” Ezra mumbled, recalling the last conversation he had with his mother on the train. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thank you.”

  “Your art teacher, Miss Newton, is a friend of mine,” the magistrate explained. “I recently had tea with her, and we got on the topic of how you were doing at the academy. One thing led to another, telegrams were sent, meetings arranged, and an exciting opportunity came about in the process.” He paused, a wild grin conquering his face. "The city of Belfast would like to offer you an opportunity of employment with Harland and Wolff following completion of the term. Are you familiar with the company?"

  Ezra shook his head, a motion which was reciprocated by another sheet being thrust before him. But this one was embellished with bold lettering, reading "BUILDING THE FUTURE OF THE HIGH SEAS" and littered with illustrations of ocean liners and cargo vessels.

  "The Harland and Wolff shipbuilding company is a thriving business here in our local harbour," the magistrate explained. "They were recently awarded with several major contracts and are needing to expand their operations in Belfast, which includes hiri
ng additional personnel. If accepted, you would be employed as an apprentice in the labour and assembly sectors. You would not only gain valuable experience with a renowned company but also be compensated two pounds per workday. Is that something in which you would be interested?"

  "I—I don't know what to say," Ezra stammered, overwhelmed with gratitude. "That is very kind of you."

  "Don't thank me, thank the good men at Harland and Wolff," the magistrate remarked with a grin. "I can absolutely let you think on it, but please be prompt in getting me a response. Telegraph my office at your earliest convenience," he said, handing Ezra a calling card with his information and a Harland and Wolff brochure. "The company would love to have you join them."

  Speechless, dazed, and head swimming with possibilities, Ezra left the headmaster's office in deep reverie.

  Finally. This was a future he could stand behind.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Souvenirs from the Past

  For the longest time, Diego could do nothing but stare at the underside of the bunk bed. He had memorised every winding grain of the wooden slats, every placement of the steel bolts, and every weakness of Zaire’s mattress, creaking whenever he would shift positions. The harder he tried to enter the dream world, the thicker the barrier grew in his mind. No matter what he did, or how heavily he came at it, the Gates of Sleep would not allow him through.

  Instead, recent memories blurred together in his mind’s eye: threatening red letters, Ezra’s status as a Magus, the terrifying predicament with the Legerdemain, and the harsh sentiment from Jonas. All of it threatened to spiral Diego into madness.

  He turned onto his side, tucking his duvet under his chin to initiate at least some comfort. At first, he thought the change in scenery finally did the trick, but then came the onslaught of conversation from Chief Constable Norman.

  After the attack on the Telegraph Building, Norman had filed the proper reports with the Magi Gendarmerie but not without spewing his growing annoyance for the organisation.