The Magi Menagerie

by Kale Lawrence

  "Fascinating!" commented the magistrate.

  "If you find that fascinating, wait until you see our drawing room," Raphael remarked as he drew from his pipe.

  They approached the pier that overlooked the grand ship platform. Ezra stepped closer to the railing and scanned the vast shipyard in quiet admiration. Daylight had faded into twilight, drawing a grey curtain over the iron plates, wooden frames, and other building material. All employees had left for the evening, leaving the area silent and void of all life, save for the sporadic call of seagulls.

  Suddenly, the sound of a gurgled cry snapped Ezra out of his observations. He whirled around and watched helplessly as the magistrate collapsed to his knees.

  Cool and collected, Raphael swiped a long dagger across his handkerchief, leaving a trail of red on the white fibres.

  The Irish official grasped at his throat, a look of pure dread clouding his eyes just before he fell forward into the gravel. Motionless. Bleeding. Dead.

  A heavy cold sank to the bottom of Ezra's gut, like a lump of ice plunked forcefully into a cup of hot tea. Mouth gaping in horror, his breath came in rigid gasps as he tried to make sense of the scene before him.

  "Wh-what...what is going on?" Ezra managed. He attempted to force his feet—or anything—to move, but his body refused to cooperate.

  Not again.

  Raphael tucked away his dagger and fished around in his vest pockets. He withdrew a small glass bottle and emptied its liquid contents onto another cloth.

  Before Ezra could react, the man rushed at him, forcing the rag over his nose and mouth. He squirmed, trying to gain freedom from his death grip.

  “Help!” he yelled, but the cry was stifled before it could reach much further.

  "Shhh!" Raphael hissed. "Don't want the whole town to hear, now, do we?"

  Ezra fought for air. He struggled, choking and gasping. But with every passing second, his strength deteriorated.

  "Sorry I had to off your case worker, but he was a liability," muttered Raphael, a biting cruelty in his voice. "Besides, you are the one my boss needs. My real boss. Not some namby-pamby Harland and Wolff idiot. But I was fairly convincing, eh, kid?"

  Once again, Ezra tried shouting for help, but the rag muffled any hope of anyone overhearing his cries. Coughing and panting, he wrestled against the man’s hold. Instead of breaking loose, however, Ezra's knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground.

  "Fighting is useless," spat Raphael as he smothered him with the sickly-sweet cloth. "The quicker I can get you to Consul Diederik, the better."

  Ezra’s mind spun in a whirlpool of confusion. The next few minutes melted into an obscure scene of dull colour and indistinct noises. He fought for freedom, but his tingling arms and legs betrayed him. Not long after, his vision tunnelled, sending him to a place he knew all too well.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Andromeda Eridian

  “Ezra?”

  Calm and melodic, the voice of the Shahmaran saturated his subconscious. It rippled like water, gently nudging him awake.

  “Ezra, darling?”

  “What!?” His response fractured the dark serenity draped over him like a blanket. Despite the Shahmaran’s insistent beckoning, Ezra refused to open his eyes. “Do not bother me.”

  “Would you rather I sing to you instead?”

  “No.”

  “You’re awfully churlish, aren’t you?”

  He cracked an eyelid, jumping in surprise at the proximity of the creature laying in the shallows. Her brilliant smile basked in the water’s reflection while long strands of dark hair flicked about like snakes on the surface. Purple light glimmered in the deep, causing everything around them to radiate with a vibrance Ezra couldn’t put into words.

  “I’m only churlish because I’ve found myself in trouble again,” Ezra muttered. “Will I ever be able to just...just exist like I used to?”

  “I have asked myself that same question,” the Shahmaran answered, propping herself up on an elbow. “You will come to find when you hold such power, everyone wants their share when it was not theirs to begin with.”

  “I suppose,” sighed Ezra, recalling the legends. Mangled by countless retellings over the decades, the tales of the Shahmaran had twisted into unrecognisable forms. But every iteration ended the same: The Shahmaran was hunted for her magic. Captured. Tortured. Killed. All in the name of lust and greed. “How do you escape?”

  Her eyes searched him. “Sometimes, you don’t.”

  “I can’t let them get away with this,” Ezra replied, lifting himself out of the shallow water. “Besides, I don’t know what they want from me. I am still unsure where my father is, I don’t know anything about the artifact translation, and I can’t even begin to describe how it is that I’m a Magus.”

  “Well, I assume the Brotherhood wants something with the Tablet of—"

  “I know,” Ezra interjected. “But I don’t have any answers to give them and when they realise that, they...”

  The eyes of the Shahmaran softened as he choked on his words. She reached out and caressed his cheek. “It’s okay to be scared.”

  “I’m not scared. I’m petrified.”

  “Sweet boy,” said the Shahmaran, bracing herself as a sudden tremor quaked through the cavern. “You have survived more daunting things than this. You can do it again.”

  THE WORLD SWAYED IN a topsy-turvy dance as Ezra returned to consciousness. Before he could even open his eyes, his nose was assaulted by a crude mix of salt and exhaust. He struggled to crack an eyelid amidst the raging headache sending streaks of lightning throughout his skull. Somehow, he managed.

  After his sight adjusted to the shadows, Ezra’s eyes roamed his new surroundings. A shallow pool of ocean water enveloped him, springing from some undetectable fissure in the craft. Rope, life jackets, various tools, and wooden crates littered the space around him. A lantern swung above a sitting bench like a demented pendulum. The dreary, cramped quarters were hardly suitable for the items in it, let alone a human being.

  And yet, here he was.

  All at once, flashes of what had happened in the shipyard sent panic crashing through him like an icy wave. The magistrate had been killed in front of his very eyes. Because of him. In the midst of it all, he had been taken against his will.

  Ezra propped himself up with his elbow but groaned in frustration when he realised his wrists and ankles had been bound with bulky iron shackles, consequently limiting his mobility. He huffed and laid back on the floor, staring at the ceiling. When the rocking of his surroundings became too much, he swallowed his nausea and shut his eyes. He silently cursed himself for not taking Jonas up on the offer to sharpen his abilities. For if he had listened, if he had stayed, perhaps he would be able to conjure some type of magic to sever his binds and escape from the mysterious prison.

  No matter how hard he tried, Ezra could not summon the Celestial Lifeforce to do much of anything, besides aggravate him further. Perhaps if he held his new crystal—

  Ezra’s heart pounded when his fingers scrounged for the quartz in his trouser pockets but turned up empty handed. It must have been confiscated.

  Muffled voices disrupted his thoughts. The inaudible conversation journeyed across the topside of the ceiling in tandem with creaking footsteps. Shocking yellow light spilled down a stairwell as a hatch flew open and with it, a curtain of rain.

  "Yes, Mr. Ackerly," shouted a woman over the deluge. "Leave it to me."

  The woman slammed the hatch behind her. She flipped the switch of an electric torch and shone the beam directly into Ezra’s face.

  "Ah, looks like someone is finally awake," observed the woman in a throaty Greek accent. She lowered the hood of her cape, revealing bountiful brunette hair cascading over her shoulders. Her sharp cheekbones and the elegant slope of her nose invoked a sense of familiarity, but Ezra had no idea where he might have seen her before. Perhaps Budapest? Despite this, Ezra marvelled at how the wisdom in her eyes seemed incon
gruent with the youth in her features. "I started to wonder if Mr. Ackerly accidentally killed you."

  Mr. Ackerly?

  A dark glimmer rippled through her golden eyes. “My colleague can be quite convincing. I assume the real Raphael does not have a clue as to what transpired in the shipyard this evening.”

  Ezra glared at her. "Why don't you finish me off, then?"

  "That will not be necessary," she replied coolly, sitting on the bench underneath the lantern. “Consul Diederik and Deputy Consul Symon want you alive.”

  A shudder tingled through his body.

  “Why?”

  “Oh, but where are my manners?" she said, ignoring his question. "Hello, Mr. Newport. You can call me Andromeda Eridian." The woman offered her gloved hand in greeting and almost immediately retracted it. "My apologies, I forgot you cannot use yours."

  He did not answer but narrowed his eyes in response.

  Andromeda removed her cape, revealing a dress that looked like it cost more than his boat prison. The golden buttons on the bodice of the garnet material glistened under the lantern, stars in their own right. Setting the dripping outerwear aside, the corner of her mouth twinged with some sort of sadistic pleasure.

  Ezra struggled against his binds, but the iron cut off circulation to his hands. "What do you want with me?” he spat. "Where am I?"

  Andromeda laughed. She stood and brushed the wrinkles out of her dress before pacing the length of the lower hold. "Last I enquired, we were somewhere due west of the Isle of Man."

  Ezra gulped.

  "We are on a boat if you have not quite figured that out yet," came the woman's condescending reply.

  "I know," he countered. "I am not stupid."

  "Hmm," Andromeda remarked with a slight grin. "No. Just naive."

  Ezra shook his head in disbelief.

  "Hmm."

  Andromeda knelt to his level. He instinctively edged away but the woman grasped his chin and forced his head in her direction. She reeked of wine and perfume. Her attention sank to his scarf, fingers following only seconds behind. "What a curious print. The Shahmaran, yes? I suppose her legend is practically a national treasure in the Ottoman Empire.”

  Ezra refused to answer.

  “Personally, I have always believed the Shahmaran inspired my ancestors to weave the tales of Medusa,” Andromeda speculated. “After all, both legends feature two alluring beings with powerful abilities.” She stroked Ezra’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Much like you.”

  Straining, he attempted to move out of her reach. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “Mmm, on the contrary, darling,” she answered, returning to her feet. Andromeda observed him in hushed calculation, like a wildcat scrutinising its prey before the kill. “You and your family have become quite the talk around Legerdemain Headquarters.”

  “What do you mean?”

  "And it seems you do not even know," Andromeda said, as if making a humorous observation. "Fascinating."

  Ezra’s quickened breath formed clouds in front of his face, obscuring the scene around him. “What do Diederik and Symon want with me?”

  Andromeda found interest in staring beyond the walls of the vessel for a moment before turning to face him. “You want to find your father, don’t you?”

  Ezra hesitated a moment, then nodded.

  “Well, so do they.”

  “I still don’t under—”

  “Leverage,” she interrupted. “They want to draw your father out of hiding with the one thing they know will work without fail. You.”

  Anger burned in Ezra’s tear ducts. He sniffed and wiped his face on the shoulder of his school jacket. "He hasn't come for me yet; what makes you think he will come for me now?"

  Andromeda smirked. "If Ibrahim loves you, he will not be able to stay away."

  "I've nearly been killed three times since I last saw him, yet he never did anything to help," Ezra said, his voice trembling. "This time won't be any different."

  "Aww, you poor boy," Andromeda cooed mockingly. Again, she knelt to his level, her index finger tracing the embroidered insignia of Belfast Royal Academy on his jacket. "I am sure the consul will make the offer extra enticing."

  Ezra fought against his shackles. "Let me go!" he yelled. "Take me back to Belfast!"

  "Sorry, darling, I cannot do that."

  "Take me back to Belfast," he commanded through clenched teeth. "Now."

  “Oh, hush, you,” Andromeda answered, returning to her feet. “Your tone is really starting to annoy.”

  "So is yours!"

  Without warning, Andromeda smacked him across the face with a surprisingly powerful backhand.

  "Do not ever talk to a lady like that again," she growled. The woman plunged her fist into her skirt pocket, drew out a handkerchief, and stuffed it so far into his mouth that he gagged. "You had better watch yourself around Consul Diederik and Deputy Consul Symon. They won’t be as forgiving as I am."

  Ezra's eyes burned concurrently with the stinging pain in his cheek. He turned his face away so the stranger would not see the confusion and despair now consuming him from the inside out.

  As much as he wished for his father to come to his rescue, that frail longing seemed as impossible as his mother returning from the grave. Just as elusive: the hope of getting out of the situation alive, if rumours were true about the consuls of the Legerdemain Brotherhood.

  With tears now streaming over his cheeks, he bowed his head, defeated.

  Somewhere on a distant shoreline, a melancholy cry of an owl echoed into the night.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Emergency

  “I thought we had an understanding, Mr. van der Campe.”

  At the sound of Mr. Edwin Mears’ voice, Jonas begrudgingly tore his attention away from restocking the Emporium shelves. The Administration official, looking more haggard than usual, was flanked by two members of the Magi Gendarmerie. Presumably to take Ezra to headquarters, Jonas recalled from the last conversation with him. He stood, dusted off his trousers, and folded his arms.

  “On which account?”

  Mr. Mears could not resist rolling his eyes. “That you do not interfere with the Newport boy.”

  “I assure you, I haven’t,” Jonas insisted, his eyes flicking back and forth between the three of them. “What could possibly make you think that I—”

  “Ezra is missing,” Mr. Mears cut in. “I spoke with the headmaster, various faculty, including your cousin, and even the mess hall staff. No one has seen the boy since the end of classes yesterday afternoon.”

  Jonas tried to speak but for once, finding the right combination of syllables was a struggle. He searched Edwin Mears’ expressions for a shred of deceit but found nothing except truth in his features.

  “I—I don’t know what to say.”

  “How about you start with what you might know about Mr. Newport’s whereabouts,” the Administration official suggested impatiently.

  Jonas ran his fingers through his hair. “I haven’t the slightest idea, sir. If he’s missing, he must be in trouble.”

  “The Administration does not have time for this sort of thing, Mr. van der Campe. If you know anything—”

  “Sir, I already told you I do not!”

  An abrupt clamour of the shop bell doused the tension in the air.

  “Jonas, we’ve got a problem,” Diego asserted, breathless. He shot a questioning glance at Mr. Edwin Mears before thrusting a newspaper and Ezra’s crystal quartz wand into Jonas’ hands. “Ezra is in trouble.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Jonas sighed. Bracing himself for the worst, he unfurled the paper, his eyes growing in horror at the sight of the front-page article.

  “The Royal Irish Constabulary is investigating a death at the Harland and Wolff shipyard,” Diego summarised for the benefit of all in the room. “The body of City Magistrate Arnold Byrne was discovered this morning at the start of first shift. Supposedly, he had accompanied Ezra to a job interview
last night, but no such meeting ever took place. And with Ezra now missing, the RIC is naming him as a suspect.”

  “Christ,” Jonas whispered in disbelief. “What happened when you went back in time to view the events?”

  “Well, ever since the Legerdemain started using Time Blemishes to cover their tracks during recent events, I was not able to gather any evidence whatsoever,” Diego muttered, folding his arms. “So, while that leads me to believe that by default the Brotherhood is involved, it is not enough for Chief Constable Norman or anyone else, for that matter. We would be incredibly lucky if the RIC still trust the Third Order right now.”

  Edwin Mears frowned and directed his aversion at Jonas. “This is absolutely what we did not want to happen.”

  A defensive fire prickled within Jonas’ being at the official’s statement. Despite this, the matter of Ezra being in the hands of the Brotherhood made his skin crawl. His surroundings spun around him, a disorderly waltz between nausea and dread. It took everything within him to remain upright.

  While the strange mental connection Jonas shared with Ezra had been enlightening on several occasions—especially when Ezra’s fear was insuppressible—he hadn’t seen anything in the last day to even know anything was wrong. The absence of whatever element connected them stirred up a frustration within Jonas he could not quite understand. And it was time the Administration needed to know.

  “Sir, sometimes I can see glimpses of Ezra’s memories as if through his eyes,” Jonas found himself saying before he could stop the words from tumbling from his mouth. “It’s a strange connection I can’t quite explain. I don’t believe it is a Gift. I’m not sure what this is. But ever since the Portadown train wreck, I—”

  Edwin studied him. “A connection, you say? Has this been disclosed to the Administration?”