by D D Everest
‘We’ll also be looking at tricks and traps that the unwary apprentice can fall into.’
The bookbinder rubbed his hands together. ‘Now, talking of tricks and traps, this is an interesting one,’ he said, picking up the book Archie had just brought down from the shop. ‘Unless I’m very much mistaken, it’s a grabber! The bigger ones can be downright dangerous, but even a little one like this can be troublesome.’
Archie regarded the book with interest.
‘Go on, have a closer look,’ said the old man. ‘But be careful. The twine is to stop it springing open. Grabbers are responsible for a lot of the things that go missing in Unready households. They’re particularly fond of socks and keys.’
The twine was tied very tightly and knotted several times.
Old Zeb scratched his head thoughtfully. ‘I think the best thing is for you to hold it closed while I put a new clasp on it.’
‘Ready?’ asked the old bookbinder when Archie was in position. Archie nodded.
‘One. Two. Three. Go!’ Archie leaned his full weight on the book while the old bookbinder cut through the twine with a knife and slid it clear.
‘Very good.’ He smiled. ‘Now don’t move.’
Archie felt a bit silly using all his strength to keep a book shut, but Old Zeb usually knew best. He had been mending magical books for years. How many years, Archie couldn’t begin to guess. It could be hundreds for all he knew!
Old Zeb took what looked like a large magnifying glass and held it up to his eye. It was an imagining glass, a magical instrument that magnifies the user’s imagination – very useful for seeing something from a different angle, or getting a new perspective on a problem.
The bookbinder smiled. ‘You’re right, the clasp is broken. Soon fix that.’
Archie felt pleased with himself. He was becoming increasingly confident about his book-mending skills.
‘Now, where is that clasp?’ said the old man. ‘I knew it would come in handy.’ He rummaged through a battered old tool bag, and triumphantly held up a clasp with a silver key.
‘There,’ he said, his quick hands replacing the old clasp with the new one. He held the key between his fingers. ‘Just need to turn …’
But at that moment something gave Archie a sharp shove from underneath. It was so unexpected that it knocked him off balance. There was a peal of laughter as the book’s cover flipped open and a small figure sprang out.
No bigger than a doll, it was dressed in a bright diamond-patterned harlequin costume like a clown and wore a black mask. In the blink of an eye it darted across the bench and grabbed what was left of the fruitcake.
‘Hey!’ cried Archie, diving towards the cake tin. ‘Leave that alone.’
But it was too late. Before Archie or Old Zeb could do anything, the figure had melted back into the pages, clutching the half-eaten cake.
Old Zeb clicked the clasp shut and turned the key. The pealing laughter stopped abruptly, and the book vanished in a puff of smoke.
The old man shook his head. ‘Locking the book after the fruitcake has bolted, I’m afraid,’ he said ruefully. ‘That’s the trouble with grabbers. They’re so quick. Magicians use them for stealing from each other,’ he explained. ‘Oh well, it could have been worse. It could have taken my imagining glass. I can always ask Marjorie to make us another cake.’
Archie smiled. ‘I suppose that’s what you call grabbing a bite to eat!’ he said.
Old Zeb’s face cracked into a broad smile. They both chuckled.
Archie felt his palm itching again and scratched it. The tickling sensation was definitely getting worse.
Old Zeb gave him a knowing look. ‘Bothering you, is it?’
Archie nodded.
‘Show me.’ The old bookbinder inspected Archie’s hand, where the needle and thread symbol was. ‘You’ll be getting your second firemark any day now.’
‘But I’ve still got so much to learn about bookbinding,’ said Archie, surprised.
‘Perhaps you have, but the Flame has other plans for you,’ said Old Zeb.
The old man slipped on a thick leather glove and opened the door to the Word Smithy. His eyes shone in the firelight.
‘It contains the spirits of the ancient magisters – the old magic writers. When they died, they were cremated in the Flame. The last magister brought the Flame to Oxford. As long as it continues to burn, magic will never die.’
Archie stared at the tongues of fire, writhing in their timeless and ever-changing dance. Suddenly, the Flame changed colour, blazing with a silver light.
‘Good heavens,’ muttered Old Zeb, a startled look on his face. ‘It’s never done that before.’
*
At that same moment, fifty miles away at the London offices of Folly & Catchpole, the oldest and most secretive law firm in England, Horace Catchpole sat on one side of a highly polished walnut desk. On the other side was Prudence Folly – Horace’s boss – and right now she was watching him as a falcon might watch a rabbit.
‘And this is it, is it?’ asked Prudence, gazing at a gold ring inside a small box on the desk. ‘This is the second instruction for Archie Greene?’
Horace nodded. ‘It’s all here in the ledger,’ he confirmed, indicating a large book balanced on his lap.
In the cellars under Folly & Catchpole’s offices just off Fleet Street there were hundred of packages containing secrets. Each had its own entry in the client ledger, explaining precisely when and where it was to be delivered.
‘I see,’ said Prudence, raising an eyebrow. ‘And what exactly does it say?’
Horace opened the book and ran his finger down the page until he found the entry. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room ticked impatiently.
‘Well?’ demanded Prudence.
Horace peered at the spidery writing through his horn-rimmed spectacles. The writing was faded, but he could make out some of what it said. ‘One gold ring for Archie Greene, care of the Museum of Magical Miscellany.’
Prudence picked up the ring and inspected it. It was made from a gold band shaped like a dragon that curled around to swallow its own tail.
Her brow furrowed in thought. ‘When you told me there was a second instruction, I thought it would be another magical book like the first one.’
She pursed her lips. ‘And you’re sure there isn’t anything else that goes with it? Something we might have missed?’
Horace shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The last time there had been a package for Archie Greene, he had forgotten a scroll that should have been delivered at the same time. In the end, everything had turned out all right, but Prudence had no intention of repeating the error.
Folly & Catchpole had been the law firm of choice for the magical community of Britain for more than nine hundred years. Its reputation was built on two guiding principles: minding its own business and not making mistakes. Prudence was determined to make sure it stayed that way.
‘Just the ring,’ said Horace, consulting the ledger again.
‘Do we know who the client is this time?’ asked Prudence.
‘There are some initials,’ said Horace, squinting at the page. ‘The first letter looks like an F, but the second letter isn’t clear,’ he said. ‘The ink is smudged.’
Prudence tutted. ‘Sloppy bookkeeping,’ she said. ‘When is it due?’
‘When the firemarks start to appear,’ said Horace. ‘And there’s an unusual method for delivering it …’
2
The Strange Firemark
The next morning Archie woke with a start. Someone was shaking him. It took him a moment to realise where he was. His cousin’s freckled face peered down at him, and he remembered he was in the bedroom that he and Thistle shared in the Foxes’ house at number 32 Houndstooth Road.
‘Rise and shine, Arch,’ Thistle said. ‘It’s my birthday, and I don’t intend to miss a second of it. You’re only twelve once, you know!’
Archie yawned and stretched. ‘Happy birthday!
’ he said.
They dressed and hurried downstairs. Loretta Foxe, Archie’s aunt, was icing a large birthday cake on the kitchen table. She was famous in the Foxe household for her unusual combinations of food. Archie’s birthday cake had been chocolate and marshmallow – with sardine filling. This one smelled fishy, too.
Loretta’s turquoise eyes lit up when she saw them.
‘Happy birthday!’ she cried, giving Thistle a hug.
Thistle rolled his eyes for Archie’s benefit. But Archie could tell that he was secretly pleased.
‘I’m making omelettes,’ Loretta said. ‘What do you want in them, marmalade or jam?’
Thistle smiled. ‘I think I’d like to try cheese today.’
Loretta raised her eyebrows. ‘Cheese?’ she said, making a face. ‘In an omelette? Are you sure?’
Thistle nodded. ‘Yep, as it’s my birthday, I’m going to try something new.’
‘And you, Archie?’ Loretta asked.
‘Yes, why not?’ Archie said, delighted at the prospect. ‘I’ll have cheese as well.’
Loretta looked mildly disappointed.
‘Here you go,’ she said a couple of minutes later, handing a plate to her son. ‘A cheese omelette. And here’s a cheese omelette for you, too, Archie.’
At last, Archie was going to eat something normal at the Foxes’ house. His mouth watered at the thought. He had just picked up his fork when Loretta whispered in his ear.
‘Don’t worry, I put some jam in to take away the taste of the cheese!’ She winked at him, and he felt obliged to wink back, but he felt his appetite disappearing. On a shelf above the stove a row of cookery books gathered dust. Loretta preferred to cook by instinct.
Just then, Woodbine Foxe ambled into the kitchen. Archie’s uncle was a thin man with a clump of straw-like hair that made him look like a scarecrow. He had bags under his eyes, and the lines in his face looked even deeper than usual. Woodbine worked as a finder, tasked with locating magical books that were unknown to the museum. He spent most of his time scouring secondhand bookshops and following up leads.
Occasionally, the museum would send him abroad to track down a missing book. Sometimes he would bring back presents for the children from his foreign travels. He had spent the last week in the Czech Republic.
‘What ho!’ he called cheerfully, sitting down at the table. ‘Happy birthday, young’un!’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ said Thistle between mouthfuls of omelette. ‘When did you get back?’
‘First thing this morning,’ said Woodbine. ‘I wanted to be here for your birthday.’
‘How was Prague?’ asked Archie.
‘A disaster,’ Woodbine replied, shaking his head. ‘We had reports of a book in a part of the old city they call Alchemists’ Alley. An anonymous tip off. Gideon Hawke sent me to a bookshop to collect it. But someone else beat me to it.’
‘Greaders?’ asked Loretta, her brow darkening.
Woodbine nodded. Greaders were the sworn enemies of the Flame Keepers. They were called Greaders because they were greedy for magical books and would go to any lengths to acquire them.
Woodbine continued. ‘They tortured an old man and woman for information about where the book was. That’s the second attack this month.’
‘I thought the Greader attacks were meant to stop once Arthur Ripley was locked up,’ said Loretta. Arthur Ripley had been behind the Greader plot with Barzak that Archie had foiled. Ripley was now locked away in an asylum for the magically ill.
‘That’s what we all thought,’ muttered Woodbine, shaking his head. ‘But someone else is pulling the strings. And they’re very good at covering their tracks.’
Greaders usually operated in secret. It was rare for them to reveal their identities. In public, many appeared to be upstanding members of the magical community. But behind closed doors they practised dark magic.
Woodbine’s eyes narrowed. ‘Before he died, the old man whispered a name – Amos Roach.’
‘Well, let’s talk about something more pleasant,’ said Loretta, forcing a smile. ‘After all, it’s not every day that a Foxe turns twelve!’
‘Happy birthday, Thistle,’ said Bramble, sitting down at the table.
*
‘Right,’ said Loretta, when they had cleared away the breakfast things. ‘There’s just time to open some presents before your Flame test.’
Thistle’s first stop would be the bookshop to receive his firemark.
‘Which mark are you hoping for?’ asked Archie.
‘Dad started with his finding mark, so that would be good,’ said Thistle thoughtfully. ‘But there’s all three in the family. Mum was a minder, and Uncle Alex was a binder like you. So to be honest, I don’t care. I just want to get the Flame test over with!’
Loretta disappeared into the walk-in larder and returned with three presents.
‘This one’s from Granny Greene,’ she said. Granny Greene had raised Archie from a baby, and in all that time she had never mentioned his cousins or the museum. Archie had subsequently discovered that his father had made her promise to keep him away from magic for as long as possible. It was only when the mysterious book had arrived on Archie’s twelfth birthday that he had discovered the truth about his magical heritage. It had been Gran’s idea that Archie should go and live with the Foxes in Oxford.
Unbeknownst to Archie, she had written his cousins letters and always sent them birthday and Christmas presents. Since Archie had come to live with them, the letters had become more regular. Gran herself was now away on a mysterious journey, and had been travelling for several months.
Thistle opened a white envelope taped to the parcel.
Dear Thistle,
Happy birthday!
I wish I could be there to see you off on your first day at the museum. I’m sure you will be a great success and make us all very proud. Here is something that will help you find your way.
Love,
Granny Greene
PS. Say hello to Archie and Bramble for me.
Thistle ripped open the parcel to reveal an old book. ‘Magical Places to Visit,’ he said, reading the title. ‘Brilliant!’
‘It was your grandfather’s,’ said Loretta, a trace of wistfulness in her voice. ‘I recognise it. Dad loved exploring. I’m sure that’s where you get it from, Thistle.’
‘It’s got a name written inside,’ said Thistle. ‘Gadabout Greene?’
‘That was your grandfather’s nickname,’ said Loretta, smiling.
On the back of the book there was a three-sided symbol that looked like a knot inside a circle.
A message was printed beside it in clear black letters.
This book has been certified as safe to open by order of the Museum of Magical Miscellany, Oxford, England.
All newly discovered magical books had to be handed in at the museum to be inspected for damage. Then they were classified as level one, two or three in magical power. The more dangerous ones – level three – had to stay in the museum. But levels one and two went back into circulation within the magical realm.
Thistle riffled through the pages. ‘There’s an entry for Quill’s,’ he said. ‘“Quill’s Coffee & Chocolate House was founded in London in 1657 by Jacob Quill. In 1667, Quill moved to Oxford after the original shop was destroyed in the Great Fire of London. Quill’s has been in Oxford ever since.”’
‘Here’s a little something from your father and me,’ Loretta said, handing over the second parcel.
Thistle tore it open to find a small box. He opened it and held up a silver ring with an orange gemstone.
‘We thought you might like it as your keepsafe,’ said Woodbine. ‘It was my father’s, but it’s been in the Foxe family for generations.’
It was customary for a new apprentice to receive a piece of jewellery with a charm on it to give them some protection from dark magic. Bramble’s keepsafe was a charm bracelet, and Archie’s was a magical pendant that had once belonged to the famous magician John D
ee.
‘Thanks, Dad!’ said Thistle, turning the ring over in his hand and admiring it.
‘It’s got a guarding spell on it,’ said Woodbine. ‘The gemstone glows whenever dark magic is near.’
‘And last but not least,’ said Loretta, handing him the final parcel, ‘you’ll need this. It’s your snook – give it to Geoffrey Screech when you get to the bookshop.’
It was a tradition at the museum that all new apprentices brought a magical book on their first day to prove they were from a Flame-Keeper family.
‘It was among some old family papers. I found it when I was looking for the ring. It doesn’t have a stamp,’ said Woodbine, ‘so tell Geoffrey to handle it carefully.’
‘You’ll have to wait for your present from us,’ said Archie. ‘Bramble and I want to get you something at the book fayre.’
The International Magical Book Fayre was held every five years, and this year it was being held in Oxford at Quill’s. The apprentices had been talking about it for weeks. The fayre attracted members of the magical community from all over England and beyond, including magicians and fortune tellers, and there would be all sorts of magical gifts and other items for sale.
‘I can’t believe it’s this weekend,’ said Thistle.
‘And I can’t believe you’re starting your apprenticeship today! You’re getting so big and grown up,’ said Loretta, wiping the corner of her eye. ‘Now,’ she said, forcing a smile, ‘there’s just time for some cake before you go!’
*
The three cousins walked the half-hour journey into Oxford. As they approached the Aisle of White, Thistle slowed down, dragging his feet.
Archie glanced at Thistle. He wondered what was going through his cousin’s mind.
‘All right, Thistle?’ he asked, punching him lightly on the arm.
Thistle swallowed and gave a nervous smile. ‘Of course,’ he said unconvincingly. ‘Never better. I’ve been looking forward to this moment all my life.’
Working in the mending workshop, Archie had seen several apprentices on their first day. Most of them were a bit apprehensive before their Flame test. For all his bravado, Archie could see that Thistle was no different.
