Archie Greene and the Alchemist's Curse

by D D Everest

  The four apprentices stepped inside. They found themselves in a high-ceilinged chamber that resembled a Gothic crypt. There was a flagstone floor, and a wooden bench like a church pew to sit on.

  Arabella watched them file into the room. She was sitting behind a desk, which had magical symbols carved into it and clawed feet. Scented candles burned, casting shadows on the wall. Some old books were piled on the floor at her feet. Archie, Thistle, Bramble and Rupert sat down on the wooden bench.

  ‘It’s as cold as a tomb in here,’ muttered Thistle to Archie, pulling up his collar as they took their places.

  ‘I think that’s the idea,’ whispered Archie.

  ‘Well, she could have lit a fire or something. How are we supposed to learn anything when we’re shivering?’

  ‘Don’t be so pathetic,’ said Arabella. ‘Now, we haven’t got long, so let’s get on with it.’

  She said the oath. ‘I, Arabella Ebony Ripley, swear allegiance to the Alchemists’ Club. I promise to do all I can to restore magic to its former glory.’

  They carried on down the line until they had all repeated the pledge. On the desk in front of Arabella was a book entitled Working with Spirits: A Beginner’s Guide to the Supernatural World, by Feodora Graves.

  ‘Don’t keep us in suspense,’ said Thistle, shivering. ‘What have you found out?’

  ‘According to Graves, supernatural magic is the most powerful of the three. It’s also the most dangerous. When you write magic, it’s important to know which sort you are using. Darchemists work with supernatural magic. The Terrible Tomes are all books of supernatural magic.’

  She paused, her eyes roving around their faces.

  ‘Supernatural magic uses the power of dead spirits. Ghosts, ghouls, genies, demons, vampires, werewolves, banshees, zombies, golems, wraiths – you get the gist.’

  Bramble raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, that all makes sense,’ she said. ‘So what’s the big deal?’

  ‘Well,’ said Arabella. ‘The problem is that when people are first learning to write magic, they may not know which source they are using. You see, the spirits will use any trick. So an unwary alchemist might think they are writing magic using natural magic, only to discover they have been writing dark magic.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Archie, swallowing hard. ‘That does put a different light on things. So how can we tell the difference?’

  ‘That’s what I’m going to show you,’ said Arabella, ‘if you give me half a chance. Most of the problems with unintended darchemy come from book hauntings. A book is haunted when a spirit is bound to it,’ she continued matter-of-factly. ‘Book hauntings are especially problematic if you don’t know what sort of spirit you’re dealing with. So I am going to show you what to look for.

  ‘Most haunted books contain book ghasts,’ added Arabella. ‘They’re unfulfilled dreams or promises.’

  She selected two books from the pile at her feet. ‘I’ll need two volunteers.’

  ‘Just get on with it,’ sighed Thistle.

  ‘For that, you can be the first one,’ said Arabella, her thin lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. ‘And Archie, you can be my other victim – I mean volunteer.’

  The two boys reluctantly stepped forward.

  Arabella handed them a book each. ‘One of these two books is haunted,’ she said. ‘But which one?’

  Archie regarded the book in his hand dubiously. Thistle shrugged.

  ‘Exactly. There is no obvious way of telling just by looking at them,’ Arabella continued. ‘But there are some telltale signs if you know what to look for.

  ‘The first and most obvious test is the temperature. If a book contains a spirit, it is likely to be a different temperature from the books around it. Generally, it will be cold – like the grave. But it could be hot.

  ‘What temperature are the two books I gave you?’

  ‘This one is like ice,’ said Thistle, touching the book’s cover with his fingertips.

  ‘So is this,’ confirmed Archie.

  ‘That’s because the room is cold.’

  ‘You’re not kidding,’ breathed Thistle, who had put the book down and was rubbing his hands together to try to keep them warm.

  Arabella arched an eyebrow at him in irritation.

  ‘The second clue is smell,’ she said. ‘Supernatural magic has the odour of decay. It smells like something rotting. So, what do our two books smell of? Go on,’ she urged, ‘smell them!’

  Thistle reluctantly put his nose to his book. ‘Ugh!’ he said. ‘It reeks of old parchment.’

  ‘I like the smell of parchment,’ said Arabella. ‘But it doesn’t suggest anything supernatural. And yours, Archie?’

  Archie placed his nose to the book’s cover and immediately caught a whiff of something nasty – ammonia mixed with a sweet, sickly smell that made him gag. He pulled a face.

  ‘It smells like something crawled inside and died!’ he said.

  ‘Which is precisely what happened,’ said Arabella. ‘This book is haunted – in this case the book ghast of a magician from the time of the bubonic plague. He thought he’d invented a magical cure for the disease but discovered he hadn’t when he woke up dead one day.’

  She took the book from Archie and flipped the cover open. A grey spectre reared up from the book. It loomed over her, a tall, ghostly figure of a man in a long fur-trimmed coat and round pillbox hat.

  ‘I have it this time! ’Tis a tincture of cow’s dung and vinegar that will cure all known ills!’

  Arabella turned to the ghast. ‘That’s enough, Bartholemus Brandy,’ she said, in a commanding voice.

  The spectre crumpled and slid back inside the pages of the book.

  ‘How did you do that?’ asked Rupert, impressed.

  Arabella tossed her head. ‘The supernatural comes very naturally to me! Besides, I’ve seen Graves do it. I can control the spirit because I know its name,’ she explained. ‘Remember that. Don’t go writing spells if you don’t know where they come from!

  ‘Book ghasts are generally more pathetic than dangerous,’ she continued. ‘Most are trapped by their own misery. But book ghouls are a diff erent matter. They’re malevolent spirits waiting for a chance to come back into the world.’

  ‘What’s that about book ghouls?’ said Feodora Graves, walking into the room. ‘And what are you doing in my study?’

  ‘I was just showing them your book,’ said Arabella, quickly joining the others.

  ‘I see,’ said Graves suspiciously. ‘Well, now we have work to do, so I think the rest of you should be getting back to your own departments.’

  She paused, as if deciding whether to say more. ‘There has been another Greader attack,’ she said. ‘It happened last night. Someone broke into the Royal Society of Magic and tried to steal their supply of azoth. Fortunately, they were unsuccessful.’

  *

  That night at the Foxes’ house in Houndstooth Road, the conversation among the three cousins was dominated by the latest Greader attack.

  ‘It can only mean one thing,’ said Archie. ‘Someone is trying to write magic.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Thistle. ‘But who?’

  ‘Gloom is from the Royal Society,’ mused Archie. ‘Perhaps it’s him?’

  ‘But he wouldn’t need to break in,’ said Bramble.

  ‘Unless he wanted to throw suspicion off himself,’ said Thistle. ‘Anyway, why is he still at the museum? I thought he was just there to oversee the book fayre.’

  ‘He’s a magic assessor,’ said Archie. ‘I think he wanted to assess our magical abilities from the start. And now he’s got his chance.’

  ‘What’s he assessing us for, anyway?’ asked Thistle.

  ‘To see if we can write magic,’ said Bramble. ‘It has to be.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got my first assessment tomorrow,’ said Archie. ‘So I guess I’ll find out.’

  10

  The Whispering Book

  The next day was Monday. When Archie arrived at
the Scriptorium for his assessment, he found the door unlocked and went inside. The torches blazed as usual, illuminating the room with a golden aura.

  Archie felt its sadness again and wondered whether he was intruding on its sorrow. But a room didn’t have feelings, surely? He looked around.

  Something about the room was different. For a moment he couldn’t work out what it was, but then he realised that some more of the dust sheets had been removed to reveal a row of desks, with benches to sit on.

  Archie reached out his hand and stroked the first desk. He felt a pang of excitement mixed with sadness. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the original scriptorium at the Great Library of Alexandria, buzzing with life and energy.

  ‘You can feel it, can’t you?’ said a voice. Archie jumped. His eyes snapped open. Orpheus Gloom was studying him closely.

  ‘The raw power of magic!’ enthused Gloom. ‘I’m not talking about old magic preserved in books and artefacts, Archie. I’m talking about new magic being created. The air in here is thick with it. These desks have witnessed the act of creation itself! It’s burned into them,’ he added, stroking one of the desks. ‘It’s in their very fabric, written into the grain of the wood!’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ said Archie, his eyes wide. He could feel the energy Gloom was talking about. Something deep inside him was stirring. Some primal force was starting to assert itself. He could feel his curiosity growing. He felt exhilarated but wary at the same time.

  Gloom’s eyes were fixed on him. ‘It’s nothing to fear, you know, Archie.’

  Archie looked away. It was easy for Gloom to say that. He didn’t have the forks on him! Nor did he have the Golden Circle firemark. Sometimes Archie wondered what his life would be like if he’d never heard of magic or the museum! He smiled to himself. Boring! That was the answer. But he felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. It was a lot to carry.

  Deep down, too, Archie knew that what he feared most was himself. He was frightened by the thought that he might make the wrong decision when the time came. Who knows, maybe he had already made the wrong decision when he persuaded the others to re-form the Alchemists’ Club. It had seemed so clear that they needed to rewrite The Book of Charms to save the museum.

  But that was before they knew anything about a curse. He wondered whether the appearance of the raven and its warning was linked to his decision. It was not a very cheering thought.

  Gloom opened his briefcase and removed a large notebook, which he placed on one of the uncovered desks.

  ‘Now then, let’s make a start,’ he said. ‘Take a seat.’

  Archie was about to sit down at the first desk, but he hesitated. He felt a strange reluctance.

  ‘Come along, now,’ said Gloom, taking out a blue-tinted imagining glass and waving his hand impatiently. ‘Any of the desks will do.’

  Archie tried the next desk, but again it didn’t feel right. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he didn’t feel comfortable there. It was as if he was sitting in someone else’s place. He glanced along the row. All were uncovered except for the one at the end, which was still draped in a dust sheet. Archie felt drawn to it. He tugged at the dust sheet and it fluttered to the ground.

  He sat down.

  ‘Welcome, Archie Greene,’ whispered a gentle voice. ‘You have chosen well.’

  Archie was taken aback. Had the desk just spoken to him? He gave it a curious look and glanced at Gloom. The magic assessor still had his nose in his briefcase and didn’t appear to have heard the voice. Archie shook his head to clear it. He’d encountered plenty of magical objects at the museum, but only books had spoken to him before. It must be a book, he thought.

  The voice spoke again. ‘The spells that keep the museum safe are very old. They are growing weak. Only you can protect the museum from the darkness.’

  Archie scanned the room. The only books he could see were The Book of Yore on its podium and the three books inside the glass dome. Could one of them be talking to him?

  ‘Who are you?’ he whispered, keeping his voice low so that Gloom wouldn’t hear.

  ‘You will know in time. I mean you no harm. But there are others who can’t be trusted. Take care, Archie Greene.’

  Gloom looked up to see Archie seated at the far end of the row.

  ‘What are you doing all the way down there?’

  Archie shrugged. ‘You said to pick any desk.’

  ‘So I did,’ said Gloom thoughtfully. ‘Interesting that you should pick that one. It was Fabian Grey’s desk.’

  Archie felt his heart quicken. The palms of his hands were suddenly sweating. He had been drawn to the desk. Was he destined to follow in Grey’s footsteps? He glanced at the Books of Destiny. But the voice was silent.

  Gloom opened his notebook. ‘Right then. Tell me about this special book-whispering talent of yours, Archie.’

  Archie felt suddenly awkward. ‘Well, I can hear magical books talking. But it’s not all the time.’

  Gloom’s eyebrows bristled with interest. ‘And how many times has this happened?’ he asked, scribbling in his notebook.

  Archie shrugged. Gloom looked up. ‘Come along, Archie, you’ve got to help me here,’ he said. ‘I can’t assess your magical ability if you don’t tell me everything.’

  Archie thought for a moment. ‘Well, it’s happened quite a few times.’ He wondered whether he should tell Gloom that it had just happened again. But since he didn’t know where the voice was coming from, he decided to keep it to himself.

  ‘More than ten?’ asked Gloom eagerly.

  Archie nodded.

  ‘So you can hear them, and they can hear you? I mean, they respond to your commands?’

  Archie thought about how he had been able to release the warlock Barzak from The Book of Souls. ‘Well … yes, I suppose so. Sometimes, at least.’

  Gloom looked up sharply. ‘Fascinating,’ he said, still scribbling. ‘And has it happened recently?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Archie. ‘Very recently.’ About a minute ago, he thought.

  Gloom seemed to sense that Archie was holding something back. He gave him a searching look.

  ‘I understand that you consulted The Book of Yore?’

  Archie glanced at the large brown book at the far end of the room. ‘I asked it about what happened to my parents,’ he said.

  All he knew about his family was the vague story that Granny Greene had told him, that they had been victims of a cross-Channel ferry disaster. When he had first arrived in Oxford, Loretta had given him some of his father’s books and photographs, but he knew almost nothing about his mother except her name – Amelia.

  When he had asked The Book of Yore about his parents, it had shown him scenes from much earlier in the history of magic. It was all very confusing.

  ‘It showed me Barzak trying to open the Terrible Tomes and the fire at the Great Library of Alexandria.’ He felt a shiver run up his spine at the memory. ‘I was trapped in the fire, until Gideon Hawke rescued me.’

  ‘I see,’ said Gloom. ‘So Hawke entered The Book of Yore as well?’

  ‘No, he used a book hook to save me,’ said Archie. ‘I realise now that what I did was foolish.’

  ‘Foolish, yes,’ mused Gloom, looking up from his notes. ‘But also very brave, if I may say so. The fact that you managed to escape in one piece indicates magical ability as well as luck,’ he added, making another note. ‘But next time you may not be so fortunate.’

  ‘Next time? I didn’t think apprentices were allowed to consult the Books of Destiny.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Gloom. ‘Well, strictly speaking, they aren’t. But I don’t think we need concern ourselves with such petty rules, do we? After all, we are the future of magic, and we should not be limited by the mistakes of the past. Progress – that is the drum we march to, eh, Archie?’

  Archie’s mind was in a whirl. Gloom was very different from the other museum elders. He was concerned with moving forward, not staying stuck in the
past. Archie felt inspired.

  ‘Well, if you say it’s all right …’

  ‘Good,’ said Gloom. ‘But you will need some protection. I’m talking about magical devices – artefacts, magical paraphernalia, that sort of thing. Old Zeb mentioned a keepsafe from John Dee?’

  Archie’s magic pendant was on its silver chain around his neck as usual. ‘I have this,’ he said.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Gloom reverentially, ‘the Emerald Eye. I’ve heard of it. It’s famous in the magical realm.’

  Gloom gazed at the green crystal. His fingers twitched as if he longed to take it, but he merely smiled.

  ‘It is a beautiful object,’ he said admiringly. ‘Powerful, too. And to think of all the people Dee could have given it to, he chose you. Did he explain why?’

  ‘He told me it would protect me,’ Archie said. ‘And that I would need it. But he warned me never to use it to see my own destiny – that’s all. There wasn’t much time for long explanations.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose there was,’ muttered Gloom thoughtfully. ‘Well, Archie, the Emerald Eye has many magical properties, which will be magnified in the hands of a book whisperer. It will protect you from magical books, even the dark ones, as long as you don’t look directly at them. And it will preserve your spirit, allowing your retrospectre to wander.

  ‘Your retrospectre is the shadow of your soul, but it is not the real thing,’ he explained, seeing the blank look on Archie’s face. ‘It can safely enter a drawing book, for instance, without putting you in danger. As long as the Emerald Eye is safe, then no harm will come to you. All you have to do is grasp the crystal and pronounce your magical name – the secret name your parents gave you. That will release your retrospectre and it will remain until you say your magical name again, then you will return to your body.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Archie, his face falling. ‘I don’t think I have one of those.’

  Gloom regarded him steadily. ‘You have one all right. Your parents would have seen to it. It could be a family name or nickname.