by D D Everest
‘One other thing: has a magical creature ever presented you with a quill by any chance?’
‘No,’ said Archie.
‘Oh well, just a thought,’ muttered Gloom. ‘And Archie, it would be best if you don’t discuss what we have been talking about with the other apprentices. I can tell already that you have great magical talent, and that can be a source of envy.
‘It was the same for Fabian Grey. His magical talents were extraordinary. Apparently he had a bibliographic memory. He could recall passages and spells from any magical book he’d ever seen.
‘But he made people uncomfortable. They were jealous, you see. And of course he got carried away with the Alchemists’ Club. And now his name has been blackened.’
He shook his head again. ‘Such a talent, such a shame. You have a lot in common with him, Archie. He had the forks on him, too. If only he’d made different choices.
‘Anyway, come and see me when you have remembered your magical name. I’m sure if you think hard enough it will present itself. Magical names have a habit of doing that.’
*
Archie was thoughtful for the rest of the day. He barely said two words to Old Zeb all afternoon. Gloom had given him a lot to think about.
What had gone wrong for Fabian Grey on the night of the Great Fire of London? Gloom had given Archie an idea about how he might find out. But first he needed to discover his magical name, and that felt like looking for a very small needle in a very large haystack.
11
The Mythical Menagerie
The next day after they had finished their apprenticeship duties, Rupert had arranged to show the others the mythical menagerie, where he worked. Archie, Bramble, Thistle and Arabella went into the West Gallery and through a door marked with a lightning bolt striking a tree, the symbol for natural magic. They climbed a wooden staircase to the second floor.
Rupert was waiting for them. He opened a heavy oak door and stepped inside. ‘Welcome to the mythical menagerie,’ he said, with a wide grin on his face.
Ahead of them was a long, dark passageway, lit by lanterns casting a golden light. There were animal pens on either side, and they could sense creatures inside them moving around.
The first thing that hit Archie was the smell. The aroma of manure and straw reminded him of a farmyard. He half expected to hear chickens squawking and pigs grunting. But the sounds coming from the menagerie were very different.
He thought he heard a whinny, but it didn’t sound like any horse he’d ever heard before. It had a musical quality to it that he could have listened to for hours. There were other odd, unidentifiable animal noises: snuffling, flapping and squeaking. In the background, too, something bellowed. Most alarming of all was a deep, throbbing growl like a very powerful engine.
‘It’s feeding time,’ said Rupert cheerfully. ‘You can help if you like. Grab a bucket and follow me.’
Some wooden buckets were lined up in a row by the door. The poor light meant it was hard to see what was inside them. Rupert picked up the first one and started to move down the row of pens. The other children grabbed a bucket each and followed.
Inside the first pen were some small animals that looked like guinea pigs. ‘Snufflings,’ said Rupert. ‘They’re very friendly.’
He opened the low gate and stepped inside. The small creatures gathered around him, nuzzling his toes affectionately. He took a handful of grain from his bucket and scattered it on the ground. The snufflings put their heads down and snuffled around to find the food.
‘They’re very sweet,’ said Bramble, ‘but they don’t look very magical.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ said Rupert.
Just then, Thistle stepped into the pen, and a snuffling that was grazing nearby suddenly vanished. One moment it was there, the next it was gone.
‘Where did it go?’ asked Thistle.
‘Snufflings have an unusual way of protecting themselves,’ said Rupert. ‘They secrete a special invisibility enzyme, which allows them to disappear if they sense danger.’
At that moment the snuffling reappeared and nuzzled Thistle’s foot.
‘He’s decided you’re not a threat after all,’ said Rupert, throwing a handful of grain towards the little creature. ‘I think he likes you! Come on,’ he said, shooing them out of the pen and closing the gate.
‘Desmond is next,’ he said, moving to the next pen. ‘He’s a dodo.’
The children heard a honking sound, and a curious-looking bird with a large bill and short legs waddled into sight.
‘I thought that dodos were extinct,’ said Arabella.
‘Shhh, don’t tell Desmond,’ said Rupert. ‘He doesn’t know. Throw him a couple of fish,’ he added, gesturing to Arabella’s bucket.
‘And here are the dryads,’ he continued, indicating a thickly wooded area behind a gate. ‘They’re tree nymphs.’
‘Hello, Oak,’ he called, waving. At first the other children couldn’t see anything.
‘Where is it?’ asked Archie, squinting at the branches of an oak tree.
‘There,’ said Rupert, pointing. ‘See it now?’
They could make out a small pixie-like creature about fifteen centimetres tall wearing the top of an acorn on his head.
‘And there’s Elm and Ash,’ he said, as two other dryads lowered themselves from their trees to get some food.
‘They eat nuts and berries,’ he explained. ‘There’s some in that bucket you’re carrying, Bramble.’
Bramble held out a handful of red berries and peanuts. The dryads approached her shyly and then darted forward to take them from her.
The next pen was covered with wire mesh and had a tall gate with blacked-out glass. The children could hear a flapping sound like metal wings.
‘Stympalians,’ said Rupert. ‘They’re man-eating birds with poisonous dung. I think we’ll pass on them.’
‘Not something your average pet shop would have, then!’ said Archie.
‘No, probably not,’ laughed Rupert. ‘They’re not really house pets!’
‘Can we see them?’ asked Thistle, trying to peer through the darkened glass.
‘Best not to,’ said Rupert. ‘A stympalian can kill you with one look in the eye or by breathing on you. We have to wear blindfolds to feed them. The only thing that’s immune to them is a snuffling.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Thistle, rapidly moving on to the next pen.
‘Over there are the golden hinds and the satyrs,’ said Rupert, indicating two larger pens. ‘And that’s Simon, the red-bellied salamander that ate my cufflinks,’ he added, pointing to a large lizard with a pinkish tinge. It was as big as a full-grown pig.
‘No jewellery for you today, Simon,’ he said. ‘You’re on a diet.’ He took the bucket that Bramble was carrying and emptied it under the gate.
As they watched it, the salamander changed colour from pink to yellow and then to an angry red.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Rupert. ‘He’s about to flame. Watch out!’
The children dodged to one side just as the salamander opened its mouth and a flame shot out, blasting the metal door.
They could hear the sound of snorting coming from the next pen. The gate had heavy iron bars. Staring angrily at them from inside was a creature with a very large head like a buffalo, with two very sharp horns and the torso of a man with a bull’s legs and hooves.
‘The Minotaur,’ said Rupert, as if this explained everything. ‘Always cross about something.’
At that moment, the beast bellowed like they had heard earlier. It put its head down and charged at them. The children leaped backwards as it crashed its horns into the gate, making the ground tremble.
‘Good thing we had those bars reinforced,’ said Rupert. ‘It must be hungry.’ He threw something between the bars, and the snorting Minotaur picked it up and carried it off to the far side of its pen.
The children gave one another a look and raised their eyebrows.
‘He doesn’t seem very pleased to be here,
’ said Archie.
‘He’s not,’ said Rupert. ‘But can you imagine the trouble he’d cause if we let him loose in Oxford?
‘Come on,’ he added. ‘I want to show you my favourite.’
The next pen was much larger than the others. At first it appeared to be empty.
‘Shhhhh,’ hushed Rupert, putting his finger to his lips. ‘Be quiet or you’ll scare her.’
‘I can’t see anything,’ said Arabella.
‘Look, over there,’ he whispered.
And then they saw it – a magnificent white horse. It was standing so still they hadn’t seen it.
‘She’s a Pegasus,’ breathed Rupert. ‘The very last of her kind.’
And as he said it, the beautiful animal trotted forward and then broke into a canter.
‘If we’re lucky, she might come a little closer,’ said Rupert. ‘But she’s very shy.’
He opened the gate and stepped into the pen. He made a whistling sound, and the creature’s ears pricked up.
They could see two white-feathered wings folded upon its flanks. With a shock, Archie realised they were closed with a leather strap.
‘Does she ever get a chance to fly?’ he asked, watching the Pegasus trotting around in a circle.
Rupert shook his head sadly. ‘No, she hasn’t flown since I’ve been working here. We have to keep her wings tied. Her pen isn’t big enough, and it would be too dangerous to let her out of Mothballs. If someone saw her, they would try to catch her and put her in a zoo. She’d hate that – people staring at her all the time.
‘That reminds me, when I had my assessment with Gloom, he was especially interested in the magical creatures with feathers,’ he added. ‘He asked if one of them had ever presented me with a quill.’
‘That’s interesting,’ said Archie. ‘He asked me the same thing.’
‘Apparently, that’s what happened with the original Alchemists’ Club,’ said Rupert. ‘Each of the members had a quill from a different magical creature. Three of them are in the Scriptorium.’
12
Pudding Lane
The next meeting of the re-formed Alchemists’ Club was that weekend. They still hadn’t found anywhere better to meet, so they agreed to use the Scriptorium.
Despite racking his brain, Archie was none the wiser about his magical name. He had tried all the family names he knew, grasping the Emerald Eye and saying them out loud, including Granny Greene’s first name, Gardenia, and the first names of both his parents, Alexander and Amelia.
He wasn’t really sure what was meant to happen, but he was certain that he’d recognise the retrospectre spell if it worked. He had also tried his own name, Archibald, and the names of all the Foxes: Loretta, Woodbine, Bramble and Thistle. In a moment of inspiration, he tried the name of the last librarian of Alexandria, Obadiah Greene. He had even tried the name of the Foxes’ cat, Timothy, and Granny Greene’s dog, Mr Barker.
But he was about to get some unexpected help.
When Archie arrived, Rupert was already there, standing in front of the painting of the original Alchemists’ Club.
‘All right, Rupert?’ he said.
Rupert jumped. ‘Erm, yes,’ he said. ‘Just looking at the picture. ‘That’s my ancestor, Roderick Trevallen.’ he pointed to a tall young man with dark hair. ‘I looked him up. He died young, not much older than I am now. An accident.’
Archie could see there was a strong family resemblance to Rupert. He took a closer look at the other alchemists in the picture.
The girl on the right of the group stared back with cold grey eyes. She must be Angelica Ripley. The eyes ran in the family. Archie could see the likeness with Arabella. The man next to Angelica looked a bit like a younger version of Woodbine. He must be Braxton Foxe.
‘That’s Grey,’ said Rupert, ‘the one looking away, with the white streak in his hair. Apparently he had a shock that turned some of his hair white when he was still an apprentice at the museum. He consulted the Book of Prophecy and it nearly sent him mad.’
Grey’s hand was raised, pointing at the open door behind him. Something glinted in his other hand.
‘What’s he holding?’ asked Archie.
‘The golden Bennu quill,’ said Rupert. ‘It was the most powerful of all the enchanted quills. It disappeared with Grey.’
Archie looked closer. He could just make out the shape of the quill.
He reached out towards the painting. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to happen, but when his fingers touched it, the surface was hard and unyielding.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Rupert in surprise.
‘It was just an idea,’ said Archie, feeling a little foolish.
At that moment, the others arrived. The five of them stood around in a circle.
As usual the club meeting began with the oath. Bramble went first. They carried on around the circle until it was Archie’s turn.
Archie closed his eyes. ‘I, Archibald Obadiah Greene, swear …’
At that moment he caught sight of Magical Places to Visit. Thistle had put the book down on one of the desks. It was open at the page where his grandfather had written his nickname, Gadabout. Wait a moment. Archie had an idea. Gloom had said that magical names were often nicknames that had been passed down in a family. Archie’s grandfather had liked to explore. Perhaps Archie’s parents had given their son his nickname as his magical name.
Reaching inside his shirt, he grasped the Emerald Eye. He felt it glow warm as he squeezed it in his hand. He closed his eyes and uttered a single word.
‘Gadabout.’
The crystal began to throb, and Archie felt the strangest sensation, as if he was slipping out of his body.
‘Wow! That was weird,’ he cried, his eyes still closed. ‘Did you feel it, too? Bram?’
There was no reply. ‘Thistle?’ Still nothing. ‘Rupert? Arabella?’ He opened his eyes. They were still talking as if nothing had happened.
Archie took a step towards Bramble. His movement left a trail of silvery light like phosphorescence. He stared at his hands, which were shimmering, ghostlike. As he turned he caught sight of himself, his hand still gripping the Emerald Eye. The spell had worked. He had released his retrospectre!
Archie glanced at his friends, still chatting among themselves. As far as they were concerned, he was still there. The Archie they could see was smiling amiably but wasn’t saying anything. None of the others seemed to have noticed the blank expression on his face.
Archie felt a thrill of excitement. He was doing magic! But now that he had cast the spell, what was he going to do with it? Luckily, he had already thought about that. If the re-formed Alchemists’ Club was going to avoid the same mistake as the original Alchemists’ Club, he needed to know what had happened on the night of the fire in Pudding Lane. This was his chance to find out.
Gloom had said that his retrospectre would protect him if he consulted The Book of Yore. Archie approached it and said in a clear voice, ‘What happened on the night that Fabian Grey caused the Great Fire of London?’
He heard the sandpaper voice he knew from when he’d consulted the book before.
‘The past is gone,’ the voice said in a cracked whisper. ‘Those who disturb it cannot change it, but they may be changed by it.’
‘I will take that chance,’ he said.
The Book of Yore flipped open. Its pages turned as if the wind blew through them. Then the book slammed shut.
‘Your page is marked,’ the voice said.
Archie opened the pages to where a bookmark had appeared. A date was written at the top of the page: 2nd September 1666. The day of the Great Fire! Archie reached out to touch the page, but his hand passed straight through. There was a rushing sound in his ears, and he closed his eyes. Like smoke up a chimney, he was drawn into The Book of Yore.
*
When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a darkened street. There were terraced houses with candles burning in the windows. The air was thick
with fog, and he could barely see a metre in front of him.
A bell clanged and a voice called out. ‘Ten o’clock and all’s well!’
The town crier was making his evening patrol. His dark shape loomed out of the thick mist. Another man, wearing a dark blue cloak, approached from the opposite direction. Something about the second stranger gave Archie the oddest feeling. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. It was as if he had seen him before but didn’t know where.
‘Excuse me,’ said the stranger. ‘I’m looking for Thomas Farrinor’s shop in Pudding Lane.’
‘It’s down there,’ said the town crier, pointing.
‘Thank you. It’s this wretched fog. I can’t see a thing.’
‘If you ask me, it’s unnatural,’ said the town crier. ‘It’s them mad magicians up to their tricks again. They use the baker’s shop for their meetings.’
So the Unready knew about the alchemists operating in London at that time. The man seemed suspicious, but it sounded as if ordinary people tolerated the magical realm. With a jolt, Archie realised that this was because it was before the Great Fire that led to the new Lores. It was still legal to practise magic. That was all about to change.
That very evening an event would alter the history of magic forever. And the name of the baker, Thomas Farrinor, would go down in Unready history as the one to blame.
Archie sniffed the air. He smelled sulphur and something sweet like vanilla. Amora.
The stranger pulled his cloak a little closer. Archie watched him vanish back into the fog. He felt a pang of sadness as he did, an empty longing and sense of missing someone. He had a sudden desperate impulse to chase after him, but the figure had gone.
The town crier carried on with his nocturnal vigil, turning left into another lane, leaving Archie alone in the street. He sniffed the air again. As well as magic, he could smell something else – chocolate!
He followed the scent. It was coming from a building to his left. A sign above the window said: QUILL’S COFFEE & CHOCOLATE HOUSE. JACOB QUILL, ESQ. Archie remembered that Quill’s had started in London. This must be the original shop. He smiled to himself.
