by D D Everest
He wondered whether The Book of Prophecy would speak to him again.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Can you hear me?’
Silence.
Archie walked up the short flight of stairs to the raised wooden platform that overlooked the Books of Destiny. He gazed at the glass dome holding the great books. Something was missing. The Book of Charms had gone. One of the elders must have moved it.
Archie looked down on the two remaining books. The Book of Prophecy was closed and silent. Archie’s eyes roved from its grey jacket to the open pages of The Book of Reckoning.
‘Each and every one of us will pass through its pages,’ Bramble had told him the very first time he’d visited the Scriptorium. Right now that seemed more poignant to Archie than ever.
Column after column of names filled its pages. Beside each entry was their date of birth and another space to record their death. The blue Bennu bird quill floated in the air just above its open pages, scribbling entries and constantly updating itself. As he watched, it wrote out a new name, Cecilia Scrivens. Archie felt a momentary sense of joy that a baby had been born to a magical family.
But then, immediately, the pages flicked backwards. The quill hovered over an earlier entry – Jacob Merryfellow, born 23rd December 1932 – and added the word died and the date. Then it put a single line through the name.
Archie had a sudden thought.
‘They must be written in there,’ he said aloud. ‘The original members of the Alchemists’ Club. Braxton Foxe and the rest.’
At the sound of the name of Braxton Foxe, The Book of Reckoning started to glow with a yellow light. The pages turned backwards, gathering speed until they were just a blur, and then suddenly stopped. The blue quill hovered above a faded entry. There was a single line through the name, but Archie could still read it.
Braxton Thistle Foxe: Born 26th November 1649 – died 12th October 1666.
It confirmed what they had already guessed. Braxton Foxe had died the same day as his last entry in the journal.
Archie heard the door open quietly behind him. He turned to see Bramble silhouetted in the doorway. ‘I thought you might be here,’ she said gently.
‘They were so young,’ said Archie sadly.
‘I know,’ said Bramble. ‘Not very much older than we are now.’
Archie glanced over at the painting. Until that moment the alchemists in the picture had seemed so grown up.
‘All that potential,’ said Bramble, shaking her head.
‘And Fabian Grey,’ sighed Archie, ‘the most talented of all.’
The quill moved again, coming to rest above a faded name.
Fabian Grey: Born 18th August 1649. There was no date for Grey’s death.
But neither Archie nor Bramble noticed, because a light had just gone on inside the painting. The door at the back of the room behind the five alchemists in the picture had opened and a hooded figure was moving towards the table. Archie stared at the figure.
‘Do you understand now, book whisperer?’ hissed The Book of Prophecy. ‘It is the door to the Darchive … and the door to your destiny.’
The colour drained from Archie’s face. Finally, it was all starting to make sense. It had been right in front of him all along. The prophecy in the painting was coming true.
‘The darchemist is here!’ he cried. ‘In the Darchive!’
21
The Confession
‘We have to get into the Darchive!’ Archie blurted out when he and Bramble saw Thistle and Rupert a short while later. ‘There’s something hidden in the Darchive and the darchemist has come for it.’
‘But what is it?’ asked Thistle.
‘It’s what Arthur Ripley discovered in there. I think it’s one of the Terrible Tomes,’ said Archie, ‘and I think I know which one!’
‘We have to tell Hawke,’ said Rupert.
‘Katerina told me he’s gone to London to see Arthur Ripley again,’ said Bramble.
‘Graves then,’ said Rupert, ‘or one of the other elders.’
‘There’s no time,’ said Archie. ‘The darchemist is already in there!’
‘What are we going to do?’
Archie didn’t reply immediately; he was thinking. Someone inside the museum had wanted the dark spell to be written all along. And now the darchemist had come to finish it.
‘We have to break the curse or the museum will be destroyed – and us with it. Where’s Arabella?’
He had a horrible thought. Could Arabella be the darchemist? At that moment, she appeared from the direction of Hawke’s office.
‘There you are, Arabella,’ Archie cried. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I was standing on the stairs,’ she replied. ‘I overheard everything.’
Her eyes had welled up with tears. ‘This is all my fault,’ she sobbed.
Archie stared at her. ‘What’s your fault?’ he asked.
‘I was the one who opened the grabber.’
‘No one blames you for that,’ said Bramble.
Arabella paused, her lip quivering. ‘But there’s something else you don’t know. It was me who sent Rupert the locket.’
‘What?’ cried Rupert angrily. ‘You sent me a hexed keepsafe? Why?’
‘I found it among my grandfather’s things. I was trying to scare you.’
‘Scare me,’ said Rupert. ‘It nearly killed me!’
‘Yes, I know,’ sniffed Arabella, tears streaming down her pale face now. ‘I didn’t think it would be so strong. I just wanted to give you a fright. Grey and the other alchemists were taken over by a sort of madness. Magic does that to people. I’ve seen it in my family. My grandfather is a Greader, and my parents aren’t much better. I didn’t want that to happen to us. I thought if I scared you with the curse, it would save us from that.’
She turned to Archie. ‘I’m so sorry. Now I’ve ruined everything. If I hadn’t sabotaged the club, you might have been able to stop it.’ She paused. ‘I don’t blame you if you don’t want me as a member any more.’
‘What about Gloom and the black quill – was that you as well?’ asked Bramble.
‘No!’ cried Arabella. ‘I was trying to stop you writing magic.’
Archie gazed at Arabella’s tear-streaked face. He desperately wanted to believe her. In her own strange and misguided way, she had been trying to protect them.
‘Let’s put it to the vote,’ said Archie. ‘All those in favour of Arabella remaining in the Alchemists’ Club?’
Three hands went up. Rupert hesitated and then raised his hand, too.
‘I’d say that’s pretty conclusive,’ said Bramble.
‘Thank you,’ said Arabella, drying her eyes. ‘I won’t let you down again.’
‘Good,’ said Archie. ‘Because we’ve got a museum to save, and we’ll need your help.’
When they reached the Darchive, the door was open. The five children stepped inside.
*
At that moment, in another part of the museum, Feodora Graves was framed in the doorway of the Scriptorium. Morag Pandrama and Wolfus Bone were just behind her.
‘Archie? Bramble? Thistle? Rupert? Arabella? Where are you?’ cried Graves.
‘Look!’ cried Bone, pointing at the painting. ‘The door in the picture is open! It must be some sort of portal.’
‘I can see them!’ cried Pandrama, pointing to where five figures had just appeared in the painting. ‘I recognise the door. They’re inside the Darchive!’
As they watched it, the picture filled with grey mist. When it cleared, the painting had changed. Where the five original alchemists had sat, there were five empty chairs around the table.
‘It’s the prophecy,’ gasped Graves. ‘It’s coming true.’
*
Ahead of them, the five children could see a light. As they walked towards it, they smelled burning incense. Archie clutched the Emerald Eye in one hand, glad of the little bit of light that it gave off. The air was close now. The thick white vapour filled
the air with a pungent scent. It was making them feel drowsy.
They could feel some hypnotic force drawing them on. Archie’s mind was emptying. He tried to fight it, but it was too strong.
*
In the Scriptorium, Graves and Pandrama watched the children’s progress, unable to take their eyes off the painting. They saw the five children approaching the table. A cloaked figure stepped out from the shadows.
‘Someone is expecting them,’ said Graves.
She stared at the picture, willing the five apprentices to turn around and go back the way they’d come.
Aurelius Rusp burst into the Scriptorium. ‘We’ve just heard that Arthur Ripley has escaped from the asylum. He may be heading this way. There’s a crowd gathering outside Quill’s.’
‘Greaders!’ cried Graves, suddenly snapping into action. ‘They’re going to attack the museum. Tell Pink to lock the door ray! Let’s just hope the permission wall holds. Aurelius, go to Natural Magic and warn Motley. And find Orpheus.’
Graves paused. ‘Where is Gideon?’
‘He’s not back from London,’ said Pandrama.
‘Very well,’ Graves continued. ‘Morag, you stay here. I will try to reach them in the Darchive. Now, everybody move.’
*
The five children walked towards the light. No one had spoken since they’d stepped over the threshold into the Darchive. The incense was making them drowsy, filling their heads and stopping them from thinking.
Ahead of them, they could see the outline of a table with five empty chairs. On the table there were two books – one with a red and gold cover and the other black. Next to the books was the black quill and a crystal inkwell that glowed with a golden light.
A cloaked figure beckoned them forward. Archie felt light-headed, as though he might faint. Rupert, Bramble and Arabella stepped past him. Rupert stumbled into the light. As he did, he looked into the hooded face.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘It’s you.’
The cloaked figure pointed at a chair and then at the black book. Rupert sat down.
Arabella followed. ‘How did you get here?’ she asked. The cloaked figure gestured towards another chair and then towards the black book. Arabella took her place at the table.
‘I should have guessed,’ murmured Bramble when it was her turn. But she, too, sat at the table and glanced towards the black book.
‘Arch,’ whispered Thistle. ‘My ring is glowing. It’s a trap …’
But it was too late: Thistle had already taken his place at the table.
Archie reached for the Emerald Eye and grasped it in his hand. His breath was coming in shallow, wheezy gasps now. His brain was beginning to play tricks on him. He felt something drawing him towards the table.
He stepped into the light. As soon as he did, he felt the atmosphere around him change. Everything had become dreamlike. It must be the incense, he thought, or some enchantment on the place.
‘Rupert? Bramble? Arabella? Thistle?’ he called.
But there was no reply.
The hooded figure stood just in front of him.
‘Who are you?’ demanded Archie. ‘What have you done to my friends?’
The figure turned and walked towards the black book on the table.
The air shimmered and shapes began to materialise around him. Gradually the objects in the room became more solid until Archie could see them clearly. He recognised the scene from the painting, but where the original members of the Alchemists’ Club had been before, his four friends sat frozen like statues in exactly the same poses.
With a jolt he realised that the prophecy had always been about them. But Grey had painted himself looking away.
‘Your seat is prepared,’ the cloaked figure said, pointing at the fifth chair, which was empty. The voice sounded familiar but Archie couldn’t place it. He felt his eyes drawn to the book. He fought the urge to look.
He heard Gloom’s words in his head. ‘The Emerald Eye will protect you from magical books, even the dark ones, as long as you don’t look directly at them.’
Archie forced himself to look away. He took a deep breath to try to clear his head.
‘My name is Archie Greene, and I am an apprentice bookbinder at the Museum of Magical Miscellany,’ he declared, mustering all the courage he could find.
‘I know who you are, book whisperer,’ said the cloaked figure. ‘You are expected.’ She threw back her cloak, and Archie gazed into the piercing blue eyes of Katerina Krone.
‘But I don’t understand,’ said Archie. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I have come to claim my inheritance,’ said Katerina. ‘The Nightshade inheritance!
‘Felicia Nightshade was my ancestor. She had great plans. If only that little fire hadn’t started.’
‘Little fire!’ exclaimed Archie. ‘It burned down half of London!’
‘It was nothing next to what Felicia would have achieved,’ snapped Katerina. ‘And now we can finish her work. We can complete the Unfinished Spell.’
‘But what does it do?’ asked Archie, a deep sense of unease settling on him.
‘The Unfinished Spell will allow Hecate’s powers to pass to her descendant,’ said Katerina.
Archie swallowed hard. He now knew for certain which book it was – The Grim Grimoire. It was the Grimoire that had spoken to him in the Darchive, and it was the Grimoire that had tried to use the children to bring its dark magic back into the world.
A cold dread gripped him. ‘You’re going to finish Hecate’s spell?’ he said.
‘No,’ laughed Katerina. ‘You are!’
22
The Darchemist
‘The Grimoire is a family heirloom. If it hadn’t been for that fool Grey, Hecate’s powers would have been passed down long ago,’ sneered Katerina.
‘Generations of Nightshades tried to complete the spell.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘But none of them succeeded in writing magic. Not until Felicia. She befriended Fabian Grey at the museum. She knew that once she had the Golden Circle firemark, all she had to do was stay close to Grey and he would do the rest.
‘Grey wanted to rewrite the books of magic. How virtuous! But that was never Felicia’s intention. She played along with their silly Alchemists’ Club, biding her time. And when the moment arrived, she was ready. How was she to know that Grey would rather destroy his own life’s work than let her finish the spell?’
‘And that’s why the Grimoire cursed them?’
Katerina laughed aloud. ‘Oh yes. That was its revenge. One by one they were struck down in mysterious ways. Everything was working out perfectly – except for Grey! You see, he took the Grimoire from the cellar in Pudding Lane.
‘The last thing he did before he was taken to the Tower was hide it somewhere he thought it would never see the light of day. And then he did his vanishing trick. Curse him!
‘The Grimoire was lost for nearly three hundred and fifty years, until Arthur Ripley went looking for secrets in the Darchive and found it where Grey had left it. Or rather it found him! The Grimoire does that. It draws people to it.
‘Being a Ripley, of course, Arthur saw the potential in the situation. He knew that the firemarks would appear exactly three hundred and fifty years after the first Alchemists’ Club. All he had to do was track down the next Nightshade in line to inherit. Me!’
‘But you’re a Krone, not a Nightshade,’ said Archie.
‘My parents died when I was very young, and I was adopted by the Krones. Nice people, if you like that sort of thing. Personally, I don’t! No ambition and very narrow-minded about dark magic.
‘So Ripley traced me and wrote to my adopted parents about my inheritance. They weren’t going to tell me, but they kept the letter. That was their mistake. Imagine how angry I was when I found it! All I needed to do was find a way to complete the spell and Hecate’s powers would be mine.
‘I was just a child then, too young to act. So I pleaded with my parents to let me come to the museum when I was
twelve. I can be very persuasive when I want to be. They finally relented – but I failed the Flame test! Can you believe it? So I made it my mission to learn everything I could about writing magic. They all thought I was such a good student. Little did they realise my real motive. It wasn’t until I won the scholarship to the museum that they became suspicious. That’s when they had to go.’
‘The couple in Prague?’ gasped Archie.
‘Yes, they found Grey’s notebook among my things. Felicia took it from the burning cellar and it was passed down to me. The Krones were going to hand it in to the museum. They tipped off Hawke and he arranged to have it collected. I couldn’t allow them to do that, so they had to die. I arranged for Roach to pay them a visit, but they realised what I’d done. By the time Roach arrived in Prague to collect the notebook they’d already got rid of it. They thought they were clever, sending it to poor old Aunt Flora in Edinburgh. So, Roach had to pay her a visit, also. The silly woman refused to hand it over at first, said she’d report it, so she had to die, too.’
‘So you already had the notebook,’ said Archie, shocked by her callousness. ‘You just pretended to find it in Grey’s laboratory. I thought it was suspicious that we didn’t find it when we went through Grey’s papers.’
‘Yes, and with my relatives out of the way, I was free to come to the museum. And then the firemarks started to appear again. So I waited for mine. I was sure it would come. But it never did. Ripley, Trevallen, the Foxes and, worst of all, Fabian Grey’s descendent – Archie Greene! You all got the mark except for me, who needed it most.’
‘That’s why you were so unhappy about the firemarks. You weren’t concerned for our safety – you just wanted one so you could write magic.’
