A Skin of a Dragon (The Guild of Gatekeepers Book 1)

by Frances Jones

  I shuddered at the uncomfortable thought of being hunted down by a magician armed with any one of the weapons on the wall above me. 'Perhaps we shouldn't pry any further,' I said, eager to leave the workshop as quickly as possible. Dead or not, I could feel the eyes of the heads in the jars upon me. It was an unnerving feeling.

  'Yes, you're right,' said Eliza. 'I've still the other junior members to introduce you to.'

  The next room along was the workshop of the Agriculturian. Eliza knocked and was answered at once by a voice from inside, bidding us enter.

  The old man standing at the table that occupied much of the room was rather short and thin, a little wisp of a man hunched by his work. His appearance immediately struck me as being at odds with his vocation, for he had the look of one who is rarely outdoors, with pale, papery skin and sunken eyes which peered over a pair of round spectacles that sat at the end of his hooked nose.

  'Good afternoon, Eliza. Who is your companion?' he said, looking over the top of a lusty plant that he was in the middle of pruning.

  'This is Tom Wild. He is to be Emerson's apprentice,' replied Eliza.

  'Well, well. 'Tis a brave man that will forsake his family and friends to join the Guild of Gatekeepers. Have you a family, lad?' asked the Agriculturian.

  'Yes, sir,' I replied. I shifted uncomfortably, unsure how much I should reveal. Mercifully, Eliza did not intend to merely exchange platitudes.

  'Tom would very much like to see some of your magic,' she said to the Agriculturian. 'Have you anything you could show him?'

  'Aye, there is something I have been working on,' he replied, setting aside his secateurs and lifting a sealed glass bell jar from a shelf behind him. It was stuffed with almanacs on everything from weather watching to moon phases. Clasping the jar between his hands, he shook it vigorously then set it down on the table before us. I looked into the glass and gasped in awe, for where it had been empty before, tiny autumn leaves, no bigger than a speck of dust, swirled around the jar in a tempest whipped up by the motion. Minute drops of water flecked the inside of the glass and trickled down the sides like rain on a window pane.

  'Tom, look,' said Eliza gesturing to the window.

  I cried out in amazement, for outside the window a gale now howled, sending a torrent of fallen leaves sailing through the air, and the rain that hadn't fallen since that morning now fell with renewed vigour. The Agriculturian passed his hand over the jar, and at once the tempest inside it subsided. Outside, the wind dropped, the rain ceased, and a finger of sunlight broke through the clouds in the late-afternoon sky.

  'Extraordinary!' exclaimed Eliza.

  'We may never suffer another poor harvest again if I can get this exactly right,' said the Agriculturian. 'It is still a touch unpredictable; when I tried to raise a light rain to water the herb garden yesterday, I caused a three-minute heatwave on the west coast of Scotland!'

  ''Tis a fine achievement, nonetheless,' Eliza replied.

  After we had said our goodbyes to the Agriculturian, Eliza took me to the Architecturian's studio and the Coquinarian's kitchen before we reached the last workshop in the passageway: the Metallician's forge. The heat from within could be felt even in the passageway, and the sound of hammering rang out from behind the door.

  'This is the Metallician’s forge,' said Eliza, stopping before the door. ‘We cannot enter while he is at work, but I’m sure he won’t mind you having a peep.’

  Eliza opened the door just a crack and stepped aside to allow me a look. Inside, a furnace blazed in the midst of an extraordinary-looking forge. Along the walls, blades of every kind were hung amongst chains, horseshoes and other strange objects forged of iron. Beside the furnace a man stood hammering a blade into shape upon an anvil. He was shirtless on account of the heat, but over his breeches he wore a long leather apron.

  ‘What is he making?’ I whispered.

  ‘He is forging a chain for the Venatorian that will only unlock on his command.’

  The sound of the hammer rung in my ears and the heat from the furnace blasted my face. My head swam through trying to absorb all the extraordinary things I had been shown. Each workshop seemed to out-do the previous one in its variety of wonderful and bizarre feats of magic. ‘I had no idea magic could be used in so many ways,’ I replied.

  I shut the door softly and followed Eliza back down the passageway. 'Whose room is that?' I asked as we passed the only door that I hadn't been beyond.

  'Oh, that was the Mercaturian's study. It is locked now. Who knows when it will be open again,’ replied Eliza.

  'Why didn't he have an apprentice?' I asked.

  'I don't rightly know,' said Eliza. 'Not all Guild members have chosen theirs yet. He was often away, and his death came very suddenly, but ’tis strange that he has never been replaced.’

  Chapter 9

  Back in the library, I pored over a stack of books that Eliza had recommended I look through before Emerson came to find me. I could read, but I hated to. I was slow, and the words on the page seemed to run into one another the more I forced myself to focus.

  Most of the books were translations of texts held in the library of Alexandria and had been hand-written by previous Guild members long before the printing press had been invented. The script was too spiky, and the words too crowded to read in the dim light. At last, I gave up and looked at the woodcut pictures instead; strange images of birds and animals, the sun, moon and planets mixed amongst the tools of a laboratory. My eyes lingered upon each and took in the richness of their detail, of the splayed train of a peacock and the rays of the sun beaming off the glass of a mirror and reflecting onto the bird’s feathers, revealing all their glorious colours.

  The room grew darker and the fire burned low. I looked away. It was too dark to read or look at pictures any longer. Eliza had left to prepare the loom for weaving the sea silk when her father returned from the market. Sitting alone in the darkness, I felt suddenly very homesick. The excitement of being swept away to join a secret cabal of magicians was quickly ebbing away as I thought of my mother and father and Lizzie. They would be worried about me; my father would probably be out scouring the beach and caves, but he wouldn't find me.

  The door opened suddenly, rousing me from my thoughts. Emerson set an oil lamp on the table and handed me a shirt, jerkin and boots.

  'Change into these,' he said. 'I will need your old clothes.'

  ‘Sir, what for?' I asked.

  'To provide your parents with proof of your death. They will be told your clothes were found in a bundle on the beach, and you are presumed drowned. I will speak to them personally.'

  My heart sank like a leaden weight, and I hesitated before mechanically taking off my tatty jerkin and boots and changing into the new things.

  'I will ride to Osmington Mills tomorrow after your initiation at dawn,' said Emerson. 'Listen closely; this is what will happen: all Guild members will be present, and the Keeper will invite you to repeat an oath after him and pledge your loyalty to the Guild above all things. Your pledge will then be weighed against a single hair from the tail of the Shadow Horse upon a set of scales. If it is of equal weight- which I sincerely hope it will be -you will be admitted as an initiate. If not, you will be taken down to the labyrinth, and I will not elaborate further on the sort of death that awaits you there.'

  I shuddered at the reminder of what may yet await me, but I brushed it aside to ask the more pressing question that consumed my thoughts. 'Please, sir, can.... can’t you tell my parents I have run away?' I asked. 'I think they will take it easier, you see.'

  'No,' replied Emerson. 'For their own sake, 'tis better they believe you are dead.'

  I dared not argue further. My eyes felt hot with tears, but I blinked them back and bit my lip. Emerson's words seemed to reach me as though through a fog which clouded my mind. I heard him, but his words conveyed little meaning. The finality of my choice had only then dawned upon me, and I felt it cut me like the swift stroke of an executioner's b
lade.

  'After your initiation, I will begin your instruction in alchemy,' Emerson continued. 'There is a lot for you to learn, though I hope you have given yourself a head start,' he said with a curl of his lip. I wondered whether he knew I had not been in the library all afternoon, but he said nothing.

  'I will wake you before dawn. Good night,' he said, shutting the library door behind him.

  I stayed in the library for a few more minutes, alone with my thoughts as the oil lamp glowed softly upon the open book before me. I gazed at diagrams that made little sense and read the occasional passage which conveyed to me even less. At last, I decided it was probably late enough to go to bed and slipped out of the library to the dormitory across the hall, taking the oil lamp with me.

  I lay awake for a long while. The oil in the lamp was almost spent, and there was no more wood to mend the fire. My thoughts turned to the horror that awaited me in the labyrinth if my pledge was not deemed truthful. My stomach churned at the realisation that this could be my last night on earth. I shivered and wondered how far I might get if I tried to escape. What a tale it would make when I got home. The thought was tempting.

  I got up and crossed the room to the window and tried the shutters. They were shut fast, but above the window a small air vent, covered with a metal grille, looked out onto the cobbled lane that the coach had driven down earlier that day. I craned my neck and peered out. The lane was deserted, and the windows of the houses were dark. Wisps of cloud moved slowly across the thin slice of moon high above the rooftops.

  'I wish I had never picked up the accursed box,' I muttered, shuffling back to bed.

  Sleep must have found me some time later, for it felt like only a matter of minutes had passed when I awoke to find Emerson shaking me.

  'Get up,' he said, setting a candle in the alcove. 'It is time.'

  My legs felt like they would give way beneath me at any moment, and my hands trembled as I pulled on my breeches and buttoned up my shirt. Outside the dormitory, Emerson was waiting.

  'Remember, it is a great honour to be initiated into the Guild of Gatekeepers,’ he said as he led me to the foot of the staircase. ‘Fate has offered you a strong hand indeed. Do as the Keeper directs you, and all will be well. I must now blindfold you, for none but fully initiated members may see beyond this staircase.'

  With that, he took a strip of cloth from his pocket and secured it around my eyes. With a firm hand upon my shoulder, he led me slowly up the staircase, each step drawing me closer to my doom it seemed. It took every scrap of my will to keep putting one foot in front of the other as we crossed the gallery and into a room which I guessed must be quite large from the way the Keeper's voice echoed.

  'Welcome, Tom Wild, to the Guild of Gatekeepers,' he said. 'Are you prepared for your initiation?'

  'Yes, sir,' I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. I felt a hand on my arm- Emerson's I guessed -and was guided to a chair, over which a great broadsword hung by a single thread.

  'The sword which hangs over you is symbolic of the subtle craft and sharpness of mind of the magician,' said the Keeper. 'It also represents the danger the Guild has faced throughout its history. We exist on a knife edge, and our continued survival is dependent upon the integrity of each member. You will now swear an oath to the Guild, which will be weighed for its sincerity. Repeat after me: I swear by Almighty God....'

  'I swear by Almighty God,' I repeated falteringly.

  '.... in His presence and the presence of all Guild members....' the Keeper continued.

  '.... in His presence and the presence of all Guild members....'

  '.... that I renounce all others and will serve the Guild of Gatekeepers with the subtlety of my mind and the strength of my sword.'

  '.... that I renounce all others and will serve the Guild of Gatekeepers with the subtlety of my mind and the strength of my sword.'

  '.... until the end of my days,' finished the Keeper.

  '.... until the end of my days,' I choked.

  Chapter 10

  My throat was parched with nerves. Emerson stepped behind me and removed the blindfold. At once, I saw that I was in a dark room, lit with a single candle upon a table. Beside it stood a small set of scales. The Keeper drew a single white horse’s hair from a cloth bag and set it in one of the pans. I thought my heart would burst out of my chest as I awaited the verdict. All eyes were fixed on the scales, but they didn't move.

  'Your pledge is truthful,' said the Keeper at last. 'I accept you as an initiate magician of the Guild of Gatekeepers, to become a full member upon Emerson Prye's death.'

  I almost fainted with relief. The terror of the labyrinth melted away at once.

  'Use this time wisely,' said the Keeper. 'Your learning begins today, but it will last until the end of your life. There is no room for horseplay. The circumstances of your admittance are unusual to say the least, but that will not excuse you from the expectations placed upon you. The Guild requires absolute obedience from its members and initiates.'

  He gave me such a severe look that I shuddered and looked down at my feet in embarrassment. Silence followed for a few moments, and I could feel his eyes upon me. Then he clapped his hands, and I looked up at the sound of the shuffling of many feet. In the darkness, I hadn't noticed the other members standing beyond the reach of the candlelight. Now they stepped forward and congratulated me on my initiation, and the Keeper introduced each one by name and their discipline. I smiled courteously and tried to focus on their words of congratulations and advice, but something in the way the Keeper looked at me made me uneasy, and the voices around me seemed to blend into an incoherent babble. I looked about for Emerson, but he had gone. He was already on his way to Osmington Mills.

  'Hello, Tom. I am Bridget Blyth.' The woman who presented herself before me was beautiful by even the most exacting standards, with ivory skin, rosebud lips and finely arched brows. Her shadowy locks tumbled down her back and curled around her corseted waist.

  'Hello, ma'am,' I stammered. ''Tis a pleasure to meet you.'

  Bridget smiled enigmatically and extended one pale hand towards me. I pressed my hand into hers to shake it and gasped, for in my palm I now held a pack of painted playing cards.

  'A gift to welcome you to the Guild,' she said. 'Name any card.'

  'Er, four of spades,' I replied.

  'Now pick any card from the pack,' said Bridget.

  I did as I was instructed and looked from the card in my hand to her face in suspicion, for the card I had picked was indeed the four of spades.

  'The suits and numbers change with the power of thought,' Bridget smiled.

  'Thank you,' I mumbled, a little embarrassed.

  'Would you like to see more?'

  I nodded, and she clapped her hands together then parted them slowly. From between her palms, a shimmering golden butterfly emerged and fluttered towards me. Bridget raised her hand and the butterfly floated upwards to the ceiling. She lowered her hand and the butterfly did likewise, almost brushing the candle flames, and drifted past my face before it came to a stop hovering above her head. Bridget clapped her hands once more and the butterfly vanished immediately.

  'How...?' I began to ask, but before I had chance to finish my sentence, Bridget too was gone. I spun round and scanned the room, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  ''Tis quite a feat you have achieved,' said a sly voice close to my ear.

  I started and whirled round to see a broad, dishevelled-looking man with a thick beard and heavy brows regarding me with his keen eyes. He wore a cocked hat, and his cloak, cape and riding boots were badly weather-stained. He fingered the blade of a long hunting knife as he spoke. I recognised him at once as the Venatorian, whom the Keeper had introduced me to just moments before.

  'Pardon, sir, I don't quite follow your meaning,' I replied, still bewildered by Bridget's disappearing act.

  'Well, the son of a humble fisherman now an initiate of the most revered company of magicians in Europe,'
said the Venatorian with a half-mocking expression. 'Let us hope your intellect matches your luck.' The look he gave me made it clear he was not hopeful that it did.

  Anger surged in my stomach and hot tears pricked my eyes. I wanted to shout that I would give all the privilege in the world to be back home with my family. I bit my lip and fought back the tears, determined not to allow him to see how his words had cut me.

  'I shall do my best, sir,' I replied stiffly.

  With the initiation over, I was free to spend the rest of the morning studying. I sat in the library with Eliza, but I was restless. I was used to physical work, the wind in my hair and the roar of the sea in my ears, and so to find myself confined in a dark room, surrounded by books, with no natural light was almost more than I could bear.

  Eliza looked up from her book and sighed. 'You're going to have to learn to concentrate better. You'll never learn a thing like that.'

  'I would that I had had the chance to say goodbye,' I muttered, sitting back in my seat.

  'To who?' asked Eliza, catching my words.

  'My family,' I replied hesitantly. I hadn't really meant for Eliza to hear me. 'Emerson has gone to inform them that I am dead to stop them from looking for me. Both they and I would be killed if ever they should find me.'

  Eliza set down her book and looked serious. 'It seems harsh, but it is to protect the Guild. We all must abide by the same rules. It is absolute secrecy alone that has allowed the Guild to continue for so long. The Keeper won't allow anything to jeopardise that.'

  'I know,' I murmured, burying my head in a book. There was no point brooding on the matter, and complaining about it would achieve nothing. You have just got to make the best of it, son I remembered my father telling me many times, though he was usually referring to bad weather when fishing.

  'When do you think Emerson will return?' I asked.