The heavy oppressive cloud felt as if it had lifted, there was no trace of them at all, even the mist had now vanished, but the body of the fallen Reaper remained, lifeless and inhuman looking, left in a pile for the towns people to discover, which didn’t sit well with Robin. The sight of the corpse was frightful - it wasn’t for the faint hearted, neither any child, it was certainly the stuff of nightmares.
He crouched down beside the body and pulled the hood down over the Reaper’s face.
“You may well have been on the wrong side, but in death, even an enemy is owed some respect.”
Robin placed his hand down on the robes and paused, looking over towards the puddle beside him. There was something calling, something alluring Robin to that silly little puddle. It was almost as if it was trying to communicate with him, pulling at his seemingly endless attention.
He grabbed his satchel, just to make sure it was still attached, then began to pull the wrapped body along the ground - it wasn’t as heavy as he had expected, after all, there was hardly any muscle or fluid left inside it. It wasn’t pleasant, but to Robin, it seemed the right thing to do.
The robes became immersed by water, the same with Robin’s trousers as he knelt beside it. The wet surface rippled around him and sparkled as the sun continued to beam down through the oak tree branches overhead.
He shot a vague look about the courtyard, one final act of assurance before removing his wand from his waistcoat - this time with reason.
He gave it a gentle flick, directing it down towards the water that clung heavy to his trousers; and then he waited, holding tight to the Reapers corpse with fluttering nerves.
It felt as if time had suddenly slowed, like it was trapped in an endless moment with the fear of being discovered: Were they on their way back? Perhaps they had heard the sound of the body being dragged along the ground?
They might have had eyes in the back of their heads, or super enhanced senses for all Robin knew, but the uncomfortable wait had paid off as he felt a hand grasp his ankle, then another, until he could feel his entire body being pulled down towards the shallow water.
“No! Let go of me!”
Robin glanced down at the hands, but they weren’t what he had first expected - they were masses of water, rising from the puddle and taking the forms of appendages with long, spindly, water-clear fingers. They squirmed like snakes, latching on to Robin’s body and tugging at him, pulling him down, fighting all of his efforts as he tried to break free. They were strong and nothing that Robin mustered had any effect. He was a sinking ship and he could feel pressure against his body as he sunk, like a chain might have been wrapped around his chest, drawing him deep into the ground.
He gasped, he spluttered and panicked as water rushed up around his neck and into his mouth, flooding his lungs. His eyes widened as his face slowly disappeared under, submerged beneath solid concrete - he was gone, and so was the puddle for that matter. As if by magic, Robin, the corpse and the puddle were without a trace, leaving nothing to tie them to the place or time. They had been taken somewhere far beyond the realms of reality, precisely where Robin had been summoned.
* * *
The sun sat low in the sky, just over the snow capped mountains that surrounded the vast, magical landscape. The ground was damp and soft, making the climb less of a struggle as Robin's hand rose up out of the dirt. He pulled himself from the soil, dragging the Reapers corpse behind him until they were out in the clear.
“Well, that was something!”
Robin rubbed the muck from his face and patted away what he could from his mustard coloured coat and soggy brown trousers, while setting his sights over the canyon, down towards the bottom, where the Institute resided, embedded into the mountain.
His eyes lit up, he could make out the shape of the enormous gates and the tall steel fencing that lined the pit. It was quite magnificent, he thought as the sun's rays caught the surface of a million gemstones, lodged in and around the rockery. Red, blue, green and orange, they twinkled and gleamed which made for a delightful journey as Robin descended down the spiral slope, pulling the corpse behind him, yanking at the robes as exhaustion set in. He huffed and tugged, then suddenly what had seemed like a tiny gateway from afar, was now slowly moving into perspective. The lower Robin trekked, the larger the scale grew, until he was at the deepest point of the pit and the dark, steel fencing towered over him. It had to be at least nine feet high with sharp, jagged tips - some heavily stained by bile and brightly coloured bodily fluids - certainly none of a Human.
“I don’t fancy meeting whatever they’re meant to be keeping out,” Robin remarked, amused yet equally terrified, looking up at the spiralling rocky path that he had travelled down, observing the glistening stones as they woke from their sleep, while the sun crept overhead, partially casting light at the base of the pit where the Reapers corpse was laid, wrapped by the now rather tatty robes.
“And now I guess, we wait...”
Robin couldn’t help but check on the body, even though it was no longer living. As strange as it seemed, it was the only company Robin had and it kept his mind from wandering. Being able to focus on something that was somewhat important allowed him to cast away the worry of what could be waiting inside this infamous Institute for Morient kind - whether that be an impossible creature, or a person. Perhaps it was the tall, sleek figure that was now on the approach from behind the enormous gates. His jacket had begun to flap, projecting beams of silver rays as his lining caught the sun.
At first glance, he seemed like someone that Mrs. Jillings had described. His boots clomped against the gravel, moving with a confident swagger as he neared the centre of the pit where Robin was stood - he definitely seemed familiar.
Robin continued to watch, judging the silver man down to his simple choice of fragrance that rode in on the powerful breeze of ego.
“Robin - sir. Robin Occamy,” he announced, holding tight to his satchel and patting at his pockets to make sure they were still full of his findings.
“Professor, at long last. We’ve been waiting for you,” said the silver man, as he arrived face to face with Robin.
“I’m Leonard - Leonard Silverstein. Now, you had better come with me.”
CHAPTER 10
The Informal Congress
His boots remained glued to the gravel as the silver man directed him towards the entrance.
“Are you in charge?” Asked Robin.
Silverstein fell curiously silent with one brow raised, turning back to look at Robin.
“I believe I’m fully capable of making my own way inside, with the utmost respect, sir.” Robin didn’t want to sound rude, it was the last thing he had wanted, but by the look on Silverstein’s face, he hadn't come across as polite, either.
“Credentials… please,” he said sternly.
“But you know who I am. You said it yourself, you’ve been waiting for me,” he paused, staring Silverstein dead in the eye - but he wasn’t fooling around, it seemed he was deadly serious.
“- oh for goodness sake,” Robin said in annoyance as he began rummaging in to his waistcoat pocket, drawing out the leather wallet and flipping it open for Silverstein to see.
“Happy?”
Silverstein smirked.
“Just doing my job, sir. With the dark forces back on the move, we have to be sure. we have to ensure our defences are up for the challenges that the Count may throw at us.”
Robin shot a look around the pit, observing the fencing.
“Good. Nothing better than feeling safe and secure on foreign land. So, inside, there’s no one I need to be wary of, is there? No nasty surprises?”
Silverstein glanced towards the entrance, then back to Robin.
“The Institute? They're the most docile bunch you’ll ever meet, and you can take my word on that. They wouldn't harm a fly.” He scratched at the stubble on his chin, “- and perhaps that’s the reason we’re in this bloody mess,” he concluded in a hushed tone. Robin ha
dn’t heard the last part, but he was smirking as his eyes strayed down towards the forgotten robes at his feet - then he suddenly remembered.
“I need to ask a favour. There was this poor soul left out to rot, his body is under those robes. Would you bury him for me? It would mean an awful lot, that’s all I ask.”
Silverstein cast his gaze down towards the dark, tatty robes.
“You knew him?”
“Afraid not, I was just a passing, but thought he deserved a little...respect? I assume he was attacked, but I have to warn you now, it’s not at all pretty under there. I really don’t know what happened to him.”
Silverstein crouched down beside the mass, examining the texture of the damp robes.
“I’ll sort this,” he said abruptly, “- you’d best be getting inside, Professor Grimtale will be most pleased to see you.”
He continued to stare down at the shape of the body, unveiling the face of the Reaper corpse, lost in thought as he wondered: What on earth could have happened?
The Reapers mouth was wide open, frozen stiff in his moment of passing. Silverstein carefully placed his palm on the forehead of the Reaper, sharing a moment of silence as Robin made his way towards the gates, watching over his shoulder to make sure that Silverstein was treating the body appropriately, the way he had requested, before he passed on through the gate that was left ajar, and then disappeared beyond the second doorway - the main entrance to the Institute.
Silverstein let out a sigh of relief as his body fell back in to a slump.
“Respect… don’t make me laugh! How many people’s DNA lie trapped under those grotesque finger nails? All of that bloody residue... that even looks like a hair!” he muttered aggressively, closely inspecting the Reapers decrepit hand, almost as if he had expected the deceased man to take a breath and hurl a response back at him.
“He thinks you deserve respect,” he chuckled quietly, checking over his shoulder,
“How many families have you denied the decency they deserve, sir? How many children have knelt and begged you for their lives? I’m no saint; however I sense we have a lot more in common than we think. That’s how I worked out precisely what you deserve. What we all have coming, now the great Count is finally rising from his slumber.” Silverstein pulled his wand from his brown, leather holster that sat strapped firmly around his hips.
“There’s going to be a war, we’re going to need the space to bury our dead. It’s better this way, for us both.”
He lowered his wand, pointing the tip between the Reapers milky, white eyes.
“Pirontious,” he said delicately.
Then a sudden burst of orange shot from the tip of his wand and ignited the robes in front of him. The corpse was suddenly engulfed at the centre of a fierce blaze that lit the darkened corner of the pit with a red hot glow. Silverstein watched as the corpse slowly degraded to bone, ash and dust, observing with a finger raised to his lips.
“Shush, now,” he whispered, his gaze fixed intensely on the remains, his face reflecting burning crimson as the body crackled and snapped. He seemed almost fixated on the sight, but his aggression was slowly sweeping away with the bright embers. Torching the deceased Reaper had become a convenient release for all the anger and grief that had amounted within him - he felt at ease as the flames died down, leaving nothing but a blackened patch of gravel and a mist of particles that crumbled from the scorched remnants of the robes.
It had felt like a stride towards the cleansing of both worlds, no matter how small it was, the riddance of evil in whatever form it took, it made the chance of peace seem far less out of reach. A chance for order and unity, everything Silverstein had stood for. He held on to that thought as he rose from the ground and ran his hands through his elaborate, silver tipped hair.
Turning towards the entrance, Silverstein broke in to a light purposeful stride, making his way back to the Institute where he expected, by now, the foyer would be livening up with the presence of its latest arrival, the family man from across the realm - Robin Occamy.
* * *
Besides the rattling of metal coins as wildlife rummaged from inside their golden pocket hives, it was silent inside, eerily silenced like sacred land as Robin lumbered in to the main foyer entrance. The shiny marble floor beneath his soles glistened and mirrored the ceiling like a river of gold with the statue animals sat at the side of the embankment, glaring up at their physical counterparts then down as Robin reverted his gaze. They were perched high along the decorative frame of the walls before the ceiling began to curve by a body of solid gold that concealed the foyer corridor.
The ruby, sapphire and emerald gemstones that were buried in the mountain were also present, high overhead, embedded in the gold and twinkling, alluring Robin further inside, reeling him forward like a stupefied child.
His eyes were a blaze with magical sights. Everywhere he looked was decorated with parchments: medals, beautifully crafted statues and tapestries. One wall was covered entirely by a long woven shroud with a depiction of Vinemoore, his town, intricately stitched across it and embellished with a mixture of vibrant wool.
“That would look lovely on the living room floor,” he thought, smiling in admiration, reminded of the endless view outside his bedroom window, overlooking the towns cottages and allotments.
“I’d very much like to meet the person who made this,” his voice echoed gently around the foyer as he turned to the glass cabinet beside him.
“Maybe they can make me one, I’d pay a pretty tuppence, for sure,” he added as he leaned in to examine the three crystal cups that were suspended inside the glass cabinet, presumably by some kind of levitation charm.
He noticed each of the cups were carrying a different silver plaque at the base with an etched explanation of what they represented. Admittedly, he wasn’t entirely interested, it was just the fact that they were dancing around inside the cabinet that caught his attention; however he made an effort to read off the plaques, frowning and squinting with his face pressed firmly against the glass:
Formidable conduct: Heightened levels of innovation in alchemy classes, and a
superior understanding of magical creatures from the wild land to the enclosed
habitats within the Institute.
“Humph, quite the achievers,” he loosely remarked as his flesh popped unstuck from the pane of glass.
“And one day, we hope to add to our small collection,” spoke a thunderous voice.
Robin turned towards the sound of the deep burly voice, glaring at the tall, heavy man that was on his way over; his cane clunking against the marble tiles with every stride.
“At last, we finally meet. For too long you existed in my mind as a character of fiction, it’s damn good to see you in the flesh, sir.”
Robin held out his hand with a wide grin etched on his face. The tall bearded man snatched up his hand with a slap and clung tightly, giving it a thorough shake.
“Professor Harold Grimtale, Headmaster. And you… well, you haven’t changed one bit, besides the stubble and the newly discovered sense of acceptable fashion, to which I must highly approve!”
Robin could feel his cheeks burning as he quickly patted away the remaining dust from his mustard yellow coat and fastened his bag strap around his chest before finally clearing his throat.
“It’s a pleasure, Professor. But I must apologise for the lack of knowledge of how I fit in here. As far as I’m concerned, we’ve just met…”
“And perhaps that’s for the best, a clean slate for the both of us.”
Grimtale rested his hand gently on Robins shoulder and gave a reassuring nod, to which Robin suddenly began to wonder, what kind of history was sealed between the two of them, how far back did they go? It was odd, he felt like a stranger and looked like one too, but as they exchanged a look within each other's noble eyes, the grand doors behind Grimtale were suddenly flung wide on their thick steel hinges and an excitable crowd of three began to flood their way in, followed clos
ely overhead by a vibrant, pink feathered bird that fluttered and swooped its way to the front of the group as they raced for Robin's attention.
The bird was first to arrive, landing delicately beside Grimtales cumbersome boots and reverting back to her eccentric, human-looking form.
“I’ll never question the existence of magic again, that was bloody marvellous! And your name is?” asked an excitable Robin, looking in wonder at her familiar pink coat as she knocked away the remaining feathers from her luscious blonde hair - which only took a second or two, then she reached for Robins cold, pale hand.
“Magenta, we met back in Vinemoore?”
“Oh! Of course, how silly of me. Yourself and Kenneth, the Reapers! I’m awfully sorry, it’s all still quite a blur to me, but it’s lovely to see you again.”
She smiled warmly back at him.
“It’s ok, it wasn’t pleasant. I assume a lot has happened since then?”
“A day from hell.” They both chuckled, then Robin took a long, deep breath before slapping his hands firmly against his cheeks, hoping it would snap him from his dream - but it was no dream, it was really happening, he soon realised that as the laughter continued.
“So is Kenneth here? With you guys? Or does his involvement not stretch as far as this place?” asked Robin, peering over Magenta’s shoulder where a group of fans had waited patiently, relishing the presence of the Robin Occamy. All were silent now.
“Kenneth Brown?” he added for the puzzled faces, breaking the awkward silence.
“I’m afraid, since his return we made quite the discovery,” Magenta paused reluctantly, turning to Grimtale for approval, to which he gave a subtle nod of the head, allowing her to continue.
“The reason he insisted on you abandoning us and saving your family, was so he would stand a far better chance of surviving this. But he soon crumbled when Silverstein brought to light the severe consequences he would be facing if the enemy caught wind of his indecisive allegiance. Silverstein said he’d never seen anyone scarper so fast, he was straight out those doors. We haven’t seen him since.”
The Professor and the Starlight Phoenix Page 11