Wizard's Guide to Wellington

by A. J. Ponder

  Two sparkly blue-and-orange children with butterfly wings and scaly skin whispered behind their hands about a party where fish granted wishes. The bluest child winked at him as if she knew he’d been listening all along and laughed merrily. Alec turned bright red, and looked away.

  “Alec,” Ike snapped, “what are you doing? It’s time to get off.”

  “But this isn’t Day’s Bay,” he said looking around. Brightly coloured boats flocked the not quite familiar coastline. On the beach hundreds of people milled around the wharf and the great rainbow-coloured pavilions dotting the shore. “It looks a bit like Eastbourne.”

  “That is because it is Eastbourne. Now, hurry!” Ike bossed, rustling its pages ten times louder than any ordinary book could have managed. “Come on, or we’ll miss the stop.”

  “Oh,” said Alec, grinning. “Eastbourne. Cool.” It wasn’t quite the windswept pebbly beach he was used to, dotted with the odd sunbather, or family out on a stroll. “Let’s go.”

  “Who pays the Ferry-men?” came a disembodied voice. It definitely wasn’t Ike. Was it?

  “What Ferry-men?” He looked about.

  This time the voice was clearer. “Who pays the Fairy-men?”

  Alec pulled his fifty-dollar emergency note out of his pocket. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining to his mother about how he’d spent it and lost his bike all on the same day. He shrugged. Best not to worry overly.

  There was a snort as a burly man with a sabre and pantaloons strode towards him and flicked at the note with obvious disdain. “I meant money, boy,” he said, scowling at Alec from behind his piratical beard. “Not that paper stuff.”

  “Er, I only have the paper stuff.”

  “You know the rules. No pay means running the boat till all eternity.”

  “Oh, give the boy a break,” Ike huffed. “You know it hasn’t worked like that for hundreds of years.”

  The man waved the sword under Alec’s nose. “It works how I say it works.”

  Ike harrumphed. “That is preposterous.”

  The burly man grinned. “And I say it works like this. Boy, when you’ve got your two pieces of silver, put them in the fish’s mouth. The one with “monies owed” on it. Unless you want to be cursed forever and never ride the Fairy again, that is.”

  “Er, no. Thank you.”

  “Now get off my ship!” he roared.

  “Hurry up and jump,” Ike said unnecessarily as the craft began speeding away from the pier.

  “I’ll never make it,” Alec said, heart hammering. This had to be the most foolhardy thing he’d ever done.

  “Quick!” Ike shouted. “Jump — now!”

  In a desperate attempt to make the wharf, Alec launched himself over the side, legs pin-wheeling, heart thumping as he sailed far further than he’d expected, all the way across the jetty and almost into the sea on the other side. He landed sprawled out over the concrete.

  As Alec picked himself up a bearded man with tattoos flashing every colour of the rainbow walked over him as if he wasn’t even there. The man disappeared through a gap in the white-picket fence to where a row of brightly coloured stalls wavered in the breeze like a fever-induced mirage. It was an illusion enhanced by the rich smells of sizzling barbecue And a strange rustling sound – no – that wasn’t a barbeque that was Ike.

  “What are you doing?” Alec asked.

  “I am rustling indignantly, you moron. Look here, you almost tore my pages right out of my spine. It will take me ages to them all. Now leave me alone.”

  Ike’s face disappeared. And so did a lot of other things. The world slid about like little plastic kaleidoscope pieces, until it locked into the grey and blue spaces he recognised as home. Even as he sniffed the sea air the smell of barbecue became nothing more than the tang of salt and sand carried on the wind.

  Alec felt empty. It was more than the niggling feeling that something was missing – a whole world had disappeared in the blink of an eye. It felt wrong.

  He walked through a small grove of pohutukawa trees, squinting and looking at the world sideways until he swore he saw some flower-crested babies in one of the branches. cross the road he spotted his father’s house much quicker than usual. Normally he’d walk past it three times before spotting the jumping fish letterbox; now he could see it and the narrow path winding through the jungle of dark leafy trees across the street.

  He’d been horribly lost the first time they’d visited. Even the instructions had seemed strange, and when they’d eventually found the place he’d asked his mother, “If Dad’s house is 155c where is 155b?”

  She’d just grimaced in that thin-lipped smile of hers and said, “It’s just one of your father’s little jokes. There is no 155b.”

  Now it no longer seemed to be a quirk in the street numbers or a joke, but a different sort of oddity altogether. Maybe his dad had a neighbour. One Alec had never met. But he couldn’t think about that now – he had a job to do. One he’d been trying not to think about. Yet he could think of nothing else as he walked up the garden path, knocked on the door and waited. And waited. What if his father was...

  No. Everything would be fine. His dad would open the door – any minute now.

  He didn’t.

  Alec yelled and banged on the door. Still no answer. Unwilling to admit defeat so easily, Alec found the spare key under the mat, opened the door and walked inside.

  As it had in the past, the house gave him a strange feeling. He’d always felt that here in this one place the world was more beautiful and more exciting than anywhere else. Only today the excitement was flat and empty and cold. And dangerous.

  Wrapping his arms around his stomach, Alec called out, almost in defiance, “Dad?”

  No answer.

  “Dad!”

  In the silence Alec was hit by a terrible sense of foreboding – as if even the house was frightened.

  MAGIC QUAKE

  Perrin staggered backwards, her left hand still caught in the wizard’s iron grip, her right hand clutching onto her broomstick.

  “Watch it,” he yelled, trying to drag her back.

  Determined to get away she lurched backwards and half fell, half jumped off the edge of the balcony, dragging her hand free from his grip at last.

  The moment of elation was quickly dimmed. She was falling.

  Wrestling herself onto the broomstick didn’t mean the wretched thing would start, but fortunately it did, hiccupping to life with a burst of energy just when the ground was near close enough to touch.

  As she zoomed upward she could hear the wizard calling after her, “Wait! Wait! I can tell you-”

  But whatever he might have said was lost as every machine in the AMO office went wild, chattering and spewing sheaves of paper high into the air. Magical alarms blaring as magic crackled all around them.

  Perrin’s broomstick was caught in the madness. It kept climbing, higher and higher, tossing and bucking as if possessed of an angry determination to be rid of its rider. With so much magic all around Perrin worried that she might spontaneously combust. Then who would know – or even care – that the small pile of ashes fluttering down to the street was really Perrin Wayfinder?

  Not that falling was a much better option. She closed her eyes and hung on for dear life until the broomstick calmed.

  The wild flurry of magic dissipated and she gathered enough courage to look down. Clouds floated past below her.

  “Bucking broomsticks!” she said. “That was...dangerous. Time to get out of the sky and stop using magic. I wouldn’t want to be in the sky when that happens again.”

  The broomstick, old and crotchety though it often was seemed to agree. It didn’t even shudder as they passed down through unpleasantly damp and foggy clouds.

  Two storeys...one storey... They were almost on the ground again when another surge of wild magic hit.

  Perrin’s broom bucked and twisted as if to yank itself out of her hands. Desperately she pulled down on the handle. Too hard.
She spun over and over in a barrel-roll that ended with her flying upside-down. Flying upside down meant falling – any baby ‘zid could tell you that – but still Perrin remained hopeful...until she lost hold of the broomstick completely and plummeted to the pavement with a sickening crunch.

  “You ‘right, lassie?” A middle-aged man stopped consulting his cell-phone and held out a hand.

  Perrin looked at his smooth face and dark, almost-black hair. From his clean cut look and his matching business suit and black mobile phone she might have mistaken him for a NoMU (non-magic user) – except he wasn’t walking in the mundane world.

  Perrin regarded her skinned knees and blushed. “Yeah, I guess I’m fine,” she said making it to her feet without assistance. “What was that?”

  “Ah, you’re new round here, aren’t you? You do know Wellingtowne’s built on a magically unstable zone?” He consulted his mobile phone.

  Perrin nodded even though he wasn’t looking. Phones made her nervous. “Er, I’ve got to-”

  “Don’t worry, it was only a small M-Quake. The city is just releasing a little magical pressure, that’s all. Nothing to panic about. Unless, of course, the M-Quake triggers an Event. Even then, Events are usually more spectacular than dangerous – so long as you’ve got your wits about you.”

  Perrin had vaguely heard of such things. An Event was...what was the formula? Something about the concentration of magic and the animation of – she shook her head. That didn’t matter now. “Really I should be going,” she said.

  “You know, Wellington has a highly concentrated magical field,” he rumbled on like schoolteacher, “and the probability of an Event is E=mc2 – (where m = strength of magic and c = concentration of magical field) – so, in Wellington they’re not that uncommon.”

  “What happens exactly?”

  “Stick around and you’ll find out.” He winked. “Word of advice. Although most fluctuations happen near parliament, the really spectacular Events are near Courtney Place. There’s more to work with, you see – not just lions and the odd horse, but the good stuff, straight from the silver screen.” The man gave Perrin another big cheesy wink and tapped his nose as if he were imparting the choicest piece of not-quite-legitimate information.

  In London Perrin would have smirked at the preposterousness of it all. But in London Perrin wouldn’t have been caught dead with skinned knees, or her state of the 18th century broomstick. She scratched her cheek and blinked, pretending not to be impressed one way or the other, then shrugged and started to move away.

  The man looked about and cleared his throat, playing the conspiratorial whisper for all he was worth. “There’s a tavern next to the Embassy that specialises in showing around visitors. The Coterie...”

  Bad men. The words popped unbidden into her head.

  Perrin took a step backwards, looking furtively about for an avenue to escape. “Er, sorry, I lost my guidebook. I’ve got to get going and...and find a replacement.”

  “A guidebook? Wow. Those things are rarer than hen’s teeth, and fickle as a Dickensian on Christmas Eve. Still, I might as well tell you now, you won’t find another so you’ll have to make do with a map. Old Nanny Goodee Toshoos’ Shoppe should have one. No, actually – “ he tapped a front tooth with a long fingernail “ – Old Fachtrichte’s is closer. Take a left and follow the waterfront, the shop usually hangs out somewhere near the museum. You’ll see his signs everywhere. Can’t have too many signs when you have to shift your premises every day. The residuals around here can be just terrible.”

  “Residuals?”

  “Residual magic levels. Gosh, I swear they never teach you young ‘uns anything at school any more. Geez,” he said glancing down at his phone. “Just look at the time. I don’t get back to work soon and not even the excuse I was showing ‘round a foreigner will save my job. So bye-bye now. And don’t do any spells greater than a level six. You hear me? There’s enough trouble around here without a baby ‘zid like you overloading the system... Oh, I almost forgot,” he said a little too casually, “I’m looking for a boy.”

  He flashed the phone at her.

  She stepped back without really seeing the picture, but she still recognised the boy from the airport.

  “Little idiot thinks he’s cool,” the man was saying, his teeth flashing in the sun. “He’s waving around a guide. You wouldn’t have seen him?”

  “Er.” Perrin replied. “No.”

  “Well, if you do here’s my card. And don’t worry about the work hours – this is a bit of an emergency, after all.”

  Perrin nodded again and took the card. It seemed a much safer option than speaking, when what she really wanted to say was, “Not on your life.” The Bad Men she’d heard earlier had given her the chills. And now she had the same feeling as she saw the word on the man’s card.

  “Cheers,” he said. “Gotta dash.”

  She flipped his card back and forth, watching to make sure he hurried well away. It was very odd. Uncle Petre was an M-accountant too. Did that mean anything, or was it a coincidence?

  Also, now she had time to think about it the people at the AMO were more than strange. The rather odd confrontation on the AMO balcony certainly made it look like something was wrong. Very very wrong. What if something had happened to her uncle? He could be kidnapped, or dead – or on holiday in the Bahamas, she reminded herself, trying not to panic. But everything only made sense if someone was trying to keep something a secret and her uncle had found out. But who? Someone like Nathaniel? And what could the secret be? Something to do with the excessive magic use she’d been noticing ever since she arrived? But why would anybody deliberately overload Wellington’s magical field? That would be silly – unless they were really trying to do something else, something even more dangerous, and overloading the field was just a side effect.

  Still, what would dangerous magic users want with a boy who could hardly use magic and her old wizard’s guide?

  Uneasily she set off to get a map, the first step to finding her uncle and unravelling the truth.

  THE WITCH

  Alec searched the house. Nothing. Not even a business card or hotel number, or a message to feed the cat.

  Ike snapped his cover open. “Oh, for crying out loud. Come on, House, the boy’s not going to bite. Why won’t you say anything?”

  If you could accuse a house of being too still, this was the house to do it to. But there was still no response.

  “Never mind, Ike,” Alec said. “He isn’t here.”

  One last circuit and Alec hurried to the door. Maybe, just maybe, his dad was out at the beach – after all, he was always home on a Saturday.

  As he stepped out onto the porch the book banged open and shut in fury. “That house can talk,” Ike barked. “You ask it. Just ask it.”

  “Right.” Alec stood on the porch and tried not to feel silly. After all, Ike knew more about such things than he did.

  “Where is my father?” he asked the house. And for a moment he was utterly certain he would get an answer.

  The moment came and went. The front door slammed shut and the shutters on the windows closed with bangs as loud as gunshots.

  “Hide! Quick!” Ike slammed his cover shut.

  “From what?” Alec said.

  There was no answer. Alec looked around, and then he saw it – a dark cloud sweeping over the sea towards him. He bounded back to the house, but no matter how hard he banged the wood or rattled the key in the lock, the front door would not open.

  The cloud brushed ominously over the pohutukawas on the other side of the road.

  Heart hammering, Alec looked about for another place to hide. Perhaps if he could jump the picket fence he could make it next door. His knees felt like jelly as the cloud began drifting purposefully over the street.

  It was brushing the tops of the trees in the garden when he panicked and dashed recklessly towards the neighbour’s fence. As he clambered up onto the crossbeam the cloud suddenly disappeared and a h
ead popped up right in front of him.

  Alec almost screamed before he recognised the jeans, sweater and big, blue sunflowered gardening hat that belonged to his dad’s neighbour, Mrs Bee.

  “Is that you, Alec?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Alec answered, trying to be nonchalant as he disentangled himself from the fence. It was pretty difficult to do, given that his throat was tight with fear.

  “You got a problem?”

  Alec looked up nervously at the sky to see where the dark cloud had gone. Oddly enough, he thought he saw it racing back over the harbour. “No, no. Sorry,” he said turning bright red. “I’m...uh...I’m fine.”

  Mrs Bee didn’t say anything. She stood there looking at him with her piercing blue eyes.

  “I, I thought I’d come and see if Dad...” Alec trailed off as something rippled in the corner of his eye. The jeans and sweater were the real thing all right, but unless he was much mistaken that old garden hat wasn’t bright blue with a sunflower on it – no, not at all. It was perfectly pitch-black, and somewhat pointed.

  “You know, sweetie, you shouldn’t be all the way over here by yourself.”

  “I came because Dad – “

  “Yes, yes,” she said not really focussing on him, but looking up at the sky. “Look, there’s nothing to worry about. He’ll be back in a couple of days.”

  Something about Mrs Bee was wrong. And it wasn’t just the hat – she hadn’t so much as offered him lemonade – and she had an enormous mole growing out of her chin.

  Alec backed off.

  “What’s the matter? Oh,” she laughed, little more than an intake of breath. “Isn’t that unusu- I mean interesting. You are the right age I suppose. Still, that’s not the point. So you can see now?”

  “What?” Alec shook his head, and then nodded to try and hide his confusion.

  “Very well done. I always thought you had it in you. I suppose you took the Fairy boat over.” Again she looked up as if expecting to see someone. “Still, you should go back before your mum gets worried, don’t you think?”