"What's all this, then?" a burly man with bare arms called, stepping out of the main barn door and eyeing James.
"Er, this packhorse needs stabled," James replied, holding up the reins. "The owner sent me here. I'm not really a stable boy."
"That I can tell," the man said gruffly, scowling, "seeing as you've brought me yonder horse without even releasing its cart. Perhaps you expect me to stable it as well?"
"No!" James replied. "It's supposed to be unloaded and taken to the owner's quarters. He said he'd… er, strop anyone who wasn't careful with his stuff."
"Don't tell me how to do porter work, boy," the man said, rolling his eyes wearily. "I'd strop you myself if I had the time. Thomas! Send for the page. We need this cart returned to the valet before Lord Maarten gets frisky."
The man looked down at James again, sighing. "You're either a thief or you're the youngest cleric I've ever seen. Your mistress will lash you good when she sees what you've done to that robe. What's your name?"
James' heart jumped, but he couldn't think of a lie fast enough. "Er, James, sir. James Potter."
"The Potter's boy, eh? Well, then, you had best run along back to the market. And tell your da that the pestle for which we traded him has got a crack on the rim. I'll send the wife down with it at the morrow."
The man seemed to dismiss James. He turned and walked back into the shadow of the barn, calling again for Thomas. James sighed in relief. Obviously, the man thought James was the son of the village pot maker. He turned and looked back the way he'd come. The landscape between the castle and the barn was completely different in this time. James could only see the flat top of the Sylvven Tower poking over a stand of birches. He began to make his way back, ducking through the carts and farm animals.
A sort of marketplace was erected around the back of the castle. Wooden stalls, benches, and carts were arranged haphazardly, each decked with all manner of goods. People thronged near the stalls, shouting and waving, bartering and arguing. Livestock mingled with the peasants, adding their own voice and smell to the scene. James darted through the fracas, trying to stay out of people's way and avoid stepping in animal dung. Bits of conversation drifted over him as he moved, and James began to sense that these were mostly Muggles, although they seemed aware of the magical nature of the castle and its inhabitants.
"This here's an authentic enchanted fork, it is," a man was saying to a skeptical-looking peasant woman. "Makes any meal taste like it is fit for a king. My Lars found it in the grass after some of the magical folk had a picnic. Only two chickens and it can be yours."
The woman scoffed and turned away. The man seemed unperturbed. He saw James looking. "What think yeh, lad? Fancy a bit o' real magic? Tell yer mam to stop on by, will yeh not?"
James shrugged and backed away.
As he entered the shadow of the castle, James spied a broad doorway. Clanks and hisses emanated from the space beyond, and James guessed by the smells that it was the kitchen. He remembered hearing the kitchen from the rotunda and decided this entrance was probably his best option for getting back to the statue and the mirror. He sauntered toward the door, trying to look inconspicuous. It occurred to him that he'd look more appropriate if he was carrying something. Near the door, a stack of copper pots sat next to a huge cauldron boiling over a fire. James glanced around, assuring that no one was looking, and then grabbed the pot on top. As he turned, cradling the pot in his arms, he heard a rattling crash. He glanced back. The rest of the pots had fallen over, the topmost one spilling water onto the fire, which hissed and sputtered.
"What's this?" a woman's voice cried, stridently. "Making off with the wares, are yeh? That's the coppersmith's lot! Thief!"
James dropped the pot and ran. He heard the ruckus behind him as the woman screamed and gave chase, but he didn't look back. He plunged into the darkness of the kitchen, weaving past a man in a leather vest and knocking over a woman carrying a platter. The kitchen was very dark but for the blaze of the brick oven. James aimed for it, and saw another doorway.
"Thief!" another voice called, joining the chorus from outside. "Stop him!"
A burly man with no shirt and a stained apron hanging from his middle stepped in front of James, grinning wickedly under his huge black mustache. He held a butcher knife in his hand, fingering it like it was a cutlass.
James tried to stop, but he was moving too fast and the stone floor was wet. He slipped, fell on his behind, and slid right between the man's spread legs. The man looked down as James passed beneath him.
"Stand fast!" the man cried, spinning. James struck the wall on the opposite side of the corridor and scrambled up. Keeping as low as he could, he bolted down the corridor. The man roared and raised the knife, but someone else grabbed his wrist from behind.
"Calm yourself, Larkin! He's just a lad. Dropped the pot outside, even," a voice admonished. "Planning to split his skull for makin' you look a fool? If that was a killin' offense, you'd have to execute the entire kitchen."
James sensed the pursuit had ended, but he couldn't make himself stop running. He came to an intersection in the corridor and was pounding straight through it when a hand snagged his wrist like a vice. James spun, momentum carrying him around, and tumbled to the floor, looking up at the figure that had stopped him.
"We do not approve of running in the halls," Salazar Slytherin said, staring down his nose at James. His fingers were still clamped on James' wrist. They were very cold. "What manner of revolt is this? A single boy?"
"I'm not part of a revolt," James said, panting. "I was just… er…"
"You are indeed revolting," Slytherin growled, slitting his eyes, "but only because of your dirty blood. How dare you cross into these halls, Muggle?"
James felt an angry response welling up in him, but with an effort of will, he quelled it. "Sorry, sir. I was… lost."
Slytherin leaned toward James, using the grip on his wrist to pull him close. "You dare look me in the eye as if you believed me an equal?" Slytherin hissed. "The soft hearts of my fellows have bred insolence in your kind, but I will not have it. You will address me as 'Master', and you will avert your eyes, or I will have them for my collection. Is that clear, son of dirt?"
James used Slytherin's grip as leverage, pulling himself to his feet. When he was upright, he yanked as hard as he could, wrenching his wrist from the wizard's grasp.
"Blimey," James said angrily, "the history books sure got it right about you."
Slytherin's eyes blazed and his expression turned wary. He reached for his wand with one lightning quick movement. James scrambled to find his own, but it was too buried under the ridiculous robe.
"Salazar," a voice suddenly called. Slytherin froze. James whirled around, thankful for the interruption. The woman James recognized as Rowena Ravenclaw had just walked around a bend in the hall. Her eyes were suspicious as she glared over James' head at Slytherin. "We've been waiting for you. The audience with Lord Maarten is begun. How much longer do you intend to palaver with this, er, young cleric?"
Rowena dropped her eyes to James and winked, unsmiling.
James turned back to Slytherin, who glared at him furiously. Then, suddenly, his face changed. He smiled indulgently and patted James lightly on the head.
"Run along, lad," he said in a singsong voice. "I'm sure we'll have a chance to finish our 'palaver' soon enough."
James stared up at Slytherin, thinking that the wizard might simply curse James in the back as soon as he turned away. Slytherin's expression didn't change, but his eyes hardened. Go now or face the consequences, the eyes seemed to say. James risked it. He turned and walked as quickly as he could, taking a corridor at right angles to the one Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw occupied. It curved to the right and met a short flight of stairs. When James reached them, he looked back. Slytherin was no longer visible. Breathing yet another sigh of relief, James took the stairs two at a time.
As he navigated the corridors, he could still hear the echoing clatter
of the kitchens. He had to be very near the rotunda. Nothing looked familiar however. Torches flickered and sizzled in great iron wall brackets, making shadows leap on the walls, disorienting James. He passed more people, some of them no older than he was, and assumed he was encountering some of Hogwarts' original students. They turned as he passed, their eyes curious or outright suspicious. He began to panic. Finally, as James passed a pair of older boys in green tunics, he turned, meeting their stares.
"Sorry, I'm new here," he ventured, trying to keep his voice even. "Do either of you know where the rotunda is?"
"What might you need in the rotunda, boy?" the taller one replied, showing his teeth in a parody of a charming smile. "You must know that it's time for Alchemy class."
"Perchance he doesn't know," the second boy said, his brow lowering. "His garb tells me he is a Muggle interloper. Lost, are you?"
"Or perhaps not," the darker boy suggested, advancing on James. "Perhaps you are up to something a bit more nefarious? Methinks the Head of House shall be the judge."
"No, no," James cried, throwing up his hands. "I think I've already met him! He, er, says hello!"
James spun on his heels, tripping over the oversized robe. The two boys advanced on him. One of them reached for the hood of the robe, but James finally got his footing. He lunged away, yanking away from the boy's grasp.
"Capture him!" the darker boy ordered, giving chase.
James bolted down the corridor, his heart pounding. He turned at random hallways, leaping up short stairways and ducking into doorways. After one turn, he encountered an alcove with a statue in it. To James' amazement, it was the statue of Lokimagus the Perpetually Productive. Without thinking, James shimmied into the alcove and hid behind the stooped statue.
His pursuers' footsteps echoed closer. They clattered to a halt directly in front of the statue.
"He can't have gotten far," the darker boy barked. "You go on ahead. I'll double back and make sure we didn't miss him. That Muggle brat will pay for crossing the path of Slytherin House."
James held his breath until he was sure they were gone. Finally, he clambered out from behind the statue. He checked both directions, and then darted out into the corridor again. He hoped desperately that he wouldn't encounter any more students. If he got caught now, he might never make it back to the Magic Mirror; he'd be trapped in ancient Hogwarts forever.
James crept around a large archway and gasped. There, across a broad marble floor, were the gigantic statues of the founders. He'd made it back to the rotunda! He could see the glint of the silver-framed mirror behind the statues. James trotted across the floor as lightly as possible, determining to go back through the mirror now even if Merlin was still in his office. He'd have to take his chances with an angry Headmaster and hope he'd give James a chance to explain himself. This ancient world was just too dangerous to muck about in.
Even as James was thinking this, however, something began to move from behind the statues. Someone had been standing in their shadow and was now coming out as if to meet him. James tried to stop, to duck into another hiding place, but there was nowhere to go. It was already too late. Salazar Slytherin grinned wickedly at James, triumphant. He had his wand in his right hand and carried something under his left arm. It was covered in thick black fabric.
"Imagine meeting you here, my young friend," Slytherin said smoothly. "You know, I'm beginning to think you aren't a Muggle at all. I'm beginning to think you are a spy. Very tricky of you, travelling via Mirror. I had made the mistake of believing that was impossible."
James shook his head, "It's not what you think! I just need to—"
Slytherin's voice turned icy. He held his wand up but didn't point it at James. "I can promise you one thing, though, my young friend," he said, turning, "I will not make that same mistake twice."
A bolt of white light shot from Slytherin's wand. It struck the silver-framed mirror, which exploded into sparkling bits. The pieces flew between the stone legs of the statues and pattered to the floor.
"No!" James cried, dropping to his knees. He reached for one of the shards, but it was no use. The tiny fragment showed nothing meaningful. The portal was destroyed.
"They say it's seven years bad luck to break a mirror," Slytherin commented lightly. His footsteps crunched on the bits of broken glass as he walked toward James. He grinned maliciously. "I guess that just shows what they know, doesn't it?"
James scrambled away from Slytherin, struggling to extricate his wand from the oversized robe. Slytherin stepped casually after James, shaking his head in amusement. As James finally found his wand and pointed it, the bald wizard was already flicking his. There was a sharp crack and James' wand flew out of his hand. It clattered several feet away.
"I'd thought that I was one of but two men in the earth who knew the ways of the Mirrors," Slytherin said, still advancing on James. With a deft flourish, he pulled the black cloth off the object he'd been holding under his arm. It was another mirror, small and oval-shaped, its golden frame fashioned into the shape of a coiled snake. "This one is particularly interesting, especially to someone in your predicament. No, I'm sorry to say it isn't a portal. It's a bit more… one-way."
Slytherin held the mirror so that James saw himself in it. The reflection showed a boy in a pathetically oversized robe, his eyes wild and fearful.
"Have you ever heard of the old Muggle superstition that if you stare into a reflection for too long, you'll become the reflection?" Slytherin asked smoothly, still holding the mirror toward James. "They fear that if they then walk away from the reflection, they will simply… disappear."
James had been inching slowly toward his wand, which was lying on the floor a few feet away. Now he steeled his nerve and lunged for it. An instant later, pain roared up his arm, crippling him. He fell to the floor, screaming. Desperately, he looked to see what had caused the damage, and then gasped in shock. His entire right arm had vanished up to the shoulder. He stared at the place where it should have been, unable to resist trying to grab at it with his left hand. Slytherin was laughing happily. He approached James again, and as he did, James' arm faded back into existence. The pain receded.
"There's nothing so instructive as a practical example, is there, my young friend?" Slytherin said, holding the mirror so that James could see himself in it once more. "As you've just illustrated, if you choose to stay within the reflection, you will be perfectly safe. If, however, you attempt to leave it… well, I really do not need to say any more, do I?"
Slytherin flicked his wand again. James' wand lofted into the air, turning end over end. The bald wizard caught it deftly and held it up. "Curious, this. Such a beautifully fashioned wand in the hand of a boy who barely knows how to use it. You are not a student of this establishment, and yet you seem to know us. So very many questions do I have for you. And do you know what, my friend?" Slytherin pocketed James' wand and his eyes turned narrow and icy. "I have every confidence that you will answer them."
Several minutes later, James found himself in a darkened room in Slytherin's personal chambers. The room was quite low, stone-walled, and surrounded by tapestries depicting rather unpleasant scenes of dancing skeletons and flaming mountains. Tables on both sides of the room gave James the impression that this was Slytherin's personal magical laboratory. The table on the right was laden with gigantic books, parchments, quills, and paints; the one on the left was arrayed with a mind-boggling collection of vials, jars, and pots, all arranged on stacked shelves surrounding a large cauldron. Only one candle burned in the room, blood-red and embedded in the top of a human skull. James had the distinct and unsettling impression that very few people had ever seen this room. He sat against the rear wall in a very straight chair with a high ladder-back. It was rather uncomfortable, but it was the only chair from which he could see himself in the oval-shaped mirror. Slytherin had positioned the mirror on an easel in front of the double doors, assuring that James could not approach the doors without leaving his reflec
tion.
"As much as I would enjoy interviewing you immediately," Slytherin had explained, "I am a very busy wizard, and you've caught me at a rather bad time. Let me assure you, though: as soon as I complete my evening's appointment, you will have my full and undivided attention."
With that, Slytherin had pulled the doors mostly closed, but not completely. Through the gap, James could see a tiny portion of Slytherin's main office. As James waited, he could hear the bald wizard moving about, shuffling parchments and muttering darkly. Finally, there came a single, loud knock on the outer office door.
"How quaint of you to pretend you are not already in the room, my friend," Slytherin's voice said. "I sensed your arrival minutes ago, but I assumed it rude to say so. Please do make yourself comfortable."
Through the crack in the double doors, James saw a shadow move. A figure passed in front of the crack. There was the creak of a heavy footstep, and then a deep sigh.
"I despise the very stone of this place," a deep, rumbling voice said. "The cobbles of its floors are like knives to my feet. I'd call up the fires of the earth's belly to consume it if I could, and damn your miserable college."
In the darkness of the laboratory, James gasped. He recognized the voice of Slytherin's visitor. It was incredible, and yet it seemed to fit all too well. How could he not have made this connection before? His heart pounded and he strained his ears to listen.
"I sympathize, Merlinus," Slytherin said. "This must be a very disquieting homecoming for you. Still, you cannot imagine that we'd have allowed this castle to go unoccupied. As you may guess, not a single Muggle lord wished to claim it after Lord Hadyn's unfortunate… accident. Ironically, they believe the castle is cursed rather than magically fortified. I join you, however, in despising much of what this place has become. My fellow founders are increasingly double-minded. They coddle the unmagicked and the dirty half-bloods. They plot against me as we speak. I fear that my time here is near an end."
The Curse of the GateKeeper (James Potter #2) Page 30