Magnus and the Jewelled Book of the Universe

by S. L. Browne

  Copyright © 2017 S. L. Browne

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

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  ISBN 9781788031196

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  For Edward

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  A preview of Book II Magnus and the Lady of the Mountain

  Chapter 1

  The day that everything changed started just like any other day in the life of Magnus Tincomarus, aged eight and three days. It started with breakfast in the rambling old house on the hill above the town. The house was a dilapidated red brick villa that had been built before the war and it was covered with ivy and Virginia creeper. It was also home to a family of bats and some swifts that swooped over the garden from May to September. The bats were sleeping that morning as the sweltering sun rose over the distant horizon. The island of Britain was currently going through a heatwave and temperatures were over thirty degrees during the day and not much less during the night.

  “Serves them right,” grumbled Marlo, Magnus’ old tutor, as he tucked into three eggs, two slices of bacon, some baked beans and a delicious kipper that Magnus’ grandmother, Thomasina, had filleted specially for him because the bones tended to stick in his beard. There was nothing worse than a beard that stank of week-old kipper, his grandmother claimed, as she had carefully combed the fish for bones in the hot kitchen with the door wide open.

  “Serves who right?” asked Grandad Arthur, his old face calm and serene as he tried to extract a dead fly’s husk with some eyebrow tweezers from his enormous Venus flytrap that lived on the windowsill.

  “This lot,” replied Marlo. “Bunch of idiots.” Magnus’ grandad nodded grimly, as if he knew who ‘this lot’ were, but Magnus didn’t. He looked around at his loved ones with large blue eyes and wondered, not for the first time that day, what they were on about.

  “Now then, Magnus,” said his grandmother kindly, “I think you should pack a little bag because I have a feeling we are going on a trip later today and we might not be back for a long time.”

  “Really?” Magnus dropped his spoon in surprise. He had been happily bashing in the top of his boiled egg when his grandmother had made this astonishing announcement. He usually liked carefully peeling off the shell before eating it, but today he just stared into space. They had never gone anywhere in his short life, well, except into the town to the library or to the small corner shop if it was necessary, but that wasn’t a trip that needed a suitcase.

  Magnus wondered if he even had a suitcase.

  “I have put a suitcase on your bed,” said his grandmother. Magnus frowned. It was as if she had read his mind. She guessed his thoughts a lot and he didn’t like it when it happened. It made him feel nervous. Magnus had very little private time as it was. Every waking hour was filled with learning Latin, and Greek, and Gaelic, and old German, and lots of other long-dead languages, because his grandad said he had a natural gift for languages; especially dead ones. The other days were filled with learning maths, or science and botany. He did get some days off from time to time, but they were few and far between. Marlo always said it was best to press on with school work because they didn’t have much time, but Magnus wondered what he meant because he had only just turned eight and that was quite young as far as he was concerned.

  “Where are we going?” asked Magnus finally.

  “Not us, dear; just you and Marlo, if we can fit him in after all that breakfast.”

  “In what?”

  “Best to wait, dear,” said his grandmother. “It’s too difficult to explain and we haven’t much time.”

  So that was that.

  “What should I pack?” Magnus stood up, his egg forgotten in all the excitement.

  “Toothbrush, pyjamas, things like that, but not too much; it could get heavy and you need some room for this,” said Marlo, as he picked up an ancient book from the shelf that contained his grandmother’s recipe books. It was about the size of an average paperback, but it had an unusual jewelled cover and an intricate lock. Many of Magnus’ school books had unusual covers and locks, so he didn’t pay it much attention and hurried upstairs to pack.

  Magnus’ bedroom was just like the bedrooms of many eight-year-old boys across many countries all around the world: it was very untidy. However, it was also interesting. He had some dinosaur posters on his walls; and dinosaur mobiles hanging from his ceiling; and plastic lizards, of all different colours and sizes, just strewn all over the floor. He had science books about crystals and insects, and lots of Lego; which was also Marlo’s favourite toy in the whole world, and so they had spent long, wet days making things and then not had the heart to destroy them.

  Magnus looked at his bed and, sure enough, there was a small, shiny red suitcase sitting there looking quite at home. It was one of those ones with a hard case and wheels that you pulled along with a retractable handle. He liked it immediately, but he secretly wished it was yellow. Never mind, he thought happily, he was going on a trip. He wondered where he was going as he packed his toothbrush, his favourite toy dinosaurs, his favourite book about dinosaurs, some stretchy lizards, a large yellow crystal that seemed to glow, his small fluffy rabbit called Wongy that he’d had forever, and his pyjamas.

  Magnus wondered if he was going to London. He’d always wanted to go to London because he could visit the Natural History Museum and the Science Museum and go on the underground train, because he really liked the idea of that. Speeding through tunnels and under the River Thames sounded fantastic to Magnus, who had never been anywhere exciting in his entire life.

  It was only after a moment’s reflection that he realised he probably needed a couple of pairs of underpants, some socks and a change of clothes, so he stuffed them into the small space that was left. He decided his Latin book that Marlo wanted him to pack would fit in down the side, and then he closed the suitcase and went downstairs.

  “Ready,” he exclaimed to the adults downstairs, but no one heard him. They were all staring at a red-faced police officer who was standing perspiring heavily in their kitchen and waving his arms in a particularly agitated manner.

  “What do you mean you aren’t leaving?” he shouted. “You can’t stay here, you silly old duffers. Didn’
t you hear what I said?” He opened his mouth wide and enunciated his words slowly as if the occupants of the red brick house at the top of the hill were imbeciles. “There’s a tornado on its way and you have to evacuate, by order of the government.”

  Chapter 2

  “As if I would listen to any order given by that bunch of clowns,” came his grandmother’s retort after a few uncomfortable minutes of silence. “We are not going anywhere.”

  “Yes, you are,” spluttered the officer, who suddenly noticed Magnus and he stared at the boy, in shock. “You have a child here?”

  “Yes, he’s our grandson.”

  “Well, you will definitely have to leave now.”

  “No, we won’t,” said Marlo grimly.

  The officer couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, and who were this odd bunch of characters and why was there a kid with them? It didn’t feel right, in his opinion. He noticed some jars on the windowsill and they were filled with strange creatures pickled in some clear liquid, and there were other jars too, filled with colourful unidentifiable powders and the like, and copper pots and strangely shaped bottles were littered all over the kitchen, mainly on the many shelves and on the large wooden table in the centre of the room. Something that smelled decidedly pungent was bubbling in a large pan on top of the ancient stove in the corner.

  The officer regarded Magnus, who looked quite normal when compared with the three elderly eccentrics who were glaring at him and making him feel very uncomfortable. He was a tall, slim and healthy-looking boy, with dark hair that stuck up here and there, blue-green eyes and suntanned skin. The boy was dressed like other boys of his age, which the officer guessed was about eight or nine, in a yellow T-shirt with a picture of a snake on it, beige shorts and sandals.

  The officer couldn’t understand what the boy was doing alone in a house with these assorted cranks, especially on a school day. The elderly people were dressed oddly, especially the old guy, who had long white hair and a blue tunic that was tied in the middle with a piece of rope. The old woman had long grey hair too, but her’s was curly and she had lots of it. The old man stood blinking behind thick glasses and he was holding some tweezers in a threatening manner.

  No, no, thought the officer; he had a job to do and do it he would. Well, he would try to save the lad at least; the three old people could fend for themselves if they so wished.

  The officer started to walk towards Magnus and made as if to grab him, but Magnus was swift and he dodged out of the way and ran behind Marlo who stood up and pulled out a large, knobbled wooden stick from under the table and then he skilfully and swiftly bonked the police officer on the top of his head. The policeman stared for a moment and then fell forwards like a tree in a forest. Luckily, Marlo caught him before he hit his face on the grey stone floor.

  “Sorry about that,” muttered Marlo under his breath and he proceeded to carry the unconscious man down the stairs and locked him in the cellar.

  “You knocked out a policeman!” yelled Magnus when he found his voice. “You’ll have to go to prison!”

  “No he won’t, dear. When he wakes up, I will make sure he doesn’t remember anything,” soothed his grandmother. “Now, you’d better go or you’ll miss it.”

  “Miss what?”

  “Our… er… transportation,” muttered Marlo sheepishly. Magnus noticed he was carrying his little red suitcase. Marlo opened it and popped in his little jewelled book and closed it again. “Come on then, Magnus. Say goodbye and we’ll be off.”

  It was only then that Magnus realised he was leaving his grandparents. Tears welled up in his eyes as he hugged and kissed them.

  “Good luck, Magnus,” whispered his grandfather, and Magnus saw tears in his eyes too. “You will be great, I’m sure.” Magnus said nothing, because he couldn’t speak, and before he had the chance to burst into tears he was swept out of the door by Marlo and they were walking quickly along the dusty path that led from the red brick house on the hill that had been his home for eight years and three days.

  They appeared to be walking towards a large black cloud in the western sky. The cloud was heading their way and Marlo didn’t seem to be perturbed by this fact.

  “Erm, Marlo, I think that’s the tornado the officer mentioned,” said Magnus lightly, but deep down he was feeling somewhat nervous.

  “Yes, we need to be on Crossthwaite Hill in ten minutes or we’ll be too late and that would be a disaster because we’d have to wait for quite a while before the travel tube returns and we haven’t time for that.”

  “Travel tube?”

  “Come on, Magnus. Keep up.”

  Magnus looked at the cloud and then at Marlo and he wondered if the old man really was crazy. Maybe the police officer was right and perhaps he should run away.

  “You stay right by me,” ordered Marlo, as if he too could read his thoughts. “I have lots to tell you and you need to listen carefully. I would have told you before, but I was worried you might let the cat out of the bag or something and we’d all be stuck in a hospital for the deranged. This lot are so stupid they just don’t understand anything any more. It wasn’t always that way, though, Magnus, you know.” Marlo looked wistful for a moment, but then he set his mouth into a determined line and they pressed on.

  Magnus noticed that it was becoming difficult to walk against the wind and he saw fork lightning spit from the huge black cloud. The clap of thunder was so loud he pressed his hands over his ears and they both jumped.

  “Come on, Magnus. We’re nearly there.”

  Magnus tripped and skidded over dry stones and pebbles as he walked and half-ran the long, worn path up to Crossthwaite Hill. It was a famous local landmark, said to date back to Neolithic times, with a beautiful ancient marker stone adorned with faded markings whose meanings had long since been lost to time. Scientists and historians had studied it, stuck electrical devices of all description onto it, even x-rayed it, but the stone had refused to offer any explanation as to its origins and its meaning.

  “Here we are,” cried Marlo and he opened the suitcase and took out the small jewelled book. He carefully opened the lock with a key that hung on a chain round his neck and the lock sprung open. The book opened and Magnus saw that the strange markings on the pages matched those on the stone.

  “Hmm… now then, I think it is page 72, but it’s been a little while since I used this one,” muttered Marlo as the pages of the book fluttered and flapped in the increasing wind. Magnus grabbed hold of Marlo’s tunic and braced himself. As he did so, he looked up and that’s when he saw the tall funnel of wind approaching. It was swirling and black and menacing.

  “Argh!” he cried in horror. “We’re going to die; we’re going to die!”

  “No we aren’t,” scoffed Marlo with a chuckle. “Ah, yes; here we go, page 72. I was right, my memory is still there. That’s good to know.”

  “Marlo,” shrieked Magnus, “hurry up!”

  “Oh, yes, now then…” Marlo peered at the stone, his hair streaming out behind him like a long flag on a tall ship, and he pressed the page against the stone.

  Immediately everything around them was still. Magnus stared in amazement as they stood in a small, calm bubble and watched the tornado approach. Outside the small protected zone by the Crossthwaite marker stone, everything was a jumble of chaos. Bits of trees and small animals flew by. Parts of houses, roof tiles and even a red plastic bucket shot past at about two hundred miles an hour, and then, while Magnus gripped Marlo’s hand more tightly than he had ever gripped anything in his life, the tornado was upon them.

  What happened next was so peculiar and so bizarre that afterwards Magnus wasn’t really sure what he had experienced. He felt as if a thousand hands were squeezing him and this made him breathless. His head swam and he felt quite sick, and then a split second later he was standing in the bright sunshine on the grass, in the same place, right b
y the Crossthwaite Stone at the top of the hill, and there was no tornado to be seen. It was a pleasant day and there was a light breeze. Two blue butterflies fluttered past happily, and Magnus looked around him in silence. Something had happened, but he wasn’t quite sure at that moment what it was.

  Chapter 3

  “Right,” said Marlo briskly, “everything still works. I don’t know why I worry so much. I’ve been doing that for many, many years and everything always works. The Jewelled Book of the Universe sees to that. Thank goodness the humans have a fondness and respect for history and leave the Cross Stones alone.”

  “The humans?”

  “Yes, you’ve probably guessed right now that we aren’t like them?”

  “Well… er… I think so…” Magnus was puzzled. If he wasn’t human, what was he?

  “I suppose I’d better fill you in,” Marlo grinned. “Come on, the village we want is about three miles in that direction, so we’d better hurry up.”

  Magnus felt disappointed. He was going to a plain old village. His dreams of London faded away abruptly, but then he noticed something peering at him from behind a tree. It had large, bright eyes and an intelligent face and it reminded him of something he’d seen before, but he couldn’t remember where.

  “What’s that?” he pointed, and Marlo squinted in the sun. He glanced at Magnus hurriedly and coughed.

  “It’s a Troodon.”

  “A Troodon!” Magnus stood stock still. “Where are we? Have we gone back in time?”

  “No, not really,” sighed Marlo. “Let me explain. But we’d better hurry. There are other dinosaurs of different types in this area and some aren’t as friendly and tame as that one.” Magnus heard a bloodcurdling roar coming from the west and he picked up his pace as he scanned the horizon. The sick feeling he had experienced when they were in the tornado returned and he felt dizzy too. It had been rather a dramatic hour in the life of a boy who hadn’t really experienced anything exciting in his entire life until today.