Gregory Grey and the Fugitive in Helika

by Stanzin

CHAPTER 8

  Some Family Time

  ‘Knock it off, I was joking,’ Gregory said nervously.

  ‘No, really – that’s what they’re saying,’ Zach said, still nodding.

  ‘Not officially or anything,’ Susannah said, ‘it’s just the people and the newspapers – they’re all going on about how you magically appeared and saved fifty kids.’

  ‘I didn’t magically appear.’

  ‘You did! You really did,’ Zach said, and he looked completely serious. ‘I flew into town with you, and even I think it’s weird how you just happened to turn up at the Voidmark, and just happened to save a bunch of kids, when kids everywhere else died.’

  ‘Zach, you better not be saying you think I’m a god.’ Gregory shuddered as the words left his lips.

  ‘Oh no, I just think it’s weird,’ Zach reassured. ‘Everyone else thinks you’re a god, or you might be, or you at least might become one.’

  ‘And being the long lost son of two brilliant storytellers doesn’t help, does it?’ Susannah said.

  ‘How do you know about that?’ Gregory demanded.

  ‘Everyone knows about that,’ Johanna piped up, pausing in the middle of a cookie. ‘People heard you were Gregory Grey, and went around asking where you came from. Once Daddy said you were his nephew, people somehow found out your whole story – disappearance, orphanage, and reappearance.’

  ‘Yeah, so,’ Zach said, scratching his head, ‘There’s this whole bit in the Shamanic texts, prophecies and stuff, about how one day the Seraphs will return to us to save us… and they think that day is here.’

  ‘There have been prophecies about others at other times,’ Susannah said. ‘Most of them just fizzled out. But some of them are so vague, they could be talking about anybody – so of course they’ve twisted them to fit you.’

  ‘And then there’s the boons,’ Johanna said.

  ‘What boon?’

  ‘A Hero is a kind of knight. You get two boons when you become a knight, but you get three if you’re a Hero,’ Johanna said. ‘It’s all they’ve been talking about in the papers.’

  ‘I’m in the papers?’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Zach said jumping up. ‘I’ll show you – I’ve got them around somewhere.’

  The first headline read: Hero of Domremy Rumoured to be long heralded Seraph!

  ‘They’re really are calling me a god,’ Gregory croaked out.

  ‘Tiresome, I know,’ Zach clucked.

  Gregory glared at him and looked the older papers:

  …Mysterious Hero Is Domremy’s Lost Scion…

  … Caverns’ Saviours Nominated To Hero By Public Adoration…

  … Miracle at Gurukul – Intrepid Duo Save Future…

  Gregory scanned the articles, and after five minutes, the words blurred and melted into one another; he closed his eyes.

  ‘People are whipping themselves up into a tizzy trying to guess your boons already,’ Susannah said.

  ‘Enough!’

  ‘What?’ Zach and Susannah said together.

  ‘Too much! Way too much! I’ve got a headache! We’re not talking about this anymore!’

  Gregory threw the papers down, began to pace around the room, and jabbed a finger at Zach.

  ‘What were you doing on the roof?’ he demanded.

  ‘I was putting up an orange flag for the princess,’ Zach said. ‘You must have seen them every where.’

  ‘Yes, I did. Why are people doing that for the princess?’

  ‘She went missing when the quake struck,’ Johanna said, ‘She was in Helika on a tour. Daddy says they’ve got everybody looking, but no one’s found her. She’s really nice.’

  ‘You’ve met her?’ Gregory asked, surprised.

  Johanna nodded sadly.

  ‘A few times,’ she said, ‘when the King invites Daddy to dinner.’

  ‘I met her too, a few weeks ago,’ Susannah said, ‘when the Queen invited Poppa for dinner to talk something about the Blood Tree.’

  ‘I’ve met her too, for the same reason, couple of weeks ago,’ Zach said, laughing, and then he sobered. ‘You’re s’posed to put up a half-masted flag when someone royal or really important is sick or something. If she’s found, everyone takes the flag down. If she’s not, then we put it all they way up for a week.’

  ‘I saw two orange flags at places – what’s that about?’ Gregory asked, remembering.

  ‘The second flag is for you,’ Zach said, his lips twitching. ‘People don’t know you’re up and about yet, do they?’

  Gregory blinked and then, shaking his head, pressed determinedly onto safer grounds.

  ‘I didn’t see any airships up in the sky, or carpets,’ he said, ‘how’s the Spire holding up?’

  ‘We lost half our fleet,’ Zach said, ‘but the King said so long Dad lets the airships fly out supply and rescue missions all around the country, for as long as necessary, he’ll fund us back to full strength.

  ‘As for the carpets, well, almost no one’s flying them anymore. People are too scared – I mean, when someone falls a thousand feet and punches a holes through your ceiling…’

  ‘Sounds like a damper, alright,’ Gregory muttered.

  ‘I heard the King’s going to pass a law making parachutes mandatory for everyone on a carpet,’ Susannah said.

  ‘Yeah, Mum’s got about thousands of them in the pipeline for our ships too,’ Zach said.

  ‘That really sounds like an obvious sort of thing to do,’ Gregory said, struck.

  ‘There’s nothing more elusive than the obvious,’ Johanna sing-songed.

  ‘And that idiot – Suraj – what did you do to piss him off so much?’ Gregory asked. ‘And for the sake of all that is holy, how did you turn him pink?’

  Zach’s face darkened.

  ‘It’s Mum they actually hate,’ he said edgily, and he held out the Artemis. ‘They hate her coz she makes these.’

  ‘That’s an instrument, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of sorts. Only it uses someone else’s magic, instead of your own,’ Zach said.

  ‘How is that even possible? And that does sound like necromancy,’ Gregory said.

  ‘It’s not. Look close.’

  It was made of stone and metal, and had intricate runic carvings.

  ‘I don’t know spells,’ Zach said smugly. ‘With that baby, I don’t need to know spells. The spells are all inside it – all I do is point and shoot.’

  ‘The spells are… inside this?’

  Zach nodded.

  ‘That’s impossible, you can’t just trap a spell-’

  ‘You can if you’re a genius like mum,’ Zach said. ‘She knows more about runes and runecraft than anyone else in the world, I reckon, and that’s how the shooters work. Pull out that little chip on the side of the shooter – you see what’s on it?’

  Gregory made out a delicate looking carving.

  ‘That’s a rune,’ he said, ‘a magical instruction written down.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Zach. ‘Power it up and the instruction – the magic – gets executed. And if you know enough runes, you can get the instructions to say pretty much anything. That rune you’re holding instructs a change in color.’

  Gregory nodded. He had heard this from Alf.

  ‘So you put a rune into this… shooter,’ Gregory said, ‘and you feed it your own magic, and it’ll cast the spell that’s on the rune? And you can put in different runes?’

  He let that titbit sink in.

  ‘That’s really cool!’

  It was – so long a mage could write down the runic form of a spell, they would never have to actually learn it.

  ‘But,’ Gregory said, ‘you’re no mage yet. You can’t channel magic, even someone else’s. How’d you cast the spell?’

  ‘True, you need magic to cast, but I’ll get to that in a minute,’ Zach said. ‘First, do you know runes lose power?’

  ‘Yes,’ Susannah answered, ‘Once you’ve carved out a rune and use
d it, you can’t use the same carving again – you’d have to draw the runes all over again if you want to cast the same spell.’

  ‘Sounds tedious,’ Gregory said.

  Zach shrugged.

  ‘It was necessary. Runes carry intent, and the way they’ve always been written meant that they had to be specific to space and time. Once you execute a particular rune, it becomes redundant, because the space and time written into it were differently.’

  Alf had told Gregory that too.

  ‘At least that’s how it used to be… until Mum came along, and turned it all on its head.

  ‘She decided that re-carving runes over and over was stupid, and that runes ought to be more flexible. She found a way to write runes that took away the time and space constraints… which in turn made them reusable. You could brainlessly cast any spell any number of times so long your magical stamina lasted.’

  ‘My dad loves your mum for that,’ Susannah said. ‘Drawing runes over and over is a massive headache – he said her work made his own much easier. There was talk of Knighting your mother.’

  ‘That love didn’t last, did it? But I’ll get to that in second,’ Zach said. ‘Anyhow, that’s how the Shooters Mark I and Mark II worked. But Mum didn’t stop there. A normal person can only cast spells so many times before become tired, right? Mum figured if she could get people to store magic they weren’t using somehow, then they could bring it out when it’s needed. Using her new kind of Runecrafting – she calls it Runeflows – she came up with a way to circulate magic within the rune.’

  Zach looked around proudly at the blank faces staring back at him.

  ‘I’ve no rotten clue what you just said to me,’ Gregory said.

  ‘Me either,’ Susannah said.

  Jo took another cookie.

  ‘Ah,’ Zach said, scratching his head. ‘She wrote a Runeflow which directs the magic to recast itself on the rune… and so the magic stays in the rune till we channel it out somewhere.’

  ‘It goes in circles around the rune?’ Johanna asked.

  ‘That’s right, until someone uses that magic up in a spell.’

  ‘And because these runes are reusable, you could just charge that rune up whenever you wanted?’ Gregory said slowly. ‘And use it the next time you needed a back-up?’

  Zach nodded, looking expectant.

  Gregory saw it.

  ‘Zach, who can use that magic, once it’s there in the rune?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s what mum wondered,’ Zach said gleefully, ‘And soon as she thought it, she had Dad try and draw magic from the rune.’

  ‘And it worked?’ Gregory asked, more excited than he could ever remember being.

  Zach hefted up the shooter, and said:

  ‘That twonk outside was pink, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Hot damn!’ Gregory said, his mouth a perfect ‘O’.

  ‘I know, right!’

  ‘What are you two so excited about?’ Susannah asked bemusedly.

  ‘Don’t you see? Don’t you see?’ Gregory said, clutching his hair. ‘You don’t do magic yet. But so long you could write a spell into this shooter – the Artemis – you don’t need to!’

  ‘I still want my own instrument,’ said Susannah, ‘No fancy toy will ever make up for doing my own spells. That’s just silly.’

  ‘’Course not,’ Zach said, ‘but while you’re getting good with an instrument, if I gave this to Johanna, she could do better magic than you.’

  ‘But she’d still be better off with her wand in the long run,’ Susannah said.

  ‘If I gave these babies to my boys back in Pencier,’ Gregory said, eyes gleaming, ‘they could do better magic than you could right now.’

  ‘But,’ began Susannah, when her eyes grew wide – ‘Oh! Mundanes could do magic!’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘They could just write any powerful spell into runes,’ said Susannah, looking awed, ‘and use an actual mage to charge those runes up.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Gregory said. ‘They wouldn’t know any spells, and they wouldn’t have their own magic… and they won’t need to. All they’d have to do is…’

  ‘… Point and shoot,’ whispered Susannah, and she looked up at Zach then. ‘That’s why they’re scared – that’s why everyone hates you and your mother, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s why the twonks outside were up in arms – because magic wouldn’t be exclusive anymore,’ Gregory said.

  Zach nodded.

  Gregory vowed that if he ever met that pompous pedigreed puffin of an Earl again, he would do a lot more than turn him pink.

  ‘Could just anyone buy these?’ Gregory said. ‘You’d have to shell out a pretty shine, wouldn’t you? They don’t look cheap.’

  ‘Cheaper than an instrument,’ Zach said, ‘and getting cheaper… though it’s not on the market yet. The store is just for exhibition for now, but give it a month or two.’

  ‘So if I had an Artemis, I won’t need an instrument?’ Johanna asked.

  ‘You probably would,’ Zach said, ‘unless you felt like buying a separate rune for every single spell you can think of doing.’

  ‘Hang on there,’ Gregory said, ‘Instruments carry runes, and I’ve never heard of people needing to redraw over and over again on instruments.’

  ‘Blood runes, the sort you get on instruments, are reusable,’ ‘What’s this got to do with them calling you a necromancer?’ ‘Your magic is sacred to you, so the Shamanate says,’ Zach said. ‘Necros have all kinds of ways of sucking your magic out, and necros are evil, so they’re saying mum’s evil.’

  ‘But your mum’s giving magic away, not stealing it,’ Gregory said.

  ‘The Shamanate has another way of putting giving magic away – blasphemy against nature,’ Zach snorted. ‘Helika and a couple of other Observant countries have already banned mum from entering the country on pain of death. And it’s prison for anyone caught with an Artemis. If you’re Mundane, it’s death.’

  Gregory whistled.

  ‘Observants don’t have too many mages, do they?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Zach said. ‘And the idea of sharing magic with Mundanes eats them up. ‘’Course, people here aren’t too down with it either.’

  ‘I think it’s wow,’ Johanna said.

  ‘Well, you’re smarter than the idiots, aren’t you?’ said Zach. ‘No one believed mum when she said she’d do what she was gonna do – laughed in her face actually – but she did, and the nice people of Domremy haven’t been so nice since.’

  A gentle tinkling filled the air.

  ‘That’ll be your carpet,’ Zach said.

  Sure enough, there was a man in a smart khaki uniform standing outside; a yellow balloon fluttered high above the shop. Zach paid the man, completely refusing hear anything about Gregory paying him back.

  ‘Make sure you put on the parachute,’ Zach said, and Gregory and Johanna both put on the lumpy backpack.

  ‘I’ll be off too,’ Susannah said, and then turned to Zach, ‘and sorry about the… twonks, earlier. I think your mum’s work is brilliant, but I’ve been told not to go around saying it.’

  Zach shook her hand, and then she shook Gregory’s hand with a dazzling smile, saying, ‘I’ll see you at the Cavern, I suppose?’

  ‘I suppose,’ Gregory said, smiling back.

  The carpet took off.

  The orange sun lit up the red rooftops of Coffer Street. Almost all the buildings flew a white flag, and a good number flew the orange flag. Coffer Street stretched from east to west along the banks of a narrow river, which flowed between two elongated lakes. The sky-piercing Spire was south of the river.

  ‘What do you call that river?’ Gregory asked Johanna.

  ‘That’s Fate,’ Johanna said. ‘It joins Lake Little Finger to Lake Big Finger.’

  Their carpet flew south over plains approaching steep, green mountains; and then up a valley between these mountains, which rapidly increased in height. The valley forked into t
wo at the foot of a peculiarly shaped mountain with a slender white tower at its peak, and high walls along its steep edges.

  ‘That’s Garuda,’ Johanna said.

  ‘Garuda – like the eagle? What is?’ Gregory asked.

  ‘The mountain,’ Johanna said. ‘If you fly high enough, the sides look like wings. And that tower is called the Gremlin’s Torch because it lights up at night. The high walls are called the Wings – the West Wing and the North Wing. That’s where my house is – on top of the West Wing – only it’s our house now’

  ‘That slide carried us all the way to Coffer Street from here?’ Gregory exclaimed disbelievingly. ‘That’s got to be nearly ten kilometres – I was barely in there a minute! And we’re higher than the Spire right now!’

  Johanna shrugged.

  They flew up and high along Garuda’s West Wing. Doorways and porches of houses carved into the massive wall opened out into the sky – Gregory’s new home, The Apple, was one of them.

  The carpet dropped them off and Gregory fell in love with the wind-buffeted balcony’s view.

  There was a large hamlet below, almost a kilometre down the mountainside; it was a collection red roofs and fields and winding lanes – and there was another hamlet further below that.

  ‘That’s Aegis, short for Under The Eagle’s Aegis, below us and the one lower down is Veil’s Wind,’ Johanna told him.

  ‘Why do they call it that?’ Gregory asked.

  ‘See that waterfall?’ said a slow voice behind him.

  Gregory nearly jumped out of his skin; Johanna actually jumped.

  An untidy, unshaven and wavy-haired man had come out of the house; he was pointing down and left into the valley, where silver water streamed off a high hill, becoming mist long before it struck the ground far below.

  ‘They call it the Bridalveil Falls, and at night they light it up from below, and you can see it from miles away. Hello, Gregory.’

  And even as Johanna huffed ‘Daddy!’, Quincy Appleby pulled Gregory into a warm hug.

  ‘I’m sorry that it took you so long to return home,’ Uncle Quincy said gently, ‘and I’m happy you’re back.’

  ‘I’m happy too,’ Gregory croaked out. Johanna had snaked her way into the hug, and Gregory’s stiff surprise melted into taffy. When they finally parted, it didn’t feel as if they had.

  ‘Where are you coming from?’ Uncle Quincy asked.

  Embarrassedly, Gregory narrated a shortened version of his afternoon, which left Uncle Quincy chuckling.

  ‘You’ll get used to all this quickly enough,’ he said. ‘But excellent – you’re making new friends already. I know both the Coffeys and the Zeppelins. They’re lovely people. Now I’ve got you something to wear in your room – get changed. We’re going out for dinner.’

  Gregory dressed more finely than he ever had before, but he was grateful that nothing sparkled. Their short flight on Uncle Quincy’s rich blue carpet took them south along the West Wing; the sides of the mountain lit up like jewels as it got darker. They dropped at a hollowed-out hole in the mountain that glowed with warm light.

  Johanna called out:

  ‘Mama Zouzou!’

  ‘Jo, little Jo! And with her father, too! Welcome!’ cried a sprightly old woman rushing out of the door. She put smacking kisses on either of the younger girl’s cheeks and Uncle Quincy’s.

  ‘And who’s this handsome young man?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s Vincent and Vera’s son.’

  Mama Zouzou’s mouth fell and she pulled Gregory into a warm, tight embrace. When she finally let go, she was wiping her eyes, saying:

  ‘Don’t mind me, I’m being silly. Come on in, dears.’

  Gregory, still jarred by the sudden and overwhelming display of affection, followed her into the crowded, warm and cosy restaurant. Mama Zouzou led them to the only empty table. Uncle Quincy placed a quick order, and the old woman bustled off.

  Minutes later, the dishes rolled out in massive portions. Gregory had had lasagne before, but this was something else: meat and spinach drowned in steaming layers of cheese.

  ‘You’ve had quite a day,’ Uncle Quincy said. ‘Has it all sunk in?’

  ‘Still sinking,’ Gregory said, starting his monumental meal. ‘I read the papers from the last week.’

  ‘Then you know what’s happened and what’s happening? Do you know what I’m doing?’ Uncle Quincy asked.

  Gregory nodded slowly.

  ‘You’re part of the Revival Committee, put together to rebuild Domremy,’ he said.

  ‘That’s right. Everything is broken, many are dead, many more are injured, and we’re short on all kinds of staff. What I wouldn’t give to have a hundred more with your skills. Fantastic job patching Ms. Flanders up, by the way. Brilliant stuff. I’ll have to send a lot of thanks your Director’s way, the good man.’

  ‘Do you know if they’re alright,’ Gregory asked, trying to keep worry out of his voice. ‘Has there been word?’

  ‘No, but I should have asked,’ Uncle Quincy said. ‘Write them a letter – Jo can show you how to send it tomorrow. And the earthquake? The spectres? You know all about them too? And you know of your nomination?’

  Gregory nodded.

  ‘Mango’s nomination too.’

  ‘And how do you feel about that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think I’m dreaming. It’s weird.’

  Uncle Quincy chuckled. ‘You don’t want it, then? You’ll refuse?’

  That question had been quietly festering in Gregory’s mind ever since he’d found out.

  ‘’Course I’m not gonna refuse,’ he muttered, embarrassed. ‘You think I should?’

  ‘It’s your decision, Gregory,’ Uncle Quincy said, throwing up his hands. ‘You did save a lot of people though.’

  ‘It’s not because I think I’m a hero or anything,’ Gregory said quickly.

  ‘But you are,’ Johanna piped up, frowning.

  ‘I wasn’t trying to save them – I was looking out for myself!’

  ‘You believe accepting will be undeserved, maybe even dishonest?’ Uncle Quincy said.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘But you’ve made up your mind to accept?’

  ‘Refusing would be stupid.’

  ‘Stupid?’

  ‘Yes, really stupid. It’s a knighthood, for crying out loud. It’s big – huge actually. The things I could do…’

  ‘What is it that you want to do?’

  ‘I don’t know – anything, so many things,’ Gregory said. ‘It’ll make looking for mum and dad easier, wouldn’t it?’

  Gregory said it without thinking, and his mind flashed to the records he had stashed away just outside the library. Uncle Quincy’s carefully neutral expression wobbled.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Just a thought.’

  ‘You want to look for your parents?’

  ‘’Course I do.’

  ‘And you think you’ll be able to find them?’

  ‘Someone found me, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yes. That they did,’ Uncle Quincy said slowly. ‘But just because you were found, that doesn’t mean your mum and dad will be too.’

  ‘I didn’t say I will find them,’ said Gregory. ‘But when three people go missing together and one of them turns up, isn’t it a little more likely that the other two will be found too?’

  ‘More, but not very.’

  ‘I’ll take it.’

  Uncle Quincy nodded slowly.

  ‘So you’re okay if I accept the knighthood?’ Gregory said, trying not to sound defiant.

  ‘Like I said, it’s your decision. No one can you deny earned it.’

  ‘I didn’t do it to be a Hero – I…’

  ‘I know, I know. But people don’t set out to be heroes, Gregory. Amongst the greatest qualities of recorded heroes is self-interest, a survival instinct. History favours the living,’ Uncle Quincy said, a smile curling his lips.

  ‘Though you may have bitten off more t
han you can chew.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You saw the gifts, didn’t you?’

  ‘What gifts – oh, all that stuff in my trunk?’

  ‘Yes. Have you looked over them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You should – some of them are of incredible historic value and magical power. Not to mention the tithes.’

  ‘Tithes? What tithes?’ Gregory asked.

  ‘Originally a voluntary tax – a tenth of one’s earnings, donated to a worthy cause…’

  ‘I know what tithes are. What I meant was, why are people giving me tithes?’

  ‘Well, in this case, they want to donate to a worthy individual, don’t they?’

  The idea of a fortune under his bed wasn’t immediately appealing. For one thing, he wasn’t a dragon. For another, he didn’t want to have his throat cut while he slept – dragons at least got a rich underbelly for armour.

  Items of great magical power on the other hand…

  ‘Who gave them to me?’ he asked.

  ‘The parents of the children you saved. You will need to write them a note of thanks. I’ll help you get started with that soon – you don’t look too happy.’

  ‘Being a Hero sounds like a headache already.’

  Uncle Quincy laughed again.

  ‘It’s true,’ he said, ‘the people want to make you a Hero more than you want to become one. People are determined to be grateful to you.’

  Gregory tried not to scowl.

  ‘Must they be?’ he asked.

  ‘Understand, they don’t actually want you to protect them again,’ Uncle Quincy said. ‘They want you to be a symbol, a hope that if a Voidmark strikes again, maybe everyone will be caught less off-guard. They want to see you, to wine and dine you. You’ll be lavishly gifted and everything, with things like the heirlooms in your trunk.’

  He was going to sparkle with more pizzazz than a firecracker night, Gregory thought, rubbing his temples.

  Uncle Quincy suddenly looked a lot sharper.

  ‘They might even ask you for favours. Actually, I’m going to be the first to ask you a favour.’

  Gregory looked nervous.

  ‘I want to ask you to trust me with something important. It’s about your tithes,’ Uncle Quincy said.

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘You’ve got about nine thousand Caesars and counting. Certainly more than you can use.’

  Gregory tried to imagine nine thousand Caesars and failed. An average instrument cost about seven Caesars – so six hundred of those – enough for fifteen orphanages like Laurie’s. He shuddered.

  Gregory knew where this was going, though.

  ‘You want to hold the money for me,’ he said.

  Uncle Quincy nodded.

  ‘You’ll be joining the Caverns soon. Your wealth won’t remain a secret. There is a lot of influence in the money you’ll have – influence that people, especially children of your age, will want to use. They’ll put on their sweetest smiles… and they’ll ask you to lend a helping hand here…a donation there… and if you do as they ask, they’ll stop asking and start telling. You’ll never be sure who your true friends are or what people really think of you.’

  Uncle Quincy spoke calmly, but his eyes were keen on Gregory. Gregory forced himself to reply just as calmly.

  ‘If I agree, when will you give it back to me?’

  ‘You’re thirteen – sorry – fourteen, now. I’d like to put the money into a sealed trust for you for about three years. Till then, I’ll provide you with an allowance, comparable to what your peers at school will have, nothing too extravagant. When you’re sixteen, you’ll gain limited access, which will nevertheless greatly inflate your allowance. Once you complete school, you’ll have complete access to your trust.’

  ‘What if there’s an emergency – or I need a lot of money urgently,’ Gregory asked, lacking a better question.

  ‘I’m Commander of the Throne’s Watch. If I say I want the trust released, it will be released. If I’m otherwise indisposed, your soon-to-be-conferred title grants you the privilege of approaching the Throne if you want to.’

  Gregory thought about it, but he had dreamt of magic, not fortunes, and he had no idea what to do with one now.

  He doubted it was enough to buy him a Zeppelin.

  He probably was going to get access to every book he could possibly want.

  But there was one thing, a seed of a thought planted in his mind ever since he’d been told that he was coming to Domremy City.

  ‘All right,’ Gregory said at last. ‘Put the stuff – the money – in a trust, was it? You keep it for me.’

  Uncle Quincy looked very surprised, and then his face broke into a wide beaming smile. He rolled forward and took Gregory’s hand in a warm grip, his other hand clasping Gregory’s shoulder.

  ‘Gregory, that’s just – wonderful of you. Thank you for trusting me with this,’ he said.

  Gregory took a deep breath.

  ‘I’d like to have one thing though. A portion of the tithes, maybe a tenth, kept with me.’

  He looked steadily at his Uncle and ignoring the sudden warmth in his own ears and face.

  Uncle Quincy frowned, though the warmth had not entirely left his face.

  ‘May I know why?’ he asked.

  ‘Just in case. I don’t know whether I’d ever need it, but I might, and I’d like to have it at hand. Just in case,’ said Gregory. Had Uncle Quincy looked down, he would have seen Gregory’s toes were crossed.

  After a long minute…

  ‘That’s reasonable enough, I suppose. Then we have a deal,’ Uncle Quincy said, nodding.

  Gregory released his breath, half-disbelieving that the older man had agreed. He squashed the tiny twinge of guilt he felt for lying to his Uncle – he knew exactly what he needed the money for, but this was something he did not feel like sharing.

  ‘Th-thanks,’ he said.

  ‘You’ll get along just fine, Greg,’ Uncle Quincy said. ‘Being a Hero – it has its perks. It’s actually not going to be all that bad, you know?’

  Gregory smiled weakly, and then perked up.

  ‘You said I’m going to join the Caverns?’ he asked excitedly. ‘When?’

  ‘You’ve got a month of preparatory at the Cavern, starting next week.’

  ‘Preparatory?’

  ‘Yes. It takes a while to get used to your magic – to get a feel for it. Every kid goes through Prep.’

  ‘But I don’t have an instrument.’

  ‘You’ll get one soon,’ Uncle Quincy reassured him. ‘You’ll be blooded at the Cavern, by the Headmistress herself. Oh, and in case you didn’t know… the Cavern is always headed by Domremy’s Queen.’

  ‘The Queen’s going to teach? Cool!’ Gregory said fervently, ‘When I was at the Cavern, for a moment I thought I’d never get to learn magic at all. Speaking of which, what happened to that great big creep?’

  ‘You defeated it,’ Uncle Gregory said, looking surprised. ‘I heard from the professors that there had been a spectre there, but when they went to find it, they only found you there.’

  He had defeated that thing? Impossible.

  ‘The last thing I remember is a claw through my chest, and then blacking out,’ Gregory said. ‘I didn’t beat it.’

  Uncle Quincy frowned.

  ‘There’s been no sign of it since,’ he said. ‘You were definitely the last person to see it. We checked every inch of the city for hidden spectres once the magic came back. Perhaps the sun killed it?’

  ‘No way,’ Gregory said, shaking his head. ‘That thing looked at me – it was more than smart. It could think. It was… aware. And that wasn’t all…’

  Gregory spoke of how that tall professor had spoken to the massive spectre. ‘He kept saying sorry. Who was he?’

  ‘Algernon,’ Uncle Quincy said, frowning intensely now. ‘An idiot, but I think he invented something terribly clever some years ago, so the Cavern let
s him stay on. He recognised that spectre, you say?’

  ‘It looked like it,’ Gregory said, shuddering as he remembered how the larger shadow had absorbed the smaller.

  ‘Then I’ll put a notice out on it,’ Uncle Quincy said, ‘but no one’s seen anything so far.’

  ‘Has anyone figured out what the creeps were? It’s been twelve days. Susannah said something about magical polarity changing.’

  ‘It’s true. Some how the world’s magical polarity reversed itself,’ Uncle Quincy said quietly, ‘But that should have only meant failed magic, not those abominations.’

  ‘Then what were they? The Sentinel demon army, after all?’

  ‘You heard that?’ Uncle Quincy chuckled, and then became serious. ‘The World Voidmark Committee has confirmed a few things but we’re not releasing the news just yet – every country around the world has agreed to coordinate. You’ll find out soon enough.’

  After dinner, they flew home and Uncle Quincy sent them to bed. Gregory didn’t argue; he was exhausted. Johanna kissed her cousin goodnight and went off into her den. Uncle Quincy produced a pair of pyjamas from Gregory’s cupboard.

  ‘I got you some things to wear, simple stuff. When you’re up to it, we’ll take you out for your wardrobe,’ Uncle Quincy said.

  ‘Thanks,’ Gregory said, a little embarrassed, but the older man pretended not to notice.

  ‘Greg?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I won’t tell you to not to get your hopes up about finding your mother and father,’ Uncle Quincy said. ‘You’ll have to receive the parents of those you saved in a day or two, but I’ll make sure to invite some people who knew your parents, and you can speak to them after the reception.’

  The older man looked serious.

  ‘Thank you,’ Gregory said, surprised and grateful.

  His uncle left the room.

  Gregory’s new bed looked incredibly inviting, but he did not clamber in; he had something to do. Digging out some stationery, he penned a letter to Director Laurie:

  Dear Director,

  I really hope that you and the everybody else are alright, and that the quake did not hurt too many people in Pencier.

  I am safe and unharmed, though it was close – you’ve probably heard the news already. Please don’t believe the nonsense you might read. My family is safe, and we’re getting along. I think I’ve made friends, but it’s too early to really tell.

  Are Reginald, Alfred, and Michelin are safe? And Astrid? Please, let me know as quickly as you can.

  I do not have much else to tell. I’ve been unconscious for eleven days, and have just woken. I’ll keep you posted.

  Regards,

  Gregory Grey.

  He folded the letter, put it into a rich envelope and addressed it. Then he pulled out another sheet of paper and penned the third letter he had ever written:

  Dear Mango,

  I can’t believe I woke up alive today. I’m ever so glad you’re safe.

  I’ve had a crazy day, and I’m too tired to write it all down. But I see the newspapers.

  The world’s gone bonkers, but I suppose you must have already gotten used to it.

  They say that the quake was felt all the way down to the Southern Orient. That’s five thousand miles away, halfway around the planet! And the number who died… how DID we make it out alive again?

  Apparently, we’ve coupled up. I think they’re going to be sad, but they’re insane, and they deserve it.

  I’ve no idea what I’m going to do with the Knighthood, or the boons. I read that you get to ask for three, and the Throne’s got to grant it, though we don’t have to ask for them all at once. Any ideas?

  My Uncle is nice. My cousin is cute. I met Zach again, and a girl called Susannah. If it wasn’t for the fact that I have no idea of how to get anything at all to work here, it would feel like I’ve been here forever.

  When can we meet?

  Gregory.

  He put this in another envelope, but not knowing her address, simply wrote her name on it. That, he thought sleepily, did not take nearly as much time as the first letter he had ever written. Letters were easy if one kept them short and to the point.

  He changed into the pyjamas Uncle Quincy had laid out, and gratefully crawled into bed. There was still so much he wanted to know, and so many questions he wanted answered, but he was much too exhausted to dwell on them tonight.

  Before sleep took him though, his lips stretched in a small smile: he still could not believe Uncle Quincy had let him keep over nine hundred Caesars! Despite his guilt, he couldn’t have explained his true purpose for his new wealth. For he knew exactly what it was – to buy real instruments of magic and real books of magic.

  Reggie, Alf, and Mixer were all going to get their own instruments and books to learn magic if Gregory had to deliver them himself.