by Janet Fox
“Lark?” said Kat. “Can you help him?”
“I can get rid of the bad parts,” Lark said, and she mumbled.
Baines paused, and said, “Ah, but wait. I am a tree. Must go outside. A bit of fresh air, that’s the ticket. Must put down roots, that sort of thing. Use magic to make new leaves. Jolly good.” He turned and shuffled for the door.
Willow chortled.
“I’ll see to it that he doesn’t wander off,” said Leo.
Repairing the castle would take effort. The stone walls, portraits, and tapestries were damaged, and dead leaves littered the floors. Amelie worked with Willow to magic some brooms but it would take time to repair everything.
“Well,” said Gumble as they listened to the swish, swish of the brooms, “we have plenty of kindling for the fires.”
Lark danced around the dinner table, trying to get them all to try her special celebration pie. Gumble must have been still a bit woozy because she took a big bite. And then froze, eyes wide.
“Lark,” said Amelie sweetly, “sugar? Or salt?”
“Oh, dear,” Lark said. “Or maybe baking soda? They all look so much alike.”
* * *
* * *
When he went to his room, Isaac opened his pack to retrieve the casket that had held the watch and was surprised when not two, but three, books tumbled to the floor.
There was Shelley’s Frankenstein, and Grimms’ Tales, of course, but a third slim volume in a red leather binding was unexpected. He opened it to the title page.
A Personal Account of the Craven Street Monster, London, 1873
by Sergeant Winslow Fifer
as Witnessed by the Sergeant and His Fellow Officer Peter Ramsey in 1870
Isaac turned the pages to several hand-drawn images. One was of the street on which he’d landed with the wraith—complete with the photographer’s storefront. Another was a very good likeness of the wraith itself.
Isaac turned to the final pages to read.
We do not know what became of the monster once it disappeared after the near-fatal bite Officer Ramsey suffered, but we fear it to be still at large. Yes, there are monsters in this world, and it behooves the casual person to shutter his windows and lock his doors at dusk, lest he should encounter such a vile beast in the darkness.
Isaac leaned back against his bed. He had possession of a book he’d never seen before, with a story that grew out of his time travel to Victorian London. How had he engaged the law of unintended consequences when he’d left the wraith in nineteenth-century London?
Would the wraith return to Rookskill still seeking Kat’s chatelaine?
Mistress Vivienne had said the Death’s Head watch carried a promise and a curse. Isaac didn’t want to have created an evil out of what seemed like the right thing to do.
On that score, Isaac thought with a bit of irony, maybe only time would tell, but he resolved to ask Kat, who knew about science.
CHAPTER 58
Isaac
1942
In the days that followed there was much to do. Gumble and MacLarren resumed their lessons in magic with renewed fervor. Baines went back to MI-6, where the children later learned he’d been given a new post tending to the gardens around the buildings, “since he appears to be under the misapprehension that he is a tree.” Gumble added, “His superiors are not surprised.”
MI-6 was pleased with the progress with Rookskill’s Special Alternative Intelligence Unit. Leo forewarned them of a planned German invasion in the northernmost Shetlands. Amelie and Colin mustered various ghostly and animal spies to discover the movements of men and munitions on the eastern front. Kat created spells of protection around Allied troops on the western front. And Isaac enhanced all of their magical abilities, making them each stronger, day by day.
Isaac also practiced his shapeshifting and found that he could begin to take specific forms, and even better, with practice he could change those around him, too. He began to master the art of disappearing at will. All of this would be invaluable to them as Artifact Hunters, and work on that important task began right away.
* * *
* * *
Isaac took careful inventory of the items in the Vault, and he and Leo also made a study of the diaries of the Guardians that were collected in the small library.
“My father knew these diaries were here,” Isaac said one evening.
“That’s why your parents sent you to Rookskill,” said Leo. “There’s another thing. Look at this.” He fetched another huge volume with faint lettering. History of Rookskill Castle, From the Oldest Times Until the Present, the “present” turning out to be the middle of the seventeenth century. Leo read, “‘The rocks upon which Rookskill Castle stands today held the ancestral home of one of the Order’s early communities, later to become known as the Order of the Artifact Hunters. Rookskill contains deep magic.’” Leo added, “I’m sure your father knew that.”
As all five children studied the roles of Artifact Hunters, they learned that many artifacts had fallen into the wrong hands in the past and caused havoc. Apollo’s Arrow could cause either famine or good health, and had done both. The Shirt of Nessus was poison and responsible for several unexpected deaths.
“Heaven forbid that the Nazis should get their hands on any of these,” said Kat.
“Or the fae,” said Amelie. “Listen to this.”
The fae lost magical artifacts when humans created the Vault. Humans did so to prevent mischief and misuse of the artifacts, whether by human or fae. Of course, the fae, being fae, are lazy and prone to give up rather than pursue a task, for they dearly love to party.
Isaac sat up straight, and said in his most serious voice, “I must have much more human blood than fae blood.” He paused. “Don’t you think?”
“I think,” said Amelie with a big smile, “that we’re all going to like being Artifact Hunters with you, and that you’ll be a brilliant Guardian of the Vault.”
Isaac blushed right to his toes.
* * *
* * *
The power of the Death’s Head watch continued to haunt Isaac. He and Leo searched the library for information about it, trying to determine whether Isaac had unleashed any of the curse. They did find one scrap that related to his travel to the circle of stones, which he now knew was the Ring of Brodgar.
The user of the watch may envision, through time travel, the end of a civilization. Blessing or curse?
“That’s cheerful,” said Leo.
“Yes, but maybe that’s it,” Isaac said. “In the Ring of Brodgar I witnessed people fighting one another and then the Unseelie fae came to take them. It was the end of their world.”
“So, it’s don’t fight, or else?”
“Well, I guess. War could be the end of the world, right?”
“Then what we’re doing as Artifact Hunters and the SAIU is even more important,” Leo said. “For more than just king and country.”
And then there was the other aspect of the watch. The law of unintended consequences. Isaac told Kat about finding the book about the wraith. “I had never seen that book before, so it didn’t exist until I took the wraith back in time. Would the wraith come back to find itself?”
She tapped her chin. “I’ve been reading up. The wraith would be caught in a predestination paradox. In a time loop. It would come back to this very same place and time to have this very same set of experiences happen to it, over and over. And what it was before, the magister as you called it, that still exists, too, and we have to hope that the two never meet, as some think that could create a time implosion. But as the wraith, it catches up with itself, just to repeat its time loop forever.”
She finished, “Fortunately, we don’t have to participate again. That we realize.”
He scratched his forehead. “Okay. I don’t really understand, but all right. So, what about my
parents? And the time stream?”
“That’s different. A time stream is neither a time nor a place. Time is like a river and there are eddies. Your parents are caught in an eddy. Unfortunately, it’s an eddy that’s unreachable, especially since we’re already downstream of them.”
“Can I go back to them?”
“Not without changing everything,” Kat said. “Getting yourself caught in a time loop maybe. Or worse.”
“So, there’s nothing . . .”
Kat pressed her lips together before saying, “I don’t think so. Sorry.”
“But,” said Amelie, peeking over the edge of the chair in which she sat reading, “I remember seeing something else in the Vault ledger about an artifact that might let you talk to them. I can’t remember exactly what it was, but . . . You should go look.”
Isaac spent a couple of hours scouring the ledger before he found it.
Item number K-127. This object looks to be a snow globe, but it is in fact a time warp (a suspension of time). On the bottom is the trigger. The user can set the trigger and identify the persons and time in the past the user wishes to visit and then enter and eventually leave the time warp.
This time warp is a charming place—a small cottage in the woods in winter. It’s a way to visit old friends or family who have passed on without changing the future or the past (as with a time machine).
This entry was written in his father’s hand, and his father’s usually straightforward hand slanted as if he was betraying emotion. Isaac found the snow globe, and yes, it was charming. He smiled.
He could see his parents, and maybe even his grandfather, from time to time, even if only for a little while.
CHAPTER 59
The Wraith in London
Circa 1890
Tales tell of a creature—or numerous creatures—that roam the foggy streets of London during the waning decades of the nineteenth century.
Jack the Ripper. Spring-heeled Jack. The mad roving tiger. Ghosts and demons and glowing-eyed beasts. Wild tales from a city that is growing fast, that suffers thick pea-soup fogs, that is captivated by the wondrous findings of a certain Mr. Charles Darwin. The nineteenth century is a time that has spawned a collection of writers—Poe, Shelley, Stoker, Dickens, Stevenson—who pen some of the most frightening and fascinating stories written in the English language.
Perhaps that’s why a wraith can make its way through the city and then out, moving only at nighttime, wandering the countryside, ever traveling north. Perhaps that’s why this wraith survives, through the energy of grim nightmares and dark magic. Perhaps that’s why this wraith lives a very long time as it slinks ever closer to its great desire, drawn as it is, over and over, to a castle far north in Scotland.
This wraith has a skill for making, and it does so as it moves through the countryside. It makes small mechanical monsters that follow it like children follow the Pied Piper. They follow it north, from glade to glen to rocky burn, to a place that becomes known as “the place of the elves.”
Every so often a child wandering off by herself will hear a small noise and see something in the bracken. Something hunkering low, fearful, watchful, having a tiny hedgehog body with gigantic eyes and peculiar ears, or a bird body with baby-size cat legs. But no one can catch these little beasties, so the myths around them grow and become fanciful stories of elvish hybrids that were made by a wicked magician—whom some called magister—who has turned into a wraith.
A wraith who desires a tiny object, shiny and magical: the thimble that holds the soul of its beloved.
CHAPTER 60
The Artifact Hunters
1943 and Beyond
On a full-moon winter night in 1943, five children and one giant dog materialize in New York City’s Central Park on Gapstow Bridge, one by one, from thin air, with a soft whoosh. They stand silent for a moment, gathering their thoughts and making certain that their arrival has not been noticed. A black cat, who moments earlier was washing his paws on the bridge rail, slinks into the shadows and watches the strange children with unblinking eyes.
The very tall boy at the center of the group greets the others with silent nods and pockets the Stone of Recall, an artifact that gives him the power to transport his Hunters from place to place.
Isaac Wolf, Katherine and Amelie Bateson, Leo Falstone, and Colin Drake have been using magic to help with the war effort and so much more. They each have code names now. One, the Librarian, has informed Allied commanders of the best places to land on the beaches. Another, the Diviner, has rallied certain unseen but benevolent spirits to carry out acts of sabotage on the enemy. A third, the Dragon, has learned from animals where bunkers lie hidden and prisoners are held. A fourth, the Professor, has generated strong spells to protect innocents when possible and glamour their captors.
And the fifth, their leader, the Wolf, can create their disguises, amplify their gifts, and inform them when he needs their help to seek out a potentially dangerous magical artifact or perform some other task for the benefit of the human race, as Artifact Hunters have done for millennia.
“If you find it,” the Wolf says in a low voice, “send the signal to the rest of us.”
The others murmur assent.
“I’ll bring the Vault to”—he pulls out a folded map—“the Museum of Natural History, Central Park West and Seventy-Ninth Street. I’ve been there before. In the Hall of African Mammals, there’s a lion diorama. We’ll meet there.”
“I like lions,” says the Dragon. The cat raises its head, gazing at the boy fondly. “What’s it called again? The artifact?”
“Tablet of Destinies,” the Wolf answers. “About so big. Black. Actually makes pictures, like at the cinema.” He makes a rectangular space with his hands. “Amazing. But don’t be tempted to read it.”
The Professor nods and says, “Law of unintended consequences.”
“And after we find that one, back to Rookskill for a bit?” asks the Librarian. “I’m in the middle of reading volume seven, and it’s quite exciting.”
The Diviner adds, “And I need to get back to have a few words with Lark. Apparently, the new recruits are starving.”
The Wolf smiles. “Yes. Back to Rookskill for a bit. Right, then. Ready? I’ll make disguises.”
If you were watching and looked away for an instant, when you looked back you’d see five elderly people, bent and shuffling, and one seeing-eye dog.
The Wolf nods to his friends, who nod back, and they separate and slip away through the moonlight, ready to use their strange magical gifts for the good of all.
Acknowledgments
This novel went through many iterations, and without the support of my brilliant editor, Kendra Levin, I could not have brought it to life. Patient and thoughtful, she knew how to help me reach more deeply into characters and plot and pry the story’s heart—and Isaac’s—wide-open.
Much of what became the central concepts of both time travel and the Vault of Magical Artifacts was hatched during brainstorming sessions with my son, Kevin. He has the makings of a master storyteller, and I’m proud to say (and not only as a mother, but as a fellow writer) that he’s pursuing that career path in earnest. His imagination is dazzling, and he knows what it means to tap the emotional core of a character. As the saying goes, watch this space.
I lucked into a collaborative critique partnership with one of the best writers in the kid-lit world, Jen Cervantes. Jen was with me from the very start of this story, and I thank my lucky stars for that! She’s an amazing editor. Not only did she read every word of this manuscript, she read every word at least twice—and she read a lot of words that ended up on the cutting-room floor—with nary a complaint, and often with the most constructive detailed criticism a writer could wish for. I owe you so many abrazos, mi amiga. ¡Y hasta la próxima vez!
My agent, Erin Murphy, not only vets my work before submission, s
he edits my work before submission, and that is truly a gift. And she provides the strongest shoulders, warmest smiles, sincerest hugs, and the most intelligent observations and determined support—honestly, I don’t know what I would do without you, Erin, and the entire EMLA team and family.
Aneeka Kalia, assistant editor at Viking, stepped in to provide invaluable oversight and guidance. Kate Renner is the talented designer and Jen Bricking did the brilliant cover and illustrations. Thank you all.
And where would I be without Janet Pascal, easily the best copy editor in the business? Thank you, Janet, for making time for my book! And to Anne Heausler, whose sharp eye caught so many extra words and exclamation points (ahem), and who gave Wyvern a bit of new life, so many thanks.
Our longtime friend Lee Freeman gave me Michael Gruenbaum’s moving memoir about his life as a Jewish boy in Prague who was sent to Terezín internment camp during the Nazi occupation. My husband patiently accompanied me to Prague and to Terezín. Let me just say that as beautiful as Prague is, Terezín is equally or more heartbreaking. While The Artifact Hunters is not a story of the Holocaust, it is a story about survival, friendship, and the choice to do good. I hope that the underlying message I’ve conveyed to young readers—to all readers—is that it is possible to stand up for what is right and good in the face of evil.
About the Author
Janet Fox writes award-winning fiction and non-fiction for children of all ages. Her published works include GET ORGANIZED WITHOUT LOSING IT (Free Spirit, new edition 2017), and the YA novels FAITHFUL, FORGIVEN, and SIRENS (all from Penguin). THE CHARMED CHILDREN OF ROOKSKILL CASTLE (Viking, 2016), her middle grade debut, received starred reviews from Kirkus, Booklist, Publishers Weekly, and Shelf Awareness, is on numerous lists, and received SCBWI's Crystal Kite award. VOLCANO DREAMS (Web of Life Books, 2018) is her debut picture book. A companion novel to CHARMED CHILDREN is due out from Viking in 2020. Janet is a former high school teacher and a 2010 graduate of Vermont College of Fine Arts. She's represented by Erin Murphy, Erin Murphy Literary Agency. Find out more at www.janetsfox.com.