The Magic Collector

by Clayton Wood

  “Thanks for trying,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “So…now what do we do?” she asked, looking around.

  “Well, we could go back to The Studio and mingle with Thaddeus’s adoring fans,” Gideon stated. “But I’m not much for crowds, to be honest.”

  “Me neither,” Bella confessed.

  “And I’ve just escaped one,” a voice called out from behind. They turned, seeing none other than Grandpa approaching them.

  “Thaddeus,” Gideon greeted. “I was just showing Bella the Plane of Reflection, and the Dragonkind.”

  “Ah yes,” Grandpa stated. “A perfect segue into our next item of business. Come on, let’s go to lunch and we’ll talk about it.”

  “Ooo, I’m starving,” Bella replied, her stomach grumbling.

  “Naturally,” Grandpa quipped. “You’re an artist.”

  “And what exactly is our next item of business?” Gideon inquired. Grandpa gave him a mischievous grin.

  “Why revenge, of course.”

  * * *

  Revenge, it appeared, was a dish best-served cold.

  Literally, in fact. For Gideon and Bella filled Grandpa in on everything that’d happened while he was stuck in the painting…and what had occurred over the last ten years with the Collector and the Pentad. They did so over a dessert of fine chocolate and vanilla ice cream, after a wonderful lunch. Grandpa had taken them to one of the restaurants in Havenwood’s popular downtown district, a small establishment called The Painted Feast. Quite literally downtown, as it was down the mountain a ways. The restaurant itself was quite unusual. The “chef” was actually a Painter, and would take requests from patrons, then paint their meals in real time, drawing them out to be consumed. Bella had chosen a meal of chicken with caramelized onions and peppers, as had Grandpa.

  It was, she found, absolutely scrumptious.

  After scarfing up their meals, everyone finished their desserts, and they left the restaurant, taking a leisurely stroll back home. It was then that Grandpa took the opportunity to let them in on his plan.

  “The Collector is consolidating power,” he began. “And I suspect the Pentad will not act with sufficient urgency to defeat him.”

  “The Pentad has far more resources,” Gideon pointed out.

  “Then why haven’t they defeated him?” Grandpa inquired.

  “He wasn’t considered much of a threat until he took Blackthorne,” Gideon answered. “And the Pentad was preoccupied with winning their war with Epirus.”

  “That’s all well and good,” Grandpa replied. “But even if General Craven managed to secure Blackthorne, the damage is already done.”

  “How so?” Gideon inquired.

  “You say the Collector was cataloging the various magic items in the paintings in Blackthorne,” Grandpa answered. “And in the books there. Why do you suppose he was doing that?”

  “To find weapons for his army,” Gideon replied.

  “Did he ever ship those items out of Blackthorne?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” Gideon answered. “He had plenty of paintings taken out of the library, but I assume it was for organization purposes. The Pentad’s army sat at the base of the mountain for years…”

  “…to prevent the Collector from establishing a route to bring those paintings and books back to him, yes,” Grandpa finished. “And yet the Collector never attempted to destroy that army. Never used all of Blackthorne’s wonderful paintings against the Pentad.”

  “What are you saying?” Gideon asked.

  “The Collector had to know that, even if he took Blackthorne, the Pentad would ensure it was useless to him. But he still took it.”

  “Perhaps to get to you,” Gideon proposed.

  “Ha!” Grandpa scoffed. “Unlikely. How many bounty hunters did he send after me?” Gideon grimaced.

  “Not many,” he conceded.

  “So he had to be after Blackthorne’s resources,” Grandpa deduced. “And if he knew he wouldn’t be able to get those resources down the mountain and through the Pentad’s army…”

  “…then he must have found another way to ship them,” Gideon realized, his eyes widening. “A magical path in and out of Blackthorne.”

  “Precisely,” Grandpa stated with a smile.

  “But the only path to Blackthorne was the magic hallway leading to Centrum,” Gideon protested. Bella frowned.

  “Centrum?”

  “The capitol city of the Pentad,” Gideon explained. “The Pentad destroyed that hallway to stop the Collector and his armies from getting to the palace.”

  “True,” Grandpa agreed.

  “And Blackthorne has magic that prevents anyone else from making another path to it,” Gideon continued.

  “I know,” Grandpa agreed. “I wrote it myself.”

  “What do you mean by ‘path?’” Bella inquired.

  “Writers can create magical links between places in this world,” Grandpa explained. “For example, I wrote that there was a hallway in the armory in Centrum that leads to a hallway in Blackthorne…even though they’re nearly a thousand miles apart.”

  “Oh.”

  “I also wrote that no new links to Blackthorne could be created. Very powerful magic indeed…and no other Writer alive could break that magic. Which means the Collector must have discovered a path that already existed.”

  Gideon frowned at this, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  “If he did,” he replied, “…then all of those books and paintings he had taken out of the library…”

  “…are currently in his possession,” Grandpa confirmed.

  “Which means the Pentad is in deep trouble,” Gideon realized.

  “I don’t get it,” Bella interjected. They both turned to her. “Why didn’t the Pentad just take Blackthorne back years ago? Why wait until now to do it?”

  “Because they were…otherwise occupied,” Gideon answered. “At the time, the Pentad was at war with another country…the great nation of Epirus.”

  “Oh, right,” Bella remembered. General Craven had mentioned something about that.

  “Divide and conqueror,” Grandpa piped in.

  “And they did try at first, with smaller forces,” Gideon continued. “But the Collector himself was there at the time, and defeated them.” He sighed. “It took ten years for the Pentad to win their war with Epirus, so they would have the ability to send Craven himself to lead the charge against Blackthorne.”

  “And the Collector must have known that the war was nearly won,” Grandpa opined. “So of course he would have prepared for the full force of the Pentad’s armies.”

  “By draining Blackthorne of its most valuable resources, then allowing it to be retaken,” Gideon deduced. “But even if the Collector has all the power of Blackthorne, he still doesn’t stand a chance against the full might of the Pentad’s military.”

  “If they can find him,” Grandpa countered.

  “No one knows where he is?” Bella asked. Grandpa and Gideon shook their heads. “Oh.”

  “I tried to figure out his location myself, while I was undercover,” Gideon revealed. “Apparently only his highest-ranking generals and Painters know where he is.” His eyes widened then. “Like Kendra,” he realized, snapping his fingers. “If Craven managed to capture her…”

  “…then the Pentad might get the location from her,” Grandpa concluded.

  “If so, the Pentad will simply send its armies to defeat him,” Gideon pointed out. “Which means we don’t need to do anything.”

  “Except we do,” Grandpa retorted. Gideon frowned, clearly not understanding. “If the Pentad takes the Collector alive, that could be…problematic for you, Gideon.”

  The color drained from Gideon’s face.

  “Ah,” he muttered.

  “What?” Bella asked. “Why?”

  Grandpa glanced at Gideon.

  “I take it that means you haven’t told her,” Grandpa deduced. They’d reached the mout
h of the Water Dragon cave by then, and Bella stopped, turning to eye Gideon suspiciously. Both men stopped with her.

  “Told me what?” she pressed.

  Grandpa gave Gideon a look, and Gideon grimaced.

  “I don’t think this is the time,” he countered.

  “You know very well the damage secrets can do,” Grandpa scolded. “You’ve let this one rot inside of you for far too long, Gideon. It’s time you told Bella the truth.”

  “Thaddeus…”

  Grandpa crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Gideon.

  “If you don’t tell her,” he declared, “…I’ll tell her myself.”

  Gideon sighed, his shoulders slumping. Then he turned to Bella.

  “Remember the story I told you about my son Xander?” he asked.

  “The one who died,” she recalled.

  “That’s right,” Gideon confirmed. “My wife left me. My son was dead. I…was not in a good place.”

  He swallowed visibly, then cleared his throat.

  “I stayed in the house Xander had been born in. I kept his room just as it was the day he died. But…I went through dark times, Bella. I fell apart. Started…drinking.”

  He rubbed his hands together, taking a deep breath in.

  “And then I did the only thing I knew how to do to express myself,” he continued. “I wanted to preserve my memory of Xander, the way I remembered him being. So I…painted him.”

  Bella blinked.

  “I thought…”

  “It’s illegal, yes,” Gideon interjected. “I had every intention of destroying the painting after it was done. All I wanted to do was express myself, to tell make sense of how he died. But when I saw him there on the canvas, looking so real…reaching out for help, pleading for me to save him…well…”

  “You signed the painting,” she realized with a gasp. “You drew him out!”

  Gideon nodded.

  “At first it was wonderful,” he confessed. “It was like Xander was back from the dead, like he’d never died at all. He was exactly like Xander, in every way. It was…uncanny.” He sighed. “I treated him like my son. I told him he was my son. That he’d just suffered a head injury, and that’s why he couldn’t remember things.”

  Bella put a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening further.

  “But as he grew older, he began to question me. He tried to paint, but he couldn’t feel the Flow. He demanded to know why. I told him it was because of his injury, but he didn’t believe me. And one day, he found his painting.”

  “Oh god,” Bella breathed.

  “He was furious,” Gideon continued bitterly. “He called me a liar. And he was right, Bella. I was a liar. I told him he was Xander, and he believed it. So when he found out his whole life was a lie, he…left.”

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Well, I didn’t hear from him for a long, long time,” Gideon confessed. “Decades, in fact. I met your mother, and we settled down in Havenwood and had you.”

  He closed his eyes, rubbing his face wearily. Then he lifted his gaze to Bella.

  “And then I heard that a man in a black suit, wielding a glowing silver blade had attacked Blackthorne. The same suit and sword I’d made for…the boy I’d painted, so that nothing could harm him again.”

  Bella gasped in horror.

  “You’re saying you…”

  “Made the Collector, yes,” Gideon confirmed. “I created the man who murdered your mother. The man who hunted you and Thaddeus down.” His eyes grew moist, his lower lip trembling. “Your mother died because I couldn’t let go of my son. She died because of me.”

  Chapter 29

  Piper sat on the bench in the waiting room before the Collector’s office, his right knee bouncing up and down rapidly. He chewed at his lip, staring at the door, then glancing at Miss Savage, who was doing some paperwork at her desk. The Collector had been making him wait for nearly an hour…just like he had two days ago. He’d ended up not seeing Piper…and they’d rescheduled to today.

  “How long is this gonna take?” he asked her. She glanced up from her work.

  “Be patient,” she replied. “The Collector is a busy man.”

  “That’s what you said the last time,” he retorted. She didn’t respond, continuing her paperwork. Piper sat there for a moment longer, then stood up, pacing back and forth in front of the bench.

  “It’s been an hour,” he insisted.

  “The Collector is still in Castle Over,” she explained.

  “So is my wife,” Piper replied. “And I haven’t seen her in five days!”

  “I’m sure she’s busy too,” Miss Savage reassured.

  Piper grimaced, continuing to pace. He hadn’t seen Kendra since she’d been promoted five days ago. And it’d been years since they’d been apart for that long. Kendra had to know how much he missed her.

  “I just want to see her,” Piper grumbled. “Even if it’s just for lunch.”

  “I understand,” Miss Savage replied. She paused then. “Would a little music help while you wait?”

  “No, I don’t want any damn music,” Piper shot back. The last thing he wanted was some Musician to mess with his head. “I want my damn wife.”

  “You have to be patient,” she insisted. “Please sit down.”

  Piper glared at her, but did as he was told, plopping himself down on the bench and putting his hands between his knees. He fidgeted, eyeing Miss Savage suspiciously. There was something off about her. Why a Musician of her caliber would settle for being the Collector’s secretary was beyond him.

  If Kendra were here, she would’ve told him he was just being paranoid.

  Of course I am, he grumbled to himself. Look who I’m dealing with.

  “Can you check?” he pressed.

  Miss Savage sighed, pushing her chair back from her desk, then standing and walking to the Collector’s door. She knocked, and moments later, cracked open the door.

  Then shut it.

  “He’s still not back from Castle Over,” she declared, giving him an apologetic look. “I’m afraid he has another appointment soon. You’ll have to reschedule.”

  “Reschedule?” Piper blurted out incredulously, bolting up from his seat. “I’ve been…”

  “…very patient, yes,” Miss Savage interjected. She walked back to her desk, sitting down. “I have an appointment available next week, at six o’clock in the evening. Would that work for you?”

  Piper stared at her, his fists clenched at his sides. He took a deep breath in, opening his hands and giving her the least sincere smile he could manage.

  “That would be just lovely,” he muttered.

  “Would you like me to…” she began, but Piper was already storming out of the waiting room. She watched him go, then stood again, walking to the Collector’s door and opening it. She stepped through into his office, seeing him at his desk.

  “The Actor is going to be a problem,” she warned. The Collector didn’t even glance up at her.

  “Then solve him,” he replied.

  * * *

  The Collector made his way through the labyrinth-like halls of Castle Under, the heels of his magical boots clicking on the marble floors. He’d received word that Simon had completed his painting…a feat he still didn’t fully believe was possible in such a short period of time. Still, he found himself contemplating Kendra’s last conversation with him more than what Simon may or may not have painted.

  Thaddeus Birch may be alive.

  No, not may be. Was.

  It all made perfect sense. Gideon was far too clever to allow Thaddeus to die of old age within the book. The Painter could easily have placed Thaddeus in a canvas, touched up his features, and made him younger again. No, Thaddeus could not have died of old age. It was foolish to think so.

  Thaddeus Birch is alive!

  The thought filled him with unease.

  He had no doubt that the legendary Writer was already in Havenwood, with Gideon and the girl. An
d like a fool he’d let Gideon go, thinking Gideon was helpless against him.

  Gideon was, but Thaddeus most certainly was not.

  The Writer was dangerous. Lethal. Armed with ink and paper, he could topple the Collector with a single manuscript. The Pentad would see to its distribution. Every pair of eyeballs that could read in the vast kingdom would be commanded to do so.

  You’re a fool, he told himself.

  For the first time in years, the Collector knew fear.

  He tried to push his worries aside, to focus on the task at hand as he made his way to Simon’s huge studio. After meeting with the boy, he would have to go back to his office and make use of Miss Savage’s talents. He would need all the inspiration she could muster to think his way out of this.

  No one knows where you live, he reminded himself. And the Pentad – and Thaddeus – couldn’t fight what they couldn’t find. But he rejected the thought immediately, knowing that Thaddeus could create something that would locate him.

  He made it to the studio at last, passing through the doorway into the massive room beyond. Simon was standing there a few stories below, all of the lights in the room dimmed, cloaking the walls in darkness. The Collector made his way down to the boy’s side.

  “Good afternoon Simon,” he greeted. Then he lifted his gaze to the wall before them. It was shrouded in darkness, like the rest of the room. A canvas larger than any the Collector had ever seen. Five stories high and a hundred feet across, it was impossible to imagine a Painter being able to fill it in a year, much less in a month.

  But Simon was no ordinary Painter.

  “Good morning sir,” Simon replied. “Ready?”

  The Collector nodded.

  Simon reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a small crystal sphere. With a word, it lit up…and so did the rest of the lanterns in the studio.

  The Collector blinked…and then his eyes widened.