by D D Everest
He opened the door to the shop. Geoffrey Screech was standing behind the counter as usual, his small round spectacles perched precariously on the end of his long thin nose. He was wearing his best green bow tie, a sure sign that a new apprentice was expected. At the sound of the bell, Screech looked up and regarded the three children over his spectacles. He gave a friendly smile, showing small teeth.
‘Morning, Archie. Bramble. And … Thistle, isn’t it?’
Thistle swallowed hard and nodded.
Screech opened a thick ledger on the counter and ran his finger down the entries.
‘Ah, yes, here we are. Thistle Foxe.’ He glanced up. ‘Everything seems to be in order.’
Bramble pushed her brother forward. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘He won’t bite.’
She gave Thistle’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘There’s a start-of-term meeting in Quill’s later. We can all go together. I’ll meet you outside. Good luck!’
Bramble opened the door and let herself out of the shop.
Thistle handed Screech his snook. ‘My dad said to tell you it doesn’t have a stamp,’ he mumbled.
‘Very good,’ said Screech, taking the book. ‘Looks like an old plotting book. You don’t see those very often. I’ll make sure it is examined and properly classified. Now, let’s get you downstairs to Old Zeb.’
Thistle swallowed nervously. Screech called out over his shoulder. ‘Marjorie!’
His assistant bustled through the velvet curtain.
‘Ah, there you are, Marjorie. Can you keep an eye on the shop while I take the new apprentice down to the mending workshop?’
Screech was in charge of recording the results of the Flame test. He had been keeping the records in his impeccable copperplate handwriting for thirty years.
‘Yes, of course, Mr Screech,’ said Marjorie. She gave Thistle a smile. ‘Good luck!’
Archie led Thistle and Screech through the velvet curtain and along the corridor. He took a lantern from the shelf and descended to the corridor below.
‘Thistle Foxe!’ said Old Zeb when they reached the mending workshop. ‘I remember you when you were just a baby. Loretta used to bring you into the shop. You never sat still for a moment. Always off exploring something or other. How is Loretta, by the way?’
Before Thistle could reply, the old man’s face turned serious. ‘We heard about that business with Woodbine in Prague. Very nasty,’ he said. ‘Two old people were murdered in a bookshop they say. And Woodbine had a lucky escape. Apparently the victims had been so badly tortured they couldn’t even identify them.’
No wonder Woodbine had called it a disaster! thought Archie. He must have been on a secret mission for Gideon Hawke, and that mission had gone tragically wrong.
Old Zeb tutted loudly and shook his head. ‘What’s the world coming to when a bookshop’s not safe?’ he muttered. ‘Good job we’ve got some extra security here.’
Archie guessed he was referring to the bookend beast behind the second door. He wondered again what was behind the green one and whether he had really seen a black door in the shadows at the end of the corridor
Screech gave a shallow cough to change the subject. ‘Yes, well, we’re not here to talk about what happened in Prague. We’re here for Thistle’s Flame test,’ he reminded Old Zeb.
‘Yes, yes. Quite so,’ said the old bookbinder, taking the hint. ‘Let’s see what the Flame has in store for you.’
The old man opened the door to the furnace. The fire hissed, releasing a cloud of thick white smoke.
Archie was relieved to see that the Flame appeared to be back to normal after its strange behaviour the day before.
Old Zeb’s expression turned serious. ‘Thistle Foxe, do you have what it takes to be an apprentice at the Museum of Magical Miscellany?’ he said. ‘The Flame of Pharos knows,’ he added mysteriously. ‘It’s been burning for thousands of years.’
Archie had heard this speech before several times, and even though he knew what was coming next, the speed of it still caught him by surprise. The old man suddenly pulled a yellow flame from the furnace and hurled it across the room towards a pile of books.
Archie’s instinct was to catch the flame, but he managed to restrain himself. It wasn’t his Flame test, after all. Thistle shot out a hand and caught the fireball. It burned and flared in his palm, twisting and writhing. Then it changed from yellow to blue and disappeared.
‘Show me your hand,’ demanded Old Zeb. ‘Ah,’ he said, inspecting Thistle’s palm, where a small blue symbol of an eye had appeared. ‘The finding firemark.’
Thistle’s eyes gleamed. He looked relieved and exhilarated at the same time. Training to be a finder involved learning how to identify magical books and spot the telltale signs that they might be dangerous. Being a full-time finder like Woodbine was a precarious way to make a living, but it was exciting. It took sharp eyes and a keen nose for magic.
Old Zeb smiled. ‘There,’ he said kindly. ‘All done.’ He dabbed some balm onto Thistle’s hand. ‘This’ll soothe the itching.’
He turned back to the Word Smithy and was about to close the door when something unexpected happened.
The flame spat out a spark like a tiny shooting star. It arced across the workshop and then burst into a shower of fiery gold and vanished. Archie felt an intense itching in his palm and stared at a gold mark that had just appeared there.
‘Good heavens,’ cried Old Zeb, gawking first at the flame and then at Archie. ‘What is it?’
Archie held out his palm so the others could see. Where the finding, binding or minding firemark usually appeared, there was a golden mark – it looked like a dragon swallowing its own tail.
Archie was sure he’d seen it somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember where. Old Zeb grabbed his hand and ran his thumb over the new mark. Archie watched the old man’s face turn a shade of pale that he had never seen before, especially from someone who spent his day working in front of the oldest furnace in the world.
Old Zeb glanced over at Screech. ‘Geoffrey, I think you should take a look at this.’
Screech hesitantly walked over to where Archie and Old Zeb were standing. Archie stuck his hand out for Screech to see.
Screech gasped. ‘The Golden Circle … It can’t be! This is the alchemists’ mark. The last time it appeared was more than three hundred years ago. Fabian Grey …’
He brought his hand to his mouth and looked suddenly anxious. Archie wondered if Screech thought he’d said too much.
‘The Alchemists’ Club,’ breathed Old Zeb.
At that moment, the flame shot out a second spark, which flew across the workshop like the first one and exploded with a golden light. There was a cry from Thistle. He was staring at his hand. ‘Look! I’ve got another firemark!’
Sure enough, beside the symbol of the eye, a second firemark had appeared just like the one on Archie’s hand.
‘Two alchemists’ firemarks!’ exclaimed Screech. ‘Nothing for three hundred years and then two appear together …’
Old Zeb’s brow darkened. ‘We must inform the museum elders, Geoffrey. They might know what it means. It seems most unusual to me …’
*
Archie and Thistle left the bookshop with their heads in a spin. Archie had shown Thistle around the mending workshop, but they were both very distracted by the appearance of the Golden Circle firemarks. What exactly did they mean?
Neither Geoffrey Screech nor Old Zeb seemed able – or was it willing? – to shed any more light on the matter, but they’d promised to call an urgent meeting of the elders. In the meantime, Screech had asked the boys not to discuss the strange firemarks with the other apprentices.
‘Best if we keep it among ourselves,’ he’d said. ‘Just for now.’
Archie couldn’t help thinking that Screech and the old bookbinder knew more than they were saying.
When they left the bookshop half an hour later, Bramble was waiting for them in the courtyard.
‘How di
d you get on?’ she asked. ‘You passed the test okay?’ She kept her voice low so that passers-by wouldn’t hear their conversation.
‘Yes, but—’
‘Thank goodness for that. We’d never live it down if a Foxe failed the Flame test. Several of the Ripleys and the Nightshade family have failed it over the years, of course. Most have gone on to become Greaders. But the last person to fail was four years ago. So, come on, spill the beans. Which apprenticeship are you starting with?’
‘It’s a bit more complicated than that,’ said Archie, casting a glance at Thistle.
‘Show me your firemark,’ demanded Bramble.
Thistle turned away. But as he did, Bramble snatched his hand and looked at his palm.
‘What the hell is that?’ she exclaimed when she saw the Golden Circle. ‘It looks like a snake!’
‘It’s the alchemists’ firemark,’ said Thistle sheepishly. ‘Archie’s got one, too. But we’re not allowed to talk about it. Old Zeb and Geoffrey Screech said we should keep it to ourselves until the elders have discussed it.’
‘That doesn’t include me, though,’ said Bramble. ‘So you’d better tell me exactly what happened, over a hot chocolate.’
The three cousins made their way across the small, enclosed courtyard and down the stone steps that led to Quill’s, a scruffy medieval building with exposed timbers. They stepped through the front door and were greeted by the delicious smell of chocolate suffused with vanilla, orange and other mouthwatering flavours.
The interior of the shop was bathed in a warm light. It came from a sunbeam so bright that it was dazzling. This was deliberate, so that people entering the shop wouldn’t see the secret entrance to the museum. The shaft of light was called the door ray, and it allowed the Flame Keepers to come and go without arousing suspicion.
At the front, Quill’s looked like an ordinary café, but at the back there was a much larger space called the back of house. Separating the two parts was a magical wall called a permission wall, which was enchanted so that the back of house was invisible to the Unready.
Standing behind the bar was a tall, slim woman with bare arms and lots of tattoos. Both of her eyebrows were pierced. Her name was Pink, and she was the waitress at Quill’s. She also controlled the door ray by operating a brass lever disguised as a hot chocolate tap. The lever had three positions. In the upright position, the door ray was open to everyone. In the horizontal position, it would allow only people with a firemark through. And in the downward position, the entrance was locked.
Ordinarily, the lever was set to allow only those with firemarks access to the back of house, but at her discretion Pink could move it to allow visitors in.
Pink could move between the two sides at will, passing along the bar, which ran right through the permission wall. Whenever she moved from the front of house to the back of house, her hair changed colour from black to pink.
‘All right, Bramble?’ Pink said, when she saw them arrive. ‘All right, Arch? First day, Thistle? I s’pose you’ve got your firemark?’
Thistle nodded self-consciously and kept his hand firmly closed. The door ray would automatically detect his firemark, so he didn’t need to show it.
‘See you on the other side,’ said Pink, smiling.
Thistle gazed at the bright beam of light. It would be only his second time in the back of house at Quill’s. The first time, Pink had been persuaded to let him through without a firemark because he was under the protection of a museum elder. This would be the first time he would be entering in his own right.
As the three cousins passed through the door ray, they caught the scent of amora – the smell of magic. It always made Archie feel slightly light-headed. Different types of magic had different scents. Natural magic smelled of nature. Mortal magic was man-made magic; it smelled of fusty rooms and fire smoke. Supernatural magic smelled otherworldly, of cold tombs and dead flesh – it was Archie’s least favourite type of amora. The door ray used natural magic, and today it smelled of freshly cut grass.
The back of house was full of the most comfortable furniture imaginable. There were squishy leather sofas and chairs that were perfect for flopping into. It being the first day of the new term, the place was buzzing with apprentices. The air was filled with excited chatter about reports and new timetables.
At a table, Archie recognised a sharp-featured woman with silver hair. This was Feodora Graves, the head of the Department of Supernatural Magic.
The three cousins joined the line to get a drink. When it was their turn, Bramble ordered three hot chocolates and led Archie and Thistle to a quiet table in a corner of the room.
‘So what’s the story with the alchemists’ firemark?’ she asked, dropping her voice.
Archie hesitated before answering. He and Thistle had promised not to discuss what had happened with the other apprentices, but he didn’t include Bramble in that. She was family, after all.
‘Screech said it was the Golden Circle firemark,’ replied Archie in a hushed tone, glancing around to make sure none of the other apprentices was listening. Again, he wondered why Old Zeb and the bookstore owner were being so secretive. ‘He mentioned something called the Alchemists’ Club. And a name: Fabian Grey.’
Bramble almost spat out her hot chocolate. ‘Fabian Grey!’ she spluttered. ‘He’s only the most notorious apprentice in the history of the museum! What’s he got to do with it?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Archie. ‘But Screech was definitely worried about something. That’s why he told us to keep it quiet.’
‘Talk of the devil,’ muttered Thistle. ‘Here’s Screech now.’
The owner of the bookshop had just stepped through the door ray and was scanning the room, looking for someone. When he spotted Graves, he went over and spoke in her ear.
‘He’ll be telling her about the firemarks,’ said Archie.
Graves looked up sharply. She glanced across to where the three cousins were sitting.
‘She doesn’t look very happy,’ said Archie. Screech said something and Graves shook her head. They both looked over at the cousins again. Screech turned and left.
Graves looked thoughtful. Then she rose to her feet and clapped her hands for silence.
‘The meeting is about to start,’ said Bramble. The elders often took advantage of the fact that all the apprentices could be found in Quill’s after work and called meetings if they needed to.
‘Welcome back,’ said Graves in a clear voice. ‘A new term is upon us, so if you’d like to take your seats, we have some important notices to give you.’
Archie, Bramble and Thistle followed the crowd into the function room at the back of Quill’s and sat down. Several of the elders were there already, seated on the raised platform at the front of the room.
Archie recognised a short man in a tweed jacket as Dr Motley Brown, the head of Natural Magic. Beside him was Gideon Hawke, the head of Lost Books. It was Hawke’s job to track down dangerous magical books and make sure they didn’t fall into the hands of Greaders. At first sight, he looked very ordinary, but like Archie, Hawke’s eyes were different colours: one was blue, and the other was grey. Hawke was known to be the most magically gifted of the museum elders. He had once saved Archie’s life by rescuing him from The Book of Yore, a book that contained the history of magic.
Next to Hawke was Wolfus Bone, a gaunt-looking man with prominent canine teeth. Bone was a magic diviner who worked with Hawke in Lost Books.
On the other side were two people Archie had never seen before: a man with a bald head that resembled a boiled egg and a girl with long auburn hair, who looked a couple of years older than Bramble.
The apprentices were seated now. Graves took her place beside Hawke and Brown and exchanged words with them. Hawke suddenly sat bolt upright, a look of concern on his face. He glanced in the direction of the three cousins.
Graves rose to her feet and clapped her hands again. Her pale green eyes scanned the upturned faces in the room.
Heads turned and eyes sought out the newcomer. There was a murmur of interest. Thistle smiled awkwardly. Hawke’s eyes bored into him.
Graves continued. ‘I would also like to take this opportunity to welcome two special guests. Professor Orpheus Gloom is from the Royal Society of Magic in London,’ she said, indicating the bald man. ‘He is here to oversee the book fayre.’
The Royal Society of Magic was the organisation responsible for controlling magic in Britain. It reported to the Magical League, the international magical body. Gloom beamed a smile around the room. His eyes seemed to linger on Archie, making him feel uncomfortable. Did he know Archie was a book whisperer?
Graves was speaking again. ‘Our other guest is Katerina Krone, from the Prague Academy of Magic. Katerina has won a scholarship to the museum to further her studies. Her research on writing magic was chosen from hundreds of entries from magic students around the world. She has been granted special access to the archives to advance her work.’
The girl inclined her head slightly. She had full lips and piercing blue eyes. ‘It is an honour to be at the famous Museum of Magical Miscellany,’ she said, with a trace of an accent. ‘I am looking forward to exploring the archives to see what light they can shed on the secrets of writing magic.’
Graves’s lips twitched into what was the slightest of smiles. ‘Now, as you all know, we are very proud to be hosting the International Magical Book Fayre here at Quill’s this Saturday. This is a great honour, and I hope you will all attend.’
She scanned the room. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of the importance of secrecy. We don’t want to arouse the suspicions of the people of Oxford. If they thought for one second that there was any magic occurring in the city, it could jeopardise the work of the museum. I am sure I can rely on your discretion.