by D D Everest
*
The Foxe family celebrated Christmas Eve with their usual gusto. Woodbine and Loretta drank hot mulled wine and sang a raucous rendition of ‘The Thirteen Days of Christmas’ (the one with ‘six magicians spelling’ and ‘a phoenix in a fig tree’). The children hung up their stockings.
Christmas Day was clear and sunny, and the children raced downstairs to open their presents. Archie received three pairs of socks and a new dressing gown. Thistle got the same. Bramble got socks and a new woollen hat with a pom-pom. Most intriguing of all was the joint present to the three of them from Granny Greene.
Inside was an instrument that looked like a clock, with a circular face and two hands that pointed to two dials. Written on the smaller dial was a list of weather conditions: Dry, Drizzle, Rain, Sleet, Mist, Fog, Hailstones, Gale, Storm and Snow. The outside of the larger dial indicated the severity of the weather, ranging from Normal to Bad, to Worse, to Awful, to Dreadful, to Dire, to Appalling, to Frightful, to Shockingly Bad, to Absolutely Atrocious.
At the moment the short hand was pointing to Dry and the longer hand was pointing at Normal. In a small window on one side of the face a picture of a smiling sun was showing.
A note with it said:
To Archie, Bramble and Thistle,
Your very own Foul–Weather Friend! Use it wisely.
Merry Christmas.
Love, Gran
‘It’s a local weather generator,’ said Woodbine when they asked him. ‘It can control the weather in the area immediately around it. You move the hands to set the weather you want.’
‘Brilliant!’ said Thistle, who loved magical instruments. ‘What sort of range does it have?’
‘About as far as the end of the garden,’ said Woodbine.
‘I can’t wait to try it out!’ said Thistle.
‘Just be careful,’ said Woodbine. ‘You’re not meant to use it outside of magical premises. And don’t use it at home – it’ll make the neighbours suspicious.’
Loretta cooked Christmas lunch with all the trimmings. There were all the usual ingredients but in unusual combinations. So the turkey was served with brandy butter and trifle, followed by a generous serving of Christmas pudding with Brussels sprouts. Archie reasoned that it was all going to the same place anyway and wolfed it down with barely a second thought. It was just as well because otherwise, with the speed the Foxes ate, he might have missed out.
*
The five members of the Alchemists’ Club had agreed to meet at the lab on Boxing Day to discuss progress. They hadn’t seen one another for a few days, so they were excited to catch up. The bookshop was closed over Christmas. But Archie let them in with his key.
It was cold inside the shop and even colder in Grey’s lab. But they lit a fire and the room began to warm up. Rupert still looked a bit peaky but seemed to be almost back to his old self. ‘I’m feeling a lot better,’ he said, catching Archie’s eye. ‘Thanks.’
Thistle produced the Foul-Weather Friend and put it on the bench, his eyes gleaming. ‘Check this out,’ he said proudly. He pushed a button on the top and the glass cover flipped open. ‘What shall I set it to?’
‘Snow, of course!’ said Archie. ‘The more the better.’
Thistle moved the shorter hand until it pointed at Snow. Inside the tiny window, the picture still showed a smiling sun.
‘How long do you think it will take to work?’
Thistle stood up. ‘I’ll have a look outside,’ he said. He was gone a few minutes and then came back shaking his head.
‘Nothing so far,’ he said. ‘Not even any snow clouds.’ He looked disappointed.
‘Well, it probably takes a while,’ said Archie, trying to sound upbeat. ‘What about the other hand? Maybe that will speed things up.’
‘Good idea,’ said Thistle. He moved the longer hand from Normal to Dreadful. ‘That should do it,’ he said.
‘When you two have quite finished,’ interrupted Arabella, ‘some of us would like to get down to club business.’
They said the Alchemists’ oath.
‘We have some news on Grey,’ said Archie. ‘He came back to Oxford before he was arrested and put in the Tower of London.’
They explained about the letter from Granny Greene.
Arabella looked awkward, as if she needed to get something off her chest. ‘I’ve been thinking about it over Christmas. First the black quill and then Rupert’s narrow escape. This whole business has gone too far. We’re out of our depth. Someone is going to get seriously hurt – or even killed.’
‘But it’s too late to stop now,’ said Archie. ‘And even if we do, it doesn’t mean the curse will go away.’
‘Archie’s right,’ said Bramble. ‘It’s not just the museum we’re trying to save – it’s our own skins!’
‘Let’s put it to the vote,’ said Rupert. ‘All those in favour of carrying on, raise your hand.’
Archie, Thistle, Bramble and Rupert all raised their hands.
‘Those against?’
Arabella shrugged. ‘It will end badly,’ she said. ‘I just know it will. I’ve seen what magic can do to people. It brings out the worst in them.’
She looked away. ‘But if you are all determined to see it through, then so am I.’
‘Great. Now that’s all sorted,’ said Thistle, ‘I’m going to get a cake from Quill’s – I’m starving!’
He disappeared up the passageway but was back quickly, wearing a big grin. ‘Thought you might want to know it’s snowing! You’ve got to see it. It’s amazing! Total blizzard.’
Archie glanced at the Foul-Weather Friend and saw that an icon of a snowflake had appeared in the place where the smiling sun had been before.
The children ran up the stairs and through the bookshop. Through the shop window they could see the air was full of dancing snowflakes as big as leaves and fluffy like cotton wool. The courtyard was white, and the stairs down to Quill’s had almost disappeared under a snowdrift.
‘Brilliant!’ cried Archie, as they all ran back to get their gloves and hats and piled out into the fresh snowfall.
‘I told you!’ cried Thistle, racing out into the white courtyard, leaving a trail of footprints in the fresh snow. ‘Hey! Who threw that?’ he shouted as a snowball exploded on his shoulder, showering him with fine white powder.
He turned to see Archie grinning and ready to launch another snowball in his direction. Just then Archie was showered in white powdery snow as a snowball splattered behind his head on the front door of the bookshop.
‘Drat, missed!’ roared Arabella, bending down to make another one.
For the next hour, they played happily in the snow. Archie, Bramble and Arabella built a snow fort at one end of the courtyard, while Rupert and Thistle built their own near the old bookshop. Then they launched an aerial bombardment at each other. The snow fight ended with a surprise attack by Thistle, which backfired spectacularly when he was ambushed by Arabella, who put a snowball down the inside of his sweater.
‘Brrrrrrr! That’s cheating,’ cried Thistle.
‘Nonsense,’ said Arabella. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of a cold war?’
After that, they called a truce and worked together to build the biggest snowman they could. When it was finished, it was nearly as tall as Rupert. Bramble put her old woollen hat on it.
‘He can keep it,’ she said. ‘I got a new one for Christmas.’
They were just putting the finishing touches to it when they heard Pink’s voice calling them from the bottom of the steps to Quill’s.
She held up a large jug of steaming hot chocolate. ‘Thought you might like something to warm you up.’
The children went inside gratefully, dripping puddles of water as the snow on their clothes melted. Pink put their wet gloves on the radiators, and they gulped down the warming chocolate.
‘Haven’t seen snow like this for years,’ said Pink, placing a plate of mince pies on the table in front of them. ‘Odd thing is that there w
as no mention of it on the weather report.’
She gave them a curious look. ‘What are you lot looking so guilty about, anyway?’
‘Nothing,’ said Thistle, grinning at the others and taking a big bite from a mince pie.
*
‘Freak weather conditions in the centre of Oxford today caught shoppers by surprise,’ announced the radio presenter on the news that evening. ‘Up to a foot of snow fell in just a few minutes this afternoon in a small area of the city, confounding the weather reports.’
In the kitchen of 32 Houndstooth Road, Woodbine raised his eyebrows.
‘I don’t suppose you three know anything about that?’ asked Loretta suspiciously.
Archie, Bramble and Thistle all avoided her gaze.
‘Well?’
‘Erm,’ mumbled Thistle. ‘Sorry, Mum, but I’ve got some research to do.’
He nudged Archie. ‘Me, too,’ Archie murmured.
‘Bramble?’
‘Is that the time?’ muttered Bramble. ‘Must dash. I said I’d help Rupert muck out the animals in the menagerie.’
Loretta’s dark look followed them out of the kitchen.
*
The three cousins were glad to get out of the house and away from Loretta’s quizzical gaze. The Alchemists’ Club had agreed to meet that night to try out the white quill from the Pegasus. They were excited about the prospect of writing magic.
When they arrived at the bookshop, most of the snow had gone. Rupert and Arabella were already waiting outside. Arabella was holding a book.
‘It was on the doorstep,’ she said.
‘Someone must have forgotten we’re closed for Christmas,’ said Archie, as he unlocked the door and let them in. ‘Is there a note with it?’
‘Doesn’t seem to be,’ said Arabella. ‘We’d better take it in with us.’
They trooped through the bookshop and down the stairs. Archie opened the black door and let them into the lab. It was freezing; so cold they could see their breath as mist. Rupert lit the fire and Bramble found some candles, and soon the room began to feel cozy.
Archie took the Pegasus quill from his bag and laid it on the bench. He had already cut it into a nib using one of Old Zeb’s sharp knives. He rubbed his hands together to try to get some blood circulating so he could hold it. Bramble retrieved the azoth from its hiding place behind the plaque and placed it next to the quill.
‘I think we’re ready,’ said Archie, when everything was in position. ‘Now all we need to do is imagine a spell!’
He picked up the quill and dipped it in the azoth. The liquid magic formed a golden nib, and he felt it vibrate with energy. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, but his mind was blank.
A minute passed. Then another. And another. The five of them sat in silence while Archie desperately tried to create a spell. The minutes turned into half an hour, and still they sat expectantly.
Finally, Arabella broke the silence.
‘Aren’t you going to examine this book?’ she asked.
‘No,’ said Archie. ‘It could be from anyone.’
‘There is a note after all. I didn’t see it before. It’s tucked into the pages,’ said Arabella.
She undid the clasp.
Archie looked up sharply. ‘No, don’t—’
But Arabella had already opened the cover.
There was a peal of laughter, and a small figure the size of a doll and dressed in a harlequin costume sprang from the book. Too late Archie realised it was a grabber!
He dived for the quill and azoth, but the figure was too quick. With a shriek of laughter, it snatched both and dived back inside the book. With a final howl of laughter and a puff of smoke the book vanished.
The children stared at one another in total bewilderment. They had just seen their best chance of rewriting The Book of Charms go up in smoke.
18
The Asylum Seekers
January arrived with a chilly vengeance. The days were short and dark when the children resumed their apprenticeships.
In fact, the whole mood around the museum seemed chillier than usual – and not just because of the weather. The permission wall was getting weaker, and the elders seemed unable to do anything to stop it.
The Alchemists’ Club hadn’t met since the grabber had stolen the quill and the azoth. Even if they could have got hold of another quill from the Pegasus, the ingredients for making more azoth were all used up. To make matters worse, when Arabella had asked Katerina if she had any of the magical ink left, Katerina had confided that she had used up the small amount she had kept for herself on experiments that had failed to yield any more of the magical substance. Archie had been avoiding Katerina ever since in case she asked what had happened to their supply. He didn’t want to admit that they’d let someone steal it with a grabber.
The apprentices’ despondency increased when Woodbine returned from another trip to Prague with more bad news. The book he had been trying to locate had disappeared. Worse was to come, when rumours began circulating that the Greaders were about to get a darchemist. The final straw was the news that someone had broken into Gideon Hawke’s office and stolen the black quill.
The elders summoned Archie to a meeting in Hawke’s office. He didn’t like being singled out from the others and wondered what it was about. With a sense of foreboding, he climbed the marble staircase to the Lost Books Department.
The discussion in Hawke’s office was getting heated as Archie was ushered to a chair by Hawke’s desk.
‘I really don’t think we have any choice but to pursue my line of inquiry,’ Gloom was saying. ‘It is clear that the museum is in great danger. We have no alternative. We must consult The Book of Prophecy.’
‘But that book nearly drove Fabian Grey insane,’ said Hawke.
‘Yes, but that’s where Archie comes in,’ said Gloom. ‘As I made quite clear in my assessment, he is the most magically talented of the apprentices. He has the best chance of success. He could find out what the future holds. If he used his retrospectre he’d be quite safe.’
Gloom turned to Archie. ‘Did you have any luck with discovering your magical name?’
‘Erm, well, I meant to tell you,’ said Archie, sheepishly. ‘I think I have an idea what it might be.’
‘Well, there you are then,’ said Gloom.
So that was what it was about! Gloom wanted him to consult The Book of Prophecy, but the elders were reluctant.
‘Well, if it’s the only way—’ Archie started.
But before he could finish, Hawke interrupted. ‘Even with a retrospectre, it is too risky.’
Gloom gave Hawke a searching look. ‘Your concern for Archie is commendable, Gideon. But if you are so worried about sending him, perhaps you should go in his place? We all know you have magical ability. Why won’t you let me assess your own talents?’
Hawke looked away.
‘What are you afraid of? That Archie can do what you cannot?’
‘Well, I have to agree with Orpheus,’ said Brown. ‘If Archie is willing, then we must use his talents.’
Hawke looked at the ceiling. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘The Book of Prophecy must be our last resort.’
‘But we cannot simply wait for the charms to fail,’ said Graves. ‘The Greaders will not give up. Amos Roach is very persistent. The only good news in any of this is that Pink seems to have unjammed the door ray, but that won’t protect the museum if the permission wall fails. We need to lift the curse.’
‘There’s something I’d like to try,’ said Hawke, his brow furrowing. ‘Arthur Ripley knows more about the history of the museum than anyone alive. I propose to visit him in the asylum and ask for his help.’
‘Arthur Ripley is a hopeless case,’ snorted Wolfus Bone.
‘Almost certainly,’ said Hawke, ‘but I keep in touch with the asylum to see how he is getting on. It’s wise to keep tabs on him. He was the leader of the last Greader plot, after all.’
‘Has Arthur Rip
ley had any visitors?’ asked Graves.
‘No,’ said Hawke. ‘But he does get letters from time to time. They are all signed with the same initials – A.R.’
‘That will be his granddaughter, Arabella, I imagine,’ said Graves. ‘Or Roach.’
Archie’s ears pricked up. Could Arabella be passing information to her grandfather?
‘That’s what I’d thought,’ said Hawke. ‘Anyway, I plan to pay Ripley a visit.’
‘You can’t trust him,’ said Bone. ‘He tried to kill Archie before!’
‘I didn’t say I was going to trust him, and I didn’t say it was going to be easy,’ said Hawke. ‘But I think Ripley knows something. When he was head of Lost Books, he searched the Darchive, and I think he found something in there.’
‘What was it, Gideon?’ asked Gloom.
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Hawke.
‘He wouldn’t tell you,’ said Bone. ‘He despises you.’
Hawke smiled. ‘That is what I am relying on. He hates me so much that he will be unable to resist the urge to gloat. And the one person he might hate even more than me is Archie, which is why I plan to take him with me. If he’s willing.’
Graves pursed her lips. ‘I suppose it’s worth a try. What do you say, Archie? Are you willing to face Ripley?’
Archie nodded. He didn’t know how he would feel confronting the man who had tried to kill him. But he was prepared to do whatever it took to lift the curse and save the museum.
*
The next day Archie caught a train to London with Hawke. They took a bus from the station and then walked the last half mile until they stood in front of a red-brick building. There were spiky iron railings outside and bars on the windows.
The sign on the door said: THE ASYLUM. RESPITE FOR THE MAGICALLY ILL. Hawke knocked three times on the door. A small hatch slid open and two eyes peered out. A voice spoke.
‘Ah, Gideon, it is you.’
A tall man with grey hair opened the door. ‘It’s been a long time. How have you been? Do you need your old room?’