by D D Everest
‘This was the first fork in your fate,’ the voice said. ‘The future of magic rested on you in that moment, just as it once rested on Fabian Grey. You might have succumbed to Barzak’s will, but you did not. In that instant, magic took another course. Have you seen enough, book whisperer?’
Archie shook his head. ‘What about the future?’
‘Your future is contained in the other folios.’
Archie replaced the first book on the shelf. There were two more with his name on their spines.
‘Why are there two?’ he asked.
‘Because your future is uncertain. Two paths stand before you. One will keep you safe from harm, but if you follow it, you will not achieve your purpose, and magic will fade from the world. The second will allow you to wield great power and shape the future of magic. But it comes at a price.’
‘I will become a darchemist?’ said Archie.
‘You must choose,’ said the voice.
That’s not much of a choice,’ said Archie. ‘What if I reject both paths?’
‘Then I cannot guarantee you have a future,’ said the voice.
Archie took a deep breath. ‘That is a chance I have to take,’ he said.
‘You reject your destiny?’ asked the voice.
‘Yes, if it means letting magic die or becoming a darchemist, then I’d rather not have a future.’
The voice was silent. Archie sensed that his life hung in the balance. He could feel his heart beating in his chest. The seconds ticked by and then the voice spoke again. This time there was a note of surprise in it.
‘So, your father was right. He said that you would refuse both fates, even if it costs you your life. So look again, Archie Greene.’
A fourth book had appeared on the shelf. Archie was sure it hadn’t been there before. He opened it. In its pages he saw himself standing before a large door. The image faded. He turned the page, but there was no more.
‘The rest is blank!’ he exclaimed, skimming through the pages.
‘You chose the empty book. Its story has yet to be written. It is the least certain of the three. It is for you to forge. The choices you make will have consequences not just for you but also for the future of magic.’
‘I choose that path,’ cried Archie.
‘Very well,’ said the voice. ‘Its ending is unknowable. But it is not blank. Look again.’
Archie opened the book a second time. Something was slipped between the pages. It was a letter, and it was addressed to him in spidery handwriting similar to his own.
‘It is from your father,’ the voice said. ‘He left it here for you to find.’
Archie stared at the piece of paper in his hand. ‘But how …?’ he began.
‘Fate is fickle, but none may cheat it,’ said the voice. ‘This way.’
Archie took the letter and replaced the book on the shelf. As he turned to leave, he saw something on the shelf next to his own. Several faded books were covered with cobwebs, but one had been recently opened. The name on its spine was … Alexander Greene.
Archie’s heart skipped a beat. He felt the tiny flame of hope that had been lit inside him suddenly flare.
‘Wait,’ he cried. ‘You said that the folios contain the future. There is one for my father – does that mean he’s alive?’
‘You must hurry now,’ whispered the voice. ‘Time does not wait. The future is impatient.’
‘But you haven’t answered my question,’ cried Archie. ‘I need to know if my father is alive or dead! And my mother and sister!’
Archie’s heart was skittering madly. The sound of his own blood pumping in his head was deafening as he waited for an answer.
*
‘Archie, wake up!’
Someone was shaking him. Archie opened his eyes to see Bramble and Thistle’s worried faces. He was lying on the floor of the Scriptorium. In one hand he gripped the Emerald Eye, in the other he clutched the letter.
He had no idea how he had escaped from The Book of Prophecy or got out of his retrospectre.
‘My father left a message for me in The Book of Prophecy,’ he said.
In a daze, he read the letter.
Dear Archie,
If you are reading this, then my attempts to keep you away from magic have failed. By now you know about the magical realm, and somehow you survived your encounter with Barzak.
You are probably wondering how I know these things. When you were born, I consulted the Books of Destiny, and they revealed to me that you have a forked fate.
The first fork was your meeting with Barzak. The second is less clear, but it is connected with Fabian Grey and the Alchemist’s Curse. The third is hidden even from the Books of Destiny.
You are still a baby as I write this letter. I have spent every second since you were born searching for some way to help you avoid the second fork or stack the odds in your favour.
Tonight I will try to head off the danger or draw it to me. I leave this letter in case I fail and you must face the second trial alone.
There is one more thing I must tell you. There is a book, which I found in Ripley’s private library. It contains information that can help you break the curse. It is hidden with some books I left at Loretta’s house and is sealed with a magical clasp. Open it with care and in the company of trusted friends.
Be brave, Archie. Much depends on you. And remember, I am with you in spirit – always.
Your loving father,
Alex Greene
Archie stared at the letter. His legs had turned to jelly. So the book his father had taken from Ripley’s collection had something to do with the curse. Here at last was some good news. He needed to find that book – and quickly.
*
As soon as he got home, Archie raced upstairs and took out the old shoe box under his bed.
‘Is it there?’ asked Thistle, who had followed him.
Archie looked through his father’s reference books. There was Magical Greats: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly and Creatures to Avoid If You Are of a Nervous Disposition. There was the scrapbook with newspaper cuttings and photographs. But that was all.
Archie’s heart sank. Then he had another thought. He raced downstairs and into the kitchen. Thistle and Bramble trailed behind him.
‘Aunt Loretta,’ he asked urgently, ‘did my dad ever give you any books to look after?’
‘Not that I remember,’ said Loretta.
Archie felt his hopes dashed again.
‘Wait a minute. Now that I think of it, he did give me a few books – cookery books. Can’t think why,’ she added, disappearing into the larder. ‘Why would I need cookery books …?’
Archie was no longer listening. He scanned the spines of the cookery books on the kitchen shelf.
He had almost given up when he spotted a book with no title on its spine that looked different from the other cookery books. Archie climbed up on the kitchen counter and eased the book from the others. It was tatty-looking with a green cover and sealed with a clasp.
‘Got it!’ he declared.
‘Got what?’ asked Loretta’s voice from the larder. But there was no reply.
The children had gone.
20
The Book Ghast
Archie shivered. They were in Grey’s laboratory and it was cold. Bramble had just lit a fire and the three cousins were warming themselves.
Archie was thinking about what his father had said – that the book could help them break the curse. His mind had been racing ever since.
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Arabella and Rupert. Arabella looked more pale and drawn than ever and she seemed on edge. ‘What’s so urgent that you needed to call a special meeting?’ she demanded. ‘Haven’t we caused enough trouble with this club already?’
‘Let’s say the oath and then I’ll tell you,’ Archie said. Was it Archie’s imagination or did Arabella look shifty when she said hers?
‘My father took something from your grandfather’s col
lection,’ he said, studying her face for a reaction. ‘It’s the reason he had to leave the museum.’
‘What did he take?’ she asked. Archie thought she looked frightened.
‘It was a book,’ he said, holding it up for them to see. ‘He took it because he knew we’d need it. Perhaps it explains what happened to the original Alchemists’ Club. I have a letter from my father. He told me to open the book among friends.’
‘What is it?’ asked Rupert, reaching out to touch the journal. He pulled back his hand. ‘Where’ve you been keeping it, in a fridge? It’s freezing!’
‘Let me see it,’ said Arabella. She held the book in her hands and sniffed it. ‘It contains a spirit. We should hand it in to Hawke.’
‘No way!’ said Bramble, taking the book from Arabella and giving it back to Archie. ‘Uncle Alex didn’t hide it so that that we could hand it over to Hawke.’
‘Bramble’s right,’ said Archie. He took a deep breath. ‘I command you to open,’ he said, releasing the magical clasp so that the book fell open … A grey shadow reared up from between the pages, forming the shape of a man. The phantom looked like it was spun from the threads of a spider’s web.
Its face creased into an angry scowl, and it drew back its pale, ghostly lips.
‘How dare you disturb my unrest!’ it snarled, and its bulging red eyes glared at them.
For a moment, they were all too shocked to answer. But Archie managed to gather himself.
‘Your unrest?’ he said. ‘Don’t you mean we are disturbing your rest?’
The apparition shook its ghostly head. ‘I have no rest. I am cursed.’ The creature hissed the word.
‘It’s a book ghast,’ Arabella said.
The book ghast made a hissing sound and nodded sadly. A mournful look replaced its angry expression. Now that it wasn’t scowling, Archie thought there was something familiar about its features.
Arabella’s brow creased in thought. ‘Ghasts are left behind for a reason. Something happens that means they can’t move on. Usually it’s some sort of tragic accident or unresolved issue.’
‘So, what happened to you?’ Thistle asked the ghast. ‘Why are you still here?’
The ghast shimmered and its translucent cobweb threads seemed to lose a little of their lustre.
‘There was an accident. My carriage overturned,’ it said miserably. ‘I was on my way to meet my friends, but I never got there.’
‘When was this?’ asked Archie.
‘It was just after the Great Fire. The year was 1666.’
Archie had thought the ghast couldn’t look any sadder, but now it seemed to have sunk even lower into its own misery. For a while, it did not speak. A look of deep concentration passed across its ghostly features, as if it was trying to recall some distant memory that was as faded as it was. Then it began to relate its sad story.
‘I was an apprentice at the Museum of Magical Miscellany,’ it said, and its voice swelled with pride. ‘I was just a boy when I started, but I was determined to make my name. That’s why I joined the Alchemists’ Club. Fabian Grey was our leader and my best friend.’
The ghast had a wistful look.
‘We had such grand ideas. We were going to restore magic to its rightful place. That was our dream. We believed it was also our destiny.
‘It was just talk to begin with. But then Fabian went a step further. He consulted The Book of Prophecy. We told him he shouldn’t do it, but he just laughed.’
‘So Grey consulted The Book of Prophecy when he was still an apprentice at the museum?’ asked Archie.
‘Yes,’ said the ghast. ‘Fabian was fearless.’
The ghast’s face lit up for a moment, remembering happy times. But almost immediately its expression darkened.
‘We thought it had killed him. It nearly did. Fabian was never the same after that. The Book of Prophecy changed him. Some of his hair turned white. He lost his mind for a while.’
The ghast shook its head sadly. ‘Gradually his memory returned, but he could not remember what he had learned in The Book of Prophecy, only that the future of magic rested on his shoulders and we were meant to help him.’
Archie was starting to feel uncomfortable. The story sounded familiar. The similarities between him and Grey were becoming more and more clear.
But why had Grey been so affected by The Book of Prophecy, when he had not? Were his memories intact because he had the retrospectre to protect him? The ghast was still speaking.
‘At that time England was ravaged by the plague. People were dying in the thousands. Fabian thought he could use magic to destroy the pestilence and make life better for people.
‘We were already experimenting with magic by then. When the elders found out, they were angry because we hadn’t consulted them. They expelled us from the museum, so we moved to London and rented the baker’s cellar for our experiments. We started writing new magic. Just little spells at first. But Fabian said that if we could make azoth, then we would be ready to rewrite the magical books.
‘One day, Fabian told us he’d found the formula. He asked each of us to collect one of the ingredients. It was supposed to be our greatest triumph. But it all went terribly wrong. A sort of madness had taken hold of Felicia.’
Archie remembered the scene he’d witnessed in The Book of Yore.
The ghast shook its ghostly head once more. ‘Everyone thought the fire had started in the bakery,’ the ghast went on. ‘But Thomas Farrinor told the king that we were to blame. We were disgraced. Worse than that – we were cursed as are all those with the Golden Circle firemark.’ The ghast had begun to fade.
‘But how can we lift the curse?’ asked Archie desperately.
‘Everything you need to know is in the journal.’
‘Just one more thing,’ said Bramble. ‘What’s your name?’
‘I am the unfulfilled dream of Braxton Foxe,’ said the ghast. And with that it vanished.
The children crowded around the journal, trying to read over Archie’s shoulder.
‘It’s Braxton Foxe’s account of the days following the fire,’ said Archie. ‘The first entry is dated Monday, 4th September 1666 – two days after the fire started. Listen to this.
‘Even now the fire still smoulders. They say that half of London is destroyed – and all because of us! We have received no word from Fabian. There are rumours that he was arrested in Oxford and imprisoned in the Tower of London.
The story persists that the fire started in the baker’s oven. If word gets out of our part in this, I fear for the safety of the magical realm. I worry that we have blackened the name of magic for all time. To think that we started the Alchemists’ Club with the intention of saving magic, but instead have brought about its ruin. It is too much to bear. Yet it is our own fault. It was our arrogance and curiosity that brought us to this pass. If only we had not been so reckless. I believe we were in the grip of a sort of madness. If only we had thought of the consequences of our actions.’
As the days passed, the entries took a more sinister turn. Archie read on aloud.
‘22ND SEPTEMBER 1666
It has been more than two weeks since that ill-fated day in the baker’s cellar. There is still no word from Fabian. No word either from Felicia. Angelica, Roderick and I remain in Oxford, where we are still trying to lie low. Yesterday, Roderick suffered a most unfortunate accident. We were in Fabian’s laboratory when a magical book released a scorpion, which stung him. He is expected to recover, but it gave him a nasty shock. No more than any of us deserve, I know.
1ST OCTOBER 1666
Roderick is dead. The scorpion sting proved fatal. Angelica and I have sealed the door to Fabian’s laboratory. We have been summoned before the Council of Elders to account for our part in the Great Fire. Word is out in the magical realm that it was our doing. There is much talk about new Lores to prevent another magical conflagration occurring in the future. It seems that our attempts to restore magic to its rightful place may end up driv
ing it underground.
5TH OCTOBER 1666
More bad news. Angelica is seriously ill. Some dark spell is upon her that robs her of her mind. The doctor has confined her to her bed. But she sleepwalks in the night. Last night she fell from a window. She was lucky to survive the fall. I pray that tomorrow brings better tidings.
10TH OCTOBER 1666
Angelica is dead. She had made a good recovery from her fall but was crushed to death when a stone gargoyle fell on her from a great height. I was with her at the time and narrowly escaped. There is more to these accidents than meets the eye. It is the curse!
12TH OCTOBER 1666
At last, some good news! Word of Fabian! A letter arrived this morning from Felicia. She says Fabian has escaped from the Tower. They must have made up their differences, which is a great relief. I am to meet them. I am anxious to see my friends again. My carriage awaits – I leave immediately.’
‘That’s the final entry,’ said Archie, closing the book.
‘I think we know what happened next,’ said Rupert. ‘His carriage must have turned over on the way there. Roderick, Angelica and then Braxton. All three of them were dead within a few weeks of the fire.’
‘That’s what the Alchemist’s Curse is – it’s a curse on the members of the Alchemists’ Club. Everyone who belongs to the club meets with an accident,’ said Archie.
‘And the same thing is going to happen to us unless we can break the curse,’ said Arabella.
*
The next couple of days passed in a blur. Archie couldn’t concentrate at work. He would have liked to confide in Old Zeb. But he knew that if he admitted that he’d consulted The Book of Prophecy, the old man would be duty bound to report him, so he said nothing.
Late one afternoon, the old bookbinder sent Archie to the museum on an errand. As he reached the Great Gallery, he saw Katerina walking puposefully through the Great Gallery towards Lost Books. He didn’t feel like talking to her, so he turned off before she reached him. He opened the door and stepped into the Scriptorium. The torches blazed.