The Society of Thirteen

by Gareth P. Jones

  ‘This is it?’ asked Tom.

  ‘You tell me,’ said Mondriat.

  Tom wafted away the invisibility spell and watched as his reflection reappeared in the mirror. Mondriat was on his shoulder but the mirror showed a man standing beside him. He turned to look at Mondriat then back at his reflection. He had brown hair, a well-trimmed beard, hazel eyes and a wide smile.

  ‘This is what you looked like?’ said Tom.

  ‘I know. A handsome devil.’

  ‘This was always your mirror?’

  ‘My father made it,’ said Mondriat. ‘He was a Venetian mirror-maker. He made this one just before he died. Beautiful, isn’t it? It became a part of the collection donated to this museum.’

  ‘So how does it work?’ asked Tom. ‘How would I steal your Conjury?’

  The fear was evident in Mondriat’s reflected face. ‘Now, why would you want to know such a thing?’

  ‘What’s the matter? You don’t trust me?’ said Tom.

  ‘Can I, Tom? Can I trust you?’ asked Mondriat.

  ‘That’s why it’s called trust,’ said Tom. ‘You don’t know.’

  Mondriat sighed. ‘Smashing the mirror would kill me, but you would lose the power. To draw it out you need to hold a second mirror opposite this one. You could coax the True Reflection out and intercept it as it moved.’ He looked nervously at Tom. ‘Is that what you want to do?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Tom. ‘Certainly, if you get on my nerves.’

  ‘But not now,’ said Mondriat.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Tom.

  ‘So we must trust each other. Now, please let me help you.’

  ‘Help me do what?’

  ‘Help you achieve everything you desire. Wealth, power, strength. This is what you seek. It is what everyone seeks. I can help you find the power to shape your own destiny.’

  ‘How?’ asked Tom.

  ‘A Conjuror manipulates. He does not create. To achieve your goals you will need powerful allies. You will need to find those who can exchange your gifts for theirs.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Good, then you can stop this pickpocketing tree nonsense. You need to stay out of sight. You must be as invisible as the air. Get rid of this cape while you’re at it. Try to blend in rather than stand out.’

  ‘I’ll do what you say,’ said Tom. ‘But I’m keeping the cape.’

  Chapter 52

  Eternity

  Lord Ringmore was philosophical about the failure of the experiment with Sir Tyrrell’s nephew. After all, the creation of a new Conjuror would only have further complicated matters. The goal was to entice the orphans back into his employment and, with Clay’s new stage show, Hayman’s novel and Sir Tyrrell’s parliamentary work keeping the rest of them busy, it was down to him alone to achieve it. There was every possibility that the orphans had left London, but Lord Ringmore had a feeling that this was not the case. Tom and Esther had grown up in these streets. It was all they knew. Still, London was a large enough city to get lost in, even without the ability to turn invisible.

  Sir Tyrrell had furnished Lord Ringmore with a letter of introduction to the metropolitan police, giving him unrestricted access to the Central London Police Station on Agar Street. It was whilst there that he caught wind of a number of reports about a pickpocket operating in Brunswick Square. Nothing strange in that, of course, except that some of the accounts appeared to suggest that the criminal responsible was invisible, while others claimed that it was the large weeping willow in the centre of the square that was plucking items with its branches. The duty officer found the whole thing most amusing, but Lord Ringmore had immediately caught a hansom cab there.

  Taking a leaf out of Clay’s book, Lord Ringmore had left his top hat, cape and walking stick at home, instead dressing in an anonymous dirt-brown overcoat with a cap pulled down to cover his face. In this disguise, he stood watching the square until he saw a boy drop out of a tree. It was Tom, even if his black cape and walking stick made Lord Ringmore feel as though he was looking at a miniature version of himself.

  When the boy vanished from sight outside the British Library, Lord Ringmore’s heart pounded. Having spent his life circumnavigating the globe in search of magic, here it was in his home city: real magic. When Tom reappeared he knew he could not risk losing him again so he stepped out in front of the boy and spoke. ‘Hello, Tom.’

  ‘What do you want?’ replied the orphan.

  ‘To strike up a deal.’

  On Tom’s shoulder was a disgustingly mangy magpie, which squawked in a most peculiar manner. It seemed to Lord Ringmore that the boy was listening to its unintelligible utterances.

  Tom looked at Lord Ringmore. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘But not like last time. I got more to bargain with now.’

  ‘You most certainly have,’ acknowledged Lord Ringmore.

  He paid for a cab to transport all three of them to his house, where he led the boy and his strange, feathered companion inside. When Tom looked around the room, empty but for a single armchair, he said, ‘Don’t expect me to say sorry.’

  ‘I expect no apologies,’ said Lord Ringmore. ‘I daresay my possessions are worth a great deal more to whoever now holds them than they ever meant to me.’

  ‘What you thinking anyway, leaving a big house like this with no one home?’ asked Tom. ‘You should have a housekeeper to watch the place when you’re not in. Or a dog. Or something.’

  ‘I accept full culpability,’ said Lord Ringmore.

  ‘You got the book though, did you?’ said Tom.

  Lord Ringmore nodded.

  ‘You know I could take it back if I wanted,’ said Tom.

  Another movement from Tom’s staff and Lord Ringmore felt the book wrestle itself free of his inside pocket and fly across the room into the boy’s hand. Lord Ringmore tapped the spot where the book had been. His heart was pounding harder than a military drummer. ‘How does it feel?’ he asked. ‘I mean, to possess such power at your fingertips?’

  ‘You already know how it feels.’ Tom shrugged. ‘Since I can remember, I’ve been told what to do, where to go, how to feel. Now, I can choose for myself. So don’t ask me how it feels as though you can’t imagine it because you’ve known that feeling your whole life.’

  ‘And what do you want now?’ asked Lord Ringmore.

  ‘I want my share.’

  ‘Your share of what?’

  ‘Of everything.’

  Lord Ringmore picked up a glass of wine from the mantelpiece. ‘You mean, you want money?’

  ‘Yeah money, of course money, but I want to be someone too.’

  Lord Ringmore took a sip of wine. ‘Oh, I think we can arrange that easily enough,’ he said. ‘After all, you’re more someone than anyone I’ve ever met. But, tell me, can you not magic up everything you desire?’

  ‘Conjurers can only manipulate,’ said Tom. ‘It is the unInfected like you who make.’

  ‘Then we can do great things together, you and I, Tom,’ said Lord Ringmore. ‘You will have money, means and everything you desire, but I also have one request.’

  ‘Which is what?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Oh, only eternity,’ said Lord Ringmore, casually. ‘Only eternity.’

  Chapter 53

  Lesson

  The main door of St Clement’s Catholic School for Waifs and Strays was kept locked and bolted at all times, keeping the orphans inside and everyone else out. As far as Mother Agnes was concerned, the large bolted door was essential to keep out the snakes of temptation that slithered through the city, but the locks yielded easily as Esther waved her hand, and she stepped inside. Tom used to joke that he would only ever come back when he was wealthy enough to buy the place. He would turn the nuns out into the street, make them strip and shave their heads, just as Mother Agnes had done to the orphans every time there was the threat of head lice. They had stood, shivering as the sleet came down on their frozen bodies, while they waited to have their heads shaved.

  Es
ther was not back for revenge. She was there because she wanted the truth.

  Walking down the corridor Esther could hear the chanting from the classroom. ‘Two times two is four … three times two is six … four times two is eight … ’ She looked in at the rows of orphans, terrified of making a mistake or being caught miming, knowing that to do so would be to incur severe punishment.

  A girl called Naomi spotted Esther at the window. A few years younger than Esther, she had always looked up to her. Esther recalled the time Naomi had claimed God was speaking to her at night. Esther had begged her not to tell anyone but word got out and, when it reached Mother Agnes, she had dragged Naomi in front of the school and explained that it was not the voice of God she was hearing. It was that of Satan.

  This memory came back to Esther as Naomi spied her through the classroom window and waved excitedly. It wasn’t long before the other orphans noticed. When Mother Agnes saw the class’s attention slip she did not turn to see what they were looking at but instead charged across the room with her ruler raised. Esther quickly sent the ruler flying in the air, then clattering to the floor. Mother Agnes spun around in confusion and saw Esther step inside.

  ‘You are no longer welcome in this charitable institution!’ said Mother Agnes accusingly. ‘After all I have done for you … ’

  ‘What did you do?’ demanded Esther.

  ‘You are a child.’ Mother Agnes spat the words. ‘You do not understand the sacrifices we make here for you. Daily sacrifices. Your very existence is testament to the Christian kindness of this charitable institution, without which you would be dead in the street.’

  ‘Yes, I am a miracle,’ said Esther.

  ‘You insolent child –’

  With the slightest of movements, Esther killed the words in her throat. ‘The beatings, the cruelties, the nights sent to bed hungry for no good reason,’ she said. ‘This is what you did for me.’

  ‘We take those whose parents cannot care for them and bring them up as God would have us do,’ said Mother Agnes.

  ‘Would God have you beat children?’ said Esther. ‘Does God make you punish those whose only sin is to be hungry? No God I know would do that.’

  ‘No, I can see perfectly well that you have allowed another to be your master,’ hissed Mother Agnes.

  ‘Not him, neither,’ said Esther.

  Mother Agnes picked up her ruler and raised her hand. ‘With these children as my witness I will beat the devil from you, child.’ Mother Agnes swung the ruler, but Esther sent it into the nun’s unsuspecting face. The sound of wood against skin echoed off the walls and the children stared in awe.

  ‘Behold, this child of Satan,’ cried Mother Agnes, as her cheek reddened. ‘She wields his terrible power as he claws at her insides. This is what will happen to you if you sell your soul, as this poor wretch has done. Look upon the face of evil.’

  ‘Yes, look upon the face of evil,’ repeated Esther.

  ‘I should have left you to die, along with your mother,’ said the prioress.

  ‘What do you know about her?’

  ‘Only that I found you clinging to her dead body, child. I lifted you off her cold breast myself. I buried your mother in a pauper’s grave and took you in.’

  Esther didn’t need to perform a spell to recognise this as the truth. ‘What else was there?’

  ‘Nothing else.’

  ‘Liar. There was a book.’

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ replied Mother Agnes. ‘Orphans are left with all sorts of things, but their lives begin afresh here.’

  ‘What happened to it?’

  ‘Any items left with children are sold to help pay for their upbringing. Not that your book fetched much. It was as worthless as was your mother’s life.’

  ‘It was mine,’ said Esther firmly.

  ‘There is only one book you should concern yourself with. The Bible. It’s a good thing your mother is dead. No mother would want to live to see her child dwell so readily with Lucifer.’

  Esther would have sent the ruler flying into her old enemy’s face again but she was scared that if she allowed herself to give in to this small temptation, she would not be able to stop. Instead, she placed her left hand on Mother Agnes’s cheek, while moving the staff with her right hand. Mother Agnes was unable to move away. Her eyes were closed and yet she could not avoid seeing that which Esther had to show her. Esther projected the images in her mind. She showed her the truth she had learnt. She showed Mother Agnes that the world was not as she believed. It was so much deeper, stranger, darker and lighter. She felt the prioress try to look away as she forced her to witness the true nature of the universe. As Tom had destroyed his aunt’s house, so Esther would do the same to Mother Agnes’s mind. Piece by piece, she tore her faith to shreds. Mother Agnes tried to hide from the onslaught, but the further she ran into her mind, the more she revealed of herself and the quicker Esther could pollute her every thought with crippling doubt.

  When Esther removed her hand, Mother Agnes opened her eyes and collapsed to the floor in tears. The orphans stared in wonder as the nun they feared more than any other clasped her hands together and muttered under her breath, ‘Forgive me … forgive me’, as though in prayer. Only Esther knew that she was not praying. Prayer was no longer an option for Mother Agnes. Esther had robbed her of her faith.

  Chapter 54

  Wasteland

  Clay led Hardy and his boys to a patch of wasteland where the only signs of life came from the boat-dwelling gypsies moored nearby. The sound of strumming guitars, hand clapping and laughter drifted through the cold night air.

  ‘What’s out here?’ asked Hardy.

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Clay. ‘That’s the point. No one can see us out here.’

  ‘I don’t like being so near all them gypsies,’ said Worms.

  ‘Nor me,’ said Stump.

  ‘They won’t bother us if we don’t bother them,’ said Clay. ‘Now, you’ll need a stick.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Brewer.

  ‘To act as your wand,’ replied Clay.

  ‘Is he gonna turn us into toads or something?’ said Worms, making Stump snigger.

  ‘Not a lot of turning required for that,’ said Hardy. ‘Now, shut it.’

  ‘This is stupid,’ grumbled Brewer.

  ‘You all saw what Esther did,’ said Hardy. ‘I want to know how.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to?’ said Brewer.

  Hardy grabbed him in a headlock and banged his head with his knuckles. ‘You do what I say when you’re in my gang. You know that, Brewer.’

  ‘Here. What about this one?’ said Clay, offering a branch he had found.

  Brewer took it and snapped it on his knee. ‘It’s rotten,’ he said.

  ‘Try this.’ Hardy held out the ruler he had taken from Mother Agnes.

  ‘Quiet reflection,’ said Brewer, taking it gently in both hands.

  ‘Thought you might remember it,’ said Hardy. ‘You must have felt it almost as many times as I did.’

  ‘So what now?’ asked Brewer. He waved it in the air. Worms and Stump laughed loudly. Across the way, on the boats, the music stopped.

  ‘Quiet,’ whispered Hardy. ‘You don’t want to find yourselves in the middle of a gypsy brawl.’

  The guitar started playing again.

  ‘Draw this shape on the ground.’ Clay held up a piece of paper. ‘Draw it big enough for you to stand in the middle circle.’

  Brewer looked at it doubtfully.

  ‘Come on, Brewer, draw the shape,’ said Hardy.

  Brewer took the piece of paper, stared at it then copied it out onto the ground with his stick.

  ‘Now, step into the centre,’ said Clay.

  ‘What is this? Piggy in the middle?’ asked Worms.

  ‘Do it, Brewer,’ ordered Hardy.

  As soon as Brewer stepped into the circle, to the others’ surprise he began to shake as though he was experiencing some kind of fit.

  ‘What’s happenin
g?’ demanded Hardy.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Clay.

  ‘Brewer, what are you feeling?’ asked Hardy.

  Brewer stepped out of the circle and turned to face Hardy.

  ‘Brewer?’ Hardy stepped back uncertainly.

  Brewer gazed at the ruler in his hand, his eyes glowing strangely.

  ‘I feel … ’ He searched for the right word. ‘I feel … strong.’

  ‘We should get moving,’ said Clay. The guitar had stopped again and the gypsies were shouting and moving towards them.

  ‘Good strong?’ asked Hardy.

  ‘Good for me,’ replied Brewer. He crouched down and moved the ruler in his right hand. He held his left up to Hardy’s chest, throwing him onto his back.

  ‘Why you … ’ Hardy jumped up, but this time Brewer sent him flying over his head.

  The gypsies were closing in, with flaming torches in their hands.

  ‘I think we should all get out of here,’ said Clay.

  ‘Why?’ asked Brewer.

  He clenched his fist and the flames from the gypsies’ torches shot into the air. The fire formed monstrous faces with a snake-like body that swung down to earth. Hardy tried to run, but Brewer clicked his fingers and brought him tumbling down again, manipulating him like a puppet. The gypsies had dropped their torches and were running scared, but the fire-creature moved in on Hardy.

  ‘Come on, Brewer, we’re friends, ain’t we?’ he shouted, desperately trying to escape the flaming beast that was crawling towards him.

  ‘It was always going to come to this,’ said Brewer.

  ‘Come on, Brewer, we’ve all had a good laugh,’ said Worms.

  ‘Yeah, leave him alone now,’ added Stump.

  ‘He deserves this,’ snarled Brewer, and he slammed his ruler on the ground. The fire-beast opened its mouth wide and pounced on Hardy. The others looked away as the flames devoured him until his desperate screams were silenced.

  Brewer lowered his hand.

  ‘We need to leave now,’ said Clay, urgently.

  ‘You’re right,’ said Brewer. ‘There’s nothing left here I care about.’