Royal Institute of Magic

by Victor Kloss

  He gave one last look to Charlie who was waving frantically at him to go.

  “Remember my breakfast,” Ben said with a smile and a little salute. “I like my eggs over easy.”

  Ben jumped just as he heard the door being thrown open. He landed with a soft thud on the trunk and quickly climbed down until he was safely in Charlie’s back garden. He sneaked a look through the kitchen windows and saw Charlie’s dad eating breakfast, his back turned. Ben sprinted to a hedge that ran along the side of the garden, keeping as low as possible. He got onto his hands and knees and squeezed through a tiny gap in the bushes, ignoring the scratchy branches, and re-appeared in the adjacent garden. The Lamberts, Charlie’s neighbours, were early risers and their place was always empty. He dusted himself off and walked round the side of their house. Jumping over the gate, he walked up their driveway and on to the pavement. There he merged with the other kids making their way to school.

  At the corner of the road Ben stopped and leant against a large tree to wait for Charlie. Several of the boys, some a year or two older, stopped and asked if he were playing any football over the summer. The girls in his class smiled and waved as they passed.

  All of them would have woken up in their comfy beds, probably eaten cooked breakfasts and then would have been nagged out the door by their mums. Ben never thought he’d miss the nagging.

  Charlie turned up moments later, holding a sandwich in his hands.

  “I didn’t have time to do eggs, so you’ll have to settle for peanut butter and jam. Unfortunately, it’s not up to my usual standard, as my mum kicked me out before I could finish. She thinks I have an eating problem.”

  “It’s perfect, Charlie, thanks,” Ben said, taking the sandwich and attacking it with relish.

  They started their journey to school, walking through well-kept but uninspiring neighbourhoods filled with neat flower beds and silver hatchbacks.

  Ben’s dream came drifting back despite his best efforts to forget it.

  “Seventeen days,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration.

  Charlie groaned. “I was sure you’d got rid of it this time.”

  “So was I,” Ben said, kicking a pebble.

  Ben mentally put the counter back at zero. Seventeen days without having the dream had been a record and he’d begun to believe it had finally gone. Two years was a long time to have a recurring dream, but maybe that was normal when it was based on such a traumatic experience. Was it really two years since his parents disappeared? He was almost fifteen now, so it must be. Ben still remembered the weeks after they vanished as if it were yesterday. Every time someone came in the house, every time the phone rang, every letter they received, Ben thought it would be his parents explaining where they had gone and why. But after a few months he had stopped rushing downstairs to collect the mail and he had stopped asking his grandma “Who called?” every time she hung up the phone. Then the nightmares had begun and he had to relive the incident every night.

  “Speaking of which,” Charlie said, “I have some news. Guess who emailed me this morning?”

  There was something about Charlie’s voice – it was too casual. Charlie was never casual.

  “Someone important, judging by the way you’re trying to stay relaxed but look as if you’re about to burst.”

  Charlie slapped his thigh in frustration. “How do you do that calm look? You need to teach me.”

  “Impossible, Charlie, with your hamster-like face. So who emailed?”

  “The textile expert!” Charlie raised his arms as if he’d just scored. “We even agreed a price that doesn’t involve selling one of my kidneys. Best of all, he’s based up in London so we don’t have to ship it – we can travel there ourselves. I know you were concerned about that. He’s really good. If he can’t answer our question, nobody can.”

  Ben suppressed his excitement in a manner Charlie had failed to do moments earlier. There had been too many false leads already to get his hopes up. Charlie, though, seemed oblivious to the dozen experts they’d already gone through.

  In Ben’s left pocket was a small piece of fabric that he ran between his fingers. Ben knew the feel of the fabric down to the last stitch. He pulled it out and admired it as he had done a thousand times before. As always, he was struck by its beauty. It was no bigger than a handkerchief, but it was the colour and texture that stood out, not the size. It constantly shifted colours to match its surroundings. Right now it was light brown and blended in perfectly with Ben’s hand. As soon as he moved it against his trousers, it turned black.

  He still remembered finding the fabric hidden amongst the wreckage of their house after the police had gone. It was his one link to the crime scene and he’d never told anyone in case they took the swatch away. Ben felt certain it was a unique piece of material and a valuable clue. The only problem: it was too unique – nobody had ever seen it before and, though he had lots of offers to buy it, nobody could tell him anything about it.

  “Sounds good, Charlie. Let’s see him this weekend.”

  “Already booked,” Charlie said, rubbing his hands together and grinning.

  Ben had a sudden thought. “How much is he going to cost?”

  Charlie’s grin vanished. “It doesn’t matter. I’m paying.”

  Ben shook his head and wagged his finger. “I’m paying at least half. How much is he charging? And don’t even think about lying to me.”

  Charlie stared at him and sighed. “It’s £100 for a fifteen-minute consultation.”

  Ben cringed. “Wow – does that include breakfast?”

  “Very funny, Ben. This guy is a professional; he’s worth it.”

  “I hope so,” Ben said, “because I’ll need to take an extra paper round for this.” There was a little pause and he grabbed a handful of his blond hair. “Can we pay him at a later date? Because I’m a little short right now. Otherwise, we might have to postpone it.”

  Charlie rolled his eyes and threw his arms up in the air in a fit of theatrics.

  “Come on, Ben,” he said. “I’m sorry, but you can’t even afford a place to live while you’re down here for school. You are not” – Charlie stamped his foot – “paying for this.”

  Ben was torn between stubborn refusal and amusement at Charlie’s little drama show. “Down here was Dukinfield, a little town in West Sussex and home until his parents had disappeared. A wealthy family had agreed to take him in afterwards and he had spent his weekdays in Sussex at school and his weekends up in Croydon with his grandma. It was the perfect arrangement, until last year when the family moved abroad. He had asked around, but none of his other friends’ parents could afford to let him stay. Ben, however, wasn’t deterred. Rather than tell his grandma, he took living arrangements into his own hands. He had enough close friends, so why not sleep over on a rotating schedule? It was perfect – none of the parents would suspect a thing as he’d only ever stay at the same house once per week. Unfortunately, Ben hadn’t accounted for the secret pact between mums – no weekday sleepovers. This made things trickier, but Ben still managed two or three nights a week at someone’s with their parents’ permission. The other nights, like the last, were slightly more adventurous.

  “I’m going to pay you back,” Ben said. “I’m getting some extra work this holiday.”

  Summer holidays were right round the corner and Ben was grateful that this was the last Monday at school for several weeks.

  With the trip to the textile expert and end of term on the horizon, the final week of school dragged on forever. When Friday eventually arrived, Ben slept over at Charlie’s again and the following morning they were on the bus heading up to London.

  “Do we really have to detour to your grandma’s?” Charlie asked.

  “It’s hardly a detour, we pass right through Croydon. I just need to drop my stuff off.”

  “Will the devil be home?”

  “My grandma is not the devil,” Ben said, smiling despite the insult. “Besides, isn’t the dev
il a male?”

  “I thought so until I met your grandma. Could you tell her to stop calling me Fatty?”

  “You could stand to lose a little weight.”

  “My mum says it’s just baby fat,” Charlie said a little defensively.

  In truth, Ben felt no great urge to defend his grandma. Charlie’s accusations weren’t far off the mark, which was why Ben put up with such peculiar living arrangements down in Sussex. But she was the only family he had left.

  Ben felt the fabric in his pocket and stopped thinking about his grandma. Would this textile expert finally be the one to shed some light on it? What if he knew nothing? Their one and only lead to his missing parents would be gone. Ben refused to think about that possibility. He knew his parents were out there somewhere; the only mystery in his mind was why they were unable to come back.

  Half an hour passed before the bus turned down Galaxy Lane and pulled over at his local stop. They got out and walked through a council estate and into a tiny neighbourhood of houses. Ben and Charlie followed a winding road that led to a cul-de-sac, where they eventually arrived at a small, characterless brick house that for the last two years Ben had called home. It didn’t have the quirky yellow door of his parents’ place, nor the crazy front garden, but it was better than no home at all.

  Ben delved into his pocket for the key, but to his surprise the door was already open. A police officer stood just outside. Ben stopped, his heart lurching.

  He recognised the man instantly – he was in Ben’s dream nearly every night.

  — Chapter Three —

  The jewellery box

  The police officer was just leaving, but he stopped when he saw the two boys running towards him.

  “Ben Greenwood?”

  Ben nodded, trying to read the officer’s face to determine the reason for his visit. His breath quickened and hope swelled despite his efforts to stop it. The officer looked smaller, but that must have been because Ben had grown.

  “You probably don’t remember me. I was one of the officers who answered the police call when your parents disappeared.”

  “Inspector Wilkins,” Ben said. “What’s happened? Have you found something?”

  Wilkins’ eyebrows flickered in surprise and he hesitated; Ben knew then the news wasn’t good.

  “I’m sorry, Ben.” Wilkins rubbed his forehead, looking uncomfortable. “We haven’t made any progress for some time. I came by to return some evidence we took from your parents’ house.”

  “Why are you returning it?” Ben asked, his voice soft. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

  “No,” Wilkins said, because he didn’t have the heart to say otherwise. “We won’t close the investigation until we find your parents. But we have several new cases and there isn’t enough space to keep all the evidence at the station.”

  Ben wanted to believe him. “They’re still alive.” His throat suddenly felt constricted, but he pressed on. “I don’t know how, but I’m sure of it.”

  “I believe you,” the inspector said with a solemn face.

  Ben watched Wilkins take his leave and drive away; with him went Ben’s last hope in the police.

  “He’s lying,” Charlie said, watching the car. “If he’s returning evidence, it means they are closing the investigation.”

  Ben wanted to disagree, but he didn’t doubt Charlie’s hunch.

  “Let’s dump my bag and get out of here,” Ben said.

  Charlie nodded. “I wonder what evidence they returned.”

  Ben was wondering the same thing. Whatever it was hadn’t helped the police, but that didn’t dampen his curiosity.

  “Jesus, what’s that smell?” Charlie asked as they entered the house.

  The answer came from the kitchen. Even from the hallway Ben could see dishes piled high in the sink, dirty plates covering every inch of the table tops. Ben held his breath and rushed over to close the fridge; it was almost empty except for some revolting cheese that looked as though it had evolved into an entirely new organism.

  They shut the kitchen door to block off the smell and entered the dining room. On a small table were two big boxes; in one of them a frail lady’s head was so immersed only her bushy white hair could be seen. She was throwing books and other bits out carelessly, scattering objects on the floor.

  “Rubbish – junk!” the lady said.

  “Grandma, what are you doing?” Ben asked, rushing forward and picking up the items off the floor. “That’s not yours.”

  Grandma Anne looked up and scowled at Ben and then Charlie as a way of greeting.

  “They should have taken this all straight to the tip,” she said, pushing a box away in disgust. “It’s hard enough keeping the house clean with you here.”

  “It’s not junk, Grandma.” Ben’s eyes widened when he spotted a large binder. “Look at this. It’s a family photo album.”

  Anne ignored the album entirely and pointed a bony finger at him. “What did I tell you about calling me Grandma? I’ve got enough real grandchildren as it is.”

  “I forgot,” Ben said.

  He felt strangely reluctant to break such an old habit. It was only after his parents disappeared that he learnt Anne was his step-grandmother.

  Ben started sifting through the boxes. Immediately Anne dipped her head back into the box, her long, pointed nose almost touching its contents. “I’m entitled to fifty percent of anything you sell, so don’t think about cheating me.”

  There was a subtle cough from the corner of the room. Anne turned to the source. “What is it, Fatty?”

  “Nothing – just that, as next of kin, Ben is legally entitled to all his parents’ possessions.”

  Anne’s eyes, already set in a permanent squint, narrowed to slits. Her scowl made Charlie flinch. “If Fatty is right, then I don’t want these boxes making a mess in here. Get them up to your bedroom.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she picked up her cane and walked back into the lounge. The TV went on and she forgot all about them.

  Ben and Charlie grabbed the boxes and lugged them up the stairs into his bedroom. Upon entering, he did a quick inspection to make sure nothing was out of place. Anne liked to poke around and “borrow” things. Last week the batteries from his alarm clock had gone missing; Ben had found them later in the TV remote. Thankfully, the bed was unruffled, his family photos were still on the windowsill and the mini football was still on his desk.

  They dumped everything on Ben’s bed. But instead of heading out, their eyes lingered on the boxes.

  “I wonder if there is anything useful in there,” Ben said.

  Charlie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The police would have been through it all, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  They both kept staring at the boxes.

  “We’ve got time before the meeting with the textile guy,” Ben said. “Why don’t we take a look?”

  Charlie nodded vigorously, his cheeks wobbling.

  They sat down on the bed and each of them put a box on their lap.

  Ben found himself subconsciously holding his breath when he picked up the first item – a phone book. He looked through each page, enjoying the look of his mum’s handwriting. There were lots of other books, a couple of photo albums, which Ben marvelled over, and even an old iPod with a dead battery. A couple of times he glanced over and saw Charlie examining his own box carefully. His friend was a one-man Scotland Yard and Ben had faint hopes that Charlie might somehow spot something the police had missed. But though Charlie was clearly fascinated, he remained quiet.

  Ben couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed when he neared the end of his box. He peered in to survey the last few items.

  Something shiny stared back at him, partially hidden underneath a binder.

  It was a small, wooden jewellery box. Ben picked it up. The wood was beautifully crafted and inlaid with fine gold carvings.

  Charlie put down a photograph he had been examining and looked over with int
erest.

  Ben opened the box and stared at the contents. There was a handful of small jewellery pieces inside, but none of them looked particularly valuable. Ben wasn’t surprised; his parents weren’t exactly dripping money.

  “Can I have a look?” Charlie asked, and Ben handed him the box. Charlie held it to the light, examining it from every angle with an intense expression.

  “I bet this jewellery box is worth more than its contents,” Charlie said. “The craftsmanship is amazing. Look at this engraving! Edward Clavell, 1548. This box is hundreds of years old.”

  Ben’s fascination did not quite match Charlie’s. “I’m guessing you still watch Antiques Roadshow every Sunday?”

  “My dad always has it on and I’ve become hooked. I bet we could get this valued if we went on there.” Charlie started tapping the base of the box and his excitement grew. “Do you hear that? It sounds like it could be hollow.”

  Ben listened carefully, but it was difficult to tell and he had a feeling Charlie was getting a little carried away.

  Charlie began probing the delicate engravings. “Sometimes these things have a false bottom – I saw it on the Roadshow once.”

  After several minutes of prodding and probing, Charlie’s excitement dimmed and he finally handed it back.

  Ben gave the jewellery box a final inspection. There was something about the gold carvings that caught his eye; they seemed to glow the more he stared at them. It was almost hypnotic. He felt his eyes watering, unable to take them away from the gold flecks of light. They appeared to dance and shine, getting brighter by the second. Just as he thought he would be blinded by the display, Ben imagined the lights spelling out a word.

  Greenwood.

  The jewellery box gave a soft click and a tiny drawer just above the base slid open.

  The shock made Ben blink and the trance was broken.

  “How did you do that?” Charlie asked with a gasp. “What did you touch?”

  Ben rubbed his eyes. “I’m not sure.”

  Inside the little drawer were a couple of cards on top of a piece of paper. Ben went for the cards, but the piece of paper below caught his attention.