by Victor Kloss
Ben walked slowly, trying to make out bits of conversation within the mayhem.
“…that’s the going price of sugar, my friend, take it or leave it…”
“…magic has been going up consistently, look at the figures…”
“…yes, we like your spices, but not enough to bankrupt our nation…”
“…these earthquake spells have been extensively tested, they will bring the house down, trust me…”
Ben wanted to listen to every conversation, but if he stopped too long he started getting looks, so he always moved on. He lost himself in the energy of the room and marvelled at the way the Institute members bartered – to a man they looked like seasoned salesmen undaunted by the opposition no matter how peculiar or intense the debate was.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he’d seen enough. It took him a moment to spot Charlie and Natalie. They were by the door talking in hushed voices with somebody. It was Wren, Ben realised in surprise. Surely it hadn’t been three hours already? He hurried over, the fascination of the trading tables evaporating.
“Ben,” Wren said, smiling at him with a pervasive calm. “I am sorry to barge in like this – you looked like you were enjoying yourself. Fascinating, isn’t it? Our best traders can sell ice to an Eskimo, as the saying goes.”
“Is everything okay?” Ben asked, seeing the sombre expressions from Natalie and Charlie.
“Everything is fine,” Wren said. “Unfortunately, I am going to have to cut your tour short. Draven, in his fanatical obsession to move things along, has managed to convene everyone quicker than I anticipated. They are now upstairs, awaiting your presence.”
— Chapter Twelve —
The Executive Council
Ben, Charlie and Natalie were once more heading down the staircase. Wren had ordered Ben to get some food as she said he would need the energy. A sombre silence had descended, broken only by the rhythmic pattering of feet echoing on the marble stairs.
While touring the Institute Ben had managed to put thoughts of the meeting aside, but now everything came rushing back. He could deal with the questions and was looking forward to seeing if his parents really had cast any spells on him. It was the Memory Search that worried him, the idea that people would be able to see inside his head. It will replay in your mind as if it’s happening again. Would he have any control? What would he see?
Natalie led them through a set of double doors that read “Department of Apprentices” with a symbol of a tree below. Ben’s troubles receded momentarily as they walked through the hallway into a large room that looked a bit like the sixth-form campus at school. There were a dozen people, most not much older than him, sitting on couches and chairs that were sprawled haphazardly. Books lay everywhere – on the couches, on small desks and even on the floor. Most were reading, but a few were tinkering with their Spellshooters.
Ben felt several curious eyes on him and a few jealous looks from some of the guys. He was in no mood for introductions and thankfully Natalie led them straight through to an adjacent dining hall. It looked like the trading room minus the craziness. There were two wooden tables and benches either side of them. At the end of the room stood trolleys with piping hot food creating a pleasant aroma.
Ben barely paid any attention to the chicken casserole he served onto his dish. He didn’t feel like eating, but forced the food down, barely aware that it tasted delicious. Before he knew it he was bussing his tray and they were making their way back up the stairs to the very top floor. Occasionally someone overtook them, but Ben was happy with the slow pace; it gave him a few more minutes to prepare and helped Charlie to keep up. When they passed the Department of Spellswords, Ben felt the first shiver of nerves.
“Have you ever had a Memory Search?” Ben asked Natalie. She had been unusually quiet, twirling her hair round her finger.
“No, but I have studied a bit about it,” she said. “There is no physical pain in the spell, but re-experiencing the memory can be unpleasant if it’s not a nice one. Try not to worry too much, they will look after you.”
Ben hoped she was right. In no time at all they were walking along the hallway of the lavishly appointed Executive Floor. Outside the door that said “Executive Council” was Wren waiting for them with a smile. Her flowery red dress and piled-up hair were as flawless as ever, but Ben thought he detected tiny wrinkles of concern.
“Take Charlie back to my office,” Wren said to Natalie. “We will come down as soon as we are done.”
“Good luck! You’ll be fine. Just let them do their jobs,” Natalie said, somehow sounding enthused. Charlie gave him an encouraging smile and they both turned to leave.
Wren made no move to open the door. Instead, she put a hand on Ben’s shoulder and gave him a long look.
“Inside are nearly all the senior members of the Institute. You have met Draven, Colin and me. Now you will meet two others. It is important you realise that everyone, even Draven, is on your side.”
“Nearly all the senior members?” Ben asked, frowning.
“Our most senior member is not here. Now, no more questions, you need to focus."
Ben nodded, suppressing his curiosity.
“Remember, there is a lot we don’t know. We are trying to find out where your parents are and why they thought it best to hide rather than seek the sanctuary of the Institute. Most importantly, we need to prove your parents’ innocence and that they had nothing to do with the death of Suktar’s son. It’s crucial you remember that, as there may be moments when it gets uncomfortable.”
Ben bit his lip and nodded again. For a moment he thought about revealing the fabric, but it didn’t seem like the right time.
“I understand. Let’s get on with it.”
Wren smiled and for a moment he thought she was going to say more, but she just squeezed his shoulder and opened the door, ushering him through.
Four sets of eyes stared at him as he entered. They were seated in plush leather seats around a circular table.
“Please stand on the spell circle,” Wren said, as she sat herself down.
It was clear what she was referring to. Ben walked to the back of the room and stood on a large, blue circle that had been painted on the wooden floor. His heart was thumping, but he met the directors’ stares without flinching. The five sets of coloured diamonds floating above their shoulders were strangely impressive.
Draven was there, eyebrows furrowed, his constant scowl even more prominent, watching Ben like a hawk. Wren’s warm glow countered Draven’s. There was one other woman in the room. She was tall and slender, with as many curves as a pencil. She had long, brown hair and glasses that magnified her eyes to scary proportions. Her frumpy, grey jumper clashed horribly with her lime-green trousers. Next to her was Colin. His black suit was just as spotless as before. He sat as if he had a pole inside the back of his jacket, with his hands folded neatly on the table. Ben was struck by the size of his eyebrows – they looked as big as moustaches. He didn’t blink, bat an eye or make the slightest response when Ben looked at him. Beside him was a man Ben instantly warmed to. He wore a Jedi-styled, blue, hooded cloak and had wavy hair, bright eyes and lips that seemed creased in a permanent little smile. He was leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table. A small gold coin ran over and under his fingers with stunning dexterity. When Ben made eye contact, he gave a little nod and a wink.
“Alright, let’s get on with this,” Draven said, slapping his hand on the table. “I have called the Executive Council for an emergency meeting to discuss Greg and Jane Greenwood’s son, Ben, who stands before us. I am proposing we cast two spells on Ben. The first is a Memory Search, to see if Ben has any memories hidden by magic. The second is a Search Spell, which will search for any enchantments or charms his parents may have placed on him. Any questions?”
“Who will cast the spells?” Wren asked.
“I will do the Memory Search,” Draven said. “I have the most experience. You, Wren, will do the
Spell Search.”
Ben groaned inwardly. He hoped Wren would object, but though she pursed her lips, she said nothing.
Draven stood up and produced his Spellshooter, which he proceeded to inspect.
Ben felt a shiver run through him and he took an involuntary step back. Suddenly, he wanted to stall, somehow, anyhow.
“Is this going to hurt?” he asked, hating the way his voice trembled.
“There is no pain,” Draven said. The usual gruffness in his voice lessened a fraction. “I’ve cast this spell hundreds of times. You should sit down and try to relax.”
There was a loud knock on the door just as Ben was about to take a seat. The Council turned around in surprise. Draven stood up and marched to the door, ready to fling it open and unleash hell on the person who dared interrupt their meeting.
“We're in session!” Draven said.
The door swung open suddenly, almost hitting Draven in the face. A tall man stood in the doorway. He wore a black cloak and was sopping wet with rain and mud. But there was power and grace in his posture. Ben couldn't stop looking at the man's eyes; there were peculiar flecks of gold in them.
Draven stepped back and the rest of the Council rose as one.
“Your Highness,” Draven said, with an awkward bow. “I apologise. We didn't realise you were back.”
Ben frowned. Your Highness?
“Calm yourself, Draven,” the man said in a deep voice. “I had not expected to return so soon.” He entered the room and the Council immediately gave him the centre chair.
“Ben Greenwood?” the man asked, taking a seat. The rest of the Council followed and suddenly Ben was again the centre of attention.
“That's right.”
He sensed curiosity in those peculiar, dark, gold-flecked eyes, but the man's expression remained impassive.
“My name is Robert. I am Commander of the Royal Institute of Magic.”
Ben wasn't surprised, given the way the Council was behaving. He looked the part despite his appearance. But why had Draven called him “Your Highness”?
“I don't have much time,” Robert said. “I came here to see the Memory Search. Let us proceed.”
It took a second for Ben to realise what Robert meant until Draven stood up, Spellshooter in hand.
“Sit down please, Ben,” Draven said. The word “please” sounded odd coming from him.
Ben sat down, careful to stay within the circle. He had almost forgotten about the spell, but now it came flooding back. He looked anxiously at Wren and she smiled.
“If you are in any difficulty we will cancel the spell,” she said. Ben couldn’t help noticing Draven’s doubtful expression.
“Get ready,” Draven said. “You’re going for a ride.”
He aimed his Spellshooter at Ben and fired.
— Chapter Thirteen —
Spells and Memory Lane
The world disappeared and everything went black. There was no floor beneath his feet. He had no feet. He was a floating entity in a void of darkness.
An image of Wren standing outside the meeting materialised. It was a picture from his memory in perfect 3D, with every perception just as clear as the original incident. It felt like he was watching an IMAX movie of his own life filmed through his eyes.
The scene froze. He started walking backwards, away from Wren, as if someone had hit rewind. He was going back in time, he realised. At first, it was slow enough to decipher, but it quickly became a blur. Occasionally he could make out a scene from school or home. Each time the world looked a little different; he was getting smaller, so everything started looking bigger as the months and years cycled back.
Eventually the “movie reel” slowed. Ben’s heart jumped at the scene before him. He was playing football in the garden with his dad who was smiling at him as he went in for a tackle. Everything was so real: the bearded stubble, the thin moustache, even the sparkle in his eye.
The scene stopped and blurred again.
Fast forward.
Ben was walking down the road towards his house. His dad’s Mini was sandwiched between two police cars parked on the curb at the base of the hill.
Despite having no perceptible body, Ben shivered.
He was watching the moments before he learned of his parents’ disappearance.
Thankfully, the scene blurred.
Forward and back they went, honing in on a memory, before fading out and then blurring to something else. Ben wasn’t sure how long it went on, but it made him feel queasy unless he stayed focused.
The stabbing head pain came from nowhere.
“There!”
Ben was only dimly aware of the voices in the room.
The memories stopped and reversed, slower this time. He could see bits and pieces – a house, his parents, the car.
Then he saw it. A black spot amongst the colour of his past; a gap in his memory where nothing existed. Staring at it made his head throb. As soon as he looked away the pain eased. He glanced at it again and his head immediately started aching.
“That’s the one.” Draven’s voice. “Focus and you will pierce it.”
Ben was trying, but it hurt. His head was pulsing. He was dimly aware that he was squeezing his temples and groaning.
“Draven, that’s enough. Release him from the spell.” Wren’s voice came from afar.
“No, this is it.”
“You could damage his mind.”
“He’s nearly got it. Fight it, boy. Fight it!”
Ben was on the verge of collapse, but the anger in Draven’s voice fuelled his own. With a cry of pain and defiance, he summoned every ounce of willpower he had and forced himself into the blackness.
A flicker of light pierced the darkness. Ben focused on it and the light started to expand. Within moments it had grown from a pinhole to something he could fit his hand through. Ben saw colour; behind the darkness was another memory.
Ben attacked the remainder with such energy he was barely aware he was screaming. The last of the blackness vanished and with it the pain. Ben found himself staring at a memory he had forgotten existed.
The scene sharpened and he felt himself being sucked into the picture. In front of him was a kitchen door, ajar. Its handle was at eye level. He turned and saw his reflection in a mirror. A small boy stared back at him with mischievous, blue eyes and messy, blond hair. The smell of roast chicken came from the kitchen and the hallway carpet felt soft beneath his feet.
He was re-experiencing the moment as if he were there. He was there. The memory became an all-encompassing reality.
“Absolutely not – I refuse!”
Ben was about to head upstairs, but the anger in his mum’s voice made him stop. It came from somewhere in the kitchen. His mum had told him many times how rude it was to eavesdrop, but that didn’t stop him from tiptoeing up to the kitchen door to get a better listen.
“Now is the time, Jane.” His dad’s calm voice was in stark contrast to his mum’s. “The longer we delay, the more dangerous it becomes. Suktar will soon come for us again.”
Ben’s interest was now well and truly piqued. What danger was his dad talking about?
“I will not leave Ben – he is too young,” his mum said.
Ben’s eyes widened. He resisted the urge to barge in, knowing the conversation would end the moment he did.
“You won’t leave him. I will begin the search myself.”
There was a pause. Ben inched closer to the door. He could picture his parents facing each other.
“You won’t find them by yourself, Greg. You need me.”
“Ben could stay with Anne.”
Ben slammed a hand over his mouth to muffle his protest. To his relief, his mum sounded just as outraged.
“Are you mad? I’d rather send him to a foster home.”
His dad gave an angry grunt. “Well, I’m open to suggestions.”
His mum’s reply was so soft he barely heard it. “What about the Institute? They could help.�
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“No.” His dad was firm. “They will ask too many questions. And that would involve Ben. The Greenwood relationship with the Institute ends with us.”
“If you won’t use the Institute, then we wait until Ben is sixteen.”
“Suktar may come for us before then. We can fool him only so long.”
“That’s a risk we’ll have to take,” his mum said. She threw something down on the counter.
Ben heard footsteps.
His mum was coming! Ben turned away, but he was too slow.
The kitchen door opened.
His mum was staring at him, her eyes wide.
“Ben! What are you doing here?”
“I live here, don’t I?” Ben replied. Always best to go on the offensive.
His dad came hurrying over. Ben lost his nerve a little – his dad, normally so calm and relaxed, wore a stern frown. He had never seen his dad angry before.
“How long have you been here?” his dad asked.
“Only a minute.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“Not much,” Ben answered. But curiosity got the better of him. “Mum’s right, I’d rather stay in a foster home than at Grandma’s. Where are you going?”
“Nowhere,” his parents replied. They looked at each other for a moment.
“No,” his mum said.
His dad shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jane, on this there is no debate.”
Before Ben could work out what they were talking about, his dad pulled a peculiar toy gun from behind his back.