“It wasn’t my fault!” Zane yelled. “It was my backstage! Ted, you dolt, you yanked when you were supposed to swoop! How many times do I have to explain that!”
“Hey!” Ted objected, bursting noisily out of a closet at the rear of the room. He held a handful of wires in his hand, all of which snaked up to a series of pulleys attached to the ceiling of the closet. “You want to try coming back here and working these controls in the dark? Huh? Besides, Noah is the one to blame. He was slow with the cross pulley.”
A voice from the depths of the closet yelled angrily, “What? That’s it! I want to be on stage next time. I’ve had it with this ‘assistant’ role. I want to wear the hat!”
“Nobody’s wearing the hat, Noah,” Zane said, rolling his eyes.
“Well, somebody needs to wear the hat!” Noah cried, his face appearing around the doorway of the closet. “How does anybody know who’s the magician and who’s the assistant?”
“Boys, boys,” Hubert placated, raising his hands. “We only have one hat per classroom, and Miss Morganstern is using it to practice the rabbit trick. Mr. Prescott, Mr. Finney, would you like to see the rabbit trick?”
“Why, yes,” Finney said brightly.
“No!” Prescott yelled.
Tabitha Corsica had pushed herself to the front of the students crowding the doorway. Her face was red with anger. “Mr. Prescott,” she began, “you--”
Hubert turned slowly to face Tabitha. “This is hardly the time for autographs, Miss Corsica.”
“I’m not here to get his autograph, Chancellor…,” Tabitha spat, raising her arm to point at Hubert. There was a small notebook and a pen clutched in her hand. She stopped in mid-sentence, staring at the two items. The cover of the notebook was pink and had the word ‘autographs’ printed on it in white script.
“There will be plenty of time later for such things, Miss Corsica. But I’m sure Mr. Prescott is flattered by your, er, interest.”
“Chancellor Hubert?” Petra interjected, peering into a black top hat which was sitting atop a ridiculously glittery table. “I think something might be wrong with Mr. Wiffles. Do rabbits usually lie on their backs like that?”
“Not now, Miss Morganstern,” Hubert said, flapping his hand dismissively. “Mr. Prescott, I believe you wanted to see our sawing-in-half room?”
But Prescott was gone, stalking past the suddenly silent Tabitha Corsica and heading down the corridor behind her. The crew scrambled to chase him as he poked his head into each room. At the end of the hall, he gave a muffled shout of triumph and waved for his crew to join him in the furthest classroom.
“Here!” Prescott yelled, gesturing wildly with his right arm. The crowd poured into the room, followed by the watching students, who were beginning to grin. “Right before your eyes! A ghost professor! Make sure you get plenty of footage of this, Vince! Proof of the afterlife!”
There was no gasp of surprise this time. Vince moved in close, focusing carefully with one hand.
“Ah, yes. Professor Binns,” Hubert said happily. “Say hello to the nice folks.”
Professor Binns blinked owlishly and passed his gaze over the crowd. “Greetings,” he said in his thin, distant voice.
“It’s just a projection on smoke,” Vince, the cameraman, announced.
“Well,” Hubert said, a bit defensively, “he’s not meant to be seen quite so close to like that. The students are usually well back from him. Creates a nice sense of mystery and the supernatural, really.”
Ralph was among the students seated in the classroom. He addressed the cameraman with a note of annoyance. “You’re ruining the effect, you know. You don’t have to go and spoil it for everybody.”
“Greetings,” Binns said again, passing his gaze over the crowd.
“Impossible!” Prescott shouted angrily, striding toward the front of the room. “It’s a ghost! I know it is!”
“It’s a projection, Martin,” Vince said, lowering the camera. “I’ve seen these before. It’s not even a very good one. You can hear the projector running. It’s right there, under the desk. And see here? Dry ice machine. Makes the smoke.”
Finney cleared his throat near the door. “This is getting rather embarrassing, Mr. Prescott.”
“Greetings,” said Professor Binns.
Prescott turned wildly. He was obviously coming rather unraveled. “No!” he shouted. “This is all a setup! It’s his fault! He’s trying to trick all of you!” He pointed at Hubert.
“Well, that is what we do here,” Hubert said, smiling politely. “We’re in the business of tricks. Although we prefer the term ‘illusion’, if you don’t mind.”
“It’s maaaaa-gic,” Delacroix suddenly said, a bit inanely. She gave a ghastly grin.
“I see what you’re all trying to do here,” Prescott said, still pointing at Hubert, and then McGonagall and even Sacarhina and Recreant, who shook their heads vigorously. “You’re trying to make me look like a madman! Well, my public knows me better than that, and so do my associates. You can’t hide everything! What about the moving staircases? Or the giants? Hmm? Or…” Prescott stopped, his finger still in midpoint. His eyes went unfocussed for a moment, and then he grinned maliciously. “I know just the thing. Just the thing indeed. Vince, Eddie, the rest of you, come with me.”
Hubert followed as the crew clanked and jostled through the crowd of students. “Where are you going, Mr. Prescott? I’m your guide, if you recall. I’ll show you whatever you wish.”
“Yes?” Prescott said, spinning back toward Hubert. The curious students had parted for him and his crew, so that Prescott glared back between them, glancing from side to side. “Will you show me…,” he paused dramatically and tilted his head up, “the Garage?”
“The…,” Hubert began. He blinked, and then looked aside at Professor McGonagall. James suddenly felt Harry’s hand tighten on his shoulder. Something was wrong. “The… Garage?” Hubert repeated, as if he was unfamiliar with the word.
Prescott’s grin grew predatory. “Aha! Weren’t prepared for that, were you? Yes, I had myself a good long look around the grounds while you were all busy this morning. Peeked here and there and got quite an eyeful! There is a garage,” he said, turning to face the camera, “that penetrates the very fabric of space and time, creating a magical portal between this place and another place thousands of kilometers away! America, if I may be so bold as to guess! I have seen it myself. I have been inside the structure, and smelled the air of that far-off place. I have seen the sunrise of that land, while the sun here was high above the horizon. It was no trick, no illusion. These people would have us believe that they are mere tricksters, while I maintain, as I have witnessed with my own eyes, that they are dabblers in a form of magic that is purely and simply supernatural. Now I will prove it!” With a flourish, Prescott turned and marched away, heading back to the Entrance Hall. Harry fell in line next to Hubert, but couldn’t get his attention.
“Mr. Prescott!” Hubert yelled over the sound of the now agitated crowd. “I really must insist that you allow me… Mr. Prescott! This is highly irregular!”
Prescott led his crew out of the main entrance and across the courtyard. The crowd of students had grown considerably, and the noise of their passage had become quite loud. Everyone had seen the exterior of the Alma Aleron’s Garage, but very few had been inside or seen what it housed. The babble of worry and curiosity was a dull roar.
“This could be bad, James,” Harry said, keeping his voice below the noise of the crowd.
“What can we do?”
Harry merely shook his head, watching Prescott turn the corner, leading the group toward the canvas structure overlooking the lake. He turned, framing himself before its canvas walls. His crew arranged themselves in position, lowering the boom microphone over him and adjusting huge white umbrellas to reflect the sunlight on his shadowed side. Prescott turned slightly, showing his best side to the camera as Vince squatted slowly, focusing. It was, James had to admit, a
very dramatic moment.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Prescott began, raising his natural orator’s voice, “my crew and I, and all of you, have been the victims of an elaborate hoax. This is no simple school of sleight of hand and card tricks. No, I have witnessed within these walls true magic of the most astounding and blood-chilling variety. I have seen ghosts and watched actual levitations. I have observed doors appearing magically in otherwise solid stone walls. I have seen beasts and giants that boggle the mind. Today, we have been played for fools, deceived by a pack of wizards and witches--yes, actual magical people--who believe they can fool us with parlor tricks. But now I will reveal the truth of this place. Behind this canvas is a form of uncanny magic that will shock and astound you. When this truth is revealed, Mr. Rudolph Finney, detective for the British Special Police, will be inclined to launch a full-scale, official investigation into this establishment, with the help of police agencies from all across Europe. After today, ladies and gentlemen, our lives will never be the same again. After today, we will be living in a world where we know, without a doubt, that witches and wizards are real, and that they walk among us.”
Prescott paused, letting his words echo over the stunned crowd. Then he turned toward the area where McGonagall, Hubert, Sacarhina, and Recreant were gathered. Finney stood next to the Headmistress, frowning slightly, his eyes wide. “Mr. Hubert,” Prescott called out, “will you open these doors for us? This is your last chance to do the right thing.”
Hubert’s expression was grave. He stared very directly at Prescott. “I have to advise you against this course of action, Mr. Prescott.”
“You open it or I will.”
“You’ll ruin everything, sir,” Hubert said. Next to him, Delacroix was grinning even more manically. “I’ll ruin nothing but your secret, Mr. Hubert. The world needs to know what is behind those canvas doors.”
Hubert seemed frozen in place. It looked as if he wasn’t going to do it. And then he moved forward, lowering his head. There was a long, collective gasp from the crowd. Prescott stepped aside, glancing triumphantly at the camera as he did so. Hubert approached the tent and stood in front of it. He sighed deeply, and then reached up, grasping the knotted strips of canvas that held the tent’s wide flaps closed. He turned his head to look at Prescott. After a terrible pause, he pulled. The knot came undone and the flaps dropped open, unfurling like flags, slapping the poles at either side of the broad tent opening. The crowd gasped, and then there was a long, puzzled silence.
James peered in. He couldn’t immediately make out what it was. The inside of the tent was rather dark, but he could see that the flying vehicles were gone. Most of the tent’s interior was obscured by a large, oblong shape. A few people near the front of the crowd began to giggle, and then a wave of laughter washed over the crowd.
“Well, you’ve done it,” Hubert said, still staring at Prescott. “You’ve ruined the secret. And this was meant to be our big finish. I have to say, sir, you are no fun at all.” Hubert finally stepped back, getting out of the way of the tent so that the camera crew could see directly inside. Tiny, colored Christmas lights flashed in sequence around the huge papier-mâché flying saucer. Black letters were painted on the side, clearly visible in the flashing lights.
“And I hate to say it, Mr. Lupin,” Hubert said, turning to Ted, “but you misspelled ‘rocket’. How dreadfully embarrassing.”
20. Tale of the Traitor
“But I saw them!” Prescott said insistently, his voice growing rather hoarse as he followed Vince between the Landrovers. “Giants! One of them was as tall as the trees! They made footprints the size of… the size of…!” He gestured with his arms desperately. Ignoring him, Vince packed his camera into a foamlined suitcase.
“You’ve made quite a fiasco for yourself, Mr. Prescott,” Detective Finney said, polishing his glasses on his tie. “Don’t make it any worse.”
Prescott turned to the older man, his eyes wild. “You’ve got to investigate this establishment, Detective! It’s not right! They’ve tricked you all!”
“If I spearhead any investigations, Mr. Prescott,” Finney said mildly, “they’ll be investigations of you and your methods. Did you have permission to trespass on these grounds in the first place?”
“What, are you mad?” Prescott sputtered. He stopped and collected himself. “Of course. As I’ve already told you, I was tipped off about what was happening here. Someone on the inside led me here.”
“And you checked the background of this person?”
“Well,” Prescott said, “the chocolate frog was pretty convincing. I didn’t really…” “Excuse me. Did you just say ‘the chocolate frog’?” Finney asked, his eyes narrowing.
“I… er, well. The point is, yes, my source was quite certain that something strange was going on here…”
“That they were, in fact, teaching magic?”
“Yes. Er, no! Not tricks! Real magic! With monsters and giants and… and… vanishing doorways and flying cars!”
“And the chocolate frog confirmed this, did he?”
Prescott opened his mouth to answer, and then stopped. He straightened to his full height, angry and indignant. “You’re making fun of me.”
“You make it hard not to, sir. Would you be willing to let me speak to this source of yours?”
Prescott brightened. “Yes! In fact, I would! I arranged with Miss Sacarhina for him to come along. He’s right over…” He glanced around, his brow furrowing.
“You arranged with Miss Sacarhina?” Finney asked, glancing up toward the top of the courtyard steps. Much of the school faculty, as well as a number of students, were watching with benign interest as the crew industriously packed their gear. Neither Miss Sacarhina nor Mr. Recreant was in sight. “She knows this source of yours, does she?”
“She knows him, all right,” Prescott said, still scanning the crowd. “Where is he?”
“He came with the crew?” Finney asked, glancing around. “I don’t remember meeting him.”
“He was there. Quiet, squirrelly fellow. Had a twitch in his right eyebrow.”
“Ah, him,” Finney nodded. “I thought he was a little odd. I’d very much like to have a word with him.”
“So would I,” Prescott agreed darkly.
On the top of the steps, Mr. Hubert turned toward Headmistress McGonagall, Neville, and Harry Potter. “I think we can trust our friends to manage their departure from here. Madam Headmistress, I believe we have a few loose ends to attend to?”
McGonagall nodded, then turned and led the group inside. Harry smiled down at James. “Come along, James. Ralph and Zane, you too.”
“Are you sure?” Ralph asked, glancing up at the Headmistress as she strode into the hall.
“‘Mr. Hubert’ specifically asked for you three to accompany us,” Harry replied. “Nice to have friends in high places, isn’t it?” Zane said happily.
“Well,” the Headmistress said as they entered the empty silence of the Great Hall, “that went as well as could be expected, even if Mr. Ambrosius was a little heavy-handed with his Amorous Charm. Mr. Finney has insisted that I join him for dinner next time I find myself in London.”
“An offer I believe you should take him up on, Madam,” Merlin replied, taking off the gigantic hornrimmed glasses and shaking his hair out of the ‘Mr. Hubert’ ponytail. “I enchanted him with the slightest possible charm. How could I have known that Detective Finney would have a natural predilection for tall, strong, handsome women?”
“How indeed,” McGonagall answered. “I believe you are grinning, sir.”
James spoke up. “But how’d you know about the Garage, Merlin? I thought for sure we were sunk!”
Merlin glanced back over his shoulder. “I didn’t know about the Garage, James Potter. It was beyond the knowledge of the trees, unlike the Anglia vehicle and Madame Delacroix. Improvisation, however, has always been one of my stronger talents.”
“But how’d you get the Wocket in there?�
� Ralph asked. “That was totally brilliant!”
“The trees knew about that, therefore, I did as well,” Merlin replied. “It was simply a matter of encouraging an exchange of environments.”
Zane grinned. “So the Alma Aleron’s cars are out in that old barn in the field?”
“It’ll do them some good, I expect,” Merlin nodded.
The group walked purposefully through the Great Hall and climbed the stairs onto the dais. McGonagall opened a door in the rear wall and led the others through, into a large antechamber with a stone floor and a dark fireplace. Sacarhina and Recreant were there, sitting on either side of a third person James didn’t recognize.
“This is an outrage, Headmistress,” Recreant said, leaping to his feet. “First, you bring in this… person to usurp our authority, and then you have the gall to perform the Langlock jinx on us! The Minister will--”
“Do shut up, Trenton,” Sacarhina said, rolling her eyes. Recreant blinked, wounded, but clamped his mouth shut. He looked back and forth from Sacarhina to the Headmistress.
“Wise advice, if ever I heard it,” Harry agreed, stepping forward. “And I suspect that the Minister will, in fact, hear about this.”
“We’ve done nothing wrong, Mr. Potter, as you know,” Sacarhina said, glancing idly at her fingernails. “Mr. Ambrosius’ appearance has secured the secrecy of the magical world. All is well.”
James Potter and the Hall of Elders' Crossing Page 53