Royal Institute of Magic: Elizabeth's Legacy (3 page)

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.

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 interest.

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.

It was a letter. Ben picked it
up.

It wasn’t your typical A4;
it was thick, yellow parchment with elegant handwriting that he could
barely decipher. At the top of the letter was a logo with the letters
R.I.M. embossed over an elaborate coat of arms. The logo looked
familiar somehow, but Ben couldn’t place it.

“Dear Jane,

“It
has been a week since you and Greg have been in. If you don’t
arrive tomorrow morning, I shall be forced to come knocking on your
door.

“I do not believe the rumours, but there is no doubt they could put you
and your son in considerable danger. I know your views on keeping Ben
unaware of us, but the Institute is still the one place the enemy
cannot reach. I implore you and Greg to come see me.

“Regards,

“Wren Walker”

The letter was dated the day
before his parents disappeared.

Ben re-read it three times and
stared at it long after he was finished. His head was spinning and
his stomach was doing somersaults.

“I think we have
something,” Charlie said softly, breaking Ben’s trance.
He had read the letter over Ben’s shoulder.

There were so many questions, Ben
hardly knew where to start. Charlie, however, had no such problem. He
was already moving back and forth on the carpet like a mad scientist
brainstorming.

“Your parents must have
known they were in danger. Apparently you were also in danger.”

“I’ve never felt in
danger,” Ben said, his head going side to side to track
Charlie’s pacing.

Charlie nodded. “And since
it’s been two years, I think we can assume you’re safe.”

“What sort of danger could
my parents have been in?” Ben asked. “They worked at
Greenpeace, not MI5.”

“The logo on the letter has
nothing to do with Greenpeace.”

“What else could it be?”

“I have no idea, but I know
how we can find out.”

Ben looked down at the letter.
“By finding this Wren Walker lady?”

“Exactly. Who is she? More
importantly, what is this R.I.M. logo? I bet it belongs to the
institute she refers to. If we can identify the logo, we might be
able to track her down.”

Charlie’s face was red and
he was breathing a little quickly from talking so fast.

Ben stared at the logo on the
parchment again. There was definitely something familiar about it.
The coat of arms was shaped like a shield and cut into four quarters.
Each quarter alternated between a red background with golden lions
and a blue background with peculiar flowers, also golden. Where had
he seen it before? Ben shut his eyes trying to visualise the moment
he’d seen it. In a museum perhaps? No. On TV? No. On a building
somewhere? Yes! In town…

Ben’s eyes shot open.

“I don’t believe it,”
he said.

Charlie looked confused.

“I used to pass this logo
every weekend.” It was Ben’s turn to stand up and pace
the room.

“There is a Sainsbury’s
near the town centre. I used to walk there every Saturday morning. On
the other side of the main street was an old, narrow building. I
remember because there was always a security guard standing outside a
revolving door. Above it, where shop signage normally sits, was
this
.”

Ben pointed to the R.I.M. logo.

Charlie, normally so vocal, was
struck dumb. He kept opening and closing his mouth, but no words came
out.

Ben felt like dancing, but
settled for an ear-splitting grin. He headed for the door, giving
Charlie a pat on the shoulder as he passed.

“No time to lose, Charlie –
let’s go.”

“Where?”

“To get some answers.”

“If they have a security
guard stationed there, I don’t think we’ll be able to
just walk in, do you?”