Royal Institute of Magic: Elizabeth's Legacy (4 page)

“Of course not,” Ben
said. He stopped and turned to face Charlie who was biting his lip.

“We’re not going to
do anything against the law again, are we? I always feel
uncomfortable with that.”

“Charlie, please – I
have two, possibly three, solid plans brewing before we even have to
think
about breaking the law.”

“How wonderfully
reassuring.”

Ben walked quickly, weaving his way through the morning shoppers. He
wanted to jog, but Charlie was already huffing and puffing to keep
up.

“So what’s your
plan?” Charlie asked. He had produced a white handkerchief from
his pocket and was using it to dab his forehead.

Ben side-stepped an oncoming
pram. “I need to see the building again.”

Charlie groaned. “You don’t
have a plan, do you? You’re just going to make something up
when we get there.”

“Nonsense,” Ben said,
flashing Charlie a look of mock outrage.

He did have a plan, of sorts, but
he was hoping he’d have a better one when he got there.

“What about the textile
expert?” Charlie asked.

“We’re still going,
but the appointment isn’t until 3pm. We’ve got plenty of
time.”

It had been a while since Ben had
been down this road, but it hadn’t changed much. There were
several department stores, as well as the usual array of mobile phone
and coffee shops. Ben didn’t slow his pace until he saw the
orange signage of Sainsbury’s in the distance. He scanned the
row of shops carefully, his stomach tightening with the thought that
the strange building might now be gone.

There it was! Squashed between
Starbucks and an O2 Mobile shop. The front had a revolving door and
frosted windows. Above the door, inlaid into the brickwork, was the
logo they’d seen in the letter. The letters R.I.M. were cast in
bronze over a coat of arms. With the glow from the surrounding shop
signs it was easy to see why the building received nothing more than
the odd curious glance.

“Incredible,” Charlie
said, staring up at the logo with his mouth open.

Ben gave him a little shove.
“Keep walking.”

They crossed the road and stopped
next to Waterstones. Ben made a show of inspecting the books in the
window.

“What are we doing?”
Charlie asked. He was still staring at the strange building when Ben
grabbed a cheek and turned his head away.

“Trying not to be
suspicious,” Ben answered, “though your gawking is
ruining it.”

“Sorry. What could a place
like that be doing here?”

“It’s not selling
anything, that’s for sure,” Ben said, sneaking a glance
at it. It was impossible to see anything beyond the frosted windows.
“Do you see the guard?”

“It’s hard not to.”

The guard stood in front of the
revolving door. His black suit stood out amongst the crowd of
multi-coloured shoppers, as did his huge bulk, which would struggle
making it through the door.

“I think now is a good time
to reveal your plan,” Charlie said.

“It’s simple really.
We go through the front.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s a revolving
door,” Ben said. “It’s built to help people come in
and out freely. If we act like we belong, we’ll be fine.”

Charlie looked at him as if he
were mad. “What’s the point of the troll-like guard then?
To wish you good morning?”

Ben knew his logic was dubious.
The frosted windows were a clear sign that they didn’t want to
attract attention, but it was the best he could do. He had hoped he
could enter from the back or through one of the adjacent buildings,
but that seemed impossible.

“He’s just to deter
shoppers,” Ben said.

“You don’t believe
that and neither do I.”

Ben gave him a lopsided smile,
his blue eyes lighting up. “We’ll soon find out. Are you
ready?”

“Are you serious? Of course
not.”

“Do you have a better
idea?” Ben asked, feeling a stab of frustration. They were so
close to unravelling the mystery behind the letter, yet it was
tantalisingly out of reach because of one stupid guard.

Charlie took his hanky out and
dabbed his forehead.

“I think we should wait,”
he said. Ben was about to protest, but Charlie raised a pudgy finger.
“Fifteen minutes, to see if anyone else goes in so we can see
what security procedure they go through.”

“And if nobody does?”

Charlie gave a theatrical sigh.
“Then we do it your way.”

They lounged by Waterstones,
chatting idly and taking turns to keep an eye on passers-by, hoping
someone would walk into the building. After less than ten minutes,
Ben spotted a well-dressed man in a purple shirt walking twice as
fast as the surrounding shoppers. The purpose and intensity of his
stride reminded Ben of someone late for work.

“I see him,” Charlie
said when Ben picked him out.

The purple-shirted man stopped in
front of the building. For a moment Ben thought it was just to answer
his phone, but then he turned to the security guard and showed him
something in his hand. The guard nodded and the man walked through
the revolving door.

“Did you see that?”
Ben asked. It was over in a heartbeat. “He must have showed the
guard some sort of ID or pass.”

Ben turned to Charlie and was
surprised to see his face flushed with excitement. His hand was
rummaging around in his pocket.

“I had a feeling these were
important,” Charlie said. He took out two cards and handed one
to Ben. “They were lying on the letter. We left the house in
such a rush that we didn’t have time to inspect them.”

Each was the size of a credit
card, but the similarities ended there. They were made of silver and
heavy enough to feel valuable. Embossed on them was the now familiar
logo. The name “Greg Greenwood” was etched into the
silver with four tiny green diamonds next to it. Ben’s heart gave
a great leap at the sight of his dad’s name.

“Charlie, you genius, this
is it!”

But Charlie’s own elation
was fleeting and soon replaced with worry.

“These are your parents’
ID cards. I’m not sure they will work for us. How am I supposed
to pass as your mum?”

Ben refused to be downcast.
“There’s no photo on them so I doubt they check if you’re
the card holder.”

“What if they do?”

“Then he’ll tell us
to get lost. He’s not going to chop our heads off in the middle
of a busy shopping street.”

Charlie tucked his hanky away and
took a deep breath, his little pot belly expanding until he resembled
a teddy bear.

“I’ll approach him
first,” Ben said. “Just follow my lead and act casual. We
won’t have any problems.”

Ben crossed the road, whistling
softly to himself, one hand holding the ID card in his pocket. On the
outside, he was calm; inside his heart was thumping like a drum. If
this didn’t work, they would have to come back at night and
break in. But that was messy, illegal and, worst of all, a whole
twelve hours from now.

As Ben approached he made eye
contact with the guard and gave him a polite smile. The guard was big
enough to wrestle a polar bear and had a face that could give you
nightmares. When he was close enough to smell the guard’s
unpleasant breath, he stopped and produced his ID as if the guard
were a train conductor. The guard’s eyes flicked to the card
and Ben felt his stomach lurch, though he kept a cool exterior. The
guard’s eyes narrowed for a split second and then he nodded.
Ben wanted to punch the air in celebration; instead he pushed the
revolving door gently until he was inside. He glanced back in time to
see the guard waving Charlie through.

The moment he entered Ben felt a
million miles from the bustling shops outside. The building was
narrow but longer than he had expected. It looked like a hotel
reception yet to be furnished, with high ceilings and a pristine
white marble floor. The room was empty except for one large reception
desk to the side, manned by a woman tapping away on a computer.
Charlie was right, this place had nothing to do with Greenpeace.

“Incredible,” Charlie
said. He had passed through the revolving door and was staring at the
long, spacious room.

Their gawking was interrupted by
a couple of women entering the building. They quickly stepped aside
and watched the women walk to the end of the room, where they stopped
and waited. After a moment the wall slid open. It was a concealed
lift, Ben realised, and the two women stepped inside and disappeared.

Ben exchanged a curious glance
with Charlie.

“Now what?” Charlie
whispered.

“Follow me.”

He strode towards the
expensive-looking reception desk. It came up to Ben’s chest,
but he still attempted to look at home, folding his hands and resting
them on the top surface.

“May I help you, sir?”

The woman’s voice was
polite and efficient, a perfect match for her crisp suit and
pulled-back hair.

“I’m looking for Wren
Walker. I have an appointment,” Ben said with a smile.

Ben wanted to kick Charlie to
stop his fidgeting. Thankfully, the receptionist didn’t seem to
notice, nor did she seem surprised by Ben’s request.

“May I have your name,
please?”

“Ben Greenwood.”

The receptionist’s reaction
was subtle, but Ben caught it – a widening of the eyes, a look
of recognition and a quick intake of breath.

“Ben Greenwood?” she
repeated, recovering quickly, but he noticed the way she emphasised
his surname. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll see if I
can find Ms. Walker for you.”

She disappeared through a
discreet door behind the desk.

As soon as she left, Ben’s
plastered smile vanished.

“What do you make of that?”

“Intriguing,” Charlie
said. “Did you see the way she reacted to your surname? She
recognised it instantly.”

Ben ruffled his mop of blond
hair. There was something he didn’t like about the
receptionist’s reaction. He was beginning to doubt she had gone
to get Wren. He glanced at the revolving door, then at the concealed
lift at the end of the room. They could either wait for the
receptionist to return or — he slapped the desk.

“Let’s go.”

To his surprise, Charlie didn’t
protest.

Ben walked quickly, but resisted
the urge to run. Their steps echoed so loudly on the marble floor
that Charlie kept glancing anxiously back to the reception desk. The
lift doors blended into the back wall and Ben would have missed them
had they not opened before. He pressed a small button and the doors
slid open. He was expecting to see a small empty cubicle. He was
wrong.

“What on earth is this?”
Charlie asked.

Facing them were rows of black
leather seats, complete with arm and headrests, inside a space far
larger than your average lift. Each seat had a padded bar that you
could pull down over your chest, reminding Ben of a roller-coaster
ride.

“I have no idea, but I
suggest we buckle up,” Ben said, and sat down in one of the
middle seats. Charlie ogled the chairs a moment longer before sitting
next to Ben.

The doors remained open, leaving
them staring at the reception desk and the exit in the distance.

“How do we shut this
thing?” Ben asked.

He was still searching for a
button when he heard the tapping noise. Shoes against marble floor.
The receptionist was back and with her were two guards.

“Mr. Greenwood!”

Ben searched frantically for
something to shut the doors, but there was simply nothing there.

“Mr. Greenwood!
Do not use that lift!
”

“Oh god, we’re in
trouble,” Charlie said. He wiggled his legs, which were
dangling off the chair. “Go, you stupid lift – go!”

Both guards were now running, the
soles of their shiny shoes making a terrible clacking noise that
echoed right into the lift.

Ben squeezed the armrests,
willing the doors shut. The guards were less than twenty paces away.
He could see the shine of sweat on their foreheads.

The doors closed, locking with a
satisfying click.

Ben heard a thud as the two
guards reached the lift and started hammering the button. The lift
was still stationary and Ben thought for a moment that the doors
would slide open again.

The lift gave a jerk and started
descending.

“Yes!” Ben said,
thumping the armrest.

“My heart,” Charlie
gasped, clutching his chest. “I think I just had a minor heart
attack.”

The lift descended slowly and Ben
wondered why there were seatbelts, though he didn’t take his
off. Now that they were safe, Ben looked round the strange lift in
more detail. He counted thirty chairs in rows of five. Above the lift
doors he spotted the R.I.M. logo. Below it was some writing.

Ben read the words. His mouth
opened slowly and he blinked. He read them again, not believing his
eyes.

“Ben, can you stop that?”

He was tapping Charlie
repeatedly, unaware where or how hard. He pointed a shaky finger at
the lettering.

Royal Institute of Magic.

R.I.M.

“No,” Charlie
whispered. “That can’t be right.”

They both started talking at
once, but their incoherent blabber was cut off by a violent lurch.
Ben gripped the armrests instinctively.

The lift plummeted.

Their shoulder straps saved them
from smashing into the ceiling, but they did nothing to stop Ben’s
stomach, which stayed behind as they went into a free fall. He
screamed in horror and then delight when his brain had time to
process what was happening.

Ben tensed himself for the stop,
but it didn’t come. Down they went, until it felt like they
were going to hit the Earth’s core. Just as Ben was starting to
relax, the lift slowed dramatically and gravity squashed him against
his seat.