Royal Institute of Magic: Elizabeth's Legacy (7 page)

Ben leapt off the bench and
rubbed his hands together.

“Are you ready?” he
asked Charlie with a grin.

Charlie took a deep breath and
nodded. “Where can we get directions for the Institute?”

Ben spotted a road sign that
stood at a four-way junction. When they got close enough, one of the
directions read “Royal Institute of Magic: 500 yards”.

“Uphill – my
favourite,” Charlie said, patting his little pot belly.

The town was built on a steep
hill and at the top was a castle wall, which they could not see
beyond. Ben guessed it protected the Institute.

They made their way through a
hodgepodge of winding lanes and crooked intersections. Horses and
antique cars shared the roads, reminding Ben of early 20th century
photos he had seen in libraries. Occasionally they took a wrong turn
because they were too busy looking at everything and had to double
back to continue up the hill. Many of the shops looked as though they
had been around for centuries. There was an ironmonger, a dress maker
and all sorts of food stores, including some divine-smelling
bakeries. Among them were modern establishments – Ben spotted a
Tesco’s, a Greggs and even a Starbucks. How on earth did they
get here? Apart from the logo and branding, they managed to nestle in
among the older shops without looking too out of place.

Ben’s stomach rumbled as he
passed a Starbucks, but it was Charlie who stopped, staring at the
familiar logo that hung out the front, his nose twitching at the
smell of coffee.

“Do you think it’s
the same as home?” he asked, rubbing his stomach absently.

“They’re always the
same, Charlie.”

Ben peered through the window. It
certainly didn’t appear too different, though he noticed the
lack of electrical equipment and wondered how they made the hot
drinks.

“Let’s find out,”
Ben said, pulling open the small wooden door.

The moment he entered, Ben felt
the hairs on his neck rise. A flash of light caught his eye and he
turned sharply, stopping right under the doorway. Charlie ran into
him and the momentum took them both into the café.

“Ow – what was that
for?” Charlie asked, rubbing his nose.

Ben peered out of the window.
“For a moment I thought someone was watching me.”

Charlie’s eyes widened.
“Did you see anyone?”

“I'm not sure. I may have
just imagined it.”

Charlie was shaking his head
before Ben finished speaking. “You’re forgetting your
incredible sixth sense – not that I believe in that sort of
thing. Someone must have been watching you.”

Ben knew Charlie was right.
“Let’s eat and see if they’re still out there when
we leave.”

He forced the problem aside and
went up to the counter. The sandwiches and drinks were similar to
home, but there were also some strange additions. The “Elf
Espresso” (roasted especially for the coffee connoisseur) and
the “Pixie Latte” (sweet and spicy) caught Ben’s
eye.

“This Dodo salad sandwich
sounds good,” Ben said, taking one from the display.

“I’d say they became
extinct in the 17th century, but what would be the point?”
Charlie said, taking the same sandwich himself.

The lady serving them had perfect
pale skin, huge almond eyes and ears that, at home, would be common
at a Star Trek convention.

Ben had a sudden thought as he
went to pay.

“Do you accept English
currency?” Ben asked. He was trying not to stare, knowing
Charlie was doing enough gawking for both of them.

“Of course,” she
said, giving him a quizzical look.

Ben slapped his pockets and
realised he was broke. The sickening thought barely had time to
register before Charlie slapped a ten-pound note on the counter.

“You are new here,”
the lady said as they made their way to a table.

“Is it that obvious?”
Ben asked.

The lady smiled. “I see it
in your faces.” She gave them both a searching look. “You
know the Institute is watching you?”

Ben almost dropped his sandwich.
“How do you know that?”

The lady turned to the window. “I
can see with more than just my eyes. There is a Warden standing
outside the bar across the street. He watched you come in.”

“A Warden?”

“They are responsible for
border control and immigration. You don’t fool around with
them.”

More customers entered and the
lady turned away to serve them. Ben and Charlie sat themselves down
on a small wooden table, next to a group of elves drinking coffee.

“The receptionist,”
Ben said, leaning forward so he could speak softly, “she must
have sent warning.”

Charlie was still looking at the
lady who had served them, a peculiar glint in his eye. “Security
cameras,” he said, after a moment. “Do you think that’s
what she meant when she said she sees with more than just her eyes?”

Ben slammed his hand on the table
with such vigour that Charlie nearly fell off his seat.

“Stop trying to explain
everything scientifically,” Ben said loudly enough to disturb
the nearby table.

“I can’t help it,”
Charlie said, his voice rising an octave in desperation. “I
know it’s ridiculous, but I keep trying to rationalise
everything and it’s driving me crazy. Did you spot that flying
horse earlier? I found myself trying to explain it with Darwin’s
Theory of Evolution.”

Ben would have laughed if it
weren’t for Charlie’s genuine look of concern.

“Look, I know this is
crazy, but I’m sure when we get to the Institute they will
explain everything.”

Charlie brightened considerably
at the prospect and the dazed stupor that had gripped him finally
dissipated. “You’re right. I will feel better once we get
some answers.”

He stared at his sandwich with
the sort of look Ben was more accustomed to and tucked in. The dodo,
as it turned out, was delicious.

Ben kept thinking about the
Warden, wondering why they were being watched. He was tempted to go
outside and ask.

“We could ask if there is
another way out,” Charlie said, licking the last bits of sauce
from his fingers.

“What’s the point? We
have nothing to hide. I say we continue to the Institute. If he wants
to stop us, he’s welcome to. One way or the other we’ll
get answers.”

They left Starbucks with a full
stomach and resumed their journey. As they climbed the hill, the
buildings got bigger and the roads, such as they were, became wider.
Trees and torch-lit lamp posts started lining the cobbled path and
they soon had a clearer view of the stone wall at the top of the
hill. It was at least ten feet high and spanned as far as the eye
could see. Ben imagined it forming a ring round the entire top of the
hill, fortifying the Institute. Other roads joined the main one,
which led to a large open gate. It appeared to be the only way in.

Ben felt his body start to tingle
with anticipation. He felt sure they were on the verge of unravelling
something huge. Would this “Wren” person know what
happened to his parents? Were they really still alive? Ben had never
doubted it, but what if the news were bad? The thought made him
shiver and he cast it from his mind. He felt the peculiar fabric in
his pocket; surely he would get answers here.

“Can we take a breather?”
Charlie asked from behind. He was bent over, hands on knees, panting
heavily.

Ben realised he had been
practically running up the hill. They were a mere twenty yards from
the gate, but he waited for Charlie to get his breath back. There
were two guards either side of the open gate, doing a good impression
of the ones at Buckingham Palace. Both wore the strange toy guns by
their sides. Hanging on the stone wall was a black marble plaque with
the words “Royal Institute of Magic” etched in silver.
Above it was the same coat of arms Ben had seen outside their
building in Croydon; a shield with four distinct quarters,
alternating between a red background with golden lions and a blue
background with three golden flowers.

Neither guard moved a muscle as
they passed through the gate and into the grounds of the Institute.

Ben never thought he’d have
the patience to stop now that he was this close, but one look at the
Institute and they both came to a standstill.

To call it a house would have
been an injustice, but it did look like a mighty version of the Tudor
homes that populated the town. It was pristine white, dotted with
dozens of leaded windows with black-timbered frames. Ben counted a
dozen gables, creating a mini mountain range, and half a dozen
outside balconies. There was a pair of mighty wooden double doors at
the front. Above them the words “Royal Institute of Magic”
were etched and seemed to pulse with a warm, silver glow.

An open courtyard surrounded the
building, consisting of manicured gardens, trimmed hedges and even a
water fountain. A generous cobbled path led to the entrance and there
was a welcoming light coming from within.

Ben was concentrating so hard on
peering through the windows that he didn’t hear Charlie’s
cry of alarm as they approached the entrance. Ben felt something grab
him from behind and yank him to a standstill.

Charlie was staring in horror at
a large noticeboard. Ben hadn’t even seen it, so intent had he
been on reaching the front doors. It was big enough to warrant its
own gable and on it were several A4-sized notices. But Ben saw only
one. It was a head shot of his mum and dad. Underneath it read:

“Wanted on suspicion of high treason:

Greg and Jane Greenwood.

Rewards given for any information leading to their capture.”

Ben stared at the poster, numb with shock. Seeing a photo of his parents,
here of all places, was just as staggering as the declaration of
treason. They looked just as he remembered. His mum was smiling, a
sparkle in her blue eyes. His dad was also smiling, his ridiculous
moustache and raised eyebrow giving the impression he knew something
you didn’t.

A wave of emotions swept through
him as he examined every inch of their faces. The surprise and
astonishment were interspersed with anxiety every time he glanced at
the word “treason”. But bubbling beneath it all was a
peculiar sense of joy that, given the poster’s message, took
him a second to understand.

“They’re alive,”
he whispered. The relief was such that he found it difficult to
speak. A weight had been lifted, one he had borne so long he’d
forgotten how heavy it was. He had always believed they were alive,
but nagging in the back of his mind had been the lack of evidence.

“They’re alive,”
he said, louder this time, turning to Charlie with a lopsided grin –
his blue eyes shining.

“You always said they
were,” Charlie said, returning the smile, “and I never
doubted you. What about the high treason?”

“I don’t know.”

Ben felt a growing concern now
that the initial shock had subsided. “There must be some great
misunderstanding.” His voice trailed off. What misunderstanding
could lead to a declaration of high treason?

They entered the Royal Institute
of Magic cautiously. Ben had planned to be on alert, but that went
out the window the moment he stepped inside. They found themselves in
a huge sky-lit atrium, staring up at a dozen open galleries accessed
via an old- fashioned staircase. There were wooden beams everywhere
making the place seem cosy despite its size. The vast lobby was bare
except for the staircase and a huge statue in the middle, which sat
on a pedestal, towering over everyone.

Ben was so lost in the building
that he didn’t realise people were looking at him.

Lots of people.

“Ben Greenwood?”

A stout-looking man was watching
him. He was shorter than those surrounding him, but Ben could tell by
the room he was given that he was important. He had a scruffy beard,
a scar that ran along his chin and an expression of such menace he
looked ready to bite someone’s head off.

“Yes,” Ben said, just
as Charlie whispered, “
Don’t answer.
”

The effect was immediate. There
was a flurry of soft chatter and a few people crossing the threshold
stopped. Ben felt like he was suddenly in a Western duel.

“Look at their right
shoulders,” Charlie whispered.

Ben had already seen them. Each
of them had tiny three-dimensional red diamonds hovering an inch
above their shoulders. Most of them had just one or two, but the man
addressing Ben had five.

“About bloody time,”
the man said gruffly. “Detain them.”

Two men standing either side of
the leader pulled out their strange guns and took aim. Ben could see
the coloured pellets floating within the glass orb. But the barrel
was a knotted wooden stick; surely it didn’t function?

They pressed the triggers.

The barrels lit up and out shot a
red pellet that swiftly expanded to the size of a tennis ball. From
the corner of his eye Ben could just make out Charlie raising his
hands in surrender as a pellet hit him full on the chest. Ben reacted
instinctively, diving to his right, and the pellet flew by. He rolled
and leapt to his feet. Another two pellets whipped by his face and a
third struck him square on the back. It stung, but only a little and
he even managed a few more steps before something yanked him back. A
rope materialised around him like a perfectly thrown lasso, wrapping
his arms against his chest. He struggled violently, but the rope held
fast and yanked him around. It extended into the gun barrel of a
slender woman who held it effortlessly.

“Slippery, like a weasel,”
the man said. He turned and glared at the congregation around him.
“What are you lot looking at?”

The crowd thinned, leaving just
the grizzled man and half a dozen others who were clearly his
entourage. Ben noticed they had the same red diamonds as the man’s,
though not as many.