Royal Institute of Magic: The Shadowseeker (Book 2) (5 page)

“It must be 10am,” Dagmar noted. “She has gone to sleep. We got here just in time.”

Dagmar turned to Charlie, who was looking a little pale, and introduced him to Ayla. Upon describing her character, Charlie's pale face turned red and, when she had finished, he had only one question.

“Can I have someone – anyone – else?”

“No, you may not. You were chosen by Ayla,” Dagmar said, in that mildly reproachful tone that Ben was starting to find extremely effective.

Charlie's shoulders sagged. He faced up to Ayla and in a timid voice ordered the door to open. Nothing happened.

Charlie stood there awkwardly, before turning to Dagmar.

“Don't break eye contact,” she said sharply. Her voice was like a whip and Charlie span back to face the locker.

“I don't think she likes me,” Charlie said.

“Ask again, and give your voice more authority. You sounded like a mouse.”

Charlie's second attempt was far better, but it still took a good twenty seconds before the door finally creaked open. Charlie sighed and placed his bag inside. He shut the door as hastily as possible and jumped back, out of harm’s way.

They left the cloakroom considerably lighter and continued their way round the hallway.

“Can I store my stuff with you?” Charlie whispered, leaning into Ben.

“What's wrong with yours?” Ben asked, with a little smile.

“Are you serious? Didn't you hear what Ayla is like? I don't want to fear for my life every time I try to go to store my bag.”

“Sharing lockers is not allowed for apprentices,” Dagmar said from ahead. Her ears were as sharp as her voice.

Charlie's eyes narrowed and shot daggers at Dagmar's back, but he said nothing. His anger was quickly replaced with anxiety the moment he spotted the door they were approaching.

The Initiation Test.

The wooden door with its panelled sign looked just like all the others, but this one made Ben's heart motor. They had absolutely no clue what lay inside the door. Would the test require physical exertion? Ben was now wishing he'd eaten a bit more for breakfast in case he needed the energy.

“So if we fail this, we're out?” Charlie asked.

“Technically you were never in,” Dagmar replied, without looking round.

The three of them stopped by the door. Dagmar turned to them. Her face, which had been serious so far, looked more so now.

“The only information I can tell you is that blood will be spilled,” she said, giving them both extended looks.

Both Ben and Charlie waited, in the hope that she would keep talking.

“That's it?” Charlie asked, his voice rising. “You want us to take a test we know nothing about, except that we could potentially face some sort of blood bath?” He started breathing very quickly and took his handkerchief out, dabbing his cheeks and forehead.

“You can choose not to take the test. You will then be escorted out of the Institute and onto the Dragonway, back home,” Dagmar said.

“No,” Ben said immediately. “I'm ready.”

Charlie gave a wistful look down the hallway, the way they had come, and sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I'm not even close to ready, but I'll do it. I just hope you have some first aid spells in your spellshooter, because I'm sure I'll need them.”

“Who will go first?” Dagmar asked.

Ben raised a hand. “I will.”

Ben opened the door slowly, his body tense. He was half-expecting to face a flaming fireball or some axe-wielding maniac, but to his surprise and relief, the room was almost empty. It was small, and dimly lit by a chandelier that floated just below the ceiling. There were no windows or doors except the one he came through. An ornate table and a single chair were placed in the middle of the room. On top of the table was a large hardback book and a plaque that stood upright.

There was something strangely familiar about the room and its set-up that tickled Ben's memory. Perhaps it reminded him of some movie? He discarded the thought and spent another moment making sure the room was completely safe, before approaching the table. The book that lay on it was a work of art. The outside was leather of the deepest red, titled with the words
Royal Institute of Magic
in a flowing yellow script. Beneath that, cast in silver and fastened to the centre of the book, was the Institute's coat of arms. It was shaped like a shield and cut into four quarters. Each quarter alternated between a picture of a lion and a peculiar flower.

Ben opened the book. Or at least he tried to. The cover wouldn't move. Ben frowned. Was it glued together? He tried picking it up, but it was stuck to the table. He couldn't open or move it at all.

Ben stepped back, hands on hips. It was then he noticed the plaque again. Now that he was this close, he could see a message scrawled on it.

“Dear applicant,

“Congratulations on making it this far. Should you wish to proceed with the Initiation Test, place your right thumb on the centre of book, in the centre of the coat of arms.

“I wish you the best of luck.

“Elizabeth.”

Ben sat down on the chair and rested his arms on the table, either side of the book. He was beginning to think this was not going to be a physical test. Ben placed a thumb on the coat of arms, right in the middle of the four small quarters.

Nothing happened. Ben pressed a little harder, until his thumb went red. Still nothing. Was he doing it wrong?

Something sharp pricked the underside of his thumb.

“Ow!” Ben exclaimed, instinctively pulling his thumb away.

A trickle of blood started flowing down the coat of arms. Instead of dripping off the book, the blood flowed around the small coat of arms, until the small trickle surrounded it.

The coat of arms started to glow, as if the blood had connected a circuit. Ben leaned down, placing his hands on the book, to inspect it closer. His hands began to tingle, so Ben quickly removed them – or tried to. His hands wouldn't come off the book. He tried harder, but they wouldn't budge. They were stuck to the book, just as the book was stuck to the table.

Ben cursed. Now what? He stood up and tried moving the table, but it was too heavy, or perhaps stuck to the floor. After several tugs, he leant against the table, panting. If the test involved getting out the room, he was in trouble.

His deflation lasted only seconds. There
had
to be something he could do. He sat down, wracking his brain, examining every inch of the room.

Suddenly, the temperature dropped. Ben was so busy trying to concoct a plan he only noticed when he spotted the hairs on his arms standing up. The temperature kept dropping and he shivered. His breath was starting to mist up.

The lantern above flickered and then went out.

Darkness, total and complete. Had he been able to wave a hand in front of his face he wouldn't have seen it.

The Initiation Test must be about to start, but Ben was still stuck to the book. For the first time, anxiety crept in; not from the test, but of the possibility of failure. How could he possibly do anything while stuck to the book? His plans to make a career at the Institute, and more importantly find his parents, would disintegrate before they had even begun.

A breeze in the room disrupted his thoughts. A white mist began to form just behind the table. From within Ben saw a shape appear. At first it was nothing more than a white blob, but as the mist continued to solidify, a female ethereal figure took shape. She had auburn hair and a strong nose. Her posture and dress oozed regality. Her long-fingered hands rested on the hilt of a magnificent sword.

Ben stared into the dark brown eyes of Queen Elizabeth and saw an intelligence and determination that took his breath away. Was this some powerful spell or could it be a ghost?

“Your Majesty,” Ben said, bowing his head.

The Queen did not respond. Was he supposed to ask something? If she
was
a ghost, would she know about his ancestor, Michael James Greenwood? The thought made his heart jump. What about the Armour and the dark elf king, Suktar? Ben was busy trying to work out what to say when the Queen broke the silence.

“Greenwood,” she said. Her voice was a whisper but spoken with such intention that a deaf man would have heard her.

Ben managed a subtle nod; he didn't trust his voice.

“Do you deem yourself worthy of the Royal Institute of Magic?”

“I do,” Ben replied, pleased at the calmness of his voice.

“Very well,” Elizabeth said. “Let us find out if that is true.”

The Queen's eyes started to glow, becoming two white orbs. Ben steadied himself and widened his stance, in preparation for whatever was about to happen.

A beam of energy from Elizabeth's eyes speared right into Ben's forehead, connecting the two of them. The beam penetrated his skin and he screamed.

A picture flashed before his eyes: his mother, wearing a blue gown, holding him in her arms and smiling lovingly. There were white lights everywhere and loud beeping noises. It was the hospital, moments after his birth, Ben realised. The picture vanished and another appeared where he was still a baby, but now able to crawl. He could see the legs of his father.

The Queen was sifting through his memories, from birth to present time. Ben watched helplessly as memories came, were inspected and then discarded. Months, and then years, passed in a heartbeat. Ben soon realised what she was looking for: memories that defined character. There were plenty of moments of courage, loyalty and overcoming the odds. But there were times of recklessness and anger. How much would they count against him?

A recent memory flashed up. Unlike most of the others, which came and went in a flash, this one received an extended appraisal. Ben took one look at it and cursed. He and Charlie were reading the note Wren had left to his parents, urging them to seek refuge at the Institute. It was the letter that had sparked their first adventure to the Institute.

The queen now went more slowly through the memories, following their journey to the Dragonway and the Institute. Ben felt something unpleasant move in the pit of his stomach. The Queen was going to discover their plan to find his parents and the Armour. In excruciating slow motion, all of Ben's intentions were laid bare.

When the memories finally reached present time, the energy beam retracted and the Queen's eyes stopped glowing. Ben met the Queen's thoughtful gaze with defiance. His insides were churning and his legs felt like jelly, but he managed to stay calm. The desire – the need – to join was almost overwhelming. Was he good enough for the Institute? Or would he pay for the secrets he was keeping?

The staring contest seemed to last an age and Ben's eyes were beginning to water, when Elizabeth finally nodded.

“Another Guardian,” she said, and gave Ben what he could have sworn was a relieved smile. “I have been waiting some time. Welcome to the Institute.”

The Queen faded back into the white mist and, in a puff of smoke, vanished.

The lantern above flickered to life.

Ben stood there, panting, a trickle of sweat running down his forehead. He relaxed his shoulders, only then realising how tense they were. He felt a warmth beneath his hands. The binding spell that held them to the book vanished and he let go. Underneath the book's title, the words “Ben Greenwood” were now written into the leather cover.

A flicker of light appeared at the corner of his vision and he turned. Floating above his right shoulder was a small colourless diamond.

He'd made it. He was in! He gave a fist pump, but his delight was tempered by the Queen's final words, and her hauntingly penetrating voice still rang in his ears.
Another Guardian
. What did that mean? Ben was sure it was significant, but right now he could think about only one thing: he had qualified for the Royal Institute of Magic. A wonderful warmth started at his chest and went all the way down to his toes.

Ben picked up the book that now had his name on it and tucked it under his arm. He exited the room and saw two very different sets of eyes looking his way. Charlie was inspecting him, clearly looking for signs of injury. Dagmar’s impassive stare went straight to the colourless diamond above Ben's shoulder, and she gave a rare smile, a subtle upturning of the lips.

“Congratulations. Welcome to the Institute,” Dagmar said, extending her hand. Ben took it with a smile, matching her vice-like grip with one of his own.

“So the colourless diamond means you're now an apprentice, right?” Charlie asked.

“That and also the book,” Dagmar said. “You cannot take it unless you have passed.”

Charlie wiped his brow. “It's not protected by a dragon or something, is it? Because if I have to fight my way to anything, I can tell you right now it's not going to happen.”

Dagmar would have been a fantastic poker player, Ben thought – her expression didn't change a jot.

“Your turn, Mr. Hornberger,” she said.

Charlie shuffled reluctantly towards the door, giving Ben an imploring look.

“You'll be fine,” Ben said, with a reassuring smile, which he managed to maintain until Charlie had disappeared through the door.

The wait to see if Charlie passed was almost worse than the test. He had no control over the outcome and felt powerless. For all Charlie's complaining, his integrity and loyalty were unquestionable and, when needed, so was his courage. Would the ghost/spell of Queen Elizabeth see past his dramatics, anxiety and pessimism?

Time ticked by slowly. Dagmar stood, back to the wall, in a manner reminiscent of the guards at Buckingham Palace. Ben knew asking her anything would be pointless.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Ben started tapping his foot anxiously. How long had the test taken him? It hadn't seemed long, but time had lost all meaning once inside. What would he do if Charlie didn't make it? Ben would stay, but it would be a mighty blow not to have his best friend with him.

A creak from the door interrupted his thoughts, and Ben whipped his head round.

Charlie emerged, looking as though he had just fought a dragon. His chequered shirt was damp with sweat, his hair a mess, and there was a cut on his lip. But it was the single colourless diamond above his shoulder and the book under his arm that made Ben grin ear to ear.