Royal Institute of Magic: Elizabeth's Legacy (12 page)

“Have you ever had a Memory
Search?” Ben asked Natalie. She had been unusually quiet,
twirling her hair round her finger.

“No, but I have studied a
bit about it,” she said. “There is no physical pain in
the spell, but re-experiencing the memory can be unpleasant if it’s
not a nice one. Try not to worry too much, they will look after you.”

Ben hoped she was right. In no time at all they were walking along the hallway of the lavishly
appointed Executive Floor. Outside the door that said “Executive
Council” was Wren waiting for them with a smile. Her flowery
red dress and piled-up hair were as flawless as ever, but Ben thought
he detected tiny wrinkles of concern.

“Take Charlie back to my
office,” Wren said to Natalie. “We will come down as soon
as we are done.”

“Good luck! You’ll be
fine. Just let them do their jobs,” Natalie said, somehow
sounding enthused. Charlie gave him an encouraging smile and they
both turned to leave.

Wren made no move to open the
door. Instead, she put a hand on Ben’s shoulder and gave him a
long look.

“Inside are nearly all the
senior members of the Institute. You have met Draven, Colin and me.
Now you will meet two others. It is important you realise that
everyone, even Draven, is on your side.”

“Nearly all the senior
members?” Ben asked, frowning.

“Our most senior member is
not here. Now, no more questions, you need to focus."

Ben nodded, suppressing his
curiosity.

“Remember, there is a lot
we don’t know. We are trying to find out where your parents are
and why they thought it best to hide rather than seek the sanctuary
of the Institute. Most importantly, we need to prove your parents’
innocence and that they had nothing to do with the death of Suktar’s
son. It’s crucial you remember that, as there may be moments
when it gets uncomfortable.”

Ben bit his lip and nodded again.
For a moment he thought about revealing the fabric, but it didn’t
seem like the right time.

“I understand. Let’s
get on with it.”

Wren smiled and for a moment he
thought she was going to say more, but she just squeezed his shoulder
and opened the door, ushering him through.

Four sets of eyes stared at him
as he entered. They were seated in plush leather seats around a
circular table.

“Please stand on the spell
circle,” Wren said, as she sat herself down.

It was clear what she was
referring to. Ben walked to the back of the room and stood on a
large, blue circle that had been painted on the wooden floor. His
heart was thumping, but he met the directors’ stares without
flinching. The five sets of coloured diamonds floating above their
shoulders were strangely impressive.

Draven was there, eyebrows
furrowed, his constant scowl even more prominent, watching Ben like a
hawk. Wren’s warm glow countered Draven’s. There was one
other woman in the room. She was tall and slender, with as many
curves as a pencil. She had long, brown hair and glasses that
magnified her eyes to scary proportions. Her frumpy, grey jumper
clashed horribly with her lime-green trousers. Next to her was Colin.
His black suit was just as spotless as before. He sat as if he had a
pole inside the back of his jacket, with his hands folded neatly on
the table. Ben was struck by the size of his eyebrows – they
looked as big as moustaches. He didn’t blink, bat an eye or
make the slightest response when Ben looked at him. Beside him was a
man Ben instantly warmed to. He wore a Jedi-styled, blue, hooded
cloak and had wavy hair, bright eyes and lips that seemed creased in
a permanent little smile. He was leaning forward, resting his elbows
on the table. A small gold coin ran over and under his fingers with
stunning dexterity. When Ben made eye contact, he gave a little nod
and a wink.

“Alright, let’s get
on with this,” Draven said, slapping his hand on the table. “I
have called the Executive Council for an emergency meeting to discuss
Greg and Jane Greenwood’s son, Ben, who stands before us. I am
proposing we cast two spells on Ben. The first is a Memory Search, to
see if Ben has any memories hidden by magic. The second is a Search
Spell, which will search for any enchantments or charms his parents
may have placed on him. Any questions?”

“Who will cast the spells?”
Wren asked.

“I will do the Memory
Search,” Draven said. “I have the most experience. You,
Wren, will do the Spell Search.”

Ben groaned inwardly. He hoped
Wren would object, but though she pursed her lips, she said nothing.

Draven stood up and produced his
Spellshooter, which he proceeded to inspect.

Ben felt a shiver run through him
and he took an involuntary step back. Suddenly, he wanted to stall,
somehow, anyhow.

“Is this going to hurt?”
he asked, hating the way his voice trembled.

“There is no pain,”
Draven said. The usual gruffness in his voice lessened a fraction.
“I’ve cast this spell hundreds of times. You should sit
down and try to relax.”

There was a loud knock on the
door just as Ben was about to take a seat. The Council turned around
in surprise. Draven stood up and marched to the door, ready to fling
it open and unleash hell on the person who dared interrupt their
meeting.

“We're in session!”
Draven said.

The door swung open suddenly,
almost hitting Draven in the face. A tall man stood in the doorway.
He wore a black cloak and was sopping wet with rain and mud. But
there was power and grace in his posture. Ben couldn't stop looking
at the man's eyes; there were peculiar flecks of gold in them.

Draven stepped back and the rest
of the Council rose as one.

“Your Highness,”
Draven said, with an awkward bow. “I apologise. We didn't
realise you were back.”

Ben frowned. Your Highness?

“Calm yourself, Draven,”
the man said in a deep voice. “I had not expected to return so
soon.” He entered the room and the Council immediately gave him
the centre chair.

“Ben Greenwood?” the
man asked, taking a seat. The rest of the Council followed and
suddenly Ben was again the centre of attention.

“That's right.”

He sensed curiosity in those
peculiar, dark, gold-flecked eyes, but the man's expression remained
impassive.

“My name is Robert. I am
Commander of the Royal Institute of Magic.”

Ben wasn't surprised, given the
way the Council was behaving. He looked the part despite his
appearance. But why had Draven called him “Your Highness”?

“I don't have much time,”
Robert said. “I came here to see the Memory Search. Let us
proceed.”

It took a second for Ben to
realise what Robert meant until Draven stood up, Spellshooter in
hand.

“Sit down please, Ben,”
Draven said. The word “please” sounded odd coming from
him.

Ben sat down, careful to stay
within the circle. He had almost forgotten about the spell, but now
it came flooding back. He looked anxiously at Wren and she smiled.

“If you are in any
difficulty we will cancel the spell,” she said. Ben couldn’t
help noticing Draven’s doubtful expression.

“Get ready,” Draven
said. “You’re going for a ride.”

He aimed his Spellshooter at Ben
and fired.

The world disappeared and everything went black. There was no floor
beneath his feet. He had no feet. He was a floating entity in a void
of darkness.

An image of Wren standing outside
the meeting materialised. It was a picture from his memory in perfect
3D, with every perception just as clear as the original incident. It
felt like he was watching an IMAX movie of his own life filmed
through his eyes.

The scene froze. He started
walking backwards, away from Wren, as if someone had hit rewind. He
was going back in time, he realised. At first, it was slow enough to
decipher, but it quickly became a blur. Occasionally he could make
out a scene from school or home. Each time the world looked a little
different; he was getting smaller, so everything started looking
bigger as the months and years cycled back.

Eventually the “movie reel”
slowed. Ben’s heart jumped at the scene before him. He was
playing football in the garden with his dad who was smiling at him as
he went in for a tackle. Everything was so real: the bearded stubble,
the thin moustache, even the sparkle in his eye.

The scene stopped and blurred
again.

Fast forward.

Ben was walking down the road
towards his house. His dad’s Mini was sandwiched between two
police cars parked on the curb at the base of the hill.

Despite having no perceptible
body, Ben shivered.

He was watching the moments
before he learned of his parents’ disappearance.

Thankfully, the scene blurred.

Forward and back they went,
honing in on a memory, before fading out and then blurring to
something else. Ben wasn’t sure how long it went on, but it
made him feel queasy unless he stayed focused.

The stabbing head pain came from
nowhere.

“There!”

Ben was only dimly aware of the
voices in the room.

The memories stopped and
reversed, slower this time. He could see bits and pieces – a
house, his parents, the car.

Then he saw it. A black spot
amongst the colour of his past; a gap in his memory where nothing
existed. Staring at it made his head throb. As soon as he looked away
the pain eased. He glanced at it again and his head immediately
started aching.

“That’s the one.”
Draven’s voice. “Focus and you will pierce it.”

Ben was trying, but it hurt. His head was pulsing. He was dimly aware that he was squeezing his
temples and groaning.

“Draven, that’s
enough. Release him from the spell.” Wren’s voice came
from afar.

“No, this is it.”

“You could damage his
mind.”

“He’s nearly got it.
Fight it, boy. Fight it!”

Ben was on the verge of collapse,
but the anger in Draven’s voice fuelled his own. With a cry of
pain and defiance, he summoned every ounce of willpower he had and
forced himself into the blackness.

A flicker of light pierced the
darkness. Ben focused on it and the light started to expand. Within
moments it had grown from a pinhole to something he could fit his
hand through. Ben saw colour; behind the darkness was another memory.

Ben attacked the remainder with
such energy he was barely aware he was screaming. The last of the
blackness vanished and with it the pain. Ben found himself staring at
a memory he had forgotten existed.

The scene sharpened and he felt
himself being sucked into the picture. In front of him was a kitchen
door, ajar. Its handle was at eye level. He turned and saw his
reflection in a mirror. A small boy stared back at him with
mischievous, blue eyes and messy, blond hair. The smell of roast
chicken came from the kitchen and the hallway carpet felt soft
beneath his feet.

He was re-experiencing the moment
as if he were there. He
was
there. The memory became an all-encompassing reality.

“Absolutely not – I refuse!”

Ben
was about to head upstairs, but the anger in his mum’s voice
made him stop. It came from somewhere in the kitchen. His mum had
told him many times how rude it was to eavesdrop, but that didn’t
stop him from tiptoeing up to the kitchen door to get a better
listen.

“Now
is the time, Jane.” His dad’s calm voice was in stark
contrast to his mum’s. “The longer we delay, the more
dangerous it becomes. Suktar will soon come for us again.”

Ben’s
interest was now well and truly piqued. What danger was his dad
talking about?

“I
will not leave Ben – he is too young,” his mum said.

Ben’s
eyes widened. He resisted the urge to barge in, knowing the
conversation would end the moment he did.

“You
won’t leave him. I will begin the search myself.”

There
was a pause. Ben inched closer to the door. He could picture his
parents facing each other.

“You
won’t find them by yourself, Greg. You need me.”

“Ben
could stay with Anne.”

Ben
slammed a hand over his mouth to muffle his protest. To his relief,
his mum sounded just as outraged.

“Are
you mad? I’d rather send him to a foster home.”

His
dad gave an angry grunt. “Well, I’m open to suggestions.”

His
mum’s reply was so soft he barely heard it. “What about
the Institute? They could help.”

“No.”
His dad was firm. “They will ask too many questions. And that
would involve Ben. The Greenwood relationship with the Institute ends
with us.”

“If
you won’t use the Institute, then we wait until Ben is
sixteen.”

“Suktar
may come for us before then. We can fool him only so long.”

“That’s
a risk we’ll have to take,” his mum said. She threw
something down on the counter.

Ben
heard footsteps.

His
mum was coming! Ben turned away, but he was too slow.

The
kitchen door opened.

His
mum was staring at him, her eyes wide.

“Ben!
What are you doing here?”

“I
live here, don’t I?” Ben replied. Always best to go on
the offensive.

His
dad came hurrying over. Ben lost his nerve a little – his dad,
normally so calm and relaxed, wore a stern frown. He had never seen
his dad angry before.

“How
long have you been here?” his dad asked.

“Only a minute.”

“Did
you hear anything?”

“Not
much,” Ben answered. But curiosity got the better of him.
“Mum’s right, I’d rather stay in a foster home than
at Grandma’s. Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,”
his parents replied. They looked at each other for a moment.

“No,”
his mum said.

His
dad shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jane, on this there is no
debate.”