Текст книги "James Potter and the Hall of the Elders' Crossing"

Автор книги: G. Norman Lippert

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        James couldn't let it go. He shook his head. "I don't know about Delacroix, but Professor Jackson's smarter than that. He teaches Technomancy, doesn't he? He wouldn't fall for some crackpot scheme if he didn't think it'd work. Besides, everybody keeps talking about it as if Merlin had died. But Austramaddux doesn't say he died, does he? He just left the world of men."

Ralph shrugged. "Whatever. Seems pretty dodgy to me." He flopped backwards onto the cot.

        "Come on, Ralph!" James said, tossing the old newspaper onto him. "They're trying to bring Merlin back so they can start a war with the Muggles! It's up to us to stop it!"

        Ralph rolled onto his side and furrowed his brow at James. "What do you mean? Your dad's Head Auror. If you're really worried about it, tell him about it. It's his job to stop things like this, isn't it? What're we going to do, anyway?"

        James was exasperated. "We can try to stop them! Nobody will believe us if we tell them now. We can try to capture the relics ourselves. If we do that, then we'll at least have proof!"

        Ralph continued to stare at James. After a minute he spoke. "Don't you think you might be making a bit much of this? I mean, I understand wanting to follow in your dad's footsteps and all, trying to save the world and be the hero…"

        "Shut up, Ralph," James said, suddenly angry. "You don't know what you're talking about."

        Ralph rolled onto his back. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry." James knew that, after their earlier fight, Ralph was sensitive not to say anything too argumentative.

        "All right," James admitted, "I know why you're saying that. But this is different. I'm really not just trying to be like Dad, all right? Maybe there isn't any way to bring back Merlin. But still, these Progressive Element types are up to no good. If we can prove that they're trying to start a war, we can at least shut them down, can't we? If we can do that, I think we should. Are you with me?"

        Ralph grinned at James. "Of course. What's the fun of being a wizard if we aren't on a quest to save the world?"

James rolled his eyes. "Shut up and go to sleep, Ralphinator."

But James couldn't sleep, not for a long time. He thought and thought about everything he'd learned that night, the connections he and Ralph had made. It made too much sense. It had to be true. And as much as he trusted Luna, he couldn't quite accept that it would be impossible to bring Merlin into the world somehow. He'd been the greatest wizard ever, hadn't he? He was sure to have been capable of things that even the most powerful wizards since would find impossible. James felt a strong unwillingness to let it go. Still, part of him had been pricked by Ralph's suggestion that James was simply looking for a way to be a hero, like his dad. Not because he knew it wasn't true, but because he was afraid it might be. Finally, several hours after the house had fallen silent, feeling confused and exhausted, James drifted to sleep.

        The day before the trip back to school, James was wandering the upper rooms of Grimmauld Place, bored and restless. The last of the guests had left the previous day, and Ralph had gone with Ted and Victoire to see Harry's offices at the Ministry. James had been there loads of times, but his primary reason for not accompanying them was that he wanted time to think. After half an hour of lying on his bed and scribbling meaningless notes and drawings on sheets of parchment, he'd given up and climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. The top floors were silent and sleepy, with motes of dust swimming lazily in the sunbeams that streamed through the frosted windows. All the beds were made, the trunks mostly packed. Everyone would be leaving Grimmauld Place in the next few days, reducing it once again to temporary emptiness. Even Kreacher had been induced to accompany the family back to the main house in Marble Arch for a couple of months. The age and quiet of the house seemed to fill the rooms, fog-like. James felt like a ghost.

He was passing the door to his parents' bedroom when he stopped. He took a step backwards and peered in. The curtains were thrown wide open and a hard beam of sunlight speared the air, laying a window-shaped spotlight on Harry Potter's trunk. James glanced toward the hall stairs to be sure no one was coming, and then tiptoed into the room. The trunk wasn't completely closed. It didn't even have a lock. James lifted the lid slowly, peering in. There, in the same place it was last time, was his dad's Invisibility Cloak. It was folded tightly, packed into a corner, almost covered by a pile of socks. James glanced again at the doorway, already feeling guilty. He shouldn't do it, of course. Absolutely not. When his dad found out, there'd be trouble. But then again, maybe his dad wouldn't notice. Harry Potter seemed to carry the legendary cloak with him merely by force of habit. James couldn't remember the last time his dad had actually used it. It seemed wrong, somehow, that such a useful treasure was not being put to use by someone. James reached in and touched it, then, without allowing himself to think about it, he pulled the cloak out. He was about to turn and flee back to his bedroom, when something else inside the trunk captured his eye. He caught his breath as he looked, barely allowing himself to believe what he was seeing. It had been packed beneath the Invisibility Cloak, only revealed when James pulled it out. Few people would even recognize what it was. At first glance, it was merely an old parchment, folded many times. Like a map. James considered it. What finally decided him was the thought of what Ted Lupin might say if he knew that James had turned down such a golden opportunity.

        James grabbed the Marauder's Map, clutching it and the Invisibility Cloak to his chest, then carefully closed his dad's trunk. He ran down the steps and back into his bedroom. By the time he'd hidden his contraband in the bottom of his own trunk, he was feeling both excited and frightened in equal measures. There was sure to be a row when he was found out, and there was no question that he would be found out. Still, he knew that his dad wouldn't be able to deny that he himself would have done the same thing if he'd been in James' shoes. He was counting on that to temper things when the time came. Until then, he'd put both items to great use. He didn't know exactly how, yet, but there was no question that, with the Invisibility Cloak andthe Marauder's Map in his possession, he felt much better equipped to tackle whatever adventures were sure to come.

        The return trip to school was, like all post-holiday journeys, melancholy and quiet. Back at Hogwarts the next week, James and Ralph relayed to Zane everything Luna had told them and the connections they had subsequently made. James was gratified that Zane immediately grasped the implications.

        "Maybe Madame Delacroix's put the Imperius Curse on Jackson?" he asked in a low tone as the three boys huddled around a table in the corner of the library.

        "Yeah," Ralph agreed. "That'd make sense. She could just be using him as a tool."

        James shook his head. "Dad says the Imperius Curse is pretty easy to cast, but it takes a lot of willpower to maintain it over a long period of time. The whole school year is a long time. Also, a strong enough wizard can learn to throw it off or resist it altogether. Jackson's too sharp to be an easy target for something like that."

Ralph shrugged, and then leaned in, lowering his voice as a group of students walked past. "Either way, I still think the whole thing's a wash. I mean, wizards have been trying to get Merlin back for centuries, haven't they? And the best wizards alive today believe that the whole thing is just a sort of fairy tale. Professor Franklyn said in D.A.D.A. that the best records show that Merlin ended up getting involved with something called 'the Lady of the Lake' who took his powers and imprisoned him. Could just be part of the legend, but still, supposedly he died around twelve hundred and was buried just like anyone else."

        Zane, who was always prone to the morbid imagination, widened his eyes. "What if the plan is to bring him back as an Inferius? Maybe they're just going to raise his body like some kind of zombie or something!"

        James rolled his eyes. "Inferi are just animated corpses. Nobody would say somebody had been brought back to life if they'd just been turned into an Inferius. It'd be the same thing as just grabbing Merlin's skull and working it like a puppet."

        Zane held up his hand and mimed a mouth with his fingers, "Hey, dudes. I'm Merlin. I just flew back from the dead, and boy, are my arms tired?"

        James stifled a laugh. "All right, so seriously, maybe the whole Merlin's return thing is just some crazy legend. Jackson and Delacroix and whoever they're working with in the Progressive Element believe in it, and as long as they do, they'll keep at it. Even if the plan to bring back Merlin doesn't work, they'll just figure something else out. If we can prove what they are trying to do, though…"

        "We can at least shut them down," Ralph nodded. "Right? Discredit them with the wizarding world?"

        "Yeah. And if we can do that, we take away a lot of their ability to accomplish their goal."

        Zane laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back. "So looks like we need to get our hands on those relics. The throne is too protected for us to get to, if it's on that island. We don't yet know who has the Merlin staff or if anybody even knows where it is. That leaves the robe. At least we know where it is, and as far as we know, Jackson's case won't try to bite our legs off if we open it."

        Ralph looked grim. "As far as we know."

        "We need to be able to get it without Jackson knowing it's gone. If he catches on, they'll have time to back off and cover their tracks," James said, thinking hard. "I just wish we knew when they were planning on bringing all the relics together. We have to get them before they try it."

        "And where's this Hall of Elder's Crossing?" Ralph added.

        "I figured it's got to be the island itself," James answered, raising his eyebrows.

It was Zane's turn to shake his head. "Nah. Can't be. The sign on the gate said that it was the Grotto Keep. At the bottom, it said something about the Hall of Elder's Crossing, as if it was someplace else."

        James dug in his backpack, finding the sheet of parchment he and Zane had recreated the gate poem on. He spread it between them. In the light of what Luna had told them about the relics, the poem made a lot more sense. They read it, along with their scribbled notes, once again.

When by the light of Sulva bright – sulva = moon

I found the Grotto Keep; – means can only find the Keep by moonlight

Before the night of time requite – time requite? A certain date?

Did wake his languid sleep. – Merlinus; sleeping? Rip Van Winkle

Upon return the fretted dawn – happens at nighttime?

With not a relic lossing; – the three relics! Brought back together

Bygone a life, a new eon, – a life from the past in a new time; the legend's origin?

The Hall of Elder's Crossing. – here? where?

        "Yeah," James agreed reluctantly. "It makes it sound like the Hall of Elder's Crossing is a different place entirely. Maybe the Grotto Keep becomes the Hall of Elder's Crossing, somehow?"

        Zane shrugged, unconvinced, "Meh."

        "Doesn't make any difference, really," Ralph said after a minute's thought. "It's just some old poem. Part of the legend."

        "You didn't see the island," Zane said with feeling, then, turning to James, "You think that whole Grotto Keep grew up there on the island in response to the throne being there?"

        "Could be," James nodded. "Whether the legend's true or not, that thing's got to have some serious magic in it. Probably, Madame Delacroix has added her own protective hexes and charms as well."

        "Either way," Ralph insisted, "we need to get the robe from Jackson's briefcase. Any ideas?"

        All three boys merely looked at one another. Finally, James said, "I'll work on a plan. We're going to need something to replace the robe with, though."

"It was just a hunk of black fabric, you say?" Ralph said. "We can use my dress cloak. My dad got me the entire wizard wardrobe when we were in Diagon Alley before school started, and unless I have to go to somebody's wedding or funeral, I can't imagine I'll need that thing. It's bigger than my bedspread."

        James considered it. "Sure, I guess it'll work as well as anything. Although," he added, looking seriously at Ralph, "if they trace it back to you…"

        Ralph was silent for a moment, and then shrugged. "Ah, well. I've got no shortage of enemies already. One or two more can't hurt much."

        Considering the caliber of enemy Ralph might make with such a plot, James thought it might hurt indeed, but he decided not to say so. He was proud of Ralph for volunteering, and he felt that it showed that Ralph had a great deal of confidence in James. James hoped he was worthy of it.

        For the rest of the week, James had very little time to think about Jackson's briefcase and the relic robe. As if he knew what they were up to, Professor Jackson had piled on more homework than usual, assigning nearly five chapters and a five hundred-word essay on Hechtor's Law of Displaced Inertia. At the same time, Professor Franklyn had planned a practical examination for late Friday afternoon, leaving only one day for James, Zane, and Ralph to practice Disarming and Blocking Spells. Ralph was forced to practice on a fencing dummy. After two hours, he finally succeeded in casting an Expelliarmus spell without burning a crater in the clothbound mannequin. Fortunately, Franklyn himself deigned to act as Ralph's dueling partner during the practical. Ralph, slightly more confident that Franklyn could deflect any errant spells than any of his classmates, was able to concentrate a bit more on his wandwork. To no one's greater surprise than his own, his Expelliarmus spell actually succeeded in blasting Franklyn's wand from his hand. It vibrated in the ceiling like an arrow.

        "Well done, Mr. Deedle," Franklyn said, a bit faintly, gazing up at his wand. "Mr. Potter, would you be so kind as to retrieve my wand for me? There's a ladder by the supply closet. That's a lad."

        As James and Ralph were leaving the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical, James noticed that he was once again being watched closely by the mustachioed man in the painting of wizards gathered around the large globe. For the past week, he had begun noticing similar looks from paintings throughout the halls. Not all the paintings, by any means, but enough to nag at his attention. The fat wizard in the corner of the table at the painting of the poisoning of Peracles had seemed to listen intently as he, Ralph, and Zane had discussed Jackson's briefcase in the library. A cavalry rider in the painting of the Battle of Bourgenoigne had cantered his horse to the corner of the painting to watch James out of sight as he'd walked to Muggle Studies. Perhaps strangest of all, a portrait of a portrait in the painting of the crowning of King Cyciphus had studied James unabashedly from the wall of the Great Hall as he and Zane were eating breakfast.

        James stopped on his way to the common room and approached the painting of the wizards gathered around the globe. The wizard with the dark mustache and spectacles peered at him with a hard, unreadable expression.

        "What?" James demanded. "Do I have mustard on my tie or something?"

The painted wizard's expression didn't change, and once again, James found that there was something teasingly familiar about him.

        "I know you, somehow," he said. "Who are you?"

        "You're talking to a painting," Ralph pointed out.

        "I talk to a painting every day to get into the common room," James said without turning around.

        "Yeah," Ralph nodded. "Still, it just seems a little weird to go around starting arguments with random paintings in the halls."

        "Where do I know you from?" James asked the painting, annoyed.

        "Young man," another wizard in the painting spoke up, "that's hardly the tone we are accustomed to being addressed in. Respect and deference, if you please. We are your elders."

        James ignored him, still studying the wizard with the mustache and spectacles, who merely stared back at him silently. It occurred to James that the wizard only seemed familiar because, somehow, he looked like the rest of the paintings that had been watching him. But that was obviously ridiculous, wasn't it? There was the fat man with the bald head, and the thin wizard in the portrait of the portrait who'd had a great bushy blonde beard. All of the paintings he'd caught watching him were utterly different. A few had even been rather ugly women. Still, there was something about the eyes and the shape of the face. James shook his head. He felt so close to figuring it out, yet it remained beyond his grasp.

        "Come on," Ralph finally said, grabbing James' arm. "Argue with the paintings later. It's steak and kidney night."

        That weekend, James gave his new Thunderstreak a test ride on the Quidditch pitch. It was indeed an entirely different experience than riding any of the house brooms. The Thunderstreak was noticeably faster, but more importantly, it responded to James' direction with an accuracy and ease that bordered on precognition. James would merely think that perhaps he'd like to dip or turn, and suddenly, he'd find that it was happening. Ted explained, rather breathlessly, that the Thunderstreak was equipped with an option called 'Extra-Gestural Enhancement'.

        "Basically," he said in an awed voice, "the broom can read its owner's mind, just enough that it only needs the slightest touch to go where you want it to go. It already knows what you want, so the moment you steer, you're already there."

        James offered to let Ted ride the broom, but Ted shook his head sadly. "It's bonded with you. You're the owner. If anybody else tried to fly it, it'd go all wonky. It's a drawback of the E.G.E. option. Or a plus, if you're worried about people trying to steal it."

        "Me wantee," Zane said in a low voice. "How much are they?"

        "How much do you have?" Ted asked.

        Zane thought for a moment. "Since I gave my last five to the house-elf doorman, er, nothing."

        "It costs more than that," Ted said, nodding.

        On the way back to the castle, Zane told James that he'd had an idea about how to swap the relic robe with Ralph's dress cloak.

        "Meet me tonight in the Ravenclaw common room," he said. "Tell Ralph to come, too, when you see him. I'll meet you both at the door at nine."

        That night, the Ravenclaw common room was unusually empty. Zane explained that there was a wizard chess tournament going on in the Great Hall. "Horace Birch is playing Professor Franklyn for the title of grand wizard chess champion of the universe or something. Unofficial, I'm thinking. Anyway, everybody's down there cheering him on. So have either of you come up with a way to get the robe relic from Jackson yet?"

        "I thought you said you had a plan?" James said.

        "I do, but it's pretty iffy. I thought I'd listen to your ideas first, in case they were better."

        James shook his head. Ralph said, "I've been watching Professor Jackson. He never lets that briefcase out of his sight."

        "Actually," Zane said, settling into a chair by the fire, "that's not entirely true."

        Ralph and James sat on the sofa. James said, "Ralph's right. He even takes it to Quidditch matches. He sets it between his feet at meals. He's got it with him constantly."

        "He does have it with him constantly," Zane agreed, "but there's one situation where he isn't exactly keeping his eye on it."

        "What?" James exclaimed. "Where?"

        "Technomancy class," Zane answered simply. "Think about it. What's he do all class long?"

James considered it a moment, then his eyes widened slightly. "He paces."

        "Bingo," Zane said, pointing at James. "He puts his case on the floor by his desk, careful as always, but then he paces. He circles the room ten times a class, I bet. I've been watching. Takes him about a minute to make it all the way around the room, which means that for about twenty seconds, his back is turned to the briefcase."

        "Wait," Ralph interjected. "You think we should try to make the switch right in the middle of class?"

        Zane shrugged. "Like I said, it isn't a great idea."

        "How? There's twenty people in that class. We can't have them all in on it."

        "No," James agreed, "Philia Goyle's in that class. She's tight with Tabitha Corsica, and it's possible, even likely, that they're in on the Merlin plot. Philia may even know what's in the case. Nobody else can know what we're up to."

        "Doesn't mean it's impossible," Zane said.

        Ralph frowned. "You think we're going to be able to get into Jackson's case, swap the robes, and close it again, all while Jackson's back is turned for twenty seconds, and without anyone else in the class catching on?"

        "Hmm," James said, furrowing his brow. "Maybe we don't need to get into the briefcase. What if we find another briefcase? We could stuff Ralph's cloak in it and somehow just swap the cases while Jackson's back is turned."

        Ralph was still doubtful. "Jackson will be able to tell. He carries that thing with him everywhere. He's probably memorized every scratch and scuff on it."

        "Actually," Zane said thoughtfully, "it's a pretty standard-looking leather briefcase. I've seen others almost exactly like it right here at Hogwarts. If we could find something close enough…" Zane suddenly sat up and snapped his fingers. "Horace!"

        "Horace?" James blinked. "Horace Birch? The Gremlin wizard chess player? What's he got to do with anything?"

        Zane shook his head excitedly. "Remember the Wocket? Horace used a Visum-ineptio charm to make it look like a flying saucer. It's a Fool-the-Eye charm! He said it just makes people see what they expect to see. If we found a case that looked enough like Jackson's, then put a Visum-ineptio charm on it, I bet that'd be enough to fool old Stonewall good! I mean, he'd never expect anything to happen to his case during class, so the charm should help him see the fake briefcase as his own. Right?"

        Ralph thought about it and seemed to brighten. "That's so crazy, it just might work."

        "Yeah," James added, "but still, how do we swap the cases during class without anyone else noticing?"

        "We'd need a diversion," Zane said firmly.

        Ralph grimaced. "You've watched too much telly."

        James frowned, thinking of the Invisibility Cloak. "You know," he said, "I think I have an idea." He told Zane and James about finding the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map.

"You liberated them from your dad's trunk!" Zane grinned delightedly. "You little miscreant! Ted will want to kiss you."

        "He doesn't know, and I want to keep it that way, for now, at least," James said sternly. "But the point is, I think we can use the Invisibility Cloak to make the switch without anyone knowing. It'll require all of us, though."

        "I'm not even in that class," Ralph said.

        James nodded. "I know. What class do you have that period? First slot, Wednesday?"

        Ralph thought. "Um. Arithmancy. Ugh."

        "Can you miss one?"

        "I guess. Why?"

        James explained his plan. Zane began to grin, but Ralph looked uncomfortable. "I'm a terrible liar. They'll catch on straight off," he moaned. "Can't Zane do my part? He's a natural."

        James shook his head. "He's in the class with me. It'd be no good."

        "You can do it, Ralph," Zane said heartily. "The trick is to look 'em straight in the eye and never blink. I'll teach you everything I know. We'll make a liar out of you yet."

        That night, as James got ready for bed, he ran through the plan in his mind. Now that he'd allowed himself to consider the impossibility of Merlin's literal return, he felt rather silly for having been so certain of it. Obviously, it really was just a mad delusion for power-crazed dark wizards. Still, it was evident that Jackson and Delacroix, at least, believed in it enough to try it. If James, Ralph, and Zane could capture the relic robe, that would be enough proof to get his dad and his Aurors to search the island of the Grotto Keep. They'd find the Merlin throne and the conspiracy would be revealed. It'd be front-page news in the Daily Prophet, and Tabitha Corsica's Progressive Element,which was surely part of the plot, would be revealed as a campaign of lies and propaganda, intent only on war and domination. With that vision in his head, James felt a stab of determination to do everything he could to capture the relic robe.

As he evaluated the plan, however, he had his doubts. It was certainly a rather convoluted scheme, with loads of variables. Much of it would depend entirely on dumb luck. One minute, James was certain it would work flawlessly, the next, he was sure it would be a ridiculous failure and he, Ralph, and Zane would be caught. What would they say? Jackson would know they were aware of his plan. Would that be enough to stop the plot? James was, after all, the son of the Head Auror. James thought not. If James and his friends were caught trying to steal the relic, Jackson would know they hadn't yet told Harry Potter anything. Would Jackson and his co-conspirators stoop to murder to keep their plans a secret? He could hardly believe it, but then again, he had been amazed to discover Jackson's involvement in such a terrible plan to begin with. No matter what, James was sure, probably more than either Zane or Ralph, that the three of them might be in great danger if their scheme failed.

        For the first time, he considered telling his dad everything. He could send Nobby with a letter, explaining everything they'd worked out so far. If the three of them succeeded in their plan to capture the relic robe, then he'd have proof to back up the letter. If they failed and were caught, at least someone else would know about the Merlin plot. It was too late to write the letter that night, but he felt reassured that it would be a good idea, and he determined to do it first thing in the morning. Thinking that, he fell asleep. The next morning, however, as he ran down the steps to breakfast, he forgot all about it. In the light of a new day and a new week, he felt perfectly confident that their plan would work. Failure was inconceivable. He was in such high spirits about it that he barely noticed the pale wizard in the painting of the Assumption of Saint Mungo watching him intently, frowning and stone-faced.