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

Автор книги: G. Norman Lippert

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Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 37 страниц)

        "It pays to be owed favors in high places," Martin went on. "It took quite a lot to get a ranking agent out here, but I am confident that this is the sort of story one calls in large favors for. There is no official charge yet, of course. Merely curiosity, since there is no record of any establishment of this size in the area. The point is this: if they do not receive a phone call from me in the next two hours with directions for how to get their gear onto the grounds, they are to return immediately to the office, retrieve the recording of this conversation and everything that has occurred to me here so far, and broadcast it however they see fit. It may seem preposterous to most people, I grant. A school in a castle in the dead of nowhere teaching kids how to work real magic, wands and all. But your secret will be out, nevertheless. Your students may attend here, in this secret location, but they do sometimes go home, do they not? And I am willing to bet those homes are nowhere near as protected as this. There will be investigations. You will be revealed. One way or another."

        Headmistress McGonagall's face was as hard and white as a tombstone. She merely stared at the skinny man in the white shirt. Franklyn broke the silence.

        "My good sir, you cannot comprehend what you are asking." He took off his glasses and stepped in front of Martin. "Your plan would undeniably result in the closing down of this school and possibly many others like it. All those present, and many, many more, would lose their livelihoods and educations. More importantly, what you are insisting upon is the re-introduction of the entire magical world into the world of Muggles, whether either is prepared for that or not. And to what end? Not for the betterment of mankind, I expect. No, I suspect that your aspirations are far more… myopic. Please, do think before you continue. There are forces at work here that you do not comprehend, although you may well be acting on behalf of some of them. I sense that you are not a bad man, or at least not yet a very bad man. Think, my friend, before you make a choice that will condemn you in the eyes of generations."

        Martin listened to Franklyn's words, and seemed to actually consider them. Then, as if snapping out of a daze, he said, "You're Benjamin Franklin, aren't you?" He grinned and waggled a finger at Franklyn. "I knew you looked familiar! That's amazing. Look, I know you're not in a position to discuss this right now, but I have two words for you: exclusive… interview. Think about it, right?"

         "Mr. Prescott," the Headmistress said, her voice stony. "You cannot expect us to make a decision regarding this in a matter of minutes. We simply must discuss this."

"Indeed," Neville added. "Even if we do agree to your conditions, you must conduct yourself upon our terms. How that can be of any benefit to us considering the sheer magnitude of what you are undertaking, I do not yet know. But regardless, we must have some time."

        "As I said," Martin replied, seeming far more comfortable now that he believed he had the upper hand, "you have two hours. Well, ninety-four minutes, actually."

        "Answer me this, Mr. Prescott," Franklyn said, sighing. "How did you get onto the school grounds? Before we go any further with this charade, we must know that."

Martin sighed lightly. "Got a chair? It's rather a story."

        Neville pointedly produced his wand. Never taking his eyes off Martin, he pointed the wand at a wooden chair in the corner and levitated it rather brusquely. The chair shot forward, nearly scooping Martin off his feet. The man plopped gracelessly onto the seat and the chair thunked to the floor.

        "Do continue," Neville said, half sitting on a corner of the Headmistress' desk. McGonagall settled into her chair, but remained ramrod straight. Franklyn and James continued to stand.

        "Well, I first got the letter telling me about this place in September of last year," Martin said, leaning forward and rubbing his backside while staring angrily at Neville. " The View offers a hundred thousand poundreward for proof of paranormal activity, and the gentleman that wrote the letter seemed to think that this Hogwarts place would offer such proof in spades. Honestly, we get thousands of letters a year from people hoping to collect the reward. They include everything from blurry pictures of tossed pie plates to actual slices of toast with the faces of saints burned onto them. The Viewnever actually had any plans to reward the money. They like a nice dash of the inexplicable in the news from time to time, but when it comes to belief, most of them are the most cynical bunch of hardheads imaginable.

        "Me, on the other hand, I'm the sort of guy who wants to believe. It wasn't the tone of the letter that got my attention, though. It was the little item the sender had included in the envelope. A little box containing something called a 'Chocolate Frog'. I expected it might have some novelty spring-snakes in it, at best, so being a sport, I went ahead and opened it. Sure enough, there was a perfect little chocolate frog inside. I was just about to grab it and take a bite when the thing lifted its head and looked right at me. I just about dropped the box. Next thing I know, the frog leaps straight out of the box and onto my desk. It was a hot day, and the thing had just come in with the post. Good thing, too, cause the little bugger had gotten a little melty. Left little chocolaty frog footprints all over that night's copy. Three good hops, then the frog just putters out. I was afraid to touch it, but five minutes later, it still hadn't moved. I had time to determine that it had just been a normal frog covered in chocolate. Some joke. Thing probably had suffocated from the stuff, and from the heat of being in the box. So I went ahead and scooped it back up and sure enough, the thing was just chocolate. Good chocolate, too, I might add.

"I still might've forgotten all about it, to tell you the truth. No matter how open-minded a person might think they are, being confronted with something truly inexplicable still tends to shut down the old belief circuits. If it weren't for those little chocolaty frog footprints on my papers, I might never have mustered the resolve to be here. I kept them in the bottom of my desk, and every time I looked at them, I remembered that little bugger hopping across my desk. I couldn't get it out of my mind. So I emailed the guy who'd sent it. Nice trick, I told him. Got any more?

        "He emails me back next day and says if I really want to see tricks, I just need to follow the signal he'd send me. Sure enough, the day after that, there's another package from him. A little one. Contained everything I needed to lock onto the signal here. There was no way those faithless turds in management would equip me with a crew to investigate the origin of a jumping chocolate frog, even if I showed them the froggy footprints. Fortunately, I had some vacation time coming, so I decided to give it a go on my own. A little camping out would do me good. So I packed my own cameras and caught a train.

        "Getting into the general vicinity was easy enough, of course. I spent the first night on the other side of the forest, knowing by the signal that I was within a few kilometers of the source. Next day, I was on foot by dawn. I followed the direction I knew I was supposed to go, but sure enough, every time, I'd find myself heading right back out the way I'd come. It never seemed like I'd turned around or even veered off my course. It was as if I had succeeded in getting to the opposite side of the forest, but somehow the planet had turned around right underneath me. I tried using a compass, and it'd tell me I was dead-on as well, until all of a sudden I'd be stepping right back out into my camp and the needle would spin away as if it'd forgotten what it was for.

        "This went on for three solid days. I was getting frustrated, I'll tell you that. But I was also getting determined, because I knew something was trying to keep me out. I wanted to know what. So the next day, I got out my little package and located the coordinates. This time, though, I kept it in front of me the whole time, watching that little flashing dot. Soon enough, the ground seemed to force me away. I'd run into an old creek bed with sides too steep to climb. I'd angle away only to run into a deadfall of trees or a low cliff. Everything seemed to be working to turn me off my course. I pushed on, though. I climbed and scurried. I pushed through thorns and the thickest undergrowth I've ever seen. Then, even gravity seemed to be working against me. I kept feeling as if the earth was tilting up beneath me, trying to throw me backwards off it. No such thing was happening, of course, but it was a dreadful sensation nonetheless. I became nauseous and unaccountably dizzy. But I followed my direction, crawling at the last.

        "And then, suddenly, the sensations were gone. The forest seemed to snap back to normal, or at least what passes for normal in this neck of the woods. I had made it through. Ten minutes later, I came out for the first time on the edge of the clearing overlooking this very castle. I was stunned, needless to say. But what amazed me far more than the castle was the scene that I very nearly walked into the midst of.

"There, not twenty feet before me, was the largest man I had ever seen. He looked almost like a grizzly bear that'd been taught to walk upright. But then, standing next to him…" For the first time in his story, Martin paused. He swallowed, obviously shaken by the very memory. "There was something so monstrously huge that I at first thought it must be a kind of dinosaur. It had four legs, each the size of a pillar. I raised my eyes and saw that it was, in fact, two creatures standing near each other, and they were both human-shaped. The tallest one's head was above the treetops. I couldn't even see its face. I scrambled back into a hiding place, certain they'd heard me, but it seemed not to be so. The smallest one, the one that looked like a walking bear, talked to the other two, and they answered, sort of. Their voices vibrated the ground. Then, to my horror, they turned and headed towards me, into the forest. The largest one's foot came down right next to me, shaking the earth like a bomb and leaving a footprint three inches deep. Then they were gone."

        Martin drew a huge sigh, obviously content with his telling of the tale. "And that was when I knew I had found it. The greatest story of my life. Possibly the greatest story of this century." He looked around as if he expected applause.

        "There is one small detail you have failed to explain to my satisfaction," Headmistress McGonagall said coldly. "This device you mentioned. It was somehow able to point you to this school. I must know what it is and how it works."

        Martin raised his eyebrows, and then chuckled and sat up. "Oh, yes. That. It's been acting pretty wonky ever since I got here, but at least it maintained the signal. A simple GPS device. Er, please forgive me. You are probably unfamiliar with the term. A global positioning system device. It allows me to locate any point on earth within a meter or so. Very helpful bit of, er, Muggle magic, if you will."

        James spoke for the first time since entering the room. "But how did you pinpoint the school? How would that device know where to find it? It's unplottable. Not on any map."

        Martin turned to look at him, his brow furrowed, apparently uncertain whether he should even deign to answer James. Finally, seeing that everyone else in the room expected him to respond, Martin stood up. "Like I said, I was sent the coordinates. They were provided by someone on the inside. Really, very simple."

        Martin reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled something out. James knew what it was even before he saw it. He had known it somehow even before he'd asked the question. His heart sank as if through the very floor.

        Martin flourished a Gamedeck. It was a different color than Ralph's, but of exactly the same make. He plunked it unceremoniously onto the Headmistress' desk. "Wireless uplink for online competition, including chat capability. Pretty standard stuff. So anybody here go by the screen name 'Austramaddux'?"

"You can't do this to me!" Martin exclaimed as Neville led him unceremoniously into the Room of Requirement, which had arranged itself into a rather quaint turret-top prison cell, complete with a barred window, a cot, a bowl of water and a crust of bread on a plate. "This is unlawful imprisonment! It's an outrage!"

        "Think of it as field research," Neville instructed politely. "We have much to discuss, and after your ordeals in the forest, we thought you might like a bit of a breather. Take a load off, friend."

        James, who was standing in the hall behind Neville, couldn't help smiling a little. Martin saw him, scowled angrily, and made to shove past Neville. Neville whipped out his wand so fast that James barely saw his robes twitch. "I said," Neville repeated with low emphasis, not quite pointing his wand at Martin, "take a load off. Friend."

        James' smile faltered. He'd never seen Neville Longbottom so intense. Of course, James knew the stories of how Neville had cut off the head of Voldemort's snake, Nagini, but that was before James had been born. In all his memory of the man, Neville had been a kindly figure, soft-spoken and a bit clumsy. Now Neville's wand hand was so immobile and purposeful that it might have been carved out of marble. Martin blinked at Neville, saw something in the man's posture and the set of his face that he didn't like, and backed up. The back of his knees struck the cot and he sat down hard. Neville pocketed his wand and stepped back into the hall, pulling the door of the Room of Requirement shut behind him. Martin, seeing the wand put away, immediately jumped up and started to yell again, but his voice was cut off as the door slammed shut.

        "You know, we do have dungeons, Madam Headmistress," Neville said in his normal voice.

        Seeing the door closed, Headmistress McGonagall turned on her heel and walked briskly down the corridor as the others followed. "We have some rather antique torture devices as well, Professor Longbottom, but I believe this will suffice for the moment. We only need to hold him until we receive word from the Ministry of Magic about whatever recourse we may or may not have against the dilemma Mr. Prescott has foisted upon us. In the meantime, Mr. Potter, I must ask you: do you know anything about the game device that has apparently led this… person into our midst?"

        James swallowed as he struggled to keep up the Headmistress' pace. He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came. "Er, well…"

        Neville touched James on the shoulder as they walked. "We all saw your face turn as pale as the moon when Prescott produced the GameDeck device. You looked almost like you expected it. Is there something you know that might help us, James?"

        James decided there was no point in trying to protect Ralph. It wasn't his fault, anyway. "My friend has one. He's a first year like me, but he's Muggle-born. He didn't know it might be dangerous to have here. None of us did, really. I was surprised it even worked here."

        "He used it to communicate with someone in the Muggle community?" Neville asked quickly.

        "No! As far as I know, he never used it at all! As soon as he got here, his housemates saw it and gave him a load of trouble about it. They're Slytherins, so they were all ragging on him about counterfeit magical devices, about how it was an insult to the purebloods and all that."

        The Headmistress turned a corner, heading back toward her office. "I assume you are speaking of Mr. Deedle? Yes. I am confident enough that he is not at the head of this particular conspiracy, although this device of his might be. Does it perhaps broadcast some sort of signal?"

        James shrugged. "You'd be better off asking Ralph about that, or even my other friend, Zane. He seems to know a lot about how these things work. But I don't think it sends out information on its own. Ralph says somebody else took his GameDeck and used it. Another Slytherin, we think. Zane was able to tell that somebody had spent some time on it, and that they'd used the name Austramaddux. They hadn't played the game at all, though. They must have just been using it to send information. Probably the coordinates that that guy said he used to locate the school using his GPS thing."

        "You're quite sure about this, are you, James?" Neville said, following the Headmistress back into her office. "Have you considered that Mr. Deedle might have used this device on school grounds and unwittingly shared information that he shouldn't have? It is possible that this tale of the stolen GameDeck is a ruse."

        James shook his head firmly. "No way. Not Ralph. It never even occurred to him, or any of us, that the thing might be used to lead people here. He just knew it made his Slytherin mates angry."

        "We're all forgetting one important thing," McGonagall said, lowering herself tiredly into her chair. "Even if Mr. Deedle or this unknown borrower of the device did attempt to share information about this school with a Muggle, the Vow of Secrecy would prevent them."

        Professor Franklyn, who had remained in the Headmistress' office to fiddle with the GameDeck, replaced the device on the desk and stared at it, apparently unable to make anything of it. "How does this vow work, precisely, Madam Headmistress?"

        "It's quite straightforward, Professor. Every student must sign the vow, proclaiming they will not knowingly reveal any information regarding the existence of Hogwarts to any Muggle individual or agency. If they do, the magical properties of the vow will engage, preventing any such communication. This might mean the Langlock jinx or any other curse that would disable the individual's ability to share information. In this case, we might assume that the user of the device might experience a fusing of the fingers or paralysis of the hand, anything that would prevent them from entering any dangerous information into this device."

Franklyn was thoughtful. "We use a similar means at Alma Aleron. The wording of the vow must be very specific, of course. No loopholes. Still, it does seem apparent that someone was indeed able to use such a device to communicate very specific information about this school. My guess is that each of these gaming devices is equipped with a tracker that corresponds to the global positioning mechanism Mr. Prescott spoke of. Whoever used Mr. Deedle's device was apparently able to send the geographical coordinates of one GameDeck to another. Mr. Prescott merely needed to enter that information into his GPS device and follow it very carefully. Despite Mr. Prescott's obvious Muggle nature, this made him a sort of haphazard SecretKeeper. He can, if he so wishes, share the secret of this school's location with anyone else he wishes. Whether they are able to get past the school's unplottability zone is another question, though. Not everyone is quite as persistent as he is. This might explain why he needs our help to bring in his entourage."

        "We cannot allow such a thing to happen, of course," Neville said, looking to the Headmistress.

        "I'm not entirely certain we can prevent it," she said heavily. "Our Mr. Prescott is indeed an extremely tenacious individual. He knows enough already to do us great harm. Even if we were to discover the whereabouts of his crew, Obliviate them all and send them back, they would discover the recording that has been made of all Mr. Prescott has seen so far. He would inevitably return, and perhaps next time, it will occur to him to bring live cameras rather than just a telephone. I see no recourse but to allow him to go on with this investigation of his and hope to talk him out of broadcasting it."

        Neville shook his head. "I have more confidence that we could talk the merpeople out of living in the lake than that we could convince this sodding twit not to broadcast his prize story."

        Franklyn adjusted his tiny glasses and looked at the ceiling. "Of course, there are more, er, wholesale methods of dealing with this kind of thing, Madam Headmistress. We could simply place the Imperius Curse upon Mr. Prescott. That way we could arrange for him to send his crew away and even accompany him back to his offices to help him destroy any record of this visit. Once that was accomplished, we could feel free to Obliviate Mr. Prescott with no fear of a repeat performance."

        McGonagall sighed. "This is not the sort of decision we are exactly authorized to make, and frankly, I am glad of that. The Ministry of Magic has been notified of the situation and I am assured they will instruct us on the proper course within the hour. I expect to hear from your father directly, Mr. Potter, and at any moment."

        As if on cue, a woman's voice spoke up from the fireplace. "Greetings and salutations. This is an official communication of the Ministry of Magic. Can we be assured that this is a secure assembly?"

        McGonagall stood and moved around her desk to face the fireplace. "It is. These with me are the only persons on the grounds at present fully aware of what is happening, although by this point, the whole of the school must know that we have a Muggle individual among us. His entry was hardly subtle."

        The face in the banked coals of the Headmistress' fireplace looked around at Neville, James, and Professor Franklyn. "I am the undersecretary of Miss Brenda Sacarhina, Co-Chair of the Council of Ambassadorial Relations. Please stand by to be connected." The face vanished.

James saw McGonagall's face tighten just the tiniest bit when the undersecretary mentioned Miss Sacarhina. Only a few seconds passed before the face of the prim woman appeared in the fireplace. "Madam McGonagall, Professors Franklyn and Longbottom, greetings. And young Mr. Potter, of course." An ingratiating smile appeared on Sacarhina's lips when she spoke to James. The smile disappeared almost as suddenly as it had appeared, as if it was something she could turn on and off like a light. "We have conferred about the situation that has thrust itself upon you and have reached a conclusion. As you may guess, we have prepared contingencies for just such an occurrence. Please tell Mr. Prescott that he may contact his associates. We find that there is no recourse but to allow his investigation to proceed, however, no one other than Mr. Prescott is to be allowed onto Hogwarts grounds until a delegation from the Ministry arrives to oversee them. We will arrive no later than tomorrow evening, at which time, we will assume all negotiations with Mr. Prescott and his crew."

        "Miss Sacarhina," McGonagall said, "are you suggesting that the Ministry may well allow this man to perform his investigation and broadcast it to the Muggle world?"

        "I'm sorry, Madam McGonagall," Sacarhina said sweetly, "I didn't mean to imply that, or anything else. You may rest assured that we are prepared to deal with this situation, regardless of the method we choose. I'd hate to burden you with any more detail than you've already been forced to deal with."

        The Headmistress' face became rather pink. "Burden away, Miss Sacarhina, for I can promise you that the future of this school and its students is hardly the sort of detail I'm likely to dismiss."

        Sacarhina laughed lightly. "My dear Minerva, I suspect that the future of Hogwarts, the students, and yourself is as secure as ever. As I mentioned, we have contingencies for such events. The Ministry is prepared."

        "Forgive me, Miss Sacarhina," Franklyn interjected, taking half a step forward, "but you'd have us believe that the Ministry of Magic has prepared contingencies for a Muggle investigative reporter penetrating the school of Hogwarts on foot with a camera crew at the ready and intentions to broadcast the secrets of the magical world to Muggles worldwide?"

        Sacarhina's indulgent smile tightened. "I'd have you believe, Mr. Franklyn, that the Ministry has prepared emergency response techniques for dealing with a wide variety of confrontations. The specifics do not matter."

        "I beg to disagree, Miss. The specifics of this instance have revealed a rather large security breach that could, at this point, be utilized by virtually anyone. This school can no longer be considered secure until this breach has been addressed."

        "One thing at a time, Professor. We appreciate your concern, but I assure you that we are fully equipped to deal with the matter in its entirety. If, however, you feel that the safety of yourself and your staff are at risk, we could possibly arrange for your early departure. This would cause us great disappointment and be quite a disruption to the school…"

"My concern, Miss Sacarhina," Franklyn said coolly, removing his glasses, "is for the security of everyone within these walls, and for the security of the magical and Muggle worlds in general."

        "Again with the hyperbole," Sacarhina smiled. "Please, all of you, put your minds at ease. I, along with Mr. Recreant, will arrive tomorrow evening. We will meet with this Mr. Prescott and I am quite confident–positive, even–that we will reach a mutually amicable arrangement. You needn't bother yourselves with it any further."

        "What about my dad?" James asked.

        Sacarhina blinked, apparently mystified. "Your father, James? Whatever do you mean?"

        "Well, don't you think he ought to be here along with you and Mr. Recreant?"

        Sacarhina smiled her ingratiating smile again. "Why, your father is Head of the Auror Department, James. There is no dark magic involved in this unfortunate set of circumstances, so far as we can tell. There'd be no reason to bother him with it."

        "But he's dealt with this man before," Neville said. "He and James witnessed him on the Quidditch pitch last year and led the search to try to capture him."

        "And a fine job he did," Sacarhina said, her smile snapping shut. "That was his duty at the time. This, however, as you cannot fail to realize, is an ambassadorial issue. Harry Potter's skills may be varied, but ambassadorship is not one of them. Besides, Mr. Potter is currently on assignment and not to be interrupted. We do have, however, specialists in exactly this sort of negotiation. Along with myself and Mr. Recreant, we are arranging for another ambassador to join us. He is an expert in Muggle-magical relations. We expect him to spearhead our dealings with Mr. Prescott and his crew, and we have full confidence that he will serve all parties quite well."

        McGonagall waved her hand dismissively. "What shall we do with Mr. Prescott until your arrival, Miss Sacarhina?"

        "Make him comfortable. Allow him to make his telephone call. Other than that, as little as possible."

        "Surely you do not mean for us to allow him free access to the school," the Headmistress said, as if it were a statement rather than a question.

        Sacarhina seemed to shrug in the fireplace. "Whatever harm he might be able to do by observing is surely less than the harm he could do if he brought Muggle legal charges against us. We must, for the moment, treat him as a guest. Besides, it sounds as if he's seen quite a lot already."

        McGonagall's face was unreadable. "Very well, then. Good afternoon, Miss Sacarhina. We will look forward to your arrival tomorrow evening."

        Sacarhina smiled again. "Indeed. Until then."

        The face vanished from the fire. The Headmistress reached for her poker and poked studiously at the embers for several seconds, strewing them so that no hint of the face remained. She replaced the poker, turned her back to the fire, and said, "Insufferable bureaucratic poppycock."

        "I'll be happy to lodge Mr. Prescott in the Alma Aleron quarters," Franklyn said, putting his glasses back on. "I'd prefer to keep a close eye on him, anyway. I suspect we can keep him busy enough to prevent him causing any more trouble."

        "I don't like this at all," Neville said, still looking at the fireplace. "Harry should be here. Prescott himself isn't a dark wizard, of course, but there is something extremely dodgy about how he got here at all. Somebody led him here, and that person somehow circumvented the Vow of Secrecy. I don't care what Sacarhina says, I'd feel a lot better with a decent Auror looking into it."

        The Headmistress opened her door. "At this point, it is out of our hands. Professor Franklyn, your idea is as good as any. Let us escort Mr. Prescott to the Alma Aleron quarters. And despite what Miss Sacarhina might believe, I'd prefer for us to arrange for Mr. Prescott to be quite busy for the next twenty-four hours. The less time he has to explore the school, the better. Mr. Potter, please feel free to return to your classes, and although I suspect I cannot ask you not to speak of this to Mr. Walker and Mr. Deedle, I'd be quite happy if you managed not to talk of it to anyone else. Especially Ted Lupin or Noah Metzker."

        As James followed the adults out of the office, a quiet voice spoke to him from the wall. "Going to be quite a busy day tomorrow, Potter."

        James stopped and glanced at the portrait of Severus Snape, not entirely sure what he meant. "I guess so. At least for the Headmistress and everybody."

        Snape's black eyes bored into him. "Answer me truthfully, Potter: are you still laboring under the delusion that Tabitha Corsica is in possession of the Merlin staff?"