The following day, Archie, Bramble, Thistle and Arabella went to the museum as usual. No announcement had been made about who was taking over from Gideon Hawke in Lost Books so Archie didn’t have much to do.
He tidied Hawke’s office again, but the room remained stubbornly messy. It was almost as if there was an anti-tidy spell on it. That would have been just like Hawke, Archie thought, and he smiled at the idea. He wondered how the former head of Lost Books was getting on at the asylum. For all its clutter, the office seemed empty without him.
Archie moped around the rest of the day, staying out of the way of Pandrama and Gaunt, and especially Rusp, who were still poring over the old texts. He was relieved that none of them noticed that one of the Torchstones was missing.
At five, Archie met up with his two cousins and Arabella, and they made their way to Oxford train station to catch the five-thirty to Paddington station in London. From there they caught the tube to Holborn and walked the short distance to Great Russell Street.
Ahead of them, on the right, they could see a huge building set back into a large courtyard.
‘That’s the British Museum,’ said Archie. ‘The bookshop is up here somewhere on the left,’ he added, indicating a row of buildings on the other side of the road. ‘We just have to find it.’
‘What’s the name again?’ asked Thistle.
‘The Inkwell,’ replied Archie. ‘Rupert said we have to tell Matilda the password. It’ll be written on a blackboard.’
‘Not much of a password then!’ said Bramble. ‘Who’s Matilda anyway?’
Archie shrugged. ‘No idea, but I’m sure it will all make sense when we get there.’
‘I hope so,’ said Arabella. ‘Otherwise we’ve had a wasted journey!’
Just then there was a cry from Thistle who was walking ahead.
‘Look!’ he cried. ‘Here it is.’
He was pointing excitedly at a brass sign on the door of a dingy, rundown building. It was dull from many years of London weather and the writing was hard to read, but they could still make out the words.
The Inkwell
Antiquarian Books
Established 1666
‘This is it all right,’ said Archie.
The paint on the door was battleship grey and peeling. It didn’t look very encouraging. Archie stood back to examine the bookshop. It was built of sandstone that had been eaten away by traffic fumes and other pollution, leaving black stains in the crevices. The shop windows on either side of the door had faded red curtains drawn across and the glass looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years.
‘It looks a bit rundown,’ said Bramble.
‘Just a little,’ scoffed Arabella, turning up her nose. ‘What a dump! You could walk straight past it and not even notice it’s here.’
‘We almost did!’ agreed Archie. ‘It was only Thistle’s sharp eyes that spotted it. How did you spot it, by the way?’
‘It was the peeling paint on the door,’ Thistle said, grinning. ‘It reminded me of home!’
‘Well, I suppose we’d better go in,’ said Archie, a note of reluctance in his voice. It had seemed so simple when Rupert had suggested it, but now that they were actually here he wasn’t so sure. What if this Matilda person wouldn’t let them in? What if she reported them to the magical authorities?
But Archie knew there was no going back. There was no sign of a doorbell, so he pushed on the door. To his surprise it swung open and the four of them slipped inside.
They found themselves in a large, dark room. The light from outside struggled to get past the dirty windows and curtains. The only illumination came from some flickering gas lamps that smelled faintly of paraffin. The carpets were threadbare with the occasional rip that had been repaired with black tape.
The Inkwell didn’t look like any bookshop Archie had ever seen before. It was even stranger than the Aisle of White, and that was saying something! The floor was littered with piles of old books and stacks of yellowing newspapers.
Thistle raised his eyebrows. ‘It seems a little dated,’ he whispered.
Archie glimpsed the front page of the newspaper on the top of the pile. ‘Titanic Sinks On Maiden Voyage,’ it read. It was dated 15th April 1912.
‘Just a little!’ he agreed, smiling.
On the far side of the room a desk barred their way. As they approached it they could hear something: Click! Click! Clickety-click! Click! Click! Clickety-click!
A croaky voice accompanied the clicking sounds. ‘Knit one, purl one, drop one. Knit one, purl one, drop one. Knit one …’
The four children looked at each other with wide eyes.
‘What on earth is that?’ Bramble mouthed.
‘I don’t know!’ Archie mouthed back.
Just then the clicking and the counting both stopped and the voice said, ‘I can lip-read, you know.’
Sitting behind the desk was a very old woman. They hadn’t noticed her before because her dark clothes were camouflaged by the gloom. Now that they were closer they could see that she was dressed from head to foot in black. She wore a starched lace collar that came up to her chin. Her hair was grey and covered by a lace bonnet. She looked like she had stepped straight out of a Victorian photograph.
Hanging on the wall behind her was a blackboard with what looked like the menu of the day.
‘What do you want?’ she asked. ‘I’d like to get back to my knitting, you see. Are you lost?’
‘Erm … no,’ said Archie, stepping forward. ‘We’ve come to see Rupert Trevallan.’
‘Young Master Rupert?’ the old woman said with a note of surprise. Her face was small and deeply lined. It resembled a shelled walnut.
‘And you’re Matilda?’ Archie guessed.
‘Yes,’ said the old woman suspiciously. ‘Well, this is most irregular. Young Master Rupert doesn’t usually have visitors. Have you got an appointment?’
‘Not really an appointment as such,’ said Archie, unsure what to say to this. ‘But he is expecting us.’
‘No appointment?’ said the old woman. ‘That is most irregular.’
Archie tried to give her a confident smile, but his smile got stuck in his teeth.
‘No appointment!’ the old woman said again. She thought about this for a moment, and then plucked a feathered quill from an inkwell and began to write in a large leather-bound book on her desk.
‘Name?’
‘Archie Greene.’
The old receptionist scratched down the words in the book.
‘And this is Bramble and Thistle Foxe. And Arabella Ripley.’
Matilda gave them a cursory glance and recorded their names as well.
‘Password?’
Archie looked around for inspiration. Rupert had said the password would be on a blackboard, but the only blackboard he could see was the one with the menu on it. He glanced at the dishes of the day.
‘Parsnip soup?’ he said hopefully, reading out the first thing that caught his eye.
Matilda shook her head firmly.
Archie tried again. ‘Beef Wellington?’
Again she shook her head, an exasperated look on her face.
Archie tried one last time. ‘Treacle pudding?’
The old receptionist nodded. ‘Welcome to the Royal Society of Magic,’ she said. ‘Follow me.’
*
Rupert’s office was a scene of devastation. There were pieces of paper and books everywhere. Filing cabinets had been left half open, with files spilling out onto the floor. There were boxes of documents stacked precariously on top of each other.
In the midst of this confusion, two feet were parked on the desk. Rupert was slumped in a chair with his feet up.
Matilda put her head round the corner.
‘Master Rupert?’ she said. ‘Your visitors are here!’
Rupert swung his feet off the desk and sat bolt upright.
‘Archie!’ he cried. ‘Bramble, Thistle, Arabella. He leaped from his chair and shook each of them energetically by the hand. ‘I’m so glad to see you.’
Then he caught sight of the ancient receptionist hovering in the background.
‘Thank you, Matilda,’ he said. ‘You can get back to your knitting … er … I mean back to your work.’
The old woman seemed reluctant to go. ‘Should I let Mr Gloom know that you have visitors?’ she asked.
‘No, no, that won’t be necessary,’ said Rupert. ‘Thank you, Matilda. I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘But Mr Gloom gave strict instructions that he wanted to be kept informed about any visitors, after, well, you know what …’ Matilda said.
‘Yes, well, he’s only just got back from his trip. He’ll be at dinner now. It is treacle pudding, after all!’
Rupert flashed her his most charming smile. ‘And Matilda, make sure you get some this time,’ he said kindly. ‘Can’t have you missing out on pudding again!’
Matilda gave him a grateful look. ‘Thank you, Mr Rupert. I wish everyone was as thoughtful as you.’
She retreated back along the corridor.
Rupert undid his top button and loosened his collar. He beckoned his four visitors into the cramped office, pushing several piles of documents onto the threadbare carpet to make space.
‘Come in, come in,’ he said, smiling. ‘Sit down. Make yourselves comfortable. Don’t mind Matilda – she’s been here a long time, virtually part of the furniture.’
‘We can see that,’ said Thistle. ‘She must be a hundred if she’s a day.’
The four other members of the Alchemists’ Club shuffled awkwardly into the room.
Now that they came to look at him properly, they could see that Rupert was very dishevelled. Gone was the neat and tidy boy they remembered as an apprentice. His jacket hung limply on the back of his chair and his shirt was a disaster zone. It was creased, had two buttons missing and what looked like coffee stains all down the front. His shoes were scuffed and undone.
‘You look …’
‘Yes …?’ Rupert said.
‘Tired,’ Archie said, diplomatically.
‘Well … I’ve had a lot on,’ said Rupert. ‘I’ve been researching the properties of different magical creatures. Well, their blood actually. Motley Brown told Gloom there was a way to make azoth from the blood of the larger magical creatures, dragons and griffins and so on. That’s why I’m here. The supply of azoth is running very low, you see, so we need to find an alternative source.’
‘Griffin blood?’ said Archie, thinking of the bookend beasts. ‘That sounds dangerous.’
‘Yes,’ said Rupert, ‘that’s why we haven’t managed to get hold of any yet! Brown was here earlier today but he’s been unable to lay his hands on any so far.’
He ran his hand through his hair. ‘Anyway,’ he added, attempting a smile, ‘it’s good to see you.’
‘Is everything all right, Rupert?’ asked Bramble.
Rupert hesitated. ‘Well, erm … not really,’ he said resignedly. ‘There are some very odd things going on here and they are connected with the reading room. I’ll show you what I mean, but we’ll have to be quick or they’ll have finished their dinner. Come on, follow me.’
He led them out of his office and along a corridor with a thick red carpet until they reached some dark wooden doors.
‘It’s through here,’ he said, pushing the doors open. ‘Welcome to the Royal Society of Magic!’
It had the air of a gentleman’s club. After the shabbiness of The Inkwell, it was like stepping into another world.
They were in a high-ceilinged room, with an imposing green marble staircase running through the centre. The stairs led to a landing halfway up, with two smaller flights of stairs off to the left and right. Sweeping balustrades curved up and then round in a wide arc.
The carpets were purple with gold coronets woven into their pattern.
‘The king’s atrium,’ explained Rupert as he led them up the stairs. ‘It was built for King Charles II. He founded the Royal Society to further the understanding of magic. It was the king’s way of controlling magic after it had almost destroyed London in the Great Fire. The Royal Society’s mission is to promote excellence in magic and to encourage its use for the benefit of humankind,’ he added grandly.
‘The dining hall is on the other side of the building so we won’t be disturbed. Now, come on, the reading room is this way,’ he added, leading them up the small flight of stairs on the left-hand side.
They followed him along another corridor, which ended abruptly in a single door.
‘This is where Gloom went the other day when he disappeared,’ Rupert said.
‘But won’t it be locked?’ asked Bramble.
Rupert held up a key and smiled. ‘Yep, thought of that. I told Gloom I wanted to do some late-night research so he let me borrow his key.’
‘Well done,’ said Bramble, admiringly.
Rupert fitted the key in the lock and turned it. The door swung open and they stepped into a small, square room. There were no windows and the only door they could see was the one they had just entered by
The room resembled a very small library, with book-lined walls and two desks with overhead lights. Three large mirrors were set into the bookcases at even intervals, reflecting the light and making the room appear larger than it really was.
‘The queen’s reading room,’ announced Rupert. ‘It was Queen Victoria’s favourite room at the Royal Society. Apparently she spent hours in here.’
In the middle of the room, taking up far too much space, was a statue of a man holding out his hands as if in welcome. There was a silver ring on one of his fingers. ‘That’s Dawlish Hooke,’ said Rupert. ‘He was the first president of the Society. He was famous for making magical jewellery. He got the idea from Fabian Grey.’
‘And this is where Gloom disappeared?’ asked Archie.
‘Yep. I saw him let himself in with the key. I came in straight after him but the room was empty,’ said Rupert. ‘As you can see, it’s not a big room so there aren’t many places to hide. And there’s only one way in and out,’ he added, indicating the door. ‘So where did he go?’
‘Well, let’s see what the curiosity compass says,’ said Thistle, taking the magical instrument from his pocket and flipping it open. The needle immediately began to spin.
‘There’s some serious magical energy in here,’ said Thistle. ‘But where’s it coming from?’
He began to move around the room holding the compass in both hands, his eyes trained on it for any change. He made a slow circuit, pausing as he passed each of the mirrors. There was no change in the needle as he held the compass up to the first two mirrors. But when he reached the third, the needle began to spin madly.
‘It must be behind the mirror,’ said Archie.
Rupert ran his fingers along the sides of the mirror trying to get it to move but it wouldn’t budge. ‘Nope, there’s no door here,’ he said.
‘Hold on,’ said Archie. ‘I’ve just had an idea. If there’s a secret library, I think I know another way to find it.’
He spoke the delving spell Hawke had taught him.
‘Secret volumes
On hidden shelves
Books of magic
Reveal yourselves!’
For a moment nothing happened. Then just as he was beginning to think the spell hadn’t worked there was a sound like books sliding across a flat surface. Archie scanned the books on the shelves on either side of the mirror but he couldn’t see any change.
‘Look!’ cried Arabella, pointing at the mirror. ‘There, the books in the mirror have moved.’
Sure enough, when they looked at the reflection of the bookcases, they could see that several books had eased forward so that their spines stuck out proud on the shelves.
‘Where are they?’ asked Rupert.
‘They must be on the bookcase behind us,’ said Thistle, turning round to look.
But Archie had noticed something else. ‘Where are our reflections?’ he said.
‘Archie’s right,’ said Bramble. ‘Our reflections have disappeared. And the bookcases in the mirror aren’t the ones in the reading room.’
Now that they looked more closely, they could see that the bookcase in the mirror didn’t match any on their side. Where a moment before they could see the reflection of the room behind them, now when they looked into the mirror they could see a different room altogether.
‘It’s not a mirror we’re looking into – it’s a window!’ exclaimed Archie. ‘There’s another room behind it!’
Rupert reached forward. His hand touched solid glass. ‘So how do we get in?’
Archie glanced at the statue of Dawlish Hooke with the silver ring on his outstretched hand.
‘That’s odd,’ he said. ‘Statues don’t normally wear rings.’
‘I told you, Hooke was famous for his enchanted jewellery,’ said Rupert. ‘He made that ring for the king himself.’
Archie glanced at the gold ring on his own finger, the one that had belonged to Fabian Grey and contained his magic quill.
He examined the statue more carefully. By the look of the wear on Hooke’s finger the silver ring had been removed many times
‘I wonder,’ he said, reaching forward to pluck the ring from the statue. He slipped it on to his own finger next to Grey’s ring. Then approaching the mirror, he reached out his hand with the ring to touch the glass. It passed straight through.
‘It’s a permission wall!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s operated by the ring. Come on!’