Royal Institute of Magic: Elizabeth's Legacy

Royal Institute of Magic

By

Victor Kloss

Cover artwork by Andrew Gaia

Text copyright © 2014 Victor Kloss

All Rights Reserved

www.RoyalInstituteofMagic.com

Contents

Chapter One - An Unexpected Test

Chapter Two - A Single Clue

Chapter Three - The jewellery box

Chapter Four - The Impossible Lift

Chapter Five - No Electronics Beyond this Point

Chapter Six - Trains and Dragons

Chapter Seven - Tea and Treason

Chapter Eight - An Unpleasant Welcome

Chapter Nine - Answers at Last

Chapter Ten - A Tour of the Institute

Chapter Eleven - Dark Elves

Chapter Twelve - The Executive Council

Chapter Thirteen - Spells and Memory Lane

Chapter Fourteen - Commander of the Institute

Chapter Fifteen - Hotel Jigona

Chapter Sixteen - Elizabeth’s Legacy

Chapter Seventeen - Ten Great Dwarf Recipes

Chapter Eighteen - Natalie's Surprise

Chapter Nineteen - On the Run

Chapter Twenty - Taecia Square

Chapter Twenty-One - Sognar’s Spell Services

Chapter Twenty-Two - Fight and Flight

Chapter Twenty-Three - Ratlings

Chapter Twenty-Four - Taxi Chase

Chapter Twenty-Five - Follow the Light

Chapter Twenty-Six - Wood Elves

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Unwanted Rescue

Chapter Twenty-Eight - The Floating Prison

Chapter Twenty-Nine - The Greenwoods

Chapter Thirty - Apprenticeship

A Message From the Author

Date:
18th December 1589

The guard removed the blindfold
and Michael squinted as his eyes adjusted to the torchlight.

“Ask no questions. Be
seated,” the guard said.

Michael James Greenwood found
himself in a lavish hallway with a group of nobles sitting opposite
each other. Most ignored him and those who glanced his way did so
with a disdainful air, as if his very presence were an insult. To be
fair, Michael didn’t exactly blend in. He was half their age
and had scruffy blond hair tinted white from flour, having been
dragged from his father’s bakery less than an hour ago.

Michael turned to the huge guard
standing behind him and raised his eyebrows. Until now, protesting
had accomplished nothing except a cuff on the head, but looking at
the present company, he felt compelled to give it one more try.

“Sir, this is absurd,”
he said. “You have the wrong Greenwood. There must be a lord or
nobleman with the same surname. I have no association with whoever
organised this meeting.”

The guard’s face darkened.
“This meeting has been organised by Her Majesty, the Queen.
Unfortunately, there has been no mistake. Now, be seated and be
silent.”

Michael bit back a reply, not
because he was scared but because he was now genuinely curious. The
Queen was responsible for this strange congregation? He had only seen
the Queen once and that had been from a distance. He was positive she
didn’t know he existed.

He sat down between two
well-to-do gentlemen, giving them both a nod and a smile. He wasn’t
surprised when neither returned the compliment. They inched away from
him, trying to avoid flour ruining their expensive garments.

Michael noticed many were
fidgeting. Did they know something he didn’t? The guards had
told him nothing when they had appeared at his father’s bakery
and whisked him to the castle. They would only say he wasn’t in
trouble and he would be returned unharmed before the end of the day.
Michael had been escorted to the main entrance and then blindfolded
before entering.

“Lord Frederick Arnold,”
the guard said, breaking the nervous silence and interrupting his
thoughts.

A heavyset man rose and walked to
the guard, who was standing next to a door halfway down the corridor.
The guard spoke quietly to the Lord. Michael couldn’t hear what
was said, but the Lord pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his
gleaming forehead. He took a deep breath, opened the door and
disappeared inside. There were a few restrained gasps. Michael saw
fear in some faces but respect in others.

Michael tapped his fingers on his
knees. He was tempted to ask someone if they knew what was happening,
but was fairly certain it would earn him another cuff from the guard.
Could there have been some instruction he had missed? More likely
these lords and ladies, with their wealth and contacts, knew
something. Whatever they had learnt, it wasn’t inspiring them
with confidence.

After the Lord disappeared
through the door, Michael had expected the excitement to build, but
silence resumed. Five minutes passed before the guard opened the same
door and poked his head through. Evidently he was satisfied with what
he saw, for he called another name. A “Lady Janet Harris”
stood up and walked to the guard, showing marginally more composure
than the Lord. Hushed whispers were again exchanged and the woman
stepped through the same door.

Twenty more times this happened,
until it was just Michael Greenwood sitting among all the empty
chairs, feeling just as clueless as when he had arrived.

“Master Michael Greenwood.”

He felt a flutter of nerves as he
stood up. He knew he should have been scared or at least concerned
like the others, but he wasn’t. He was curious. What lay behind
the door? He had seen the guard whisper instructions countless times
in the last hour and he was itching to know what the man said.

“You will not be held
accountable for whatever decision you make beyond this door,”
the guard said.

Michael felt both short-changed
by the brevity of the instructions and excited by the mystery of
them.

“Can you tell me what this
is all about?” Michael asked.

“No, but I can tell you why
you found yourself surrounded by nobility. You are part of a small
group of citizens they are experimenting with to see how certain
commoners perform on the test.”

“What sort of commoners?”

“Young, able to read and
write, physically and mentally adept. There aren’t many of you,
thankfully.”

“So I’m an
experiment?”

“Yes.” The guard’s
face showed less empathy than the surrounding stone walls. “If
you want my advice, you should walk away. The Institute is an elite
organisation and should not be sullied by the common man.”

“Thank you for your kind
words of support, sir,” Michael said. He turned the handle
before the guard could reply and entered the room.

His body was tense and on edge,
ready to react to any potential danger that might emerge. Michael was
half expecting a fully suited knight to come flying at him and he was
almost disappointed when his eyes adjusted to the dim light inside
the room.

It was empty, except for a single
chair and an ornate desk in the centre of a small square room. At the
back were double doors, so large they spanned most of the wall. On
the left was a much smaller door. The only thing that caught
Michael’s interest was a golden sword hanging on the right-hand
wall. It was encased in an elaborate frame, behind a sheet of glass.
Inlaid in the handle were jewels that made him stare in wonder.

Dragging his eyes away from the
sword, he walked to the desk; perhaps there was something in the many
drawers that would enlighten him.

He stopped sharply before he had
taken his first step.

There was something
floating
inches above the desk.

It was parchment standing upright
as if it were attached to a piece of string that hung from the
ceiling. Though there was no wind in the room, the parchment was
rippling gently.

Had it been there a moment ago?
Surely he would have noticed it? But then, he wasn’t accustomed
to checking for items floating above desks.

Even from a distance he could see
the flowing script of ink on the parchment. He moved closer and ran
his hand above it, searching for the fine piece of string that held
it afloat. He felt nothing. Intrigued, Michael walked around the
desk, inspecting the parchment from all angles, but he couldn’t
see anything holding it in place. Michael gave the parchment an
experimental poke. It rippled and smoothly returned to its original
position.

Michael rubbed his chin. Whatever
trickery was being employed, it was nothing he had ever seen before.
He turned his attention to the writing on the parchment with growing
curiosity.

“To: All Royal Institute of Magic applicants

“From: Queen Elizabeth, Commander of the Royal Institute of Magic

“Welcome,

“I imagine you are full of questions and, I hope, curiosity rather than
fear. Let me assure you that you are in no kind of difficulty; quite
the opposite.

“You have been carefully selected to apply for a position in the Royal
Institute of Magic. Due to the secretive nature of our organisation,
you will be unaware of its value to our country. Allow me to
enlighten you.

“Last year we fought and achieved a great victory against the Spanish
Armada. That victory was made possible through the Royal Institute of
Magic. I cannot reveal the part the Institute played except to stress
its importance.”

Michael stopped reading and sat
down before he fell down. If he weren’t in the castle right
now, he would have disregarded the whole document as some sort of
joke. His eyes flicked to the bottom of the document and he saw the
Queen’s signature. This Royal Institute of Magic was
responsible for the victory against the Spanish? His curiosity well
and truly piqued, Michael continued reading.

“Your application to the Institute is subject to your willingness and an
entrance examination.

“I will not lie to you. This examination will frighten you. It will
shake your beliefs to the core. I would not have passed what you are
about to attempt. Four weeks it took me to learn and accept the
truth. You will have one hour.

“I can give you some advice. Forget what you think you know about
witchcraft and its association with the devil. Look and listen to
what you encounter; true observation is more important than hearsay.

“Should you fail the examination or wish to stop, you may leave at any time.
You shall not be punished. The success rate is less than one per
hundred, so do not be disheartened.

“If you succeed, you shall work for our country’s most prestigious
institute and you will serve directly under me. The government has no
knowledge of our existence.

“Choose wisely. Though you will be remunerated well, you shall also face
great evil. We have enemies far more dangerous than the Spanish or
the French and only the Royal Institute of Magic can stand against
them.

“Should you wish to apply, proceed through the double doors that lie ahead of
you – if not, take the door to the left and you will never hear
from us again.

“Whatever your choice, I wish you good fortune.

“Elizabeth.”

Michael leant back on the chair
and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his thumping heart.

This was crazy! The Queen –
the Queen
– was talking about
witchcraft and the devil. No wonder this document could only be read
in this enclosed room. If this got to the wrong people, civil war
could break out.

The letter answered some
questions, but it posed many more. What exactly was this Royal
Institute of Magic? The document was very careful not to reveal
anything about it. Michael re-read the section about the test and his
stomach gave a little lurch.

How long did he have to make a
decision? Surely the guard would come in soon to check on him. Would
he be disqualified if he were still in here?

It didn’t matter. Michael
had made his mind up even before he’d finished reading. He was
not yet twenty, but already he knew the baker’s life was not
for him. His father had told him many times if he worked hard, he
would one day inherit the bakery. But working sixty hours a week for
the next twenty years in a profession he had no affection for was a
very dispiriting thought.

Besides, Michael wasn’t
sure he could stand walking away from something as crazy as this. The
test scared him a little, but Michael was a fool for mysteries and
had always been too curious for his own good. How could he
not
go in?

He eyed the double doors. What
dangers lay beyond them? Whatever they were, Michael had nothing to
defend himself with. That could be a problem.

Michael remembered the golden
sword. He went up to it, feeling the glass, tapping it with his
knuckles. Emblazoned on its hilt was Queen Elizabeth’s royal
coat of arms. Was the sword there for a reason? He briefly weighed
the dangers of getting in trouble with the guard versus the potential
advantage of passing the test armed with a shining sword. It wasn’t
a hard decision to make.