The Chosen Ones

  Effie bit her lip. She had never felt more sorry about anything in her life. She had no idea how she would make this up to Festus.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.

  Festus shook his head. ‘For some reason the black market price of magical rings has tripled in the last few weeks. There’s talk of some prophecy. I’d make sure no one suspicious sees you wearing that for a while.’

  He didn’t say anything else. He went over to Curt and pulled the arrow out of his neck. There was surprisingly little blood. Effie remembered his certificate, how proud he had seemed of it. But of course it had been a forgery. Effie doubted he was either a healer or an alchemist.

  Festus retrieved the rest of his arrows and began to clean them.

  ‘What’s a galloglass?’ asked Effie.

  ‘Someone who acts only for their own profit. Galloglasses are expelled from the Otherworld and have to live in the Realworld. When I find them here, they are often trying to get to the island anyway. They’ve heard its streets are paved with gold. I take them to the Guild and then they rehome them somewhere on the island. And sometimes punish them, or offer them healing, depending on what they’ve done.’

  ‘I thought the Guild didn’t like people moving between the mainland and the island,’ said Effie.

  ‘They don’t like the wrong people and creatures moving between worlds, that’s true,’ said Festus. ‘There was an agreement, not long after the Great Split. The Otherworld has to keep its monsters in check, and never let them anywhere near the island, but in return the Realworld has to agree to take all galloglasses.’

  Festus had finished cleaning his arrows and now turned his attention to all the papers on Dr Foulscrape’s desk. He was leafing through them and putting them into different piles.

  ‘So, you’re not really an explorer?’ said Effie.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Well, if you’re really an undercover agent . . .?’

  ‘What do you think undercover agents do? They explore. It’s not just about exotic holidays and complicated books, you know. I work with someone who is a hunter healer, and another person who’s a healer scholar. We decided that one good way of healing the weak is by eliminating those who prey on them. But I’ve told you too much already. You should go home now. With the Sterran Guandré coming . . .’

  Effie was surprised to hear the term again.

  ‘What exactly is the Sterran Guandré?’ she asked immediately.

  ‘Never you mind,’ said Festus.

  ‘Please,’ Effie said. ‘I have to find out. It might be really important.’

  ‘You bet it’s important,’ said Festus.

  ‘Festus, please?’

  ‘All right. It’s a big meteor shower, peaking at the end of this week. It happens between the worlds. I recommend you stay in on Friday with a good book, because on the night of the Sterran Guandré things don’t do what they are supposed to. The fabric between the worlds becomes very thin and, well, with all the galloglasses trying to go one way, and monsters drifting randomly the other way, into your world . . . But I’ve said too much. There will be measures in place this time. It won’t be like last time. It can’t be. Anyway, just be careful, child.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Effie. ‘And thank you for rescuing me.’

  ‘Just try to learn from the experience,’ said Festus, with a long, deep sigh.

  9

  When Effie left the Funtime Arcade, the feeble late autumn sun had reached its low peak in the pale blue sky. Being in the Otherworld always did strange things to Effie’s watch, but before long she heard one of the Old Town clocks strike twelve. So it was midday. Effie reset her watch and hurried to school.

  She had a strange, almost sick feeling in her stomach. She knew she’d be in trouble when she got there. And when she got home. And she was still in big trouble with the Guild. Her cousins in Dragon’s Green would no doubt be wondering where she was, and they’d probably be cross with her now as well. And she’d just been so stupid that she’d almost been killed. And so now Festus was angry with her too. Effie sighed. She was a big disappointment to everybody.

  She arrived at Griffin’s Library just before it was time to go to double PE. Lexy took one look at her and immediately put the kettle on for a cup of sweet tea.

  ‘At last,’ said Wolf. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘What happened to you?’ said Raven.

  ‘And where’s Maximilian?’ said Lexy, giving Effie a bright green tonic and three chocolate shortbread biscuits to keep her going until her tea was ready.

  Effie suddenly realised she was too ashamed to tell her friends how stupid she’d been. Instead of telling them about how she’d been expelled from Dr Green’s class and then been deceived by con artists, she simply said she’d been looking for a copy of The Chosen Ones for her father. She didn’t mention that if she didn’t find a copy she had no chance of getting back all her precious boons – including Wolf’s Sword of Orphennyus. Failing to hide the box properly was yet another stupid thing she’d done.

  ‘Well, that’s easy,’ said Raven. ‘We’ve got loads of copies of the book lying around at home waiting to go to the pulpers. I’m sure they won’t miss one. Come for tea after school?’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Effie. The horrible feeling in her stomach was still there, but it felt slightly better suddenly, because Effie realised she could always rely on her friends. Only . . . would they even still want to be her friends if they knew how easily she could be conned? The sick feeling intensified again.

  ‘Is Maximilian not with you?’ asked Raven.

  ‘No,’ Effie said. ‘Is he not here?’

  Lexy shook her head. ‘He seems to have disappeared.’

  The golden carriage clattered over cobblestones and through the narrow back-streets of the city. The moon was high in the sky and Maximilian could see the shadows of people getting out of the way of the carriage. He could see silhouettes of figures in windows. There was a man in a night-cap holding a candle. A woman sitting on the edge of a bed rolling a stocking down her leg. All over the city people were preparing to go to bed.

  ‘The night is yet YOUNG,’ said Meister Lupoldus, and then promptly fell asleep.

  The horse-drawn carriage juddered along. Maximilian realised that they were now travelling uphill. Before long the city smells faded and Maximilian sensed that they had reached some sort of countryside. He could hear crickets chirruping, and there was also the occasional hoot of an owl. The air freshened and Maximilian now smelled earth and long grass. Something howled in the distance.

  It was completely dark, except for the moonlight.

  Suddenly, the carriage stopped.

  ‘Who goes there?’ said Franz.

  The carriage shook. Maximilian could hear Franz say something to calm the horses. Then the carriage wobbled again slightly as Franz got down from his driver’s seat. There was a gunshot, followed by a short period of silence, and then laughter. Meister Lupoldus woke up. Another gunshot followed, and then more laughter.

  ‘Meister?’ called Franz. ‘You might want to have a look at this.’

  Maximilian followed his uncle out of the carriage. There was a bedraggled-looking masked highwayman peering down the barrel of his own gun. He seemed rather bewildered.

  Now he pointed the gun at Meister Lupoldus. Meister Lupoldus completely ignored this and looked instead at Franz.

  ‘We appear to be in luck,’ he said.

  ‘Indeed, Meister,’ said Franz.

  ‘Your money or your life!’ said the highwayman.

  Franz and Meister Lupoldus continued to ignore him. The highwayman grabbed Maximilian and put the gun to his head.

  ‘Your money or the child’s life!’

  Maximilian felt properly afraid for the second time that night. Were his uncle and Franz not going to try to help him at all? He could feel the cold metal of the gun digging into his head, just above his right ear. Was this actually how he was going to die? Before h
e’d even found out anything about his father, or done any really impressive magic? But then Maximilian remembered. He knew how to make people do things. If his uncle and Franz were not going to try and save him, he was just going to have to save himself.

  The highwayman didn’t realise this, of course – he had no idea of the huge mistake he had just made in holding up this particular carriage – but the fact that he was touching Maximilian made it a lot easier for Maximilian to reach into his mind and have a good rummage around. Before long, Maximilian had this man’s whole life story. He also knew that there was a box full of jewels buried not far from where they were standing. He was able to whisper his commands straight into the man’s brain. The highwayman did not understand why, but he now released Maximilian and calmly put the gun on the ground.

  Franz seemed to be showing Meister Lupoldus two bullets, which he was holding in the palm of his hand.

  ‘GOOD,’ Meister Lupoldus was saying. ‘You are progressing well. FASTER than Lorenz. Tell me, when are we to execute him?’

  ‘Lorenz has actually left, Meister.’

  Maximilian cleared his throat. ‘Ahem,’ he said. ‘Um . . .’

  ‘It appears that your nephew has saved himself,’ said Franz.

  ‘BRAVO,’ said Meister Lupoldus. ‘But . . .’ He looked quite troubled for a moment. ‘HOW did the boy do this?’

  The highwayman was now sitting cross-legged on the ground, drawing a map to show how to get to his buried treasure. His tongue was poking out of his lips slightly. He hummed lightly to himself.

  ‘And WHAT is this?’

  ‘I—’ began Maximilian.

  ‘I did this, Meister,’ said Franz, quickly. ‘The thief is simply showing us where his treasure is to be found. No doubt you would have devised a superior way to find out this information.’

  ‘No doubt,’ said Meister Lupoldus. ‘TORTURE would have been much quicker. Still, you have done your best.’

  ‘But I . . .’ began Maximilian. Then he shut up as soon as he saw the expression on Franz’s face.

  Half an hour later, Maximilian and Franz were carrying a small treasure chest to the carriage, in which Meister Lupoldus was having another short nap. The highwayman was also asleep, having fallen down next to the hole he had dug and from which the treasure had been taken.

  Each time Maximilian had tried to ask Franz what was going on, Franz had put a finger to his lips and shaken his head. Maximilian eventually understood what must be happening. If Meister Lupoldus were awake, he would be demanding the execution of the highwayman. Maximilian disliked killing, and he sensed that Franz felt the same way. His uncle, though, seemed to thrive on it. Which was another reason not to upset him.

  Maximilian climbed silently into the carriage and resumed his position next to his uncle. Franz quietly took up his position in the driver’s seat and urged the horses to trot on. After five minutes or so, Meister Lupoldus woke with a start.

  ‘Who are you?’ he demanded of Maximilian.

  ‘Your nephew, Meister.’

  ‘Of course. I remember. But . . . Wait. What about the EXECUTION?’

  ‘What execution, Uncle?’

  ‘The hapless highwayman who decided it was an excellent idea to rob a carriage containing a great mage, of course. Franz?’

  Franz did not respond. Perhaps he couldn’t hear.

  ‘WELL?’

  ‘You did execute him, Meister,’ said Maximilian. ‘It was so quickly and expertly done that perhaps you have forgotten.’

  ‘Did I? Perhaps I did. Yes. Very good. ONWARDS!’

  Maximilian sensed that Franz was smiling in the driver’s seat, although of course he could not know for sure.

  The carriage jangled on. After ten more minutes or so the road became smoother. Then the carriage stopped for a few moments and Franz said something in a hushed voice. Maximilian heard gates clunk behind them, as the carriage continued on. He looked back through the glass window as the carriage turned to the left and saw an impressive gatehouse. A few short minutes later the carriage pulled up outside the entrance to a vast castle. They had arrived.

  Effie changed for PE in silence. Raven and Lexy were chattering about something, but she could hardly hear them. Her head felt full of pressure. But she knew what she had to do. She had to make amends for everything she had done wrong. At least if she had a copy of The Chosen Ones her father would have to give her box back. Then Effie would be able to go to the Otherworld and tell Clothilde everything. She would know how to help, Effie was sure of it. The thought of Clothilde made Effie want to cry. But she tried not to cry, ever.

  When Effie was changed, she slipped on her ring and walked to the tennis centre. She had to cover the ring with a piece of micro-pore tape so that the teachers didn’t tell her off for wearing it, but that was fine, and no one even asked her about it now. She was going to do her best to generate as much M-currency as possible today. She couldn’t believe it had gone so low.

  She was almost sure that she knew how the Ring of the True Hero worked. She’d tested it, hadn’t she? All she had to do was play tennis for as long as possible and then replace the physical energy she’d expended with snacks and energy drinks. As long as she kept the ring on, the energy she’d used playing tennis would magically have turned to lifeforce.

  Effie was the best tennis player in the Lower School, even without the ring on. She hadn’t been that sporty before she’d epiphanised, but now all that had changed. Wolf could beat everyone else in the Lower School, but now Effie always beat him. The first time she had beaten him without the ring on, he’d seemed rather put out. But he soon got over that. Wolf was a true warrior and a natural sportsman and always respected those with greater skill than his own. Some people like spending time with people weaker than themselves, to make themselves look better. Wolf was the opposite. He was proud of his friend, and loved training with her whenever he could.

  Today they were playing mixed doubles. Effie and Wolf were currently the Under 13 mixed doubles champions of the whole area, and so they were never allowed to play together in lessons. Sometimes Mr Peters, the head of PE, made them play left-handed (both Effie and Wolf were right-handed, although Lexy, Raven and Maximilian were all left-handed). Today, Effie played right-handed and didn’t care about going easy on the weaker children, nor about giving her partner a chance to hit some shots too. She still felt ashamed and sad, and so she took it out on the tennis ball, and her opponents.

  ‘Wow,’ said Wolf during one of the changeovers. ‘You’re on fire! Take it easy on the rest of us.’

  Usually Wolf would have carried on joking around with Effie, but today he sounded more concerned than impressed. He also offered her some of his sports drink and at one point insisted she sit down on his chair. He was almost acting as if she were ill. It was very strange.

  After PE all members of the Lower School tennis teams were asked to stay behind. Coach Bruce strode into the tennis centre looking serious. Coach Bruce was not known for caring about much other than the Under 13 rugby team, the Lower School tennis team, drug testing and sports nutrition. No one at the Tusitala School for the Gifted, Troubled and Strange knew that Coach Bruce also had a Harley-Davidson motorbike, was very fond of his aunt Margaret and regularly went with his men’s group to Quirin Forest to take part in bonding activities that involved a lot of drumming, crying and semi-permanent tattoos made from crushed berries.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘As you know, we have been unbeaten for the last six weeks. If we remain unbeaten at the end of the season we will jump a division and go straight into the Northern Associated Schools Tennis Youth League Premier Division. And what does this mean?’

  ‘Great glory?’ said one of the boys.

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Cool new team kit?’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘New rackets!’

  ‘What else?’

  Everyone grew silent. It was true that the elderly headmaster of the school had promised them new kit
and rackets if they made it to the Premier Division. What else was there? Well, apart from great glory of course, but they’d already said that.

  ‘My promotion,’ said Coach Bruce, eventually, ‘to Head of PE. Not just that, but also my acceptance onto the master’s course in sports psychology at the Old Town University. My glory, for a change. Do you think I spend my life wallowing in your pee for fun?’

  No one enjoyed the image that this produced. Had Coach Bruce gone slightly off his rocker? He didn’t normally talk like this. And surely all he did with their pee was to take it to Dr Cloudburst in the chemistry lab for it to be tested for illegal substances.

  ‘It seems that for both my promotion and my acceptance onto the course, I have to demonstrate “Leadership beyond what would normally be expected of a Level Three coach”. And how do you think I am going to demonstrate that? I am going to lead you to great glory.’

  Everyone thought it appropriate to clap at this point, so they did. Coach Bruce looked pleased for a moment. But then his face darkened into a frown. The clapping stopped.

  ‘So what,’ he said, ‘do you think might stand in our way? What is the one thing that could potentially ruin your chances of winning the division unbeaten and, by association, my only chances of happiness and success?’

  It slowly began to dawn on everyone what he was talking about. Of course. Blessed Bartolo’s. The most notorious school in the whole of the North. The school they were due to play in the league fixture tomorrow. Blessed Bartolo pupils all had cruel eyes, never smiled and were supposed to be clever, but everyone knew there was something evil about them. Their school uniform was entirely black. The girls wore sophisticated shift dresses or wool trousers with smoking jackets. The boys wore full three-piece suits with black silk bow ties. All the pupils took compulsory classes in fencing, stockbroking, dressage and advanced music composition. The entrance exam for the school took four days. It was extremely secretive, but everyone knew that the children who failed it were never quite the same afterwards.