The Boarding Test

  Oscar leant his head upwards, staring at a red cross on the floating map. It was near the Thames River, on a dock.

  ‘Your first destination is Chelsea Harbour. Once there, wait on the dock for the signal, then be guided by those on the path that will appear before you,’ Gwynn said. ‘It will lead you to Shaftesbury. You mustn’t stray from it, or you’ll fail the test.’

  ‘What should I do once I’m in Shaftesbury?’ he asked, confused.

  ‘You will have succeeded in passing the test. Buy the supplies and tools you’ll need for the coming school year in the hidden magical community, accessible through Bumbles’ Shaftesbury!’ she declared with surprising energy. ‘Just so you know, Oscar, many of these communities found in towns, cities, and lanes are often connected and accessible through multiple Bumbles’ locations. But for this Wizardry boarding ceremony, you must access it through the place I just mentioned. That is what the test demands, and for a good reason.’

  The thought that he could get lost and fail to find his way startled him for a moment, but he quickly pushed it aside. He’d found an opening to the future he wanted, and he wasn’t about to turn back just out of fear. Besides, Gwynn had mentioned it was guided. Maybe the chance of getting lost wasn’t so high after all.

  ‘Here, take this. Do not open it until you arrive at the last destination. Doing otherwise would count as failure, too,’ said Gwynn, extending an envelope with a golden seal.

  As his eyes fixed on it, awe sparked an image in his mind – he was already in Shaftesbury, tearing the seal open.

  ‘I don’t have anything with me to keep it.’

  ‘Then you’ll hold it tightly. Don’t let it slip away for any reason.’

  He nodded, clutching it in his hand.

  ‘Why does this ceremony have a test in the first place?’ he asked, placing a finger on his cheek and raising his eyes.

  ‘Excellent question. This test is intended, as you might have guessed from this meeting’s purpose, for Bumbles and those unaware of Magic. They need to observe and adapt to a few more aspects of Magic first, and that’s why it’s called a boarding test.’

  ‘I will take the test head-on, Professor,’ Oscar said, meeting her gaze with a fierce expression.

  Gwynn shifted her head from side to side as she looked at Oscar, then smirked.

  ‘Intriguing. Intriguing indeed. Your face just now made me recall something for a moment. But dear me, I can’t quite put my finger on it.’

  He couldn’t pay attention to what she had just told him. Focused on the upcoming test, he forced a brave face, although his heart pounded anxiously.

  Gwynn lowered her hands, and the glowing vision of the map vanished.

  ‘It is time to go, Oscar.’

  ‘Alright! Until later then, Professor Gwynn.’

  Oscar waved, and just as he reached the door to the hallway, Gwynn called out, a small amused smile on her face.

  ‘Not that way.’

  He glanced back at her, scratching his head. Upon her right palm now rested a small, dark grey sack.

  ‘Step on the fireplace,’ she instructed firmly, tilting her head with a confident smile.

  Oscar walked into the magnificent inglenook fireplace, with white marble framing the mantle.

  ‘This powder can teleport a wizard or witch to their destination, no matter where within the Ministry’s domain, as long as a fireplace has been enabled for wizardry public use, or specific individuals or groups’ teleportation on the other end,’ Gwynn explained, then she raised her voice in a teasing tone. ‘And one should take good care of a sack like this instead of mislaying and losing it, Wagamoth only knows where, and being forced to rely on impish sacks of Stardust powder that have legs to run off.’

  ‘I can hear you digging at me, Artemis,’ said Bertram, sticking his head from the hallway with a light smile.

  She laughed, covering her mouth. ‘Oh, oh, oh. I know you do, my dear.’

  Bertram did the same, and Oscar joined them. He had never done so – at least, not in his memories – but he also felt something special and sweet, something he struggled to grasp.

  ‘Show us what you can do, boy,’ said Bertram, staring at Oscar with encouraging eyes as he rubbed his beard.

  ‘I will do my best, I promise.’

  The man smiled, narrowing his gaze a bit, before disappearing back into the hallway.

  ‘Now, Oscar, it’s simple enough. Open your hand,’ she said, taking a fistful of grey grains from the sack, some slipping to the floor.

  Gwynn opened her fist above his hand, and they glided on it. They were silky, smudging his skin with grey spots.

  ‘Do you remember the name of the first location?’

  ‘Yes. It’s –’ he squeezed his forehead. ‘Oh, right! Chelsea Harbour.’

  ‘Great. Toss the Travel Ash on the firewood logs, and say, clearly–’ She cleared her throat. ‘Ad Chelsea Harbour.’

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  He tossed the ash down and declared, ‘Ad Chelsea Harbour.’

  A cloud of smoke burst from the logs in a deep, dense puff, and as it dissipated into the air of the hall, he was gone.

  Oscar coughed, emerging from it with a neglected, antiquated fireplace behind. Dust covered the creaking wooden floor, and glass shards lay scattered not far from small windows. Against one wall stood a table with a broken chair; on it rested a feather, an empty ink bottle, and old papers. Nearby was a door with a hole in the lower panel.

  He pushed it, stepping out on a dock with iron bollards and chains separating him from the river. The Thames calmly brushed the bench, its water of a muddy brown shade.

  ‘This should be Chelsea Harbour, right?’ he said, glancing around. ‘Now I just have to wait for the signal.’

  Oscar wondered what the signal would be, or where it would come from. A cold wind blew like a breeze, carrying the moist scent of the old river, and he shivered at the realisation that his first teleportation had brought him here from Greenwich in a matter of seconds.

  ‘Magic is great!’ he said, rubbing his hands on the sleeves of his shirt to warm himself up.

  Deciding it might be better to look around, he walked along the bench of the dock. He turned left and right, but there was no one in sight except for a fisherman on the opposite bridge.

  A bell rang three times. Oscar considered that maybe there were churches in that part of London he wasn’t familiar with.

  He squeezed his eyes. A cog appeared from nowhere, drifting slowly towards the dock. He glanced at it, his gaze flicking to the fisherman, who hadn’t reacted to the ancient sailboat materialising out of the mist. It seemed to Oscar that the man couldn’t see it.

  The cog docked in front of him, and a sailor with a tricorn hat and a frock coat stepped onto the gangplank, the sound of his boots echoing like the lament of old, creaking trunks.

  ‘Hop aboard, boy. We’re headed to Dorset.’

  ‘Dorset? But sir, I must reach Shaftesbury.’

  ‘Of course you must, lad. That’s the test – I know it well enough,’ he said. ‘The path is correct; Dorset is perfectly aligned with Shaftesbury. Well, more or less. If you don’t want to fail, stop whining and board my old dear, Cogey.’

  Again, the bell rang thrice; the gangplank disappeared, and the hull shuddered. Oscar grabbed the battlements, nearly losing his balance on the stern.

  ‘Hold tight, we set sail on the Thames. To Dorset, we ride the water!’

  As they sailed down the river, flanked by London’s skyline, the cog swayed gently on the surface.

  ‘How come people on the ferry over there ignore this strange ship?’

  ‘Hey, don’t be rude. Cogey’s not strange,’ the man said, glancing at Oscar.

  ‘Are we hidden by magic?’ Oscar asked curiously, peering at him.

  The captain avoided his eyes. ‘What is your name, boy?’

  ‘Oscar, sir.’

  ‘Oscar. Fancy name you’ve got there. You’re hidden by magic – that’s Cogey’s speciality.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘We are no more. No magic is needed,’ he said, closing his eyes briefly.

  ‘No more, sir?’

  ‘No more indeed. We’re relics of the past, Oscar. But we’ll never stop sailing the seas, no matter how many years pass.’

  ‘Wait, wait a moment. You mean–’

  Oscar trailed off, noticing a subtle, bluish glow emanating from the cog and the captain, dimmed by the morning light.

  ‘We are ghosts. A shame, you might think. But we refused to let go of our love for the sea.’

  Oscar went pale as he stepped back, but after staring at the captain and the cog for some time, he bowed his head and placed his hands on the planks of the ship.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He lifted his gaze, glancing at the spectral captain. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude. I’ve always heard of ghosts talked about in a scary manner, and I can’t believe how false that seems now. Also, you know about the test… I suppose I should trust you, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘It appears your brain is functional, lad.’

  ‘You and Cogey look so cool,’ Oscar said, doing his best to apologise for the reactions he did on instinct.

  ‘Cool? What’s that – a trendy youngster’s word?’ the captain said, laughing. ‘No matter. I love the excitement in your voice. You’re the first one, in the boarding test, not to shake or scream at the mention of our nature in a very long time.’

  They were drifting past tunnels carved into the riversides.

  Oscar’s eyes caught floating human-like shapes within a few of them. Chants of men and women with harmonic and sweet melodic voices hummed in the air, shaping a song of times past. He tried to make out the words they started to sing, but those sounded ancient and mystical to his ears. Yet, though he couldn't understand them, they soothed his heart. And amid this sensation that hugged it, unfamiliar emotions stirred his determination as the rhythm of the melody rose. Oscar's morale soared high like a burning torch.

  ‘Are those Ghosts too?’

  The captain turned, following Oscar’s gaze towards the tunnels.

  ‘They’re from Celtic times – before London was founded. My favourite part of the Thames to sail.’

  ‘I feel a strange heat on my chest, Captain,’ said Oscar, placing a hand over the spot that had begun to burn.

  ‘Songs can have incredible effects on our emotions. No matter if you are part of the Wizardry World or the Bumbles’ one.’

  He focused on the ghost words intently; he knew what he meant. Music can have great power to influence us and the way we perceive things or act, after all. And Oscar had a youthful grasp of that. But those sensations surging from the Celtics hums had a different flavour of what he usually experienced when he listened to music. The flames that now burned within carried a nostalgic feeling, one of something he should have known about himself.

  The captain gazed at London Bridge, its time-worn silhouette growing as Cogey sailed between two ferries.

  ‘If only I’d thought more about such things when I was young, I might have been smart enough to be aware – or at least to suspect – that some magical creatures use dangerous sounds and songs,’ he said ruefully. ‘Wouldn’t have led my crew into the Sirens’ Cave when we heard their charming voices, that day marking our dismal end,’ he added, his voice trailing into a whisper.

  ‘A mistake is a mistake, sir. You shouldn’t take the blame for something you had no way of controlling,’ said Oscar, trying to cheer him up, looking at the sailor with a soft gaze.

  The captain raised his head, laughing amused.

  ‘Thanks for the words, lad. But the truth is, and it’s embarrassing to admit it, the danger wasn’t in the sounds themselves. They held no magical powers – only the allure of beauty, of something that touches the deepest parts of us. I could have resisted if I’d truly wanted to. But I didn’t. And some of my crew didn’t either. We were perfectly foolish youngsters.’

  ‘What are sirens? Are they evil?’

  ‘Not really. Some are extremely territorial, and the ones in the cave I mentioned are a perfect example. I can’t teach sirens well, I’m no professor. But I can tell you this: they love to sing in groups, not to lure, just for the joy of it. And that group thought we were invaders after we showed our stupid mugs.’

  The traffic of the streets resounded above as the open sea came into view, and the river eased and rested into the blue salt water stretching beyond the horizon.

  ‘We’ll be coasting England. If you don’t fancy swimming with the fishes, don’t let go of the wood. Say “Aye aye, captain” if you’re ready to sail the seas.’

  ‘Aye aye, captain,’ said Oscar, grinning as he watched the seagulls flying low across his field of view.

  The city shrank behind them, swallowed by the ships docked at London’s port, and a refreshing breeze filled Oscar’s nostrils with the tang of sulphur.