Bertram of London

  On the other side of the black gate, in its full Neo-Renaissance splendour, stood a tall manor with towers on both flanks, surmounted by conical dark blue roofs and spires – casting its own shadows on the entrance. On the sign next to the gate, in elegant characters, was written: Godwin House.

  The Godwins had earned their wealth and status in the Middle Ages. Being an ancient household, Mr and Mrs Godwin, of number 100, Knightsbridge, were aware of an old secret existing. But like many of their predecessors, they had never investigated it because if they’d found it true there wouldn’t be anything they could do. The idea that the power and wealth possessed could be weak compared to something outside of their control terrified them. And so, their pride and arrogance had blinded the Godwins to face such a possibility.

  Mr Godwin had a brother he hated so much that the mention of his name made him sick and green. Unlike him, he was exactly what he had begun detesting a long time ago. And when the brother named his son with the wife’s surname, the Godwins pretended they were dead. Until one day, when that child, Oscar Glover, was entrusted to them. They drowned in rage and indignation. Forced to accept, they had set the goal to humiliate the boy as long he’d be under their tutelage.

  ‘He should be here soon, Annabelle. I can imagine the sweet, sweet embarrassment he must feel,’ said Henry Godwin with a wide grin as he looked outside the tall, squared window decorated with silver patterns on the frame. Bald and with a large moustache, he dressed in garments and royal black clothes; his head looked like the curve of a standing potato.

  ‘Enrolling Oscar at the richest Knightsbridge Private Secondary School and dressing him like a rabble was a genius move, Henry. We should have done the same for the previous school grade instead of educating him ourselves,’ said Annabelle, sitting near a fireplace constructed of exquisite bricks. She had black hair shaped like broccoli and wore an olive tea Gown that almost brushed against the red carpet.

  ‘Oh look, the brat is back. He is –’ Henry followed Oscar with his eyes as he approached the gate, and the sight silenced him. He grit his teeth, his head jolted, and his body trembled like a rocket about to explode.

  ‘He is smiling,’ he thundered with an angry voice.

  *

  With great effort, Oscar pushed open the arched door, which rumbled with a commanding sound, and entered the manor. Light beams filtered through the grand windows, flanked by dark-red curtains, falling softly on the grey metal of the helmets that gleamed with elegance in the entrance hall. They brightened the suits of armour that stood along the walls, looking almost like proud, breathing knights ready to battle and protect those in need.

  Henry was climbing down the polished stone staircase painted in silver. He stared at Oscar with a furious expression, his moustaches quivering.

  ‘You are extremely late. Explain yourself,’ he barked while stepping down the last step, then dashed towards him.

  Oscar looked at Henry with fierce eyes, something he had never done before and screwed up his courage.

  “No, I am not late,’ he proclaimed.

  Cecilia had sparked something inside his spirit, making him feel different, energising him enough to stand up to the unfair situation he had lived through.

  ‘How dare you, insolent brat,’ Henry sneered, leaning his large, red face close to Oscar’s. ‘Where have you found the backbone to object to what I say? It must be because of that smile,’

  He frowned, the intensity of his glare increasing, yet Oscar didn’t falter but only moved slightly.

  ‘I saw you smiling as you returned, but you were not supposed to. What are you hiding from me? Speak.’

  ‘I had a good time at school,’ said Oscar with a faint smirk, ‘and that’s all, honest.’

  But Henry didn’t believe him. There is no way he’d smile. Their plan was perfect to make him the centre of derision at school. He clenched his raised hands into a fist, then stood up straight with a groan.

  ‘I suspect someone helped you. Admit it, or there will be consequences.’

  ‘I have nothing to admit because no one did,’ he said, his heart pounding.

  Before Henry could speak again, Mrs Godwin approached the two. She looked at Oscar with an arrogant expression.

  ‘Oh my, what a troublesome boy you are, Oscar. Perhaps skipping lunch may help teach you some manners.’

  Henry smirked, caressing his moustache. ‘Brilliant idea, Annabelle,’

  Oscar bowed his head; he felt proud to lie and cover up Cecilia, mustering the grit necessary to resist the incoming hunger.

  A knock coming from the entrance door echoed in the hall. The Godwins glanced at each other, their faces visibly confused, then turned to the windows.

  ‘Annabelle dear, have you opened the gate to someone else, besides this brat, while upstairs?’ Henry asked.

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Perhaps one of the servants did,’ he said with a shaking voice.

  ‘They are all busy in the kitchen. We don’t have many servants in the first place, you know.’

  ‘I am aware of my trust issues, thank you very much. But then –’

  The Godwins had gone very white. ‘What is the meaning of this? Can’t be a thief, right? Thieves don’t knock on doors, do they? Unless it’s some new absurd fashion.’

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  Oscar covered his mouth, giggling at their reactions. He wondered who it could be since he hadn’t seen anyone else outside when he had closed the manor gate behind. The three strode off through the hall to find out.

  ‘Who is it? State your name,’ 'Henry said, standing a few steps away from the closed, arched panel.

  ‘I am Sir Bertram of London. I bring an important message,” declared a muffled voice.

  Mr and Mrs Godwin exchanged a second glance, raising their eyebrows, then Henry flinched back. In the end, he pulled the door wide open.

  Oscar felt a leap of excitement. Hearing that introduction, he thought of the words in some fantasy stories that his father would tell him not many years ago.

  Under the warm, bright light, blinding the three for a moment, a man was standing in the doorway. He wore a black tunic with grey sleeves, a white cloak softly woven by the wind, and leather boots. A full dark-brown beard covered the part of his face beneath the nose and his lower cheeks, and a shaggy head of dark hair with a few strands hanging before his black eyes, glowing brown in the sunlight.

  Oscar gasped, but the Godwins’ eyes opened wide.

  Henry leant forward, tilting his head up and down Bertram’s figure.

  ‘Is this a joke? It is too soon for the Notting Hill Carnival.’

  ‘A rude welcome, I see. My presence here is not a jest, Mr Godwin. Unless the joke you refer to is your “Notting something” line,’ Bertram said with a radiant smile. ‘I am not accustomed to events in your world to understand the reference, I’m afraid.’

  ‘A rude welcome, you say. But isn’t it ruder to intrude past the gates, Sir Bertram? Trespass is a crime, even more so when sneaking into the property of an important household like ours,’ said Annabelle with a sneering face. It changed instantly – Mr and Mrs Godwin’s expressions became petrified.

  ‘Our world, you said?’ they asked together.

  Oscar moved a few steps ahead, staring at Bertram’s clothes with wonder in his eyes, smiling faintly. A flock of thoughts rushed through his mind.

  ‘Wait a moment, Sir Bertram. You said, “of London”. Let’s put aside for a moment, as Annabelle just explained, the insulting crime you committed. When you say “your world”, are you aware we are in London? Are you mocking us?’

  Bertram raised an eyebrow, then nodded. ‘I presumed, since your household should be aware of it, that you knew of places concealed from the eyes of Bumbles like yourselves,’ he explained, placing a hand on his flank.

  ‘You have a point, though, and I apologise for not announcing myself at the gate. When I used the stardust powder, I should have been more specific naming the destination. Because I hadn't done so, I, unfortunately, appeared past your cheerful black gate.’

  Colour drained from Henry’s face, and his hands started shaking while Annabelle placed hers on her hair. They slowly realised the secret they had ignored for so long, related to Bertram’s words, might have been a reality.

  ‘Bumbles? Stardust powder? No! This is absolute nonsense. I refuse it. Reject it! Magic does not exist. It cannot exist. Because if it did, me, Henry Godwin and my dear wife would be masters of it.’

  Oscar gasped, and although a powerful curiosity had already begun overtaking him, the word ‘Magic’ turned it into a whirlwind.

  The man shook his head. ‘Believe what you will, but such is the truth. Some of your family members were able wizards and witches, and some currently are. But I presume, considering your pleasant and humble personality, they must have refrained from telling you,’ he said in a sharp but polite voice.

  ‘Some in your family also have the potential to become one, Mr Godwin. But I can say with certainty. Neither you nor your wife have such potential or capability.’

  Henry’s fists trembled, his open mouth showing as he ground his teeth; Annabelle held her face, shaking with the same intensity as her husband.

  ‘You.’ He tried to say, raising his voice filled with anger. But stunned, he failed to do so.

  ‘Anyway, here is the message I bring.’

  Bertrand glanced at Oscar with gentle, fierce eyes.

  ‘Oscar Glover, magic sleeps inside you,’ he declared. ‘You, my boy, are a wizard. As such, we invite you to present yourself at the entrance of Greenwich tomorrow at dawn. If you accept this invitation, everything you need to know in order to begin your studies will be explained there. Do not tell anybody except your parents.’

  Oscar grinned, his face euphoric – something extraordinary that could change his life forever, presented before him through the message Bertram had just delivered, echoing in his ears. He wished he could tell Cecilia the next day. However, the words were clear; he was not allowed to. And so, he would not betray the request, resisting the strong urge to do so.

  ‘Sir, I –’ Oscar was about to say, but Annabelle blocked his mouth tightly with her fingers and pushed Henry on the back with multiple nudges.

  Waking up from his silent rage, Henry glanced at her, then turned to Bertram again.

  ‘Sir Bertram, if the boy accepts, we will accompany him to Greenwich ourselves. But this is an important choice that he must make, one that may need anyone some time to think about, and we must be there with him when he does, for his own good.’

  ‘Oscar dear, please stay calm, breathe. I know you must be shocked. We will discuss things inside,’ said Annabelle, her kind voice so fake as to damage hearing.

  Bertram narrowed his eyes. ‘With all due respect, I will be the one to accompany the boy. Know that refusing the invite would mean you will not awaken your magic and do the long study necessary to become a proper wizard,’ he said with his gaze upon Oscar. ‘Think well about it, my boy. I'll wait outside the gate for an answer, and only if I receive it with proper speed.’

  Oscar struggled, trying to free his mouth from Mrs Godwin’s hand. ‘I want to. Please take me away from them. I want to become a wizard!’ he said, but only muffled sounds came out.

  For a brief moment, Bertram directed a reassuring smile to him, then the Godwins dragged Oscar back inside, and Henry shut the door. He turned to the boy as Annabelle released her hand. Oscar coughed.

  Mr Godwin’s face had gone red, and one might have the impression that his ears blew out smoke clouds like a boiling kettle but rounder.

  ‘You are not going to Greenwich. There is nothing special in a brat like you compared to us, my fool brother’s annoying son! So you’d better forget the conversation with that clown Bertram and all that ridiculous talk about magic even existed.’

  Oscar smiled with defiance, his head low to the polished floor of the hall.

  ‘Stop smiling,’ barked Annabelle, and Henry’s fury followed.

  ‘I don’t know what changed your behaviour today. But I swear, I will strip that smile off your face. Rubbish like you should know your place.’

  ‘You won’t,’ Oscar declared, raising his head to Henry. Their stares collided, with sparks flying. Mrs Godwin turned towards her husband, who began stomping his foot, yelling like a toddler.

  ‘Enough! Do you think you can defy us? Annabelle, lock him in his room at once. As you suggested earlier, he will skip lunch, but let’s add dinner too,’ he shouted, then pointed at him, his hand shaking. ‘Tomorrow at dawn, you won’t be there to follow this nonsense of becoming a wizard.’

  Oscar was about to sprint to the entrance door, but Mrs Godwin grabbed his arms and blocked him. And once more, she dragged him, but this time up the main staircase of the manor, the boy’s eyes still looking at Henry. Mr Godwin’s expression taunted him, his wicked laugh echoing in the hall.

  On the second floor, Annabelle walked towards the end of the hallway with Oscar under her grip, their steps thudding on the long carpet in the centre. Several paintings of battles, with knights and mounted knights, archers and spearmen, and portraits of queens, kings and nobles hung on the cream-white walls of the hallway. They turned right, past a squared opening, climbing up a small spiral staircase of a narrow space encircled by a conical wall. She stopped before an old, small, wooden door and pushed him inside, slamming it closed. Oscar heard the lock click shut, a creak, and then Mrs Godwin’s steps faded in the distance.