Family in Darkness- Chapter 4
The Master Bedroom
The bedroom was silent aside from the sound of chewing, everyone focused on their task. Bengal had dried her eyes. Arthur was sitting up, though he was tired enough that he let India check his vital signs. India drank in their forms, both pale and determined. Waiting wasn't even a question.
This was how they found themselves standing outside the thick wooden door of England's room- the master bedroom. It was heavy, a remnant, perhaps, from the original bombed out shell of England's Victorian home- although India had no idea why England had been so emphatic about recovering it. Now, standing outside it, it had a palpable menace. Even Bengal, who had been so determined before, seemed hesitant. She kept looking at him in askance, but he found he couldn't make a move on the door. It loomed before him, deeply unforgiving, and utterly foreboding.
Until Arthur rolled his eyes, muttered something under his breath and pushed it open. A heavy sounding click proceeded it, a lock needing no key, and in the same moment the spell it had over them vanished. The door, now just a door, revealed a small room with barely enough space for its contents. A single bed with plain cheap sheets, piles of books of all kinds in three of the corners next to tall, mismatched bookshelves. The fourth corner contained the only thing of interest, an elderly desktop with a thick grey monitor and a matching brick of a computer beneath the desk.
It was all a bit anticlimactic really.
"Already it begins." He said to Bengal, as Arthur ignored the pair of them to start leafing through books, making a noise of frustrated disgust when he clearly couldn't read their version of English. Bengal looked serious though.
"Hardly something to be happy about is it, Delhi?" Her voice was taught and worried.
"India," he said instead of pushing his point. She made a flat noise but nodded her head in acknowledgement.
"Whatever, let's find what we can and get this moving."
They started by organising the books by language- the vast majority were modern English, but as Heyer, Rowling, and other fiction authors piled up it was becoming clear that this pile was the least likely to contain anything useful. Next, a smaller pile of Latin texts- mostly reproductions of historicals. Finally a double handful of books in other languages - French, German, there was even '' in its original Urdu. India couldn't help but stare at that one, until Bengal had given him a weird look- like it was obvious that England would have fiction books in an Indian language. Then again, to her, it might be. He put it down again and shook his head to clear it of the temporal culture shock.
As there was noting of interest in the modern English, he let his two charges split the Latin between them and applied himself to the computer. As he booted it up he couldn't help but wonder if England was aiming for security by obsolescence- his personal account wasn't even password protected. Nor was his email account- although divorced from the modern internet providers it was a devil to find. Seeing only messages from government, he closed it- anything useful would be said in person- England's paranoia would dictate it. He opened up the documents folder- numbered not named- and clicked on the first few.
Enter Password
Enter Password
Enter Password
He opened up the rest- five more were password protected. The rest were junk. A half written novel plot. Copy pastes of news articles on petty crime. Nothing else of interest. He sighed and opened up the emails when the squabbling started. It was fast paced- too fast for him to follow with only half an ear. But too slow and stressy to be relegated to background noise- he spun on the swivel chair.
"What's wrong?" he asked in Latin.
The pair stared at him for a moment before looking at each other. Arthur shrugged dismissively and Bengal frowned at him in a way that was distinctly beseeching.
"Bengal? Arthur?"
Arthur said nothing, but Bengal wordlessly handed him a heavy tome in leather so dark it was almost black. Silver lettering sprawled across the cover- Faucium Terrae. Throat of the Earth. He flipped it open- the first four chapters seemed to be on geography, or an early 1900's understanding of it. After that it mostly seemed to be invested in ley lines, a concept that had a ring of familiarity to it, but that honestly India had never really looked into.
"What am I supposed to be looking at?" he asked.
Bengal rolled her eyes. "Just read chapter two would you- I'm going to find a spot to pray."
She stood up, not needing to stretch before walking off to perform her daily prayers. His own back twinged with jealousy, but was immediately distracted by Arthur telling him that the book was nonsense.
"Let me have a look at it first ok?" he said mildly.
So he read chapter two. Honestly he hoped it was nonsense. After flicking through the first chapter to understand ley lines- he wanted context for the problem after all, he started on the second. He frowned, along with sections on ley line identification and major British landmarks were diagrams of increasing complexity to 'release and direct spiritual energy'. It didn't really remind him of anything England had ever told him about how he did magic, but he'd never been that interested before. Bengal came back from her mid afternoon prayers and sat down, looking serious.
"Seems you were right," she said.
Flicking through the other chapters, he nodded. He didn't blame her for being stressed- magic was haram in Islam, a corrupting practice that subverted Allah's will and design. He didn't like to ask her to do this, but they both recognised that he couldn't do it alone- apart from anything else, she could speed read like no one else he'd ever known. This was why he wasn't surprised when she told him to turn to chapter 7. Arthur rolled his eyes, but once India had read it he couldn't say he agreed with him. Chapter 7 contained spells- combinations of diagrams and ingredients intended to do everything from heal the sick to cursing your enemies. Several called for blood. Even more concerning was the familiar handwriting in the margins. Nation blood is an effective substitute for human, although the effects are more unpredictable, read one. Many of these arrays are of poor quality- did he perhaps only copy them from elsewhere? Read another.
The book hit much of what they were looking for- geographic focused magic could conceivably have a strong effect in nations and England had been clearly been reading this book and assessing it's effectiveness. A memory swam up to the surface of his mind- England intruding on a conversation about superstition, claiming that his own were merely pre scientific observations rather than primitive gibberish. He'd mentioned that blood was an amplifier. It'd sounded so absurdly sinister that India had burst out laughing- the ensuing argument had lasted three hours.
So he didn't say anything when England whined that the book was stupid- this far out of time he may not even recognise the black magic for what it was. But as much as he wanted to say they'd found the answer- there was something missing.
"There aren't any transformation or de-aging spells in here."
Bengal sighed.
"I know, I looked- but I think you were right about the culprit," she shuddered, "I suppose I shouldn't be to shocked but I didn't expect to run into black magic that quickly"
"Im sorry," he said. It didn't really cover the scale of the problem, but it needed to be said. Bengal shrugged and rubbed her forehead, looking dejected.
"It's not like I didn't expect it- anyway, you can't fix something you don't understand. Know your enemy and you will win a hundred battles, right?"
"Right."He said, his heart sinking.
They hunted fruitlessly for another hour before India called a break. Going over the same information again and again was making them frustrated, and India would rather rest than deal with another fight. Bengal had wanted to keep going, although she said that Arthur should take a break- the kid having long given up on reading books in favour of flopping onto the modern English pile like it was a bed. However, the kitchen cupboards had had their meager rations exhausted, and if they wanted to restock India had to go now. It worried him though, leaving the kid under Bengals supervision.
All that was washed away when he went outside. The evening air was pleasantly warm, and the bustle of people was a welcome relief to the stuffy isolation of England's room. The walk wasn't long, but the simple distance from his problems helped them recede to the back of his mind. Even if it wasn't one of his own cities, the crush of people making last errands was reassuringly familiar.
His ease lasted all the way to the shop, but left him as he began to pick up the staples they'd need over the next few days. Picking up chicken, milk and potatoes he couldn't help but think of the ingredients in Faucium Terrae- salt and garden herbs alongside human blood and hair. Notes assessing their practicality and appropriate substitutes- the book contained no transformation or translocation spells, but England had been an accomplished magician. Or had liked to think himself one at least. Could England have engineered his own spell from that book? He'd always got the impression that magic was unpredictable and dangerous- but nations were unnaturally hardy. Did that allow for greater experimentation?
But something bothered him about the whole situation, and as he sat glaring at the limited range of herbs and spices it struck him. They had found no other magic books. And no motive. England had been practicing magic for centuries- enough that Arthur felt secure enough to question Faucium Terrae- and yet the only book they'd found could be no older than the 1920's. India remembered seeing the occasional magic book in his room in the 1800s, and England had a hoarder streak a mile wide. Where had they gone? Had they all been burned up when the house had been destroyed in the Blitz? Had England never sought to replace them? Did he just keep all his acquired knowledge in his head? Seemed unlikely.
And, he thought, searching through the condiments, what exactly was England's motive? Why replace nations with their childhood selves? This, above all else, scared him. Whilst he could conjure up a scenario in which he could foul up a spell and have it backfire upon himself, the spell itself seemed all at once inconceivably petty and ridiculously convoluted. The only thing he kept circling back to was the vulnerability of the younger nations, flung backwards into their baby sate, their reliance on their caregivers. It gave him a chill even to think it but-
He grabbed his phone and flicked to the number he needed.
"Hallo?"
Bengal stared at the books in front of her, absentmindedly leafing through a bestiary. They piled up in useless mounds around her, with just one exception. Half exception. It'd been foolish, perhaps to think they would find the answers so quickly- she had never in all her research found the answers first time around. It was disheartening to be surrounded by so much junk though- cookery, history, architecture, almost nothing on how they'd got here or how to get back. She massaged her scalp, the Connection still tugging at her.
And what they had found….
She stared at Faucium Terrae. It looked shockingly normal for such an evil thing, it looked a bit exotic perhaps, but she wouldn't have batted an eyelid if she'd found such a book in her own libraries. That sick feeling of disappointment was still there, that hope she always felt, that nations should do better, should be better was taking another battering. Idealism always felt like stupidity at these times, whether dreaming of techno-time travel or basic respect. She shook herself out of such maudlin thoughts, this was the situation they were in- all they could do was act in it.
England was oblivious to her frustration, his face finally back to his normal colour, happily munching on a piece of toast while they drunk their tea. While he drunk his tea. She took a sip of her own and made a face, it'd gone tepid while she sulked. It was her second cup as well. She couldn't deny the fact that even she needed a break, she went downstairs and made herself a third cup of tea, vowing to drink it this time. She settled back down in the master bedroom as she took the first sip.
The child had finished his toast, and was now leafing through the brightly coloured English books, trying to read the back cover before throwing each away in frustration. She could sympathise, brain swimming from spending so much time conversing in one of her third languages. England caught her looking at him.
"What?" he said, scowling at her.
"Nothing," she replied, quickly diverting her eyes. They landed on Faucium Terrae, and she couldn't help but frown herself.
"That's a stupid book, you know," said England. She looked at him. His face had relaxed out of the scowl and into the look of bored irritation that seemed to be his default.
"Really?" She replied, trying not to broadcast the scepticism she felt inside. "What's wrong with it?"
"Alright, what do you need to know?"
India blinked, he wasn't sure what reaction he'd expected- horror maybe, or at least surprise. But he was pretty sure that flat calm tinged with exasperation wasn't it. Still he was calling Norway for answers.
"Start with the leylines-"
"They're rubbish- human nonsense to try and make sense of high magic areas"
"High magic areas?"
"Magic is everywhere, but it's not spread evenly- some areas have much more than others. Normally only the magic inside you can be moved to make spells, but in a high magic area you can use the landscapes power too- but it's normally not worth it"
"Why? "
"Well you might be able to tap into more, but unless you have the right array to fix it in shape - "
"Array?"
"A drawing or design that traps the magic. If you don't have one then the magic has to channel straight through you to do anything. Can't keep anything going without constant effort either."
"But these high magic areas don't have anything to do with ley lines?"
"Nope"
"So why was England interested in them?"
There was silence down the other end of the phone, and India found himself tapping his foot nervously. He knew, technically, that there was no rush. But the questions hovering over what exactly England had been doing still bothered him.
"Maybe...England likes to experiment- try things out to see if they make something faster or more powerful. You said he'd been looking at the arrays in this book?"
India felt vindicated.
"Yeah, he'd been writing notes next to them" Norway made an agreeable noise.
"Probably that then, he tends to experiment on himself nowadays- and his brothers. It's a good job they're Nations really, experimental magic is really dangerous."
"Is that what you think happened then? Spell gone wrong?"
"..." Norway's silence stretched on, and the small morsel of triumph India felt faded into worry. A quiet 'excuse me' got him to move out the way of a woman looking to grab some mayonnaise before he went back to waiting for a reply.
"Hello? Something wrong?"
"If it was an accident… why did it go off in the meeting room?"
"It's stupid."
Bengal blinked at him in confusion. England sighed and rolled his eyes.
"That maths isn't needed to make it work."
She frowned. "Then what is?"
All at once his demeanor changed- she was really growing sick of that, he kind of stuttered for a moment before falling quiet. Wondering (hoping) that magic was as taboo in his land as hers, she attempted to comfort him.
"I'm not going to get you in trouble"
He turned to face her fully, picking up another modern English book and flicking through the pages. His voice switched from flat irritation to a halting, focused tone- like he was trying to give a lecture.
"Magic- it kinda like a river or a fire, it's there already and it'll alter things around it. Strange winds at sea, water that turns you to stone, people vanishing for a hundred years, that kinda stuff. It's in people too." He looks directly at her, green eyes pleading. "That's why you don't need this kind of arabic maths mostly, cause your just moving the magic inside you to make the spell."
"But if you want to know what your magic's gonna do when you move it then you need to shape it with words- or objects." Bengal feels her whole body drawn tight as a bow string, but she doesn't interrupt. "It's I don't know how to describe it, and I don't know if its cause I'm...what I am, but I don't think you can have too many of the words you need in your head at once- especially the long spells." The boy stops and kind of shrinks in on himself, biting his lip, suddenly looking every inch his human age. Despite herself, she feels herself lean forward towards him.
"And?"
"And you can't make something like this happen without a lot of power, and a lot of words."
For a moment silence descends, England staring at her as if he'd just revealed a deep, damning secret, a hard look of triumph on his small face. Bengal stared back, waiting for the reveal. Outside, a bird was chirping.
"So?"
"So who the fuck ever heard of a witch with only one book?"
Bengal leaned back against the wall- picking up a brightly coloured paperback and turning it over in her hands.
"You think these may be in code?"
England blinked at her.
"Um, maybe? But mostly I think you wouldn't leave the stuff that said you did it just laying around in your bedroom."
Bengal hmm'd and surveyed the room- wooden floorboards, a thick plump mattress, several hefty looking bookshelves. She felt a grin creep up her face.
"England, you know that big iron pole in the fireplace downstairs?"
"Yeah?"
"Could you go and get it for me?"
The boys jaw dropped open for a moment before stifling what she was pretty sure was a giggle. She smiled back.
"And a knife from the kitchen please- we're going to want to be thorough"
"I mean, this spell affected multiple nations with a strong transformation - it's not really the kind of effect you can get by accident is it?"
India, who had seen many strange coloured fogs and noxious oozes seep into the master bedroom during his time at England's, was sceptical.
"Isn't it?"
"No, these transformations are too powerful- I checked their thaumaturgical signatures and they're properly set, hardly any flux at all."
There was a moment of silence as India tried to parse what had just been said. After almost a full minute, India gave up.
"And that means?"
"Thaumaturgical signatures are- they're like a fingerprint. Magic has shapes and flows it likes to be in and when you transform someone the magic wants to go back to its old shape - but I tested Denmark and Wales before they went to bed and again in the morning and there was no flux at all."
A sudden, horrible thought invaded India's mind. "Does that mean they're stuck like this?"
"No I'll just need more information about the spell. But more to the point, a spell like that takes a lot of power, and a lot of control," Norways voice had been calm before, even slightly absent minded- but tension seeped in as he kept speaking, "There's no way a spell like that could be completed by accident- and I can't think of any spell like that that could be cast in the middle of a brawl anyway. So he's been experimenting. With combat magic."
India knew it was rude, but he couldn't avoid it.
"Can you think of a reason he might want to do that?"
"The fuck should I know," India blinked, taken aback by the sudden bitterness in Norway's tone, "why does that idiot do anything? Power? Revenge? Boredom? Because a billboard on a bus told him to?" Norway sighed, sounding equal parts exhausted and infuriated.
"Um." India replied.
"Sorry, sorry, not your problem."
The transformation or Brexit? Cause I'm having to deal with both too you know. But India suppressed that, unwilling to antagonise the only modern magic user he had available over what amounted to semantics. Instead he pressed on.
"So do you know if England would have done his experiments in the house or not?"
Norway made a thoughtful sound. "Perhaps. He used to use the cellar in his house, but apparently he had to seal it up a few weeks ago. Why I don't know, Scotland didn't tell me much at the time and I never got the story out of England before all this happened."
"So his..workshop? Won't be in his house?"
"Maybe, but wherever it is it'll need to be near by- spells like these take a lot of time to make and if he'd been acting strangely Scotland would have told me. Take into account the standard precautions - non-flammable, warded to prevent magical leaks, and secure…. There can't be that many places it could be."
"Hmm." India replied, mind churning on the problem- but- "Scotland?" He felt he had to ask.
Norway sighed. And when he spoke there was that same tension as before. "Neighbours privileges- he's been warning me everytime he thinks England's going to do something stupid, or just wants to rant." Another sigh accompanied by a rustle that might just have been a shrug. "But what can you do?"
"Yeah. Listen, thankyou Norway - I'll call you later?"
"Send me anything you find, and I should be able to figure out a way to turn them back, ok"
"I will." India hung up, but his mind was already elsewhere, hunting for England's workshop. To him there was little doubt that England had built it in his house, the man was secretive by habit- if he had no suitable spaces he would adapt an existing one. The house itself was clearly built in the image of the old colonial townhouse that had been bombed out in the war and India mentally ran through what he knew of the old rooms. The old 'guest' bedrooms were probably too sentimental- or too useful, with their modern appliances, to be converted. The cellar that was closed was almost certainly the old kitchen/ bombshelter. The drawing room had been changed to the new kitchen.
Suddenly a brainwave hit him, a change unaccounted for, and easily overlooked. Quick as he could he rushed to the till- and was then left bouncing on his heels as he was stuck behind an old lady paying for a months groceries in change, perhaps out of spite. When he was finally served he immediately ran back to the house, long legs sending him flying up through the driveway, dumping the shopping none to gently at the bottom of the stairs before running up them all the way to the master bedroom.
It was pandemonium. Feathers and cotton fluff floated in the air from the ripped up blankets and mattress- the bed frame itself had been taken apart and the floorboards underneath clumsily torn up. The desk and bookshelves had all been ransacked and disassembled, joining the books and the scraps of cloth on the small floor of the room- although the computer monitor was untouched, set aside with incongruous gentleness at the side of the computer itself however, was in bits- one side torn open to expose a mess of wires and innards, although it at least seemed to have been spared the battering the desk had endured. One of the walls even had a hole in it, exposing the tattered insulation inside of it- bits floating all around. Vaguely, India thought it was a good thing none of them were human, as the age of the house meant the insulation was almost certainly asbestos.
And standing right in the middle of it all, looking completely unrepentant, were his two charges. Bengal, leaning a long, cast iron poker on one shoulder, gave him a big, unrepentant grin.
"I hope you realise I won't help you clean this up" India said by way of a reply.
She shrugged and gestured to a small pile of books and her feet. "Perhaps I could persuade you with the fruits of our labours?"
He smiled back at her and pulled out the tape measure. "Give me a minuet and then we'll see who has the treasure, sister."
It took a few minutes of measuring, and the best part of an hour of searching for the original plans of the house, before he could be certain.
"This room is much smaller than it should be-" he passed the plans to Bengal and then showed her his measurements. "There's nearly half a meter less space on this side than there should be." He grinned, victory swelling him up with confidence. "And I can't help but notice that this side of the room is untouched by your rampage" he said lightly.
"A Notice-Me-Not spell" England breathed, casting furtive looks that might have been awe at India. India gave him his winning smile.
The wall in question stood unaffected by their searches- a single bookcase dominated it, filled with fiction books. India suspected none of them would be of any use- why hide materials on the bookcase rather than the secret room behind it? Still they removed them to be inspected later- deceptively difficult as all three felt their eyes automatically slip away from it every time they tried to focus. Once all the books were removed, they could see how- a large circle, filled with strange symbols was engraved- perhaps even burned, into the back of the case. Even sliced through by the shelves it was an imposing thing, stretching from the top of the bookcase near the ceiling all the way to the bottom. Even knowing next to nothing about magic, India felt he could say with certainty that this was some serious security. He took a picture and sent it to Norway though. Getting turned into a toad or burned to a crisp because he jumped in without looking not featuring high on his priorities.
Meanwhile, he had dinner to make.
Norway's reply arrived mid-way through. No traps, just blood warded. Get England to try and open it. India smiled and texted a quick Thankyou back.
The latch to the secret door took far less time to find than India expected. He wondered if England had though that no one would defeat the blood ward/Notice-Me-Not spell or if he simply didn't want to fiddle with complex mechanisms. Either way, it took less than a minuet for little Arthur to find the catch and pull the door open to reveal the secret compartment.
Jackpot.
The lab had clearly once been a bathroom- the toilet and sink had been ripped out, and the bathroom cabinets had been repurposed as bookshelves and cabinets for ingredients. An old bathtub was still compressed into one corner, warring with the books and bottles of strange pickled things and powders possessing all other spaces. It looked almost forlorn, a lone survivor of a massacre.
But that wasn't what made India grab Arthurs arm to keep him out.
An array dominated the floor. Spanning from the back wall to the door, it was not circular like the others, but an eight pointed star. It contained two circles full of symbols and each of the four long star points contained what looked like a crest or sigil. India was willing to bet that the four would match up to the points on a compass. But what disturbed India the most was its composition. It was dark red and had an unnatural liquid sheen. It looked almost fresh, and despite England not having been in here for days, India was certain it was blood.
They had to proceed with caution. Telling his wards to stand back, India opened his phone and started to take pictures of the array. He carefully tiptoed around the sides, taking care not to disturb the sticky substance. He moved slowly, forensically, taking picture from every angle- along with close ups of as many of the symbols in the central circles as he could. Two silver lines of powder passed through the 'east' and 'west' points of the star. Even from the door, Arthur recognised it as cold iron- India asked how the boy knew.
" 'Cause it's obvious. Duh." he replied.
India asked if there was anything else he recognised- there wasn't. Apparently 'all that maths' in English magic was one of those things that had turned up in the last 700 years, like electric doors and hygiene.
As carefully as possible India removed the books and ingredients without disturbing the array. It was slow going, with only room for one to pass them out from the room. Disturbing to- the empty fist sized bottle labeled Pig and Nat. blood mix 150: 1 being only unusual in the collection of pickled plants and bits of animal. By the end it was late evening, and the sun had set- time for bed. He sighed.
"Let's take a look at the books in the morning, I think it's time for bed now"
"No!"
"I want to make a phone call!"
He stared at his charges- they looked worse than he did, barely holding themselves upright from tiredness. But neither looked willing to back down. He decided to pick his battles- Bengal was an adult, if she wanted to be completely knackered, he didn't have the energy to stop her. Arthur by contrast had collapsed not 6 hours ago- he herded Arthur off to bed. He did quite well to, only picking up a single bruise in the process. Afterwards it was a relief that Bengal understood how to work the phone easily enough and allow him to crawl of to bed.
But he took a single notebook with him. For the team.
yay! plot! now we're back on track I want to thank Queendom of Crows for their wonderfull comment! It makes me feel so hapy to think that my story has bought some new things to the table and been enjoyed, so thankyou.