Chapter Eighteen
Hafgan's Servant
The man on the other side of the room was looking intently at the painting. As Ethan gazed across the room, he realized the man's robes shimmered in ever-changing hues. The man held a palette in his left hand.
"What are you doing here?" he blurted out, unable to contain his confusion. "It shouldn't...it can't be you...Tiverton."
Tim's face had gone white as a sheet, though it was hard to tell whether this was due more to pain or fear.
Roscoe Skryme turned towards the boys and set down the palette.
"Ethan, do come in," the painting professor said with a small smile. "I wondered how long it would take you to arrive. As it happens, you're just in time. And Mr. Van der Meulen, tagging along as usual. I suppose I should have expected that."
"But...Tiverton," Ethan stumbled over the words. "It was...he's trying to steal the..."
"Tiverton trying to steal the talisman?" Skryme continued, his grin widening. "What a rich thought! Tiverton's been trying to protect the talisman, my dear boy. Says he owes it to Flyte for letting him come back after his European misadventure."
"But he tried to bully you into helping him answer the riddle," Ethan insisted, still disbelieving.
"Ah, you did hear our little exchange, excellent," Skryme said, his eyes alight. "I saw you heading up to the owl roost and I hoped you might hear Terence playing bad cop with me. By then he was onto me. Even a Sasquatch loose on the grounds didn't keep him from shadowing me. After Halloween he rarely let me out of his sight, even when his own house was playing Quidditch."
"But he tried to get past the Sphinx that day," Ethan objected. "And he nearly killed me."
"No, Ethan, no, I nearly killed you, after the Sasquatch had failed to do so," Skryme said in an icy voice Ethan had never heard him use before. "Although as things turned out, it was just as well that Tiverton managed to vaporize that statue before it crushed you."
"Tiverton...saved...me?" Ethan repeated, dumbfounded.
"Yes, you're lucky, you're much more valuable alive--for now"
"Valuable? Why?" Ethan asked.
"No need to be hasty, boy," Skryme replied. "All will be revealed soon enough. First, however, I need to deal with Mr. Van der Meulen."
The shock of finding Skryme in this subterranean chamber had driven all thought of Tim from Ethan's mind. He turned to find his friend leaning against the wall, pale and trembling.
"I think he broke his leg back there," Ethan said to Skryme. "Can you help him?"
"Help him?" Skryme laughed. "Perhaps in good time. I'm afraid he's in the way just now."
Skryme raised his wand towards Tim and muttered an incantation. Heavy ropes appeared out of mid air and wrapped themselves around Ethan's friend. Tim lost his balance, tumbled awkwardly to the floor and lay still.
Before Ethan could move a muscle, Skryme repeated the spell. Ethan found his arms bound firmly, though his legs remained free.
Skryme turned his back to Ethan and gazed at the painting.
"The talisman is here in my own painting," he muttered. "Just the sort of thing Flyte would do. Now how do I get it out? If it was a portrait I'd make quick work of it, but I can't Crucio a pine tree."
With a start, Ethan understood.
"It was you! You tortured Tim through his portrait!"
"Yes, you really should better care of your work, Ethan," Skryme answered without looking away from the painting. "You have real talent, but you don't understand the true power of art. You did a fine job with Van der Meulen, even so. His portrait would tell us nothing. Finally, its consciousness splintered irretrievably. I've never seen that happen before."
Ethan's mind was reeling. But he realized he was keeping Skryme from concentrating. If he could just divide the art teacher's attention, maybe help would come in time.
"But Tiverton's seemed to hate me from the day I arrived."
"Oh yes, he does!" said Skryme carelessly. "He's loathed your father since their school days and he sees your father in you. But he doesn't want to kill you."
"But today after exams, I overheard you...he was threatening you, wasn't he?"
Skryme's visage darkened for a moment.
"You must understand, my master is a great wizard, maybe even greater than the Dark Lord himself. He it was who recognized, as I had, the true power of artistic expression. He saw that my gifts could be turned to his high purpose. But I am weak and do not always find it easy to carry out his commands. He does not tolerate delays..."
Skryme shivered and pointed his wand at the painting.
"Reveal your secrets!" he shouted. Nothing happened. "I don't understand! This is my painting, I should see the talisman!"
Ethan searched the expanse of the canvas, wondering whether he could see what Skryme could not. As he did so, someone else spoke.
"Use the gift that has strayed into your path! Use the boy!"
Ethan looked around, startled. There was no one else in the room.
Skryme turned to Ethan.
"Come here, Lloyd!"
Still bound around the arms, Ethan walked toward Skryme.
"Tell me what you see," Skryme demanded. "Where is the talisman?"
"How should I know?" Ethan answered, not knowing the source of his defiance. "It's your painting. I don't see anything but the Woods."
"Curse you and Cyrus Flyte!" Skryme exclaimed.
The other voice sounded again. Ethan was now sure it came from the mirror to his left.
"He can find it, Skryme. Let me speak to him, face to face."
"Look into the mirror, boy!" Skryme said.
Ethan did so unwillingly. He knew what he expected to see: the tall, cloaked figure of Hafgan and his penetrating crimson eyes.
What he actually saw surprised and confused him. This wizard hardly looked evil; in fact, he looked familiar. He was tall and broad-shouldered, blonde hair neatly combed. His eyes are as green as Tim's, Ethan thought. Or Dad's. And that pointed chin..But that can't be. With a start, Ethan realized that Hafgan looked like a neater, tidier version of Griffin Lloyd.
"Ethan Lloyd," the man in the mirror said. "You see, Hafgan is not as you imagined him. Indeed, there may be many things you misunderstand. And there is much we can learn from one another."
"What would I want to learn from you?" Ethan asked. "What do you want from me?"
"You see, there are already two things you'd like to learn from me," Hafgan said lightly. "My, but you do look uncomfortable. Skryme, dispose of those ropes, please."
Skryme obeyed instantly. With a wave of his wand, he made the ropes vanish. Ethan stretched, feeling the circulation returning to his arms.
"Now that's better, isn't it?" Hafgan said. "Now you must understand, Ethan, I have no desire to harm you. Simply do as I ask and Skryme will release you and your friend."
"I'll never help you!" Ethan shouted. "You're nothing more than a murderer and a thief!"
"Ethan, Ethan, it's a pity you misconstrue my purpose," Hafgan said quietly. "I understand, of course. You have been told that I am just like the Dark Lord. It is true that I have served him, but so have many others who are not evil themselves. Just as not all who have fought him are on the side of good."
"What do you mean?" Ethan asked skeptically.
"I know that for one as young as you, the world may appear to be black and white," Hafgan continued in a soothing tone. "But let me assure you, life is not so clear cut...for wizards or muggles."
"But you...you killed innocent people," Ethan protested. "And you tried to get Voldemort the most powerful weapon he could have."
"So you have been told, I know," Hafgan continued in a pained voice. "Believe me; I know what is like to be accused of horrendous crimes. And in truth, some of my followers did things that I regret."
"But...the weapon...Table Mountain," Ethan stammered. Doubt now filled his mind, even as tried to recall all that he had heard of Hafgan and the battle that had changed his parents' lives.
"But do you not see, Ethan?" Hafgan asked in a kindly voice. "The weapon that the Dark Lord wanted could overthrow him as well as serve him. And I do not now seek the same end that I did those many years ago. People change, Ethan, times change. You are young and you have so little experience in life...and in our world. And your parents...did they not purposely flee the world of magic? And so they do not know how matters have changed since our...encounter."
As Hafgan spoke, his words seemed eminently reasonable to Ethan. All he'd been taught about Voldemort, about the history behind Table Mountain and most of all about Hafgan now seemed unjust and illogical.
"Now I need your help, so that I can make amends. I need you to go into Skryme's painting and retrieve the talisman."
He could do as Hafgan asked, give him the talisman and with it he would vanquish Voldemort. How could he, an eleven-year old, know better what was right than this wise wizard who had been unjustly maligned all these years?
Hafgan seemed to sense Ethan wavering and pressed him.
"Believe me, Ethan, I know how confusing this year must have been for you," he said understandingly. "After all, you come from a family rich in magical powers. Your talents should have been nurtured from birth. Instead you've been deprived of your heritage until now."
"That's true, isn't it?" Ethan thought out loud.
"Yes, you do see," Hafgan continued eagerly. "But it's not too late. I can help you fulfill the promise within you. For Hafgan rewards his friends richly. Serve me and you will learn magic far beyond what they teach at this backwards school; you will be apprenticed to the greatest wizard this land has ever known. And when you reach the fullness of your powers, you shall rule a choice portion of our world, Ethan. Those foolish enough to cross you will rue the day they were born. We can see to that, you and I. They will die begging you for forgiveness, as so many have begged me!"
As quickly as Hafgan's voice had bewitched Ethan, these words broke the spell. Ethan felt as if he'd been jarred from a wonderful dream in which he'd become a wise, all-powerful wizard. Instead his mind now saw the Sturtevant family smiling out of Kenny's photograph and remembered that they'd died at the hands of the wizard before him. Waking was harsh, but Ethan now knew that the dream had been false.
"Cyrus Flyte is the greatest wizard this land has ever known!" he cried. "And I will never treat my enemies like that!"
Wordless rage overtook Hafgan for a moment. As Ethan watched, the dark wizard's face seemed to blur and then change. The sharp chin receded, the green eyes shifted to a red-flecked brown, the sandy hair turned raven-black and the nose became aquiline.
A moment earlier, Hafgan had appeared comfortingly like Ethan's father. With a gasp of recognition, Ethan realized that he knew this Hafgan as well: he was Malcolm Hastings, chatting idly on the Hoboken Limited; he was the red-eyed man who had sought Ethan in the vase of the present, the relentless pursuer of Spook Woods, and the tall wizard Ethan had seen atop Table Mountain in the vase of the past.
The dark wizard spoke again and now the soothing tone was replaced by a harsh voice, oozing with contempt.
"Foolish child! I offer you power and knowledge without limit. And you reject it, just as your parents did before you. At least they found refuge with their filthy muggle friends for a handful of years. You, on the other hand, will feel the wrath of Hafgan tonight!"
"Skryme, put him in!" Hafgan ordered. "What he'll not do willingly he shall do under duress."
"Yes, master," Skryme said. "If you are certain...it has been done so infrequently."
"I am confident that you will perform admirably," Hafgan replied. "Surely you do not doubt your abilities?"
"No, of course not," Skryme said with a deferential bow.
"Good! Proceed, then."
Ethan wondered exactly what his captors were discussing, sure that it boded no good. He thought about bolting for the door, but even if he could make it, he would never leave without Tim.
Skryme pointed his wand at Ethan and shouted, "Inserite Pictura!"
Ethan was used to seeing the trees and clouds move within paintings. But now he could feel the breeze on his face and hear the calls of night creatures far away. He felt himself being pulled closer and closer to the painting; the room around him was dissolving into a blur. Suddenly he felt his feet leave the ground. The woods loomed closer before him; for just a moment he had the weird sensation that he was standing on the picture frame. Then he pitched forward. The next second his feet hit solid ground, crunching on dry leaves. He shivered as his new surroundings came into focus. He was in the woods now, dwarfed by towering pines.
He could no longer see Hafgan, but he heard the voice within the mirror speak to him.
"Now, Mr. Lloyd, you must find the talisman and find it quickly! I know that you are capable of doing so. If you act swiftly, Hafgan may yet be lenient with you. If not, it will go ill with your friend and, in due time, with you!"
Ethan looked out into the room. He had never felt more helpless in his life. He was alone in Spook Woods or, more precisely, alone in Skryme's painting of the woods. He wondered exactly how realistically the art professor had managed to portray the real forest. How far could he go before he reached its boundaries? How many of the woodland creatures also dwelled within this canvas?
Somehow the Talisman had been placed within the painting as well, but apparently Skryme had not been the one who put it there. Why would he need me to get it? Ethan thought. If he can put me in here and get me out, why couldn't he just slip in himself, pick up the Talisman and be gone?
Maybe he wouldn't be able to get out himself, Ethan answered himself. Maybe you need someone else to get you out.
This thought worried Ethan. Even though he'd been made to enter the painting against his will, even though he had no idea how to get himself back out, only now did he truly feel trapped.
Ethan was fairly certain that Skryme would only let him back out if he'd found the Talisman. But where could it be in this wood? How could he possibly find it in the inky blackness that surrounded him? And if he found it deep in the woods, how would he find his way back here to the foreground of the painting?
"Don't waste time, Mr. Lloyd!" Skryme called from out in the room. "The longer you take, the more likely your mudblood friend will learn about the Cruciatus curse in person!"
"I'll do my best, please don't hurt him! I just don't know where to start," Ethan pleaded. He struggled to stifle a sense of panic as he began to look about for a likely place to hide a talisman.
He saw nothing nearby and decided to search further back in the woods. With no real hope of success, he lit his wand tip and moved back amongst the trees. Up into the branches and down to the underbrush he gazed, as the light of the room faded behind him.
Suddenly a howling cry in the distance froze him in his tracks. After his narrow escape in the real Spook Woods, Ethan was quite willing to believe all the stories he'd heard about them.
Silence returned. Ethan found sufficient courage to continue. A few steps further along, his foot caught on something. Ethan toppled over and found himself sprawled over a large tree root, face down in the leaf mold. His glasses nearly came off; his wand skittered across the leaves, tip still aglow.
"Oh-ho!" a voice said lightly somewhere in front of Ethan. "Why is a real boy wandering about this painting?"
Ethan straightened his glasses and saw right before him a tiny, white-haired man.
"Raven Man! What are you doing here?" Ethan asked in amazement, as he retrieved his wand.
"Well, a few months ago I was out one fine, dark evening when I saw something odd over there," Raven Man said, gesturing in the direction of the foreground. "A finely dressed wizard apparently painting on a very large canvas. Something about him bothered me, so I stood very still and watched him. He must have unwittingly included my image in his work. I decided it would be useful to move about his painting and continue my observations. When he cast his finishing spells, I allowed him to give my likeness the power of movement and consciousness."
"I didn't know you could do that," Ethan said. "How did you fool him like that?"
"Ah, it would have been difficult had he simply been painting a portrait," Raven Man told him. "But a landscape...that is tricky indeed. One never knows what creatures may have strayed into the artist's view without registering in his mind. And I am quite sure that your professor allowed a number of unsavory creatures of wood and marsh into his work."
"I think I heard one of them just now," Ethan said with a shiver.
"But, as I asked before, what are you doing in this painting?" Raven Man continued. "You are no painted image brought to life."
Ethan hardly knew where to start. And suddenly the whole story just burst out of him.
"Well, Professor Skryme...it turns out he's been plotting with Hafgan all year to steal the talisman that my parents brought back from Table Mountain way back before I was born. And we--my friends and I--were trying to stop Professor Tiverton from doing that, but we were wrong, it was Skryme. And Flyte somehow hid the talisman in Skryme's painting, but Skryme couldn't get it out. Hafgan thinks I can, I don't know why. And they've got my friend Tim--I think his leg's broken, but Hafgan's going to have Skryme torture him or worse. And I have no idea how to find the talisman...and the one thing in the world I'd give anything to stop is Hafgan getting it. I've seen what it can do and..."
Ethan's voice trailed off. As he'd spoken, the utter futility and foolishness of all his deductions, investigations and schemes hit him all at once. It had all been useless; worse than useless, really.
"And now my only choices are to find the talisman--not that I know how I'll do that in here--or let them hurt Tim," he choked as he said the words. "Or kill him."
"That is certainly much weight to sit on such young shoulders," Raven Man said gently, though Ethan could still see a twinkle in the old Jo-Ge-Oh's eyes.
"Alas, I cannot help with all of your dilemmas," Raven Man continued. "But I will say that sometimes one finds what one seeks simply by looking at one's own feet."
Ethan gave Raven Man a confused look, and then followed the tiny man's gaze down at the tree root that had tripped him.
Caught between two entwined roots was a round stone, dark but translucent. Carved across it was a lightning bolt; a runic inscription ran around the stone's circumference.
"Thanks!" Ethan exclaimed. "It looks like it has been there a long time."
Ethan reached out. As he touched the smooth edge of the stone, a light seemed to flicker within it. He grasped the edge of the stone that protruded from the tree roots and tugged on it. To his surprise, it slid free easily.
"Oh-ho!" said Raven Man. "There, one part of your puzzle is solved."
"But now how do I save Tim without giving them the talisman?" Ethan asked, his momentary feeling of relief swept away by the realization of the power he held in his hand.
"That remains to be seen," Raven Man observed. "I think you will not come to those choices inside this painting."
"I can't get out, I don't know how," Ethan said. "Only Skryme can do that."
"Have you never done magic without knowing how?" Raven Man asked him.
"Well, yes, but that was before I even knew I was a wizard," Ethan answered.
"And now that you do know, you must always learn the incantation and the proper wand movement, eh?" Raven Man said, his eyes twinkling in the dim light. "What do they teach at your school? I must have a talk with Cyrus Flyte one day!"
"You mean I can..."
Raven Man shrugged. "I do not know whether you can. I merely know that there are many kinds of magic in the world and not all require a spell book and a wand."
Ethan thought hard. Of course, he'd done some pretty powerful magic back before he'd owned a wand: he must have apparated back when he'd escaped from the bullies after school and somehow he'd even brought Pete with him. And there was the matter of the light falling at the baseball game.
But how could that help him now, when he didn't even know how he'd done those things in the first place.
With that, Raven Man turned and began to walk further into the woods.
"Wait, please!" Ethan pleaded. "Can't you stay with me a little longer?"
"I would, young one, if it would serve a purpose," Raven Man said. "But you must leave this painting and leave it soon. And I perceive that there is nothing more I can do to assist you. Go well, Ethan Lloyd!"
Raven Man disappeared into the deep woods. Ethan ran his fingers along the smooth stone talisman in his pocket and pondered his next move.
The only thing he could do, he decided, was to go back to the foreground of the painting and try his luck. As he headed towards the light that shone in from the room, he resolved not to simply give himself up.
He saw a large maple to his left near the front of the canvas. He crept behind the tree. He could see into the room from here while remaining hidden himself.
Skryme was pacing before the painting; Hafgan was silent. Ethan looked across the room. Tim, though still slumped against the wall, was conscious and no longer bound with ropes.
This gave Ethan a sliver of hope. How could he do as Raven Man suggested? Concentrate! He told himself, remembering Ang Hsu's meditation exercises. He tried to empty his mind of every thought save one--escape from the painting. At first, it seemed impossible. Thoughts and images raced through his head--Anne lying unconscious at the exit from the pendulum room, his mother weeping, the Table Mountain monster, the Sturtevant family photograph. But gradually he banished these visions and he felt strangely calm. One thought filled his mind, the wish--no, the need to escape the painted world in which he was trapped, to be back in the world of stone walls and torches, out in the circular room far below Kaaterskill Academy.
In his mind's eye, Ethan saw himself racing across that room, grabbing Tim and dashing up the hallway.
Don't get ahead of yourself! He thought, turning back to the need to get out of the painting.
Finally, with no warning, it happened. The woods around him blurred again. He was lifted off the ground. He was hurtling towards the surface of the painting. The cold night air rushed past him. He saw the frame pass below his feet and then he landed, breathless, on the cold stone floor.
He caught a glimpse of Skryme, who had a look of stunned disbelief on his face. He saw Tim trying to stand up over by the door.
Now for it! Ethan thought, the other vision of escape returning. If we can just get out the door before Skryme reacts.
"Don't let him escape!" Hafgan yelled from the mirror.
Ethan scrambled to his feet again and started towards the chamber entrance. But Skryme was too fast for him. From behind Ethan heard the painter yell "Impedimenta!" The spell hit Ethan square in the back. He immediately froze, unable to move his arms and legs. It was the strangest feeling Ethan had ever known. He felt as if he was watching himself from behind as he keeled over onto his face, hitting the stone floor hard. The impact seemed to reunite his mind and body; excruciating pain shot through his head as he tried to rise. But Skryme tackled him, knocking him back to the floor again.
"Give me the talisman, boy!" Skryme hissed, his hands groping for Ethan's neck.
"Never!" Ethan croaked, thrashing back and forth in a vain attempt to escape. He felt Skryme's left hand tightening its grip on Ethan's throat. He still struggled, but it was hopeless; he could hardly breathe. So this is how it ends, he thought as he began to lose consciousness. He seemed to be looking at the chamber entrance, but now it led to a passage of dazzling light.
Someone was yelling, far away.
"Skryme, you fool! I need him alive!"
A terrible scream was the last sensation Ethan knew before slipping into darkness.
Ethan felt the bright light once again bathing his face. He covered his face with his hands, then slowly opened his eyes.
He was no longer in the chamber below the school. The light on his face was the sun, shining in through large, open windows. He was in the most comfortable bed he'd ever slept in. Someone was standing next to him. Ethan realized he was missing his glasses, but squinting he could make out the angular face of Cyrus Flyte looking down at him with a bemused smile.
"Welcome to the Infirmary, Ethan!" Flyte said quietly. "A late greeting, to be sure, but I'm afraid you were in no state to receive it when you arrived."
Ethan looked at him dumbly for a moment. Then everything flooded back into his mind. "But, Professor! Skryme took the Talisman! He and Hafgan...I couldn't stop him!"
Flyte calmly handed Ethan his glasses.
"Don't excite yourself, my boy!" Flyte said, holding up a hand. "Skryme does not have the Talisman."
"But, sir, Hafgan is right here at Kaaterskill...in the mirror!"
"No, Hafgan was here at Kaaterskill," Flyte continued. "I know, I saw him myself. But you are a few days behind."
Ethan leaned up on his elbows and looked around the Infirmary. "How long have I been here? How are Tim and Anne?"
"You've been in Nurse Abernathy's care for nearly four days now. Mister Van der Meulen and Miss Findlay are fine, though I fear they've lost a good deal of sleep watching over you. I sent them off to rest not twenty minutes ago."
"But the Talisman, sir..."
"You may rest your mind on that, Mr. Lloyd. Professor Skryme did not get the Talisman. Neither did Hafgan. I was able to prevent that when I arrived in the chamber."
"Then it was you who got Skryme off of me."
"No, that was not me," Flyte said and the smile left his face. "I was too late to save him."
"What do you mean, save Skryme?" Ethan asked. "All year he's been plotting how to steal the Talisman for Hafgan."
"That is true," Flyte replied. "And yet, in his zeal to finish that mission, he nearly killed you. I thought for a moment he had succeeded. But his master wanted you alive, too, and Roscoe paid for that error with his life. Hafgan destroyed the self-portrait into which Professor Skryme had placed his essence, his very soul if you will, for safe keeping. I forced Hafgan to flee, but it was too late to do anything for Roscoe, the poor miscreant. He failed to understand that Hafgan shows no more mercy towards his servants than he does to his enemies."
"I don't understand, sir," Ethan said. "How could Skryme put his soul into a painting?"
"Roscoe Skryme was the most gifted painter of this century," the headmaster said. "This is one reason why I hired him. I believe he told you students at the start of fall term about the theories of Voldame and others on portraits?"
Ethan suddenly remembered his first day in the painting studio. "He did say that some thought that you could curse a person's portrait."
"Yes," Flyte said. "It seems that Roscoe managed to do exactly that--and quite a bit more. Your friend Mr. Van der Meulen suffered greatly as a result of that experiment."
"Yes!" Ethan exclaimed. "I found out that when Tim thought he was being tortured that night..."
"Professor Skryme and Hafgan were interrogating his portrait," Flyte said with a nod. "Apparently he also saw the possibility that a painting could be a repository for one's soul--that a painter could literally put his soul into art. Thus he thought to cheat death, for if his body were killed, his soul would be out of harm's way. It was careless of Roscoe to leave the portrait in Hafgan's grasp, although he may have had no choice."
Ethan took some time to fathom what Flyte had just told him.
"So you're telling me that Skryme is dead?" he asked. "And that Hafgan saved my life?"
"That would appear to be true," Flyte answered.
"But why?"
"I am not entirely certain," Flyte confessed. "And I probably should not speculate. Suffice it to say that there is something about you that he feels he needs."
"He tried to get me to go over to his side, sir," Ethan told Flyte. "And he didn't seem, or look, the way I'd imagined him."
"Ah, as to appearances, Ethan, there is no harm in telling you that Hafgan is a metamorphmagus."
"A what?"
"A metamorphmagus," Flyte repeated. "It's a rare gift among wizards--the ability to change appearance at will."
"But that's terrible!" Ethan exclaimed. "No wonder nobody could find him for 14 years. How can anyone ever catch up with him?"
"While it is true that Hafgan can appear as he wishes," the headmaster said calmly. "He cannot always maintain that appearance, as I believe you discovered when you declined to join him. His rage undid him."
"Professor, won't he try to get the Talisman some other way?"
"Certainly. That is why the Talisman has been destroyed."
"Destroyed?" Ethan repeated. "Why didn't you do that earlier?"
"Until now, I had always deemed it an unjustifiable risk to attempt the Talisman's destruction," Flyte answered. "I surmised--correctly as it turned out--that strong defenses had been placed around the Talisman by its creators. But I was able to overcome those challenges with the aid of Professor Hsu and Professor Tiverton."
"So it's gone," Ethan said. "But Hafgan's still out there."
"Yes and yes," said Flyte. "Hafgan remains at large, seeking power for himself and his master. So I expect that when he discovers that the Talisman no longer exists, he will try to create another one. But we have set him back considerably, for that process could take years."
"But..." Ethan began.
Flyte interrupted.
"Enough questions for one day! If I remain much longer, Nurse Abernathy will have me ejected for overstimulating her patient. I suggest that you relax and enjoy some of the gifts that have been sent by your admirers."
Ethan looked at the bedside table for the first time. It was laden with chocolates and other candies of all sorts, as well as cards and flowers.
"Admirers?" Ethan asked in amazement.
"Indeed," Flyte continued. "Your encounter with Professor Skryme is a secret known only to a select few, so of course the entire school is talking about it."
Ethan gaped at the goodies and finally reached for a box of Transfigured Toffees.
"I believe that Masters Marcus Gibson and Kyle Stuart attempted to deliver a small box of Dr. McGuffin's Longer-Lasting Indoor Fireworks for your entertainment," the headmaster added. "Apparently Nurse Abernathy felt it unwise to allow them in the Infirmary."
"Sir, can I ask one more thing?" Ethan said as he bit into a small Nimbus broomstick that changed into a chewy toffee in his mouth.
"Just one more, yes."
"How was I able to find the Talisman? I mean, Skryme couldn't find it in his own painting."
"I am glad you asked that," Flyte said. "Indeed, it was one of my finer bits of magic, although, I must confess, not entirely original. You see, the Talisman could only be retrieved by one who wanted to find it to prevent its use. Professor Skryme would never have been able to find it."
Ethan considered this explanation silently for a few moments. The headmaster rose to take his leave.
"Do get some rest, Ethan," he said seriously. "You have had a quite remarkable adventure and we are all anxious for you to be up and about soon. I have exchanged several messages with your parents via owl; it was all I could do to keep them from coming here at once. I did not think that wise. I assured them that we would give you the best care and deliver you safely to them via the train in a few days."
Ethan felt a sudden pang of guilt, for he had been so distracted by exams and the Talisman that he had not communicated with his parents for some weeks.
"Now I must go test some indoor fireworks," Flyte said with a smile. "Purely to determine their safety, of course."
Late that afternoon, Ethan awoke from a pleasant nap to the sound of Nurse Abernathy's scolding voice, just outside the Infirmary door.
"The headmaster wanted you both to rest!" she exclaimed reproachfully. "And Mr. Lloyd needs no more excitement, either!"
"But we did rest, honestly," Tim's voice floated in from the hall.
"And Professor Flyte sent us a note saying that Ethan had woken up," Anne said importantly. "And he said we should come see him."
Ethan reached for his glasses on the night stand and sat up.
"I'm awake! Please let them come in for a bit!"
Abernathy poked her head into the room and gave Ethan a look of deep disapproval.
"You would think I'm attending a social club, not an Infirmary!" she sighed. But she opened the door and waved Anne and Tim into the room.
The two of them practically bounded over to Ethan's bed. Tim beamed at him and shook his hand. Anne gave Ethan a quick hug, looking nearly as embarrassed as she had the day he'd returned from the Woods.
Abernathy retreated to the nurse's office at the far end of the Infirmary, muttering, "Twenty minutes, no more!"
Tim and Anne pulled up chairs alongside Ethan's bed.
"Well, have some chocolate!" Ethan urged them. "I couldn't possibly eat this all by myself!"
"So are you really all right?" Tim asked as he unwrapped a chocolate frog while looking at Ethan seriously.
"Well, I think so," Ethan replied. "I thought you'd be in worse shape than me."
"I've never felt pain like that," Tim said with a grimace. "Not even when they cursed my portrait! And I never want to again. I really thought the leg was a goner. But Abernathy had it back together in about a half hour once they got me in here."
"And what happened to you, Anne?"
"Well, I was only knocked out, you know," she said. "Nothing, really. When I came to, I really had no idea how long I'd been out. But just then along came Flyte and Bancroft. Flyte took one look at me and said, 'Ethan's gone after the Talisman, hasn't he?' I guess I nodded...I don't remember saying anything. And Flyte told Bancroft to get me to the Infirmary and off he went."
"Ethan, what happened to Skryme, anyway?" Tim asked, starting on some goat's milk fudge. "I was trying to stand up when you appeared, but I guess I fainted again from the effort."
"I don't really know," Ethan said slowly. He could say that truthfully, for he still didn't really understand Flyte's explanation. "And I'm not sure I want to know. Once I escaped from the painting, Hafgan was furious with him. The last thing I remember was Skryme trying to choke me. He'd stunned me already and I was about to faint. Just as I lost it, I think he screamed. I don't know any more."
Ethan looked down at his hands. He felt guilty about Skryme's death, though he knew this was completely irrational--after all, the art professor had betrayed his trust and tried to kill him. Ethan wasn't sure he'd ever want to pick up his brushes again.
Another unpleasant matter distracted Ethan's mind from painting.
"Flyte said Hafgan saved my life," he said aloud, but more to himself than to his friends.
"How's that?" Anne asked in disbelief. "Wasn't he trying to kill you?"
"Apparently not," Ethan continued. "Skryme nearly did...not the first time, as it turns out. And Hafgan stopped him from finishing me off. I think that's how Skryme..."
Ethan didn't finish the sentence.
"But why was Hafgan so keen to keep you alive?" Tim said.
Ethan was still too puzzled by Flyte's words to try to explain. Besides, another thought had occurred to him.
"First I find out that Tiverton saved my life," he told the others. "Yours, too, for that matter, Anne. He vaporized that statue himself."
"That must have been hard on him," Anne ventured. "Belonging to his house and all."
"Don't feel too sorry for him," Tim countered. "After all, he blamed it on you and that probably got Tenskwatawa the trophy."
"Now it turns out that Hafgan saved my life," Ethan continued. "I hope I don't owe them anything now. I mean Tiverton's bad enough, but now I've met Hafgan...he's evil right through, I think he might even be worse than You-Know-Who."
Anne tried to change the subject.
"Ethan, do you think Flyte knew all along what we were up to?" she asked. "Did he let you get to the chamber even though he knew Skryme would be there? Did he know Hafgan was here?"
Ethan looked thoughtful. But Tim spoke first.
"He better not have!" he said fervently. "Ethan came that close to dying down there. That's an awful idea."
But Ethan smiled just a bit and said, "I don't know. I think Flyte knows more about me--and you two as well--than we do ourselves. And he seems to have ways of knowing what's going on around Kaaterskill. I think he knew we'd seen the Sphinx and he knew I was Skryme's best student. He had to have known about the amulet and he made sure it got back to me. And after all, who started it all by bringing the talisman here? Maybe Flyte thought it was OK for me to help finish up my parents' business. And he just made sure I knew enough to get by."
"Well, he's crazier than I thought, then," Tim harrumphed, tossing Ethan some jelly slugs.
"Well, he may be a bit mad," Anne conceded. "But it is a good sort of madness! Listen, Ethan, you've got to be out of here by tomorrow night--it's the closing feast!"
"Oh, yeah," Tim said unenthusiastically. "Of course, Tenskwatawa won the Kaaterskill trophy again...we couldn't make up the points, especially since Tituba beat us at quidditch the day after it all happened. East's still not 100 percent and Abernathy wouldn't let me out either..."
"But still, it'll be the best food since the House Assignment," Anne continued, "And Ethan can't miss it!"
"He'll be missing a lot if he doesn't get his rest," Nurse Abernathy interrupted. "Now, you two, out! I've let you have nearly a half-hour."
Left alone again, Ethan fell asleep early and awoke late and refreshed. His appetite had returned; in fact, he felt as though he hadn't eaten in weeks.
For that reason alone, Ethan was eager to attend the closing feast.
"I will be able to go, won't I?" he asked Nurse Abernathy as she examined him after lunch. "I'm feeling just fine now."
"I daresay you think you do," the nurse replied. "In any case, the headmaster feels you should be allowed to attend. But don't blame me, I told him, if it proves too much for your constitution."
"Don't worry, I'll manage!" Ethan exclaimed fervently.
Abernathy did, however, keep Ethan in bed until nearly time for the feast. She gave him a final looking-over, and then released him to Kenny Sturtevant, who'd been sent to escort him down to the already-full Assembly Hall.
There, at the center of the faculty table stood the Kaaterskill Trophy, a gleaming silver cup nearly two feet high with its handles supported by silver unicorns.
The magical ceiling glowed with the light of a fine early summer evening. All around the room hung banners in green and yellow in recognition of Tenskwatawa's retention of the trophy for the seventh consecutive year. A huge banner with a green lizard rampant on a field of gold hung behind the faculty table.
As Kenny ushered Ethan over to the Bradbury table, it seemed the entire room had turned towards them. Fingers pointed their way, eyes stared; the room dissolved into excited chattering. Before Ethan could flop into a seat between Anne and Tim, he'd had his arm pumped vigorously by Cam Trumbull, Danny Dewin and several other upperclassmen he hardly knew.
Marcus and Kyle greeted him from across the table.
"Sorry you missed the fireworks, man!" Marcus said. "I guess you had plenty of excitement yourself, though."
"You could say that," Ethan said, a bit dazed by his reception. "Hey, thanks for getting Flyte and Bancroft down there. That really saved us in the end."
Peter overheard this and gave Marcus a nervous look.
"Well, thanks," Marcus said sheepishly. "But you see...Peter came back just like you wanted. Kenny and I were headed up to the owl roost when Flyte and Bancroft practically ran us over in the hall. Bancroft just ordered us back to the dorm and off they went. Didn't take any house points, though!"
At that, silence fell around the room, for Cyrus Flyte had risen to speak.
"Congratulations are in order," he said. "First, to all of you for another year well-spent absorbing knowledge in our hallowed halls. And I must say, I am happy to see how well you have finished up the term! Next, to those of you who have completed your education within these walls, go well and do not forget old Kaaterskill! We will follow your exploits with keen interest."
"Before we commence consuming what promises to be a fine feast, there is one more item of congratulations. I mean of course that we must recognize the house that has accumulated the most points with the Kaaterskill Trophy. I am informed that the standings are as follows: Bradbury House, 335 points; Harrison House, 365 points; Tituba House, 440 points; and Tenskwatawa House, 495 points."
At this the Tenskwatawas gave a great cheer, banging their silverware on their table enthusiastically. Ethan saw that Katrina Powles and Simon Brocklebank looked particularly pleased with themselves. At the Bradbury table, everyone looked exceedingly glum. Peter Powles had put his head down on the table.
Goody Cloyse was hovering over the table, an annoyed look on her face.
"Dear, I am disappointed with you, I must say," she told them reprovingly. "I believe you promised better last fall!"
At this Anne turned bright red and covered her face with her hands.
"Yes, well done, Tenskwatawa," Flyte continued. "Now as some of you undoubtedly recall, it is the custom for the house masters and the headmaster to award final points at the Closing Feast, lest any especially deserving deeds go unrewarded in our haste to depart for our holidays."
At this everyone quieted down, especially the first-years. At the table of the Prophet's house, even Katrina and Simon looked attentive, though still confident.
"I didn't know they could do that," Ethan said to Kenny.
"Oh, yeah, there are always a few last-minute awards," the proctor told him. "But it's not likely to change anything, unless a Tituba did something really great in the last few days."
"I have just one nomination from a house master, from Professor Crockett," Professor Flyte announced. At that Kenny raised an eyebrow and Ethan crossed his fingers.
"In accordance with his wishes, I award 30 points to Elanor Bernstead in recognition of her efficient policing of the Tituba common room this year as senior proctor."
Cheers went up from the Tituba table, quickly followed by more from the Tenskwatawa students, who had quickly calculated that Elanor's points still left them well ahead of the Sorcerers. The Bradburys looked downcast once again.
Flyte cleared his throat.
"I do have a few final awards of my own to conclude, taking recent events into account, so I beg your indulgence for a few more minutes."
Everyone got quiet at once.
"First to Miss Anne Findlay, for quick thinking and self-sacrifice in dire circumstances, I award fifty points."
The Bradburys finally had something to cheer about. Kenny reached over and thumped Anne on the back. She looked up for a moment, and then covered her eyes again, this time apparently trying to hide tears of joy.
The Harrisons now looked disgruntled, as they realized that Bradbury had crawled past them into third place.
"Secondly, to Mr. Timothy Van der Meulen, for taking the initiative when fortunes seemed bleak and placing loyalty to friends above his own well-being, I award fifty points."
Ethan cheered with the rest of the Bradburys. The sound made the room shake; even the Tenskwatawa banners seemed to be shaken by the reverberation.
"Well done, Mr. Van der Meulen!" Goody Cloyse said as she swooped down near his chair.
"Third to Ethan Lloyd--for exceptional daring, rare concentration and for finding the courage to do what no one else could, I award sixty points."
Bedlam ensued. The Bradburys cheered wildly. Those still calm enough to add realized that they had no pulled exactly even with Tenskwatawa; both houses had four-hundred ninety-five points.
"Couldn't he have given you sixty-one?" Marcus asked.
Flyte raised his hand once again. Silence gradually fell over the room.
"It takes courage to overcome unknown perils," he said. "And yet it takes an equal amount of bravery to face up to fears one has known throughout one's life. In recognition of his success in overcoming a familiar fear, I award ten points to Mr. Peter Powles."
Ethan was sure the explosion that arose from the Bradbury table could be heard in the muggle villages in the valley far below. He stood up with Tim, Anne and the rest to yell and applaud. Peter looked dazed as his house mates mobbed him; he hadn't won Bradbury a single point all year.
"And I believe that means," Flyte concluded over the din, as Tituba and Harrison joined in applauding Tenskwatawa's upset. "We need a change in our display."
He waved his right hand and the lizard behind him disappeared, replaced by a silver mountain lion on a burgundy banner. At the faculty table, Professor Bancroft beamed as he shook hands with Tiverton, who looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon. At the far end of the table, Ethan thought he saw Mr. Beadle grinning--the first time he'd noticed the Keeper smiling in public. Ethan looked away again. His eyes met Tiverton's glare for a moment and he knew that the transfiguration teacher's feelings towards him hadn't improved a bit. For some reason, this didn't bother Ethan. The next moment, he was distracted by Goody Cloyse doing figure-eights around the room in celebration.
Anne nudged Ethan and pointed at the Tenskwatawa table, where Brocklebank looked as if he'd just been made to drink a large dose of a very unpleasant medicine.
It was a magical evening. Ethan basked in the feeling until he could no longer keep his eyes open. And when he finally fell asleep, he replayed the scene in his dreams.
The next day at breakfast the Bradburys were still talking about their stunning reversal of fortune when Professor Bancroft handed each of them their grade reports. Ethan was happy to see that he'd passed with better grades than he'd expected. Tim of course had gotten top marks in all his classes. Anne had done all right, even scraping by in History of Magic.
Soon after breakfast, their trunks were packed, Bucky and Evangeline were in their cages and the wagons waited for them all at the main door. On the way out, Beadle handed each student a note forbidding them to use magic over the holidays.
As Ethan took his note, Beadle looked at him and said quietly, "Now, I know you're not one to take advice, Mr. Lloyd, but do take care not to get yourself into trouble away from school, eh?"
Ethan just nodded and went to get in his wagon. Soon they were rolling down to the Landing, where Kaaterskill lay ready to take them down river. Then Ethan, Anne and Tim were standing at the rail, watching the river towns pass by, then seeing the city skyline come into view as the steamboat headed for the Hoboken Terminal. There Anne took her leave, as she would be heading down east while the boys would be boarding the westbound Hoboken Limited.
"Be sure to write!" she urged the boys. "Your owls will find me, no problem!"
As the two boys made their way toward the Limited's platform, various others called their farewells.
"'Bye, Ethan!"
"Good summer, Lloyd!"
"Famous again," Tim said with a chuckle.
"Hey, see ya' Van der Meulen!"
"Yo, Tim! Keep in touch!"
"You, too," Ethan said, grinning back at him. "Enjoy it while you can...back home nobody'll know a thing about it."
They enjoyed a pleasant and thoroughly uneventful trip on the Limited, eating their fill in the diner, playing chess in the lounge and sleeping late in their berths. So late, in fact, that Ethan was left scrambling to get dressed and have breakfast before the train pulled into Chicago and halted at Platform 99Q.
Before making a hasty exit, Ethan shook hands with Tim.
"It was quite a year," he said. "I want to hear all about your summer."
"Yeah, not that it'll be all that exciting. Then again, I could do with a little less excitement for awhile!"
"You bet!"
And then Ethan was out on the platform. The next moment he'd spotted his father and his mother and then he was buried in a hug with both of them.
"It's been so long!" Diana said, looking him over appraisingly. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yeah, mom, I'm fine," he said.
"Looks like you've grown a foot," Griffin added. "So, you've survived your first year, eh?"
"Umm, yeah, Dad, I did!" he answered. "The classes weren't a problem. But the extracurricular activities almost got me!"
Their eyes met and all three of them burst out laughing, although Ethan thought his mother was simultaneously on the verge of tears.
"Well, let's get back home, then!" Griffin said, grabbing Ethan's trunk.
"I can't wait!" Ethan exclaimed. "I've never wanted a nice, quiet vacation more!"
With that, Diana picked up Bucky's cage and the three of them headed off through the magical barrier and back into the muggle world.
The End
Ethan's adventures at Kaaterskill continue in his second year, chronicled in Ethan Lloyd and the Phantom Ship.