The Scepter of Fire

CHAPTER SEVEN

Oliver, Ralph, and Hazel hurried after the boy, following his tracks as he ran through the streets of Florence. Oliver couldn’t quite believe they were in the time of Galileo. He had met so many of his heroes while traveling through time, it was kind of mind-blowing. If someone had told him back when he’d read his inventors book cover to cover that he would one day be meeting some of the people inside it, he would never have believed them!

Up ahead, a row of beige-painted, terraced buildings came into view. They were between four and six stories high, with each floor having a series of small, neat square windows. The terrace looked to Oliver like a row of townhouses, but the boy they’d been following hurried in through the carved wooden door of a four-story building. And as they drew closer, there, carved into the stone plaque beside the big, tall door, were the words Accademia delle Arti del Disegno.

“It’s much smaller than I expected,” Ralph commented.

Hazel ran her fingers over the grooved letters, as if trying to absorb some of its history. “You know our friend Michelangelo studied here, too?” she commented.

“Friend?” Ralph joked. “I don’t think meeting someone once makes them a friend.”

“He helped us save Esther’s life,” Hazel replied with a displeased frown. “That definitely doesn’t make him a foe!”

“Guys,” Oliver interrupted. “Now’s not the time to squabble. Come on, let’s get inside.”

He pushed on the large oak door, and it creaked open. Oliver felt like he was intruding on somewhere secret. It was a feeling that often overcame him when he poked around in the past. It was hard to truly accept that as a seer on a mission, the universe condoned his being in this time and place. He was always expecting some stern teacher to jump out and tell him to go away.

The Accademia delle Arti del Disegno was rather chilly inside, thanks in part to the marble floor and small windows that let in very little of the warm sun. The dark vibe was only emphasized by the lacquered wood paneling that went halfway up the walls, and a series of similarly varnished joists running across the width of the ceiling above them. Imposing stone statues stood at intervals along the length of the corridor, completing the grand, foreboding atmosphere.

As the children paced inside, their footsteps echoed. Oliver looked down the corridor, left, then right.

“There he is!” he cried as he saw the boy disappear in through a door.

They hurried after him and went in through the same door.

They were now in a large lecture theater that reminded Oliver, painfully, of Doctor Ziblatt’s classroom. It had the same horseshoe of benches and a stage in the middle, but instead of everything being white, shiny, and modern, the theater was made of wood. Instead of a big projector screen, there was a blackboard upon which was scrawled writing in white chalk that read: The art of perspective is of such a nature as to make what is flat appear in relief and what is in relief flat.

With a sudden sparking sensation, Oliver realized he recognized the quote. He felt a strange stirring in his mind as if cogs were turning. Then he worked out how he knew the quote. It was one of Leonardo da Vinci’s. And Oliver had not recalled the memory of it from a textbook or an overheard conversation, but had drawn it from his very own mind. That stirring sensation was his brain accessing Leonardo da Vinci’s knowledge, knowledge he’d implanted into Oliver’s mind during their last mission in Italy.

The shock was all-consuming. In the chaos of saving Esther and jumping through the portal, Oliver had all but forgotten about Leonardo’s implanted memories. Not only did he have Mistress Moretti’s immense seer powers and intelligence lying dormant in the gray matter of his mind, but he also possessed none other than Leonardo da Vinci’s! And just as Moretti’s language skills had suddenly appeared when he’d needed them, so too, it seemed, Leonardo’s knowledge was presenting itself to him. He wondered what other skills he may have acquired, the circumstances needed to access them, and the situation within which they may need to be utilized. Speaking Italian would certainly stand them in good stead for the rest of their time in Italy.

Oliver brought his attention back to the young Galileo, who was standing on the stage ahead of him. He looked to be in his early twenties, Oliver thought. Surely then, this was before he’d made many—indeed, any—of his great discoveries. Recalling the chapter in his favorite book of inventors, Oliver thought about how Galileo had been in his forties when he’d worked on the law of falling bodies and parabolic trajectories, and studied mechanics, motion, the pendulum, and other mathematical formulas. He’d been in his fifties when he’d made his great astronomical discoveries—mountains on the moon, the moons of Jupiter—and challenged the long-held belief that the earth was at the center of the universe, a belief that saw him condemned by the church.

Oliver sifted through his memories, trying to work out what the young Galileo had been working on in his twenties. It must have been his lost era, when he’d left the University of Pisa without graduating, having flip-flopped between studying medicine, mathematics, and philosophy. He wondered why Professor Amethyst would have sent them to meet Galileo at a point in history when he’d not yet discovered anything of worth.

Oliver, Ralph, and Hazel slipped into the back row of seats. As Galileo began to conduct his lecture, Ralph leaned in to Oliver.

“I don’t understand a word he’s saying.”

“It’s in Italian,” Oliver whispered back.

Ralph folded his arms. Hazel pouted.

“No fair,” she said. “I’d love to know what he’s saying. Can you translate?”

But Oliver shushed her. “I can’t translate if I can’t actually hear what he’s saying, can I?”

Hazel frowned and slunk down in her seat, adopting the same folded arm pose as Ralph. Oliver felt bad that they were going to have to sit through an hour of what was sure to be an extremely fascinating lecture without understanding a single word of it.

“As we can see here,” Galileo was saying, pointing to a painting that depicted a woman in a blue and red dress holding a little creature, “the figure has been positioned diagonally within the space, her head turned to her left shoulder, which is closest to the viewer. Thus the back of her head and right shoulder have been deeply shaded. Meanwhile, her right hand, resting here upon the ermine’s flank, and indeed, the ermine itself, as well as her nose, face, and left shoulder, have all been lightened. Thus, the artist has given the impression of the light diffusing. This gives us an understanding of distance, of position in relation to light.”

Lady with an Ermine, Oliver thought, the name of the painting suddenly popping into his head from nowhere.

Hazel leaned in closer to Oliver. “That’s one of da Vinci’s paintings,” she said.

Of course.

Again, the memory was being pulled from the ones da Vinci had instilled inside his mind. But this time, the memory felt more visceral, as though it brought with it not just information but feeling. A pang of melancholy throbbed in Oliver’s chest as it dawned on him that, in this timeline, the man whose knowledge, memories, and emotions he now carried was deceased. And even though Oliver knew all time existed at once, that it was not linear, it still made him sad to think that at this point in history, the brilliant Leonardo was gone. That his awesome mind lived on only inside of the recesses of Oliver’s.

A hand on his brought Oliver back to the moment. He looked over and saw Hazel’s earnest gray eyes.

“Are you worrying about Esther?” she whispered, her tone gentle.

Oliver let out a sad chuckle. “I am now.”

“Oops, sorry,” Hazel replied, realizing her mistake. She frowned. “What were you thinking about then, if not her? You looked utterly miserable.”

Oliver twisted his lips. He didn’t want to burden Hazel, but he also knew it would only harm him in the long run if he kept his secret in.

“Da Vinci,” he whispered, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the focused students sitting all around them. “I can feel him.” He tapped his head. “Up here.”

Hazel’s eyes widened. “You mean his knowledge?”

“His knowledge. His memories.” Oliver moved his hand so the fingers rested over his heart. “His feelings.”

“Goodness,” Hazel replied, looking shocked.

Just then, Ralph leaned over. “What are you whispering about?” he asked, his voice far louder than the others’ had been.

Several students sitting on the bench ahead of them turned around with angry glares and their fingers to their lips. “Shh!”

Ralph went red with embarrassment and sunk into his seat. He folded his arms, looking miffed at having been kept out of the secret.

The three friends remained throughout the entire lecture. Hazel spent the whole time sitting straight-backed and eager. Ralph, on the other hand, seemed bored out of his mind. At one point, he almost seemed to doze off.

But Oliver himself was filled with a mixture of sensations. Memories and feelings that belonged to Leonardo were being tugged up through him as Galileo discussed his theories of perspective in art throughout the class. It was peculiar, to say the least, and Oliver was relieved when the lecture was finally over.

As the students filed out, the children headed the opposite direction, going down the steps and approaching Galileo.

“Excuse me,” Oliver said, finding the Italian language roll effortlessly off his tongue. “Mr. Galilei?”

“You’re a bit young to be in my class, aren’t you?” Galileo said, looking him up and down.

“We’re not in your class,” Oliver told him. “We’re seers.”

He decided to lay it all out on the table. Professor Amethyst had sent them to this time and place for a reason, and every great inventor they’d met during prior missions had turned out to either be a seer or know about seers. There was little point beating about the bush.

He saw a flicker of recognition in the young man’s eyes. But Galileo played dumb.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, collecting up his papers.

“I think you do,” Oliver pressed. “We were sent to Florence. By Professor Amethyst. Perhaps you know him? He runs the School for Seers. We’re on a mission to find the Scepter of Fire. Have you heard of it, by any chance?”

By the way Galileo was now shoving papers into his satchel, Oliver could tell that he did, indeed, know something. Something he, for reasons unknown, was not comfortable discussing.

“I’ve never heard of it,” he claimed, no longer meeting Oliver’s eyes.

Oliver strongly suspected that Galileo was lying, though he didn’t know why. Perhaps he wasn’t a seer. But there was certainly something unusual about him.

Oliver decided to be bold. “We’re from the future,” he said.

“Oh really?” Galileo said. He stopped what he was doing. “Then tell me something that’s not yet been discovered to prove it.”

Oliver hesitated. He knew how finely balanced everything was. How cautious they had to be in order not to upset things. How one small misstep could cause a catastrophic reaction.

“I can’t,” he said.

“Hah,” Galileo replied. “Just as I thought. You’re lying.”

“We’re not,” Oliver said. “Challenge me to something else. Something only Leonardo da Vinci would know.”

Hazel tugged at his elbow. “Oliver, what are you doing?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” Oliver told her, speaking out the side of his mouth.

“Okay then,” Galileo said, tapping his chin ponderously. “The Duke of Valentinois commissioned da Vinci to draw a map of the town of Imola. In what year?”

Oliver searched in his mind for da Vinci’s memories. “1502,” he said.

Galileo frowned. “A lucky guess.”

“Ask me another,” Oliver challenged. “And I’ll prove it wasn’t a guess.”

“Okay,” Galileo said. “Perhaps a question related to geometry. Tell me about the five terms of mathematicians.” He smiled smugly, as though he believed there was absolutely no way Oliver would be able to answer correctly.

Once again, Oliver tapped into the part of his mind that had been bestowed to him by da Vinci. “The point, the line, the angle, the superficies, and the solid.”

Galileo looked stunned, but also impressed. “And what is unique about the point?”

“Why,” Oliver said, “it has neither height, breadth, length, nor depth, whence it is to be regarded as indivisible and as having no dimensions in space.”

He was directly quoting da Vinci now, pulling forth the inventor’s very words from the recesses of his mind. Hazel looked utterly stunned. Ralph, on the other hand, seemed to be finding it a little disconcerting that Oliver had access to such knowledge, and that he seemed able to draw it out of himself at a moment’s notice.

But that was beside the point, Oliver thought. He looked at Galileo to see if the man had been convinced. He certainly seemed to be pondering the three children.

Finally, Galileo looked intently at Oliver. “And why did you say you’d come here to see me?”

“We’re seers,” Oliver said. “From the future. We believe you can help us find something called the Scepter of Fire.”

Galileo paused for a moment, his eyebrows drawn inward. “Perhaps you ought to come with me,” he said.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Professor Amethyst stood in the shaking school. It had been evacuated fully, and now only he was left. But he could not just flee. The sixth dimension was full of scrolls and textbooks, artifacts and weapons. Before he could leave, he had to secure the room and lock it all safely away. If any of the seer technology fell into the wrong hands, it could mean the end of the world.

There was, however, one very large snag. Professor Amethyst had exhausted almost all his powers. From creating the wormhole in the kapoc tree to evacuate his staff and students and the second portal for Oliver Blue and his friends, to then projecting his voice through the vortexes of time and diverging the two paths, the old man had drained himself. And because of the violent tremors of the school as it went through the process of collapsing in on itself, the elevator—supersonic, just as he’d invented it to be—was broken. Professor Amethyst, who was accustomed to being whooshed through all fifty floors in a matter of seconds, would have to take the stairs. He’d have to climb fifty floors to reach the sixth dimension. He had no idea how his frail, ancient knees would handle such an undertaking. But there was no other choice. He had to make sure none of the weapons or inventions were ever released into the world.

He began his ascent. But he’d only made it to the first floor landing when he heard an awful noise come from the foyer below him.

Hurrying to the balcony, Professor Amethyst glanced over and down to the central atrium below. Many of the kapoc’s branches had already broken, as had the walkways they’d previously held up, and the debris lay scattered all over the ground. But there, between the chunks of plaster and concrete and the thick wooden branches, Professor Amethyst saw a glowing, flickering light.

“A portal,” he said aloud.

He knew what that meant. There were only a few seers in existence with such powers, and only one he could think of who’d want to breach the school.

Sure enough, the large portal widened and widened until it was big enough for a stream of students to file out. They were all wearing the recognizable black uniform of Mistress Obsidian’s School for Seers.

Professor Amethyst narrowed his eyes with anger. Magdalena Obsidian had, many years earlier, been his brightest student. Her mind had been powerful and boundless. A mind to rival his own. An intelligence matched only by Newton. By da Vinci. By Oliver Blue. He’d wanted to challenge the young seer, but the missions he’d sent her on caused her mind to balloon. She’d wanted more knowledge, more access, more artifacts, and she’d wanted to take all the knowledge of the future and apply it to the past.

At first, her quest was admirable; use the foresight of the future to spare humankind of the mistakes of the past. Indeed, almost every young seer Professor Amethyst taught had asked the same thing. “Why can’t we change the past?” But where most young seers accepted that a seer’s duty was to follow the guidance of the universe, to mend the cracks and fissures in the order of things, Magdalena Obsidian refused to accept it. In her idealized mind, such events should be rewritten, whether the universe had chosen it or not.

“The task of a seer is to keep the world on the path of least destruction,” Professor Amethyst recalled telling her once in his office, as they’d sat by the fireplace, she just a young girl of twelve. “We cannot erase Hitler, but we can stop him from obtaining a nuclear bomb. We cannot stop the great world wars, but we can minimize their casualties.”

But the girl had refuted his claims. She’d refused to follow his teachings, refused to accept a seer should not divert the course of history entirely. And once she’d discovered that she was a cobalt seer and began reading up on all the cobalt greats, well, her mind darkened. Finally, she chose her devastating path, went rogue, and started her own “school,” finding seer children before Professor Amethyst was able to and corrupting their impressionable minds.

He’d had no choice but to put a protection spell around the school that banned her from ever entering. Not that such a thing would stop Magdalena Obsidian. Now, she just sent children to do her bidding, or manipulated the laws of the dimensions for her own means. He knew what she’d done with Edmund. She’d twisted his mind by projecting herself through the dimensions, something extremely dangerous that he’d only ever done one time, out of desperation, in order to tell Oliver he needed to find the Scepter of Fire. He knew, too, that she sent her little army of students through time, that she’d even summoned the dark army. She never got her hands dirty herself. Professor Amethyst had mused away many an hour wondering why. He’d come to the conclusion that she knew if she ever looked her old mentor in the eye again, she’d have to confront the reality of her situation. That she was wrong. That she’d gone rogue. That she’d left nothing but destruction and chaos in her wake.

Suddenly, Professor Amethyst heard the clattering footsteps of the Obsidian children as they began to race up the steps toward him. He doubled his efforts to ascend. But he felt his knees creaking. His bones and muscles weren’t strong enough for this. He was thousands of years old, after all. There was only so much the seer body could take.

He would have to fight them.

The last thing Professor Amethyst wanted was to fight children, especially the ones who’d been brainwashed by Magdalena Obsidian. But on the other hand, every minute the Obsidian students spent in the School for Seers was another moment they weren’t pursuing Oliver or Esther on their quests to locate the Scepter of Fire. Perhaps he could buy the two teams some time by causing a distraction.

Just then, he heard footsteps reach the landing behind him. He twirled on the spot. Four children were facing him; a girl with ginger plaits, a second with black hair and nails, a pale boy with bony cheekbones and a long, thin, shrew-like nose, and a final boy, heavyset with broad shoulders like a quarterback, and the most disconcertingly coal black eyes.

“Ah,” Professor Amethyst said, jovially, to the four. “Welcome. Are you prospective students? I’m afraid the school is undergoing something of a transformation at the moment. It’s zapping out of time. So it’s unlikely I’ll be unable to take on any new students until the old shakeroos are resolved.”

The four children looked at one another, confused, their expressions vile and conceited. Professor Amethyst felt only pity for them, for failing to find them before Magdalena Obsidian, and for the inflated egos she’d given them.

“What are you yammering on about, old man?” the large boy said.

The darker one turned to him and sneered. In a nasty voice, he said, “Don’t you know who that is? That’s Professor Amethyst.”

The headmaster continued with his distraction tactics. He put a hand on his chest. “Oh! Am I famous?”

But the children had lost their patience. They glared at him, teeth bared like feral creatures, and began to advance.

Professor Amethyst felt a lump form in his throat. It was time to fight.