The Adventurers of Moray: Book Two Chapter Two: Restaraunt

Restaurant

The aftermath of the sniper attack is only slightly more prolonged than the attack itself. Mandrake summons a sheet of glass to replace the broken one and puts it in place with a couple of slaps. The broken glass pieces are shoved into a trash bin and I am the one to carry it into the street.

Mandrake grins. “That damn bastard. The sniper was probably hired by the Darks to give us a scare.” He holds the bullet he caught between two fingers up to the light. “But I must say, using pure gold bullets sure stinks of petty overspending.”

As he says, the bullet is indeed made of gold.

“Well,” says Mandrake. “At least we know that the Darks have a good source of funding. But we could have guessed that, right?”

I nod. “Can I see the bullet?”

“Sure,” says Mandrake, dropping the solid gold nugget into my hand. It is a lot heavier than I thought it would be. Since it was caught perfectly between two fingers, it hasn’t been deformed much by impact.

“Can I keep this?” I ask.

Mandrake chuckles. “Sure. Though I don’t know what a kid who can easily buy as much gold as they desire would do with a tiny nugget like this. For me this is a lot but for you? No.” He pauses. “It would take some serious capital to buy enough of these to win in a sustained firefight. Plus, it’s just wasteful.”

I cup the gold bullet in my hand. It is warm.

Mandrake rummages through a bin and pulls out a sheet of metal.

“This is a prototype I’m working on,” he says. He hands it to me. “Since you’re the metals expert here, I was wondering what you’d think of it.”

I rub my thumb along the metal. “It’s fine,” I say. To tell the truth, I actually do not know as much about metal as Mandrake seems to think I do.

Though I have studied up a lot in my quest to find a way to teach those conjurers Crayton hired for me.

“Good,” says Mandrake. He takes the sheet and tacks it to the window with nails. Now the only light in the room is coming from a desk lamp. Mandrake sits in the recliner properly this time. He takes out a cigar and cuts it. After a thorough examination, he lights it with an antique lighter. After a single puff he lets it hang out of his fingers.

“I trust you have a strong conscience,” says Mandrake. “You were able to avoid causing trouble even with the huge amount of resources at your disposal.”

“Um, I’m not sure they’re so huge,” I say.

Mandrake takes another puff of his cigar. “Nonsense. You are the master of the entire contents of an S-class portal. Including the bosses. With that power you could conquer the world.”

I shake my head. “But I don’t want to.”

“Exactly,” says Mandrake. “However, your power makes you a sought-after figure. Everyone will want you to be on their side, and they will offer very tempting things in return.”

Besides reviving Alice, which I don’t think anyone would be able to do, I really don’t know what I want deep down inside. I just want to relax and enjoy life while I have it.

Mandrake stands up from the chair and walks to the kitchen. He is still holding his cigar.

“I was going to offer you something to eat,” he says, “But this safe house hasn’t been restocked in a while.” He opens the fridge. “All we have is a couple of microwave dinners.”

I shake my head, and then turn to Sebastian. “What’s the fanciest restaurant in London?”

Sebastian seems to think for a moment. Then he smiles. “A restaurant opened not too long ago that serves conjured meals. They recently gained their third Michelin Star.” He puts his finger to his temple. “I think it was called ‘Conjuratus.’”

I grin. “Great,” I say. “Let’s take Mandrake there.”

Mandrake walks out of the kitchen. “So, do you want something to eat or not?” He looks between me and Sebastian. “What?”

“We’re going to take you out to eat,” I say.

“Well then!” says Mandrake. “I hope it’s somewhere not too expensive!”

“We’re heading to Conjuratus,” I say.

Mandrake’s eyes open wide. “I would love to,” he says. “Are you sure you want to be spending that kind of money on me?”

“You’re a silverbones,” I say. “Don’t you have a lot of money anyways?”

Mandrake shakes his head. “No. As a matter of fact, I make just enough money to live on.”

I am confused. With his power, he could be doing anything, making a ton of money.

Mandrake tilts his head. “I see you’re confused. It’s just a personal creed of mine. I’m very against the idea of wealth.” He shrugs. “But I can’t refuse the kindness of others, either.” He smiles. “Let’s go!”

Sebastian leads Mandrake and I through the building until we reach the street. Our limo is already pulled up next to the sidewalk. Sebastian opens the doors for Mandrake and me. I get in first.

Mandrake sits down.

I open the mini fridge. “Do you like alcohol?” I ask.

Mandrake raises an eyebrow. “What’s a minor like you doing with vintage whiskeys?”

“There’s also brandies and gin,” says Sebastian, from the front seat.

“I’ll take the gin,” says Mandrake. He grabs a bottle of gin and pours himself a glass. Glancing at me, he smiles. “Well, I suppose you need something to drink as well.”

I open the hidden fridge and pull out a diet root beer, popping it open with a snap.

Mandrake chuckles. “Diet root beer. Good choice, lad.”

Sebastian sighs from the front seat. Yeah, yeah. Diet root beer isn’t exactly suited for a rich young prince like me. Appearances and all that. I take a guilty sip of the beverage and set it down on the table with high edges.

Mandrake watches the cars beside us, not saying a word. I am left wondering what he is thinking.

“You haven’t told me directly,” I say, “But what’s the purpose of the Silverbones?”

“Immortality,” says Mandrake. “Or, at least, the search for it.” He sighs. “Plus a lot of other things. Look, lad. Don’t worry about what we do before you’ve made a decision.”

“But it’s obvious what I want to do,” I say. “I’m no bad guy.”

“So they all say,” says Mandrake. “I’m not counting on your presence until after the Darks contact you. We’ll see how moral you are after you’re presented with their offer.”

We pull into the parking lot of Conjuratus. It’s a fancy building in the London suburbs that is decorated as one would expect a high-class restaurant to look.

Sebastian opens the door for me, and I step out. Mandrake follows.

Sebastian bows. “I will not be accompanying you this time,” he says. He hands me a card. “Here is the method of payment.”

It looks like a simple debit card. I shrug and put it in my pocket.

“That’s a British Express Platinum, my boy,” says Mandrake. He seems genuinely impressed.

I take the card back out of my pocket and examine it. It doesn’t look that special to me. Sure, it’s shiny and has good build, but I would expect that of any payment plastic. I place it back in my pocket.

Mandrake chuckles, and then turns to the entrance of the restaurant. “This will be the first time I’ve eaten high-class conjured food,” he says.

We both step in. I am dressed sharply—it’s been a habit of mine ever since I realized I could—and, of course, Mandrake is wearing a black suit and fedora. We are dressed for the establishment.

A waiter approaches us.

“Reservation for Mr. Red, correct?” he says.

I nod.

“Right this way, gentlemen,” says the waiter. He leads us to a rather private table near the back of the establishment. I can catch a glimpse of the kitchen from here.

We both sit down. The waiter hands us our menus.

I read through it and decide to try the Duck Flambe.

“So, what are you going to have?” I say, to Mandrake.

“Just a steak,” says Mandrake. “I’m not very used to establishments like this.”

“Neither am I,” I say. “But I suppose at chances like this I have to try something brave.”

“That’s a good way to think about it,” says Mandrake, as he puts his menu down. He folds his hands and rests his elbows on the table.

“I have to ask,” he says. “Do you know where your money is coming from?”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” I say. “I just accept the fact that the portal beings working for me aren’t causing too much trouble.”

“Hrm,” says Mandrake. “You also have your Rearden Metal, right?” he says.

I nod.

Mandrake crosses his arms. “It’s normal for any human who has absorbed a multi-thousand-year ring to manifest many special powers. Entrance to the Silverbones requires absorption of at least a five-thousand-year spirit,” he says. He taps his finger on the table. “I myself have acquired a twelve-thousand-year spirit. I was originally the owner of an organic compound manifestation. A certain polymer that doesn’t have an official name. I was assigned to be an adventurer because I could use the polymer to create shields.”

“So you’re a tank-class,” I say.

“Correct,” says Mandrake. “And I manifested a wide range of powers having to do with plastics and organic compounds. That metal sheet I showed you is actually an organometal.”

I whistle. “I should try making something like that.”

Mandrake chuckles. “I don’t doubt you could. Rearden Metal and my creation are in different classes, but both are strong.”

The waiter comes to the table and we order. After the waiter leaves, Mandrake folds his hands.

“So, you’re here in London for just another month, right?” Mandrake says.

I nod. “Just long enough to teach the conjurers Esmex hired to produce Rearden Metal.”

Mandrake sighs. “I don’t know if that will come to good or not, but it’s part of my personal creed to neve profit from what I can produce.”

I shake my head. “I don’t really want to profit,” I say. “I just want to be useful to the world.”

“Well, that’s noble of you,” says Mandrake, with a small smile.

The waiter arrives with our dinners.

“That was quick!” says Mandrake, as the food is placed on the table.

The waiter gives a professional smile. “All our food is conjured in its final form by our head chef.”

I look at the beautiful duck roast in front of me. As the waiter leaves, I take a bite, making sure to adhere to the English etiquette I was taught not long ago.

There is a loud screech and a crash. A car comes barreling through the front of the restaurant and smashes the wall, sending tables and dishes flying.

A couple seconds of silence pass. The car doors open and a gigantic, beefy man with Schwarzenegger-class muscles steps out. He is holding a chaingun.

“Get down!” yells Mandrake, as he tips the table in the direction of the attacker. He forms a semi-clear barrier of organic material between us and the gunman.

The gun opens fire, sounding less like individual bullets and more like the tearing of a cosmic sheet of paper. Screams are everywhere. Broken dishes and tracer rounds fly all over the place. One of the restaurant goers seems to be an adventurer and tries to fight back. Before he can take out his weapon, he is turned into a fine red mist.

“Damn Ronald,” says Mandrake, as he crouches behind the table and his shield.

“Is that his name?” I say, as I watch the restaurant explode.

Hundreds of bullets are pinging against Mandrake’s shield.

Mandrake’s face is deadly serious. “Yes. He’s not someone you want to mess with.” He pauses. “Not that anyone in the Darks is to begin with.”

The chain gun is still firing. I’m pretty sure that, by now, everyone in the room is dead. And yet the gun keeps firing.

Finally, the chain gun stops. All that is left is the sound of it spinning, and then that stops.

Ronald takes a couple of steps towards us, shells clinking beneath his feet. He stops in the middle of the room.

“Come out, come out!” he says, with a thick German accent. His eyes lock on us. He grins. “We need to borrow little Markus for a moment,” he says. “If you don’t turn him over,” Ronald holds up a bomb detonator, “I will put a hole in this street. Many people will die!”

“You’ve already killed enough,” says Mandrake. “Why do you want to kill more?”

“Kill?” says Ronald. “I do not kill. I stomp. I crush. I flatten.” He turns the chain gun towards us. It begins to spin again.

Mandrake whispers to me. “If he directs the gun against my shield, I won’t be able to hold long.” He cringes. “I’m going to have to let you go. They won’t kill you or torture you. You’re too valuable.”

I shake my head. “I have an idea.” I reach into my personal dimension and find the stone golem boss from the S-class portal. It’s still there. When I see it in my mind’s eye, it stands up from a sitting position and kneels before me.

“Master,” it says.

I snap my fingers.

A white portal appears on the restaurant floor, covering several broken tables and dead bodies. The golem begins to rise from the ground. First its head, then its shoulders. When it is at its waist, it tears a hole in the ceiling. With two gigantic steps, it walks out of the portal and tramps towards Ronald.

“You bastard!” yells Ronald, as the golem picks him up in both hands.

“Guns don’t work against portal beings,” I say, grinning slightly.

Of course, my grin falls when I see the dead bodies.

It returns for a split second when the golem throws Ronald like a professional baseball pitcher and sends the killer flying over the city skyline. Then the golem bows to me, returns to the portal, and sinks back into the floor.

“That won’t kill him,” says Mandrake. “It will barely scratch him.” He sighs. “Now they’re probably going to punish you at some point. And they won’t be attacking you alone anymore. If you try the golem trick on Blastoid, you’ll end up with a cloud of steam and a pile of broken rocks.” Mandrake wipes his forehead with a handkerchief.

Police sirens wail in the distance.

“Well,” says Mandrake, “After the theft at the National Gallery, the news will have a lot of things to report today.” He turns to the dozens of dead bodies covering the restaurant floor. “Namaste,” he says, holding his hands together.

“Rest in peace,” I say, holding my own hands together.

It looks like the war has just begun.

The Adventurers of Moray: Book Two Chapter One: Dark and Bright

Dark and Bright

A month after my arrival in London for the CCC, I am about to bury my face in the sand and scream. The conjurers Crayton hired to produce Rearden Metal are nowhere near adhering to the schedule set before me. At this rate, two months will be nowhere near enough time to teach them how to create a single-crystal superalloy.

I am sitting on a couch in the lobby of the Esmex building. The people passing by me, wearing well-fitted business suits, give me a sense of peace that I like to enjoy. Soon my eyes close and I am asleep.

I stand in the middle of a labyrinth. The echoes of a girl crying reverberate through the empty halls. Strange, oscillating art pieces climb around on the walls. The walls themselves are made of wood, concrete, fence, steel wire, leaves, paper. There does not seem to be any coordination.

The crying sound grows louder.

Mother.

The name ricochets off the floor and dimly-lit ceiling. I do not know who is speaking, but the cries are full of a longing for that which is lost and can never be recovered.

I wake with a start. Someone is shaking me. It’s one of the bellboys who work in the building’s front.

“Mr. Blanche wants to see you,” he says.

I sit up. This is the first time in two weeks that he’s wanted to speak to me personally. Though he appeared fine at the party after the defeat of the S-class portal, since then he has slipped into a deep depression. Alice still hasn’t woken up from her coma. I know now that Crayton’s wife died, and Alice opened the portal because she was trying to resurrect her. Losing the only memory he has of his wife has really shaken Crayton up. Plus, you know, Alice is his daughter.

I take the elevator to the building’s penthouse. It’s been a while since I was up here.

When I open the door I am hit with a wave of putrid stench. Trash bags, TV dinner boxes, and dirty dishes are stacked in piles all around the living room. I make my way through the maze, trying to find the door to the bedroom.

“Mr. Blanche?” I say, as I pick through the mountains of filth.

There is a sound from the bedroom. I knock on the closed door.

“Come in,” says Crayton. His voice is almost too soft for me to hear.

I open the door. The bedroom is worse than the living room. At least two dozen takeout boxes are stacked on the bed. The floor is covered in spilled—what, soda? Drink? Some sort of dark liquid.

Crayton himself is sitting in a lounge chair, watching home videos of Alice and, I assume, her mother. He doesn’t turn to look at me.

“Mr. Blanche?” I say. “You wanted to see me?”

“You heard it, didn’t you?” says Crayton.

“What, sir?” I ask.

“Her voice,” says Crayton. “Alice’s voice.”

I think back to the dream that I had sitting on the couch. “I think so, sir,” I say.

“She was crying,” says Crayton. “She was calling for help.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” I say.

“Get your network to figure that out,” says Crayton. “I’ve hired the best doctors. The best healers. The best of anything. Nothing works. She’s still … Sleeping.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” I say. “I care about your daughter as well.”

Crayton says nothing. Instead, he reaches towards the half-full twelve-pack of beer by his chair and pops it open. He takes a long draught.

“I’ll do what I can, sir,” I say.

Crayton wipes the foam from his mouth. “I wanted to ask you,” he says. “How is the work with Rearden Metal going?”

I cringe. “I’m sorry, sir,” I say. “I haven’t been able to produce good results.”

Crayton turns towards me, looking at me for the first time. “Well, we can’t help that, can we?” he says. Then he turns his face back towards the TV.

The TV is showing a birthday party. Alice looks to be about ten. Her mother is stunningly beautiful. The kind of beauty that Alice will probably become when she’s twenty-five. Her mother is smiling, laughing, and I can tell why Crayton isn’t over her.

It looks like it’s Alice’s birthday. She blows out the candles, and then is presented with a veritable mountain of presents. Expensive dresses, collectors’ dolls, and lots of chocolate.

I turn my gaze away from the TV.

“Sir,” I say to Crayton. “You need to clean up your penthouse.”

Crayton waves his hand dismissively. “Just call the maid.”

“Why hasn’t she been coming?” I ask.

Crayton says nothing, only takes another draught of beer.

After a long pause, the home video ends. Crayton looks at me. “Save her,” he says, “And I’ll reward you with whatever you want. I have money. I have artwork. I have anything you could ever desire. Just save her!”

I nod. “I’ll work on something,” I say. Of course I’ve been racking my brains too to see if I can come up with something to save her. I’ve asked my devils and the new workers I gained from the S-class portal and no one has any clue why Alice is still asleep. Nothing we can do can help her.

“Is it okay if I visit her today?” I ask.

“Go ahead,” says Crayton.

I bow, and then back out of the room. I leave the penthouse and ride the elevator to the ground floor. When I get there, I head to the receptionist’s desk.

“Mr. Blanche has requested a maid to clean his penthouse,” I say.

The receptionist looks visibly relieved. “How did you get him to agree to that? He’s been rejecting all entry to his penthouse for the past three weeks, besides the takeout boy.”

“Well, I convinced him somehow,” I say. Then I pause. “Do you have the address where Mr. Blanche’s daughter is being held?”

The receptionist nods. “We just received word a minute ago to give it to you. Hold on.”

I hold on. After thirty seconds of rummaging the receptionist hands me a piece of paper with the hospital and room number on it.

I take the paper and walk out of the building.

Sebastian, I call, through the magic phone line I keep on me. Come pick me up.

Five minutes later my limo arrives. Sebastian steps out and holds the door open for me.

“Master,” he says.

I step in, handing him the paper. “Take me to this hospital.”

The trip takes less than ten minutes. Almighty Mercy Hospital is a towering structure with at least ten floors and a huge footprint. Sebastian drops me at the entrance roundabout and I pat myself down to make sure I’m looking okay.

I ask the nurse at the front desk to point me to Alice’s room. Once I get the number and permission to visit, I take the elevator to the long-term care ward.

Alice’s room is in the middle of the hall. I knock gently on the door. There is no answer.

I open the door and step in. Alice is laying in the room’s bed, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling slowly. She is hooked up to an IV and a bunch of other equipment. This is the first time I’ve seen her since the portal opened.

I sit on a chair beside her bed, and take hold of her hand.

“You did it for your mother, didn’t you?” I say, not expecting a response. “I can understand that.”

Portals are dangerous things anyways. It’s not her fault that this S-class portal existed. If it wasn’t her, I’m sure someone would have opened it eventually.

Alice’s eyes flicker underneath her closed eyelids. She is clearly dreaming about something.

A couple of images flash past my eyes. Blood. A searing crash, glass shattering. Then the images go away.

Is she trying to tell me something?

Whatever it is, I can’t understand it. I spend five more minutes watching her eyes flicker and then stand up. “I was told to look for a cure for you,” I say. “I’m going to find it. You and your father will be back together.”

I have forgiven her for using me on that date three weeks ago. I know she did it because she wanted her mother back.

I leave the room and close the door behind me.

A man wearing a black suit and a fedora is leaning against the wall outside the hospital room.

“Are you ready to make a choice?” he says.

I shake my head. “Um, who are you?”

“Just an agent,” says the man. “Nothing important.”

I frown. “Am I ready to make a choice about what?” I ask.

“White or black,” says the man. “Make a decision soon.”

The world folds around in front of me and, with a shimmer, the man is gone.

I am left wondering what in the world he meant. Was I hallucinating?

Anything is possible in this brave new world.

I leave the hospital in worse spirits than when I arrived. Both the appearance of the strange man and Alice’s vision in my head have taken their toll on my mood. Sebastian is waiting for me next to my limousine.

“Have you been waiting long?” I ask him.

Sebastian shakes his head. “Not long at all,” he says. He opens the door for me and closes it after I get in.

Somewhere in the city, police sirens are wailing. A lot of them. Is something happening?

“What’s going on?” I ask, to Sebastian.

“There was a robbery at the National Gallery,” says Sebastian. “A portal artifact of great worth was stolen.”

I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. This sounds a lot like what happened with the S-class portal.

Black and white. I have a feeling that this robbery is linked to what that man in a fedora told me.

A shadow falls over the limo. A body slams into the windshield, and Sebastian stops us with a violent motion. My neck is jerked forwards and backwards.

The man on the windshield is wearing a white tee shirt and jeans. The windshield, being bulletproof, hasn’t cracked.

Sebastian pulls the car to the side of the road and gets out.

I am about to step out as well when Sebastian puts his hand out.

“It’s dangerous, master,” he says.

I stay in the limo.

The man’s body begins flashing like a Mario Kart bomb. I flinch.

The body explodes with a cartoonish blast of red and yellow. The limo’s airbags expand, and the window is blown off. A white, tingling powder floats through the air and coats my body. I am left coughing, feeling as if I’ve swallowed a mouthful of dirt.

Confetti fills the limo’s interior. I pick up a piece of it. It’s got a smley-face emoji and the words “Hi! I’m Generica!” written on it.

I let the confetti fall to the ground.

Sebastian opens the limousine door, clearly flustered. “I’m sorry, master!” he says. “I failed!”

I shake my head, still trying to spit out the taste of dust. “No, it wasn’t your fault.” I pick up a piece of the confetti. “Do you know who Generica is?”

Sebastian’s face turns white. “Master, were did you learn that name?”

I hand him the piece of confetti.

Sebastian shakes his head. “That is not someone you would be wise to interact with.” He crumples the confetti in his hand. “I would suggest you forget this name immediately.”

“Am I in danger?” I ask.

“Not with your loyal servants around,” says Sebastian. “We will keep you away from this … Individual.”

I look at where the body hit the windshield. “Was that an actual person?” I ask.

Some of the people who had been walking by when the body fell have stopped and are staring at us. There is a bloodstain on the concrete, but no body, and a whole bunch of confetti.

“Someone call the police,” I say. “I think someone committed suicide.”

There is a hushed wave of whispers among the bystanders.

I catch sight of the same man in a fedora who greeted me at the hospital. Before I can call out, he slips into an alleyway.

“Excuse me for a moment,” I say to Sebastian, as I push through the crowd to get to the alley.

“Wait, master!” says Sebastian. “Don’t follow him!”

But I am in the alleyway before Sebastian can push through the crowd.

The man in the fedora is sitting in a fire escape, looking down at me.

Sebastian stops behind me. “Master,” he says. “Who is this?”

The man in the fedora tips his hat. “Mandrake Sommelio. Member of the White Silverbones.”

Sebastian’s face goes ghastly pale. “Silverbones?” he says.

I shake my head, holding out my arm in front of Sebastian. “Let’s hear what he has to say,” I say.

Several police cars pull up next to where the man fell. Sebastian looks back. “I’m having some other operatives deal with the police,” he says. He turns to me. “If you want to follow this man somewhere where we can converse, I would not stop you.”

The man in the fedora drops down from the fire escape. He brushes off his suit. “Well then. Since you seem to be cooperating, I’ll lead you to a special place.”

Mandrake begins walking backwards through the alley, both his hands on his suit.

Sebastian and I follow him. We go through the alley until we come through the other side. Mandrake leads us to a small, run-down tenement along a busy side street. We go up a thin Victorian-era staircase and enter a tiny little apartment with just three rooms. The living room is meticulous, with a couch, a recliner, and an old television.

Mandrake sits on the arm of the recliner, holding his hands together. He snaps his finger and a soft bubble expands, covering the room’s walls.

“This is a safe house,” says Mandrake. He pulls a bottle of wine, which appears to be a lever. Two of the apartment’s walls turn over to reveal a smorgasbord of adventuring weapons. “I’d suggest you keep this place in the back of your minds as you go forwards. The Darks are after you. They’ll give you an offer that you can’t refuse. I want to make you an offer first, before they do.” He taps his fingers on the coffee table next to the chair. “There’s not much that material wealth will do for you,” says Mandrake. “And we don’t have anything else of worth that we can give you. If you do decide to side with the Brights, your only reward will be your conscience. That is our offer to you.”

A flash of a moaning wail echoes through my head. I again see, slightly, the maze that I dreamed of earlier. Then my mind snaps back to reality.

Mandrake appears troubled. “You hear it too?” he says. “The disturbance in the ether?”

“I do,” I say.

Mandrake nods. “I see you are an anima spirit.”

“It’s been a while since someone has called it that,” I say, “But yes.”

“And with your considerable and varied powers, you are choosing to masquerade as a conjurer?” says Mandrake.

“Um, yeah,” I say. “I guess I can’t fool you.”

“You can’t,” says Mandrake. “I’ve done my research.”

“Do you know anything about Generica?” I ask.

“She’s a real bad Dark One,” says Mandrake. “Has a nasty habit of blowing people up. Filling them with all kinds of things. Worms, and razor blades, and burning embers. Very painful.”

I cringe. “So the Darks are the bad guys,” I say.

“I suppose you could call it that,” says Mandrake. “But, at the same time, they do provide for their own. And they are willing to do things that we Brights are not.”

“Well, it’s obvious who I’d choose,” I say.

Mandrake shakes his head. “That’s what everyone but the most psychopathic say before they join the Darks.”

I am troubled. “So they’ll offer me something I can’t refuse,” I say.

“At the very least, something that you will have a hard time rejecting,” says Mandrake. “There’s a nasty bugger, Elina is her name, she can tell what anyone wants most, deep down in the depths of their soul.” Mandrake turns around, pointing to the rack of weapons. “I suppose you wouldn’t need any of these weapons, considering your ability to conjure anything you can imagine.” He sighs. “We’re all powerful here. There are six Brights and eleven Darks in this world. All of them are converging on London because of you.”

“And together you constitute the Silverbones?” I say.

Mandrake snorts. “I suppose so,” he says. Then he looks longingly through the window. “I suppose so.”

The windows shatters, a bullet flies through the room, and Mandrake catches it between two fingers. He examines it, and whistles.

“Well, the game has started then!” he says.