A Spell Inside

"I don't like it!"

Tom thumped the table with his fists. "What's not to like? It's going to be a cinch. As
easy as falling off a log. As easy as pie!"

"But Garff don't like pie, does ya, Garff?" Mac honked with amusement.

Garth simply scowled. "What about the alarms?"

"Oh, man! We've been over this a hundred times. The plan's foolproof. In a few
weeks we'll all be rich beyond belief and living a life of leisure abroad somewhere.
Remember, the Book is surrounded by myth and legend - it's priceless."

"Don't worry, Tom, I'm sure someone'll buy it." Mac commented.

"The only thing we have to worry about is whether Mac's intellect can take the shock."

"Hey, yeah. Nice one, Tom." Mac laughed then frowned.

"But I still don't like it!" Garth seemed about to burst into tears. "You can cut me
out!"

"What's intillyect, Tom?"

Tom ignored him; all of his attention was focussed on Garth. "It's much too late for
that. You're in too deep."

"How? We haven't even done anything yet!"

"But you know our plans. We can't risk you having an attack of conscience during the
robbery."

Tom turned his attention to Mac and proceeded to run slowly through the plan of
action ... for the umpteenth time.

Garth realised that it would pointless to argue further. Tom, the brains of the outfit,
and mastermind behind the planned theft, appeared to be all mouth and trousers. But
Garth wasn't about to chance his hand in a physical confrontation with the man. There
was a definite underlying uncertainty regarding his nature; like a keg of dynamite
awaiting kindling. Perhaps this was the reason he had Mac as an accomplice; Mac
didn't possess two brain cells to rub together, and so was almost totally unaware of
the danger inherent in the company he was keeping.

Garth could hardly remember how he had originally become tangled-up with these
men. For the present, one thing was certain: he would just have to weather the storm
and hope that everything went smoothly and according to plan.

But he couldn't help worrying.

Tom bridged the external alarm -- it was his specialty -- before quietly slipping through
the small window.

"Watch for trip alarms in there," Garth hissed nervously.

"Piece of cake," Tom whispered back. This is a museum, you know, not Fort Knox.
Besides, we want to trip the alarms in here, remember?"

"Are you certain you need me to come in? Perhaps I should stay here and keep
watch."

"You'll come through that window, and be quick about it! No-one's gonna sneak up
behind ya; Mac blocked off the ends of the alleyway..." Tom broke off and leaned
through the window. "You did block off the ends of the alleyway, didn't ya, Mac?"

Mac grinned. "Yeah, Boss."

"I s'pose we should be grateful for small mercies... And don't call me Boss!"

The three men crossed the floor of the expansive main hall. When they reached the
main exhibit they stopped, staring through the glass case at the prize within.

Myth or fact, this was supposed to be Merlin the Magician's legendary Book of
Spells. Large and thick, it also looked extremely fragile, as if threatening to fall apart at
the first touch. And yet, though the pages were brown with age, the Book had existed
intact since shortly after the Roman occupation of Ancient Britain.

"Merlin's legendary Tome of Knowledge," announced Tom, needlessly. "Do you
realise that this Book is purported to have survived for hundreds of years? Since
before Arthur, High King of Britain, was born! Merlin is supposed to be immortal, so I
assume it only follows that his Book should be."

"That's strange," murmured Garth.

"What's so strange?" Tom pointed at the Book. "This little beauty is going to earn us a
fortune from a private collector abroad."

"No, I mean the Book," Garth clarified. " We've been in here dozens of times, and the
Book's always been closed. Now it's open. Look!"

"So, it's open; what's the difference?"

"All the better to read, eh?" Mac honked.

"I didn't know you could read, Mac. But I've warned you before about the shock to
your intellect; I think you'd better stick with the Beano."

"Okay, Tom."

"Let's forget the idea! It's not too late."

"Listen, Garth, we're going through with it! Come on, we're wasting time."

Tom pulled out a hammer from his coat pocket and, with one mighty swing, shattered
the glass. He snapped the Book shut and ran with it to the opposite end of the hall.
"Get moving!" he instructed his companions. Tom stood holding the Book, and
watched as an anxious Garth and a dim-witted Mac set to work with screwdrivers,
removing the front grille of an air vent on a wall low to the floor.

"The alarm didn't sound," Tom muttered under his breath.

"Maybe it's a silent alarm system."

Garth paused momentarily and joined Tom in frowning at Mac's uncharacteristically
intelligent statement. Then Tom shook his head, as if he had only imagined he heard it.

"No. I've heard them testing the alarms regularly. They're sounders alright. We're
going to have to trip one; the whole plan depends on it."

Merlin's Book was placed in the ventilator shaft, and the grille replaced.

"Come on, let's go."

Garth didn't need to hear Tom's instructions twice. He slipped out through the
window in less than half the time it had taken to enter. Mac possessed enough
intelligence to be close behind.

Tom shattered another glass case, setting off the alarms. He thrust the small exhibit
into a pocket, not caring what it was, and followed his companions. Tom paused at
the window, frowning. Asleep on the floor against the wall was an elderly man,
wrapped in rags and sack-cloth. "How did you get in here?" There was no reply. It
was a foolish question really; there was only one way and that was through the
window. What it did mean was that Mac had not done his job properly when blocking
off the alleyway.

"What're ya waiting for, Tom?" came Mac's voice.

There was no time to throw the old man out; the police would be here in force at any
moment. Tom kicked the sleeping form. "Filthy tramp," he muttered, before climbing
out through the window.

When the last of the three thieves had exited through the window, the old man sat up.
The rags from around his face fell away to reveal a grey beard and piercingly intelligent
emerald eyes. He stared after them.

As expected, the supposed theft made the national news headlines.

"Does it mention anything about a tramp?" Tom demanded to know.

"No," answered Garth. "Why?"

"No reason."

Garth looked extremely worried again. "Look, I don't mind admitting

that I'm scared. This isn't right ... and I don't want to finish up in prison. Why don't
we just leave it here, and be thankful that we weren't apprehended?"

Tom looked disgusted. "Leave it here! The worst part is over. Listen. The museum is
closed for three weeks for investigations and repairs. All we have to do is wait for it to
re-open, enter during the day with the tourists, and, when the main hall is at its busiest,
recover the Book and leave.

"I'll make sure you get your rightful share of the money we'll make out of this, Garth."

"I don't care about the money. I would gladly give up my share, if I was allowed to
walk away right now."

"Give up your share if you want, but we're still going through with this together." Tom
would hear no more protests.

"It'll be all right."

Coming from Mac, this reassurance was little comfort to Garth.

They waited until the second week of opening. As they climbed the steps to the front
entrance, Mac asked, "Why didn't we take the other stuff, Tom?"

"Use your head, Mac. How can a museum re-open with no exhibits? This way we
have allowed activity to calm down a little before having it away with the Book."

Garth pulled away from Tom's iron grip.

"I can't do this; what if we're caught!"

Tom grabbed Garth by an upper arm and shook him roughly. "No more arguments.
Pull yourself together, you're making a scene."

A security guard at the entrance was staring curiously at them. Mac grinned at him.
Tom leaned close to Garth and hissed, "At this rate we'll be arrested before we even
enter the building. You'll spoil everything!"

The holdall, which Mac carried, was searched as a matter of standard practice by the
security guard. Then they were allowed to enter.

Although the prize exhibit was conspicuous by its absence, the main hall was crowded
with visitors. It suited the trio's purpose perfectly. They wandered casually around the
hall, stopping randomly and trying to appear interested.

At lunchtime the three men wandered over to the ventilator. Mac opened the holdall
and took out a lunch-box. He sat and made a show of munching the sandwiches
within, while Garth stood beside him, the two of them blocking Tom from general
view. Tom set to work removing the front grille with his screwdriver. Merlin's Book
was taken from the shaft and placed in the now empty holdall.

When Tom had replaced only five of the eight screws, a curator appeared. Their
hearts raced; none more so than Garth's.

"I'm sorry, but no food items are allowed in the main hall," announced the balding little
man. "There's a canteen on the next level."

This was one small part of the plan that they had not considered. But it mattered not.
Tom knew he would just have to leave the grille as it was. There was little chance of
anyone noticing before they had exited the building. Garth thanked the little man, who
marched off smiling happily.

The three men walked briskly for the archway which led from the main hall. But they
never made it that far.

Mac, who held the holdall, felt the handles writhe, as if alive, in his grip. He ignored it,
until it happened again. Looking down, Mac saw himself gripping two hissing vipers.
He released the bag in shock and it dropped to the floor, falling on its side.

"What the hell's wrong with you, man? Pick up the bag!" cursed Tom.

"Snakes!"

"What are you talking about? Don't crack-up on me now."

Tom reached out to pick up the holdall, but halted, one arm outstretched. With mixed
emotions of horror, shock, fascination and curiosity, the three men watched as the
zipper of the holdall opened, slowly, of its own accord. Once fully open, Merlin's
Book of Spells toppled out on to the floor.

Once again Tom attempted to save the situation, by grabbing the Book and thrusting it
back into the holdall. However, as he went down on his knees, he suddenly erupted in
flame.

The spontaneity was ridiculous, and there was no obvious cause or reason. Garth
took a chance and grabbed him, with the idea of snuffing out the fire with his jacket.
But Tom pulled away in panic. The scene made Mac wail unashamedly; he had no
idea what to do in a situation such as this.

Nobody noticed the Book open at a seemingly random page.

The moment he caught sight of the flames, Tom screamed in anguish for all he was
worth. This obviously attracted the attention of the occupants of the hall. And if this
was not diversion enough for them, Tom leapt to his feet and ran across the hall, arms
flailing, screeching for help.

The people stepped back out of harms way. But no individual ran to aid him. For the
people saw no flames; all they witnessed was a man running and screaming for no
apparent reason. When Garth reached for a fire extinguisher, the crowd of people
simply expanded their vision to include the other two men. It was as if they viewed, as
one, a solemn ceremony, rather than a grand illusion.

For illusion it was.

At the same moment that Tom realised he was totally unharmed, Garth turned the
extinguisher on him. The flames vanished instantly, leaving Tom covered in foam. A
single spark ran across the floor, leaving a thin tail of fire in its wake, as if following a
trail of petrol. It halted before reaching the Book and died out. The Book, now open at
a different page, began to pulsate with bright white light. This lasted for half a minute
before this, too, died out.

It was enough.

One of the visitors, a young woman, was first to emerge from the joint hypnosis which
had been caused by the recently witnessed events.

"Look!" she screeched. "Merlin's Book!"

This revelation finally awakened the others to the fact that the stolen Book was on the
floor of the hall, in plain sight of everyone present. Two security guards ran forward.
"Stop!" they shouted, though no-one but them moved.

With no time to spare, Tom shook himself into full awareness. Somehow, impossibly,
Merlin's Book was still active and invoking the spells between its covers - not with
randomness, but reason and intelligence.

It was as if it possessed a life of its own!

Tom was spooked to realise that the Book refused to be removed from the museum.
He snatched one look at the guards and bolted for the archway. As he ascended the
three small steps, a solid wall suddenly materialized to fully block the exit.

Another illusion, thought Tom. He ran at the wall, confidently. But this time he was
wrong. Bloody gash in his forehead, Tom rebounded from the wall and tumbled down
the steps. One of the security guards grabbed him; he didn't resist. It was pointless.

Then the wall disappeared as abruptly as it had first appeared. Garth looked around
anxiously, then sped towards the archway. He ran through the gap and made for the
main entrance. While Mac's slow brain churned, considering his chances of doing the
same, the second security guard attempted pursuit. But, as he, himself, reached the
three small steps, the wall reappeared, barring his progress. He hammered a fist on it,
not expecting it to make a difference... and it didn't!

Tom frowned. It was obvious that the Book had allowed Garth to escape. It knew that
Garth had been against the idea from the beginning, but had been forced into the theft.
The Book had dealt out its own justice. It proved that the Book somehow felt
compassion.

The second security guard had to settle for securing the capture of Mac, who, totally
overwhelmed by the events, had not moved from his original position. The two guards
holding the thieves could do nothing except wait. There was no other way out of the
main hall, barring the small window which led to an alleyway outside.

Tom had resigned himself to a prison sentence now. The plan had very nearly been
successful; if not for the intervention of the Book itself. He could have said that it had
failed due to unforeseen circumstances, and who could have foreseen what those
circumstances would be? Even had they managed to escape the museum with their
prize, there would have been no preventing the commotion sure to arise at the airport!

It was a full fifteen minutes before the wall blocking the archway disappeared again. At
that moment all the visitors began milling about, as if nothing had happened; and, as
far as they were concerned, it hadn't. Nobody recalled the strange events created by
the Book. Or that even anything unusual had occurred. All they remembered was that
Merlin's Book had just been recovered, and the culprits apprehended. No real time had
elapsed during the preventative action conducted by the Book. Time had stood still or
slowed considerably, and all non-essential memories had been instantly erased.

Nobody noticed that the Book was open at yet another page.

Barely more than a week later the museum re-opened once again. Security had been
upgraded, and the main hall was now circuited with some of the most sophisticated
alarm systems available. The Book was back, in a new case, as the central attraction.

That first night after the museum had re-opened its doors to the public, an old man
stepped out from the shadows - the same old man that Tom had come across on the
night when he had hidden the Book. There was no light, but his keen emerald eyes
easily pierced the cloying darkness. Alarm trip beams riddled the entire main hall. The
old man simply walked through them normally, as if they did not exist. Remarkably,
no alarm was triggered by his progress.

He reached the museum's prize exhibit; here he stood for a moment, gazing at the
precious Book beyond the glass. Then, in a hugely dramatic gesture, he threw wide his
arms and looked down, watching as his rags slipped away to be replaced with more
suitable apparel. It was a full length dark robe, befitting a king. And his facial
appearance altered too; hair and beard grew longer and turned pure white from grey,
and wrinkles vanished, losing the man decades in an instant. However, a decade
passed as but a single day for this legendary individual.

The man knew that his time had passed long ago; the Book belonged here now, where
it could be viewed by many, and where many could learn and understand the history
from whence it survived.

Merlin reached out, his hands passing unhindered through the glass, and carefully
withdrew his Book from its case. He would need to replenish the self-preservation
spell. There was no foreseeing when another attempted theft might occur.

END

A Spell Inside was accepted by the fiction periodical Mystique, which shortly after
changed its name to Dark Horizons.