William Calhoun and the Black Feather. Book I
Chapter 12 The secret of number 13 in the Blackfriars Lane

The next day, Professor Pickwick acted strangely indifferent towards William and paid him absolutely no attention. On one hand, this was a pleasant surprise for William, but on the other, he really didn’t want to be someone whom a teacher didn’t like and tried to ignore. This kind of behaviour made him think that Pickwick was ignoring him on purpose. William himself was well aware of the reason for this attitude of Pickwick towards him. This made him return again and again to the question whom his feather had belonged to, what its previous owner had managed to do with it, and what stood behind all that, too. Judging by Pickwick’s reaction, whatever the previous owner had done with that feather, there was little good in it. Despite all that, Pickwick’s behaviour didn’t influence William’s studies, luckily. Thus, when Pickwick offered everyone in class to try casting a Forgetfulness Hex, William managed to do it faster than the others did, from the first attempt. And he had no idea how he did it. Pickwick divided the group into two parts and paired everyone. One person from the pair was supposed to just stand and wait for the other one to cast the hex, then, when the hex had been cast, they switched roles and it was time for the second person to try their powers on their partner. William’s partner happened to be Fergus Connelly, and El’s partner was Roberta Brown. When it was time to cast the hex, William had barely had time to say ‘Obliviscaris’, and poor Fergus remained standing still with a stupid frozen expression, looking more like a vegetable. Without saying a word, Pickwick, who was closely watching the young wizards, ran up to them and lifted the hex from Fergus. But even after that, the poor guy was unable to stay in class, because he was still heavily stunned. And Pickwick had to send him home. He didn’t say a word to William, neither approval or reproach, and instead, hurried over to the other pairs. As for El, it turned out that he managed to master the Forgetfulness Hex quite well, though from the fourth attempt, but the effect of the hex proved to be pretty good, because Roberta Brown’s expression turned from the usually arrogant look to a rather silly one, which meant a more natural one. But, unlike poor Fergus, she had recovered rather quickly and soon El was in need of Pickwick’s assistance to recover completely. After that, everyone went home, and William and El went to visit El’s granddad.

When they were out of Pickwick’s house, in the backyard, El took out his feathermap, grabbed William’s elbow and the next moment they were standing in the backyard of a completely different house. Number 2 in the Burnley Street.

William glanced around and saw that the house of El’s granddad was standing on a hill and looked too lonely. He had to strain his eyes to see at least one house, even in the distance. Instead of that, he saw a forest not far from the house.

“Are we in London?” William asked El, turning his head in bewilderment.

“Almost! We’re in the Burnley Street!” El looked around. “Nice place, isn’t it?”

“Burnley Street? Is this a street to you? There are trees all over the place.”

“Well, yes!” El gave him a wide smile. “It’s just an unusual area. But, actually there’s everything anyone needs for life! Well, taverns, shops, dwarf stalls, and other places. There’s even the Wiz Yard not far from here! My dad works there!”

“Really? It doesn’t seem that way!” William gave the deserted area a second look.

They came close to the house and, when they were by the back door, El knocked loudly. In a moment, it opened suddenly and there was a grey-haired old man in the doorway, with his face covered in scars. At the moment, the old man’s face looked utterly displeased with the fact that somebody was bothering him. He was wearing a long white night shirt, which fell to his ankles, and his right hand was holding a pitifully looking orange feather tightly, with very thin hairs. His head was adorned with a silly, as it seemed to William, hat, more like a sleep cap, thin grey hair peeking out from beneath it.

“Hello, grandpa!” El opened his arms wide and smiled heartily. “Don’t tell me you’re not happy to see me, you old wizard, I won’t believe you, anyway!”

There was silence in response, and for a few moments, the elderly wizard, standing in the doorway in his night shirt, was giving them an irritated look, after which he looked around warily, as if he was trying to replace something wrong behind the trees, and stared at William. He frowned in suspicion and immediately asked his grandson instead of a greeting:

“Who’s that with you?” his grumpy voice was now accompanied by his index finger pointing at William, who was standing behind El.

“That’s Will! He’s my friend, we study together at the Preparatory Course! Will,” he turned to William, “meet my grandpa, Rog Gibbs!”

“Nice to meet you, sir!” William replied politely.

Then El said impatiently:

“Grandpa Rog! Are you going to let us in or are we going to stand here till Friday?”

Unhappy with this sudden wake-up call, grandpa Rog grumbled:

“Come inside, you young rascal, come in!” He turned around and disappeared inside the house.

Such an address to a grandson seemed rather strange to William. And grandpa Rog seemed like a rather unpleasant person from the first moments. He and El entered the house and he found one more proof for that by accidentally stepping into some puddle and sensing right away that it was sucking him in.

“El, help me!” he cried out. “I’m stuck!”

El, who was walking ahead of him, passing over the liquid obstacle automatically, turned around quickly and dashed to sinking William, saying:

“Hold on, Will! I’ll pull you out!” He grabbed William under his arms and started pulling, grumbling at the same time: “That old paranoid! Placing a living swamp in his house! He’s out of his mind!” he kept cursing as he was pulling William out of the bubbling liquid mass. “Come on!” He pulled him with all his might and in a moment, he managed to pull his friend out.

“Be careful back there!” came grandpa Rog’s careless voice somewhere from inside the house. “Don’t step into the swamp!”

“Old fool!” El cursed quietly. “He sees enemies and criminals everywhere!” He looked over at William, who was too shocked to say a word. “Are you alright?”

“I think so… But my trousers are dirty now.”

“Don’t mind the trousers, at least that thing didn’t cover the top of your head!” he glanced at the bubbling puddle. “I’ve completely forgotten about the swamp in the corridor!”

“You knew about it and didn’t even warn me?!” William blurted out.

“Of course I did! I nearly drowned in it a couple of times as a child! Luckily, he didn’t forget to rescue me back then! I haven’t been here for a long time and I’ve forgotten about it. By the way, step carefully near the stairs as we go to the living room. He has a pit ten feet deep over there, covered by a round carpet. Also, you shouldn’t touch the wall by the entrance to the living room,” El rolled up his eyes as he tried to recall everything, “step on even steps on the stairs, sit on the chair with yellow padding in the living room…”

“What does he need all those traps for?!” William interrupted him in indignation as they walked deeper into the house.

“What would you expect? He’s a retired wizhunter! So don’t be surprised with anything you see in here,” El told him.

The house of Roger Gibbs resembled a hunting lodge, with stuffed animals and a weapon collection, not mentioning traps everywhere. Only instead of stuffed animals, there were stuffed wizards along the walls, and instead of weapons, there were robes of all styles, colours, and sizes hanging from the nails on the walls, and a great number of matching hats. There were all kinds of vials with coloured liquids on the stands by the walls. Steam of the same colour as the liquid rose up from the vials. They entered a cosy living room, with two narrow high armchairs standing opposite each other, with a large fireplace behind one of them and two stuffed wizards with angry looks at each side of it. Over the fireplace, there was a portrait of a young dark-haired wizard with a long orange feather in his hand. He was wearing some kind of a uniform. El caught William’s look directed at the portrait.

“Years haven’t been kind to his looks, have they?” he grinned.

“I’d like to look at you when you live as long as I have, young rascal!” came the voice of Roger Gibbs, who had just entered the living room, carrying a tray with three teacups and a teapot. “Pour our guest some tea!” he ordered, handed the tray to El and headed to the armchair by the fireplace.

“I have no doubts that you’ll live to the times when I’m your age, grandpa Rog!” El joked merrily, set the teacups down, poured tea for everyone and sat on the soft sofa near the armchairs.

Roger Gibbs, now settled comfortably in his armchair, was watching William closely, and he felt uneasy to have an experienced wizhunter and a collector of stuffed wizards staring at him with obvious suspicion. Giving El a look of distrust, Roger Gibbs spoke again in the same grumpy unhappy voice.

“What has brought you here this time, little sneak?”

El took a sip of his tea and replied in a fake carefree voice:

“I’ve been telling Will a lot of good things about you, what a brave wizhunter you used to be in the past, and that you were called Roger Sharp Feather, and then I thought, why don’t I visit my old grandpa Rog and introduce Will to a living legend! He’s heard a lot about you even without my stories and, frankly speaking, he’s your fan!” El pursed his lips and nodded.

William could barely keep himself from laughing as he listened to all that flattering nonsense El was saying with a serious and polite expression he was supposed to have.

“Well, that’s all true!” Roger Gibbs confirmed, flattered by El’s words, then looked at William. “Is that so, young wizard? Do you see me as a role model?”

This question made William feel like he was in a rather stupid and ridiculous situation. But he realized that he was supposed to answer already, so he didn’t think twice about the reply.

“Aw, yes, of course! I’ve heard so much about you and I think that you’re the best wizhunter! I mean, you were! And nobody can still match you in catching criminals…”

“What if your father heard this now!” he turned to El with a sly grin on his lips, then said with a sad smile: “That’s true! Those were the times, and my bones were more nimble and my feather was sharper, and now…”

“And now you’ve become a nice grandpa!” El concluded with a grin and asked in a casual tone: “Grandpa Rog, have I left my red scarf somewhere around here?”

“No idea, you can look for it later! And now…” he turned to William, “tell me about yourself, young wizard! What do you do and how have you become friends with this little scoundrel?”

“Well, we,” William started, “met during the Enrolee Ball, and now we’re in the same group of the Preparatory Course.”

“And where do you want to study afterwards?”

“I’d like to go to Templedoor, sir!” William said sincerely. “They say, they teach the arts better there.”

“Templedoor, you say!” Roger Gibbs repeated. “I haven’t visited Fafner there in a long time! I wonder how he’s doing?!”

“We saw him at Alpurg! He was there together with the other rectors! He’s fine!” El said. “He’s looking fresh as a daisy!” El hurried to switch the topic. “Grandpa Rog, do you know anything about the Hoggarts kin?” he asked suddenly with an innocent expression.

“Hogans?”

“Hoggarts, grandpa Rog! Hoggarts!” El repeated.

“Huberts… Gilberts… Shuberts… Howards…” Roger Gibbs listed the names, trying to remember, then said finally: “No, I don’t know any Hoggarts! Who are they?”

“Oh, the other day someone named George Hoggart sent his regards to you so I thought that you could be familiar with wizards with that name. You used to be a wizhunter and you know almost all noble families…”

“That may be right!” Roger Gibbs supported the words of his grandson. “But feather knows who the Hoggarts are! Many people remember your granddad,” he straightened up in his armchair at these words, “so perhaps he knows about me…”

“Tell Will how you captured a gang of criminals in Essex, almost on your own! I’m sure he’ll be delighted with the story!”

“Ah! Yes, I remember…” grandpa Rog started telling, “the weather that night was just horrible! Me and Lanky Henry had been following them all night, moving across swaps, and we finally reached the meeting place of the criminals…”

But grandpad Rog’s story wasn’t going to be finished, because in a moment it was interrupted by loud snoring. El gestured for William to follow him. They crept to the stairs, which led them to the door of grandpa Rog’s library. As they were going up, William didn’t forget to avoid even steps. They entered the library quietly and closed the door behind them.

“Considering the age, he’s such a dear! But even flies will flee from the house because of his snoring!” El said with conviction. “I think the book should be here somewhere…” he pointed at the last row to the left among several rows of bookshelves on the floor.

“Yeah…” William said with a grin, “now I see whom you’ve taken after.”

“He was a bit late today! Usually he starts snoring at “the weather that night was jussssss…!”

They reached the row they needed and decided to split up to replace the Book of Mottos faster.

“I’ll look on the left side, and you walk along the right!” El suggested. “As far as I remember, it’s a very thick book with a green cover and golden letters.”

William scanned several tomes and he was surprised by all the unusual literature in here. He noticed such tomes as ‘Non-existing swamp beasts and how to interact with them’, ‘One hundred and fifty uses of swamp rooter skin’, ‘The correct ways to establish a contact with the swamp blackbeak’, ‘Swamp Beasts’, ‘Moor dwellers’…

“El, why does your granddad need so much literature about swamps and who lives there?”

“Feather knows! You may have noticed, he’s a rather suspicious person. But they say that he was one of the best wizhunters in his time, or even the very best! He could hunt several dangerous criminals at the same time for weeks, as dad told me, without food or drink. And that was how he caught them. Criminals were puzzled by how he managed to be in several places at once. Soon this gave him the reputation of Terror for Criminals, they openly feared him.”

“How old is he?” William asked, moving his eyes from one book to another and reading their titles: ‘How to survive in the swamps and how to prevent your enemies from doing the same’, ‘Hunting the Swamp Bignose’…

“Will, please, ask me something easier! As far as I know, he’s no less than three hundred years old.”

“Well, he’s your granddad! I thought that you’re close to him and all that… and you have to know it.”

“Right! Close! Sometimes we don’t talk to each other for years! I’m amazed he still recognizes my face in his age… Here! Found it!” El cried out suddenly.

William came over and El took a very thick dusty Book of Mottos from the upper shelves. Looking at the size of the book, El suggested:

“I feel that we won’t do it quickly! Come, let’s sit down!”

They sat down on a sofa, set in the library to read in comfort, and El opened the Book of Mottos, quickly replaceing the section ‘Mottos of wizard families’. They were written in alphabetic order, so he found letter ‘R’ and started reading all mottos that started from this letter, one by one:

“Rest not while we still hold our feathers’, that’s the motto of the Dalglish family. Right, it’s a good idea not to mess with the Dalglishes!” he remarked with irony.

“Keep reading, El!” William said, scanning the mottos. “It has to be somewhere here!”

“‘Retire may the poet, but no retirement for the feather’ the Steele kin motto… ‘Reverent birds work in mysterious ways’, the Redknapp kin motto… ‘Rhyme of magic is set by the poetry of the feather’, the Addison kin motto… ‘Richest among the rich’, the Wriothesley kin motto…”

There were about two hundred mottos more, poetic and not, but they couldn’t replace the motto they needed among them.

“’Sadly, the hand holding a feather will never understand the other hand’, the FitzAlan kin motto… - these are the mottos starting with ‘S’, Will. There isn’t the motto we need!”

“What shall we do?”

“No idea, maybe it’s not a motto at all?” El made a guess.

“Maybe! But if it is so, we’ve wasted time searching for it!”

“I guess so!” El said ruefully. “Fine, at least we know that it isn’t a motto, otherwise it would have been among these and your Hoggarts may turn out to be ordinary demits.”

“Listen, I’ve got an idea! What if we ask Nymus about it? He has to know something.”

“Good idea!” El supported the idea. “Do you want to summon him here?”

“Won’t we wake your grandpa?”

“Are you kidding? Not even a hundred hexes and curses can wake him when he’s snoring like that!”

They walked to the desk, took a piece of paper from it, quickly wrote the mailmage’s name on it and brought it to the candle by the window. He appeared a few moments later, looking really weary.

“Good Mail, Master Calhoun!” When he saw El, he nodded politely: “Master Elian!”

“Hi, Nymus!” William greeted him.

“You’re here in a flash, as always, when you’re called!” El remarked cheerfully.

“How can I serve Master Calhoun?” he asked in his turn.

“We need your help, Nymus!” William started. “You know a lot about wizard kins and all kinds of mottos, do you?”

“To some degree, yes, Master Calhoun,” Nymus looked around the library. “What do you need my help with?”

El quickly took out a piece of paper from his pocket, with the words he had copied from the wall in William’s room, and handed it to the mailmage.

“Does this mean anything to you?” He waved the Book of Mottos. “We wouldn’t have bothered you, but even with its help we haven’t able to replace which kin this motto belongs to!”

Nymus took El’s piece of paper, read it quickly and instantly paled. Seeing his reaction, the two friends were no less puzzled than at the time they had found the writings on the wall!

“Nymus!” William spoke up. “Is it familiar to you?”

But Nymus clearly had no intention of telling anything about that inscription. He stood staring at it. It was clear that he knew something, but for some reason he kept silent about it.

“I am sorry, Master William, but I cannot tell you anything about this inscription!” He gave them a sincerely puzzled look. “Where have you seen it?”

And then they had to tell him about the picture they had found on the wall in William’s room and that they had copied the words from that picture. When Nymus had heard about it, he reacted in even more peculiar way.

“In your room, Master William?” he asked, his eyes round with surprise.

“Yes, in mine! Nymus, perhaps, you could stop acting so strange and tell us why you are so surprised?”

But instead of an answer, Nymus changed his expression and asked:

“Master William, may I take a look at the inscription itself?”

This strange request of the mailmage made the situation even less clear to the two friends. They exchanged glances, and, seeing no reasons to refuse Nymus’s request, William replied:

“Alright, Nymus! But we really need to know what this inscription means and whom it is addressed to. Will you help us with that?”

Nymus hesitated for a bit, but agreed in the end:

“I will! But first I’d like to look at it!”

“Alright, peregrine us, then!” William said, he and El got up and came up to Nymus.

He placed his large hands on their shoulders and the next moment the three of them peregrined to William’s room.

“Where is it?” Nymus looked around the room quickly.

William walked to the wall and pointed at the crest with the inscription below it.

The mailmage approached the wall and examined the picture and the inscription for about a minute. Then he ran his hand along the surface eagerly and suddenly turned around, crying out:

“I knew it! Green Monogram! I just knew it!”

“Knew what?!” El looked intrigued.

“This isn’t a wizard kin motto.”

“Then what is it?!” William asked impatiently.

“I knew the Hoggarts weren’t an ordinary family!” Nymus announced and William suddenly remembered the reaction of his mailmage when he told him about the jobs of Hoggarts.

“Nymus,” he asked him, “could you speak more clearly and understandable?!”

“This is the motto of feathermages, Master Calhoun! Feathermages are…”

“Wizards who have renounced their feathers and with time turned into ordinary demits!” El finished for him in horror.

“That’s right, Master Elian!” Nymus thanked him. “And if you open the section ‘Other Mottos’ in that book, you’ll replace this one as well,” he pointed at the wall.

“May I be trice enchanted!” he quickly placed the Book of Mottos on the desk and started flipping through its pages. “I’ve forgotten to leave it back there and peregrined it with me! I hope to feather he doesn’t replace out or he’ll pluck out all my hairs!” He finally stopped at one of the pages. “Nymus, you were right!” he walked up with the open book and pointed at the page: “Here’s our motto, mate!”

William looked down at the spot next to El’s index finger and made sure himself:

“Remember us, for our feathers used to be a part of us and our honour… Feathermages’ motto…” he read quietly and immediately turned to his mailmage: “What else do you know about them, Nymus?”

“Nothing else about them! But this wall…” he pointed at it again, “there’s more to it! For example, I highly doubt that it really exists!”

“My wizards, we aren’t seeing things, are we?” El squinted his eyes in distrust.

“But I swear to Post Office, I have no doubts about a secret door in here!”

With each minute, William felt as though somebody kept turning his life upside-down at great speed and the mailmage’s words only convinced him more. Meanwhile, the mailmage continued:

“It’s a door!” Nymus’s face looked remarkably calm.

“But where does it lead, Nymus?” El asked. “Actually, it doesn’t look like a door at all! Are you sure about it? It doesn’t even have a door han…”

But El didn’t get to finish his sentence, when Nymus placed his enormous hand on the crest and whispered:

“Revelare Abscondita!”

A metal door handle appeared out of nowhere on the strange area of the wall, right before the eyes of the two surprised friends. When they saw it, they gasped in surprise. Nymus turned it right away and a doorway into unknown opened in William’s room. Nymus looked at them, saying:

“As I have told Master Calhoun before,” he smiled proudly, “mailmages can reach any corner of the world!”

Nymus gestured for them to follow him and started to slowly descend the stone stairs into the darkness. The two friends, who had been standing in stunned anticipation, followed him at once.

“Oh yeah, mate!” El broke the silence after a short descend. “That’s no room, it’s a Pandora’s box!”

They had finally reached the end of the spiral stairs and stopped before the second closed door. Luckily, it was more traditional, unlike the first one, and it had a door handle. Nymus turned it and the three of them entered the damp dark room with velvety soft carpet under their feet. They couldn’t count on the light from William’s room and he had to take his magic feather out.

“Illuminatio!” he commanded, giving it a light wave.

A couple of candles brightly lighted the room at once and they could finally see the objects in it. There were very little of them in here. The three of them stood rooted to the spot as they were looking around the lifeless room. It was very damp and looked like a dungeon with prisoners. But the prisoners were a massive dusty desk and a high chair pulled right up to it. It was clear that it would fall apart even if a fly sat on it. Later it turned out that the velvety soft carpet were moss-covered stone slabs.

“Everything is covered with moss in here, Will!” El said, first to break the silence, and walked deeper into the room.

“What is this place, Nymus?” Unlike El, William preferred examining the room with his eyes.

“It resembles a study!” the mailmage replied, silent before that and looking around warily. “And it looks like,” he reached out and pointed his index finger at a side wall, “it used to belong to him.”

The two friends didn’t understand at first who Nymus was talking about, but then, as they followed his long index finger, they stopped their looks at a rectangle object hanging on the wall.

“It’s a portrait!” El said and they approached it.

The portrait was almost completely covered by a thick layer of spider web. El carefully removed the thick web with his hands and only after that, they managed to see a dark-skinned wizard with long moustache on it, who was wearing a strange hat with a feather attached to it. There was an inscription with a date on the bottom part of the painting, written in small letters:

“Reginald Hoggart. Chevalier of the Order of Feather (First Class). The founder of the Hoggarts kin. 1120-1498,” El read aloud.

“What does this mean?” William was really puzzled by this replaceing.

“This means, Master Calhoun, that the Hoggarts are, without any doubts, wizards. At least,” Nymus glanced at the portrait again, “their ancestors were! Unfortunately, there is nothing more here to shed the light on this wizard kin.”

“I wouldn’t be so hasty, Nymus…” El spoke up, still staring at the portrait, then he slowly turned to them. “May I be trice enchanted if they were ORDINARY wizards!”

“What do you mean?” William gave his friend a puzzled look.

“They are nobles! It means they have a direct right to take the top managing positions among wizards and they can follow special laws not meant for others!”

“What are you talking about, El? You’ve understood all that from the portrait?”

“Not only!” he pointed at the inscription on the bottom part of the portrait. “Look what’s under the portrait!”

“I’ve already seen the inscription, so what?”

“No, no! Not the inscription, I mean, what’s NEXT TO it!”

William immediately approached the portrait and gave the inscription an intent look, indeed, replaceing a strange symbol next to the small letters, which resembled a spiky half-circle.

“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes still on the inscription.

“A ducal crown!” Nymus spoke up suddenly, who was staring at the symbol, as shocked as his master. “I didn’t notice it the first time! Master Elian is right, it is indeed a ducal crown. It is used to mark the portraits of wizards who have noble blood.” Then he added, looking at the portrait itself. “I swear to the Post Office, the Hoggarts are not an ordinary family, even by the wizard standards! Besides, they are of noble blood! However…”

“However what?” El asked impatiently.

“The inscription on the door means that they are feathermages,” Nymus finished.

Deeply shocked, William stepped away from the portrait, thinking fast about something.

“So…” he turned to the mailmage again, “you knew about all this when I told you about the Hoggarts?”

“I didn’t know that the Hoggarts were aristocrats. But I suspected that they could be feathermages,” he replied. “It just seemed strange to me that, being a representative of such a noble kin, you landed in a random family of demits. And when you told me about the sphere of their work, my suspicions just grew. And I thought about feathermages right away. After renouncing their magic feathers, feathermages preferred public working places. It helped them keep track of many events that were happening in the society at the time, not only in the demit one. There were no means of mass communication back then, even newspapers, where they could learn about events happening in the world. But there were public city meetings, unions, members of which they became,” a bit later, he added: “Or headed them.”

“What about the Hoggarts?” El intervened. “Don’t they even suspect who their ancestors were?”

“Looks like it, since they didn’t know about this basement all this time and when they found out accidentally, they immediately decided to do the repairs and cover that part of the wall with wallpaper. No matter what, it is all in the past,” he looked around the study one more time and said: “We are not going to replace anything else in here, so if Master Calhoun does not mind, we should leave this place.”

El blew out all the candles and the three of them went up into William’s room, closing the stone wall behind them.

“Nymus, what about the door handle? What if the Hoggarts see it?” William asked him after returning to his room.

The mailmage gave that a bit of thinking, then replied:

“I think you should tell them about the study we have found. Perhaps, they will change their mind about the repairs. After all, now they have one extra room in their house.”

“I think you’re right! That’s what I’ll do!” William approved of the idea. “Could you hide the picture and the inscription on the wall, then? If a small part of bare wall makes Mrs. Hoggart angry, I can imagine her reaction when she reads this inscription.”

“That is easy, Master William!” Nymus approached the wall, placed his large hand over the picture and said quietly: “Abscondere!”

The picture on the wall started disappearing slowly until it was completely gone. Now the bare part of the wall looked like before. With the exception of the metal door handle on it.

“Thank you for helping us figuring everything out, Nymus!” It hadn’t escaped William’s attention that the mailmage looked very tired and concerned about something, since the first moments he had peregrined to the house of Roger Gibbs. “Are you alright? You look really weary today!” William asked his mailmage with concern.

“It is because of the elections of the president of the International Federation of Wizards, Master William!”

“Is the date already set and have the candidates been selected?” El asked briskly. “Dad tells me nothing! He says that it’s a complete mess and nothing is certain.”

“No, Master Elian, but the Post Office is already actively working with the International Federation of Wizards to define candidates, dates, and the procedure of the elections, as well as lots of other details connected with the elections of a new president. After the death of Quincy von Bulberg, there have come hard times for the Magical Post Office. So we are peregrining all over the countries with different tasks,” he looked at William. “But this does not mean that if Master Calhoun needs me, I will not be able to come at once and do any task he asks!”

“It’s alright, Nymus, thank you! I’ll call you if anything happens! Don’t overwork yourself out there or you’ll drop down with a fever!” William smiled. “Alright, we’re not going to keep you any longer! Best of luck, Nymus!”

“Good Mail, Master William!” He turned to El. “Master Elian!” Tilting his head, Nymus peregrined right away.

“So, the day wasn’t a waste! You’ve learned a lot about your Hoggarts today!”

“That’s to put it mildly!” William said with a frown.

“Are you going to tell them today or what?”

“I’m not sure! I need to think it over again.”

“Cheer up!” El patted him on the shoulder. “They probably have no clue about it!”

“I really hope so!”

“Well, I’ve got to go, too, Will!” El told him. “See you tomorrow in Featherology!”

William’s look fell on the Book of Mottos, still lying on the table.

“Don’t forget it again!” he nodded at the book.

“I’ll leave it with you for now! If they see me with it at home, there will be some unpleasant conversations! Mum and dad don’t like me reading grandpa’s books, they say that those lines aren’t for my mind! Besides, you are grandpa Rog’s fan!” El gave him a wide smile.

“That’s right!” William laughed. “Alright, then! You’ll take it another time.”

He walked El to the back yard, where he peregrined home with the help of his feathermap. William stayed outside for a bit, thinking about today’s replaceings. He didn’t want to think that the Hoggarts knew about their real essence. Because that would mean that they were going to make him a feathermage as well, depriving him of the opportunity to spend more time with his feather in his childhood, to get used to it. He didn’t forget Professor Pickwick’s words that it was a very important period in the life of any wizard and that in the future it influenced the ability to use the feather. Discarding that thought for a while, he decided to show them the study of Reginald Hoggart today and watch their reaction.

“THE PORTRAIT!” he remembered at once! He had to remove it from there! Because if they saw it, they would read the inscription and this would bring a lot of questions. So, he returned to the house, then headed to his room and quickly went down to the gloomy study. He approached the portrait and tried lifting it from the wall. It proved to be a difficult task, considering the fact that it had been placed there long time ago. But after applying a great effort, he managed to take it off, revealing two rusty nails that used to hold the portrait.

“No wonder it managed to stay on the wall for so long!” William muttered.

Carefully holding the portrait with two hands, he took it to his room, as carefully, and without much thinking, he put it under his bed. He wondered what time it was. He had to go to the living room to look at the clock, because since the morning he was late for Featherology, he removed the digital alarm clock from his room. It was thirteen minutes to seven. That meant that the Hoggarts would be home soon.

William returned to him room and decided to spend the remaining time on thinking everything over. He had to choose the right direction for the conversation. What was he going to tell them, what to start with? He had been thinking on how to present this unusual news to his relatives. How to tell them that he had found a new room in the house? At least, William thought, he wouldn’t have to tell them that there was a portrait six hundred years old in the basement, depicting a ‘Chevalier of the Order of Feather (First Class)’! He wondered if the portrait had been hanging there for all those six hundred years? Could be. Though, he kept thinking, it could have been simply moved in there. But who and when remained a mystery. William spent for about half an hour, thinking, until the Hoggarts returned home, finally. He went to the hallway and saw that Mr. and Mrs. Hoggart came together, which was quite convenient.

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Hoggart!” he greeted them.

“Hello, dear!” Mrs. Hoggart kissed him.

“William, son!” Mr. Hoggart ruffled William’s golden hair and the young man saw how much Mr. Hoggart looked like his ancestor from the portrait. “What did you do today?” he asked cheerfully.

“Nothing much!” William said quickly, then said tentatively: “I’d like to talk to you about something…”

It was clear to the Hoggarts that William was really concerned about something and they exchanged glances involuntarily. Mr. Hoggart was the first one to speak up:

“What would you like to talk about, son? Are you alright? Maybe some problems at school?”

“No, everything’s alright, Mr. Hoggart, don’t worry! I wanted to talk about something else.”

“What about, Willy?” Mrs. Hoggart asked in concern. “You’re not sick, are you?”

“No, everything’s fine,” he calmed them down. “I… well… you see… I wanted to say that you can’t do repairs in the house right now!”

“Why, Willy?”

Instead of answering, William asked:

“Tell me, what was the last time you moved the wardrobe away from the wall?”

Mr. and Mrs. Hoggart exchanged puzzled glances once again.

“And is that what you wanted to talk about, dear?” Mrs. Hoggart asked, now seriously worried about William’s health.

“Well, I just need to know,” William avoided a direct answer.

“Well,” Mrs. Hoggart started, “I don’t really know, to be honest,” she tried to recall. Then, as if she had discovered something incredible, she turned to Mr. Hoggart: “I can’t remember the time you’ve ever moved it, Edward!”

Mr. Hoggart wanted to continue this line of thought, but William was faster, he wanted this difficult conversation to be over as quick as possible.

“How old is this house?”

“Actually, William, I’m not sure myself!” Mr. Hoggart replied, a bewildered expression on his face. “The house has been here for at least one hundred and fifty years, because my grandfather Darren Hoggart lived here once! Why do you ask?”

“Because, behind that big wardrobe…” William hesitated, “it’s not a wall there, but a door! And it leads to the basement!” he finally breathed out.

“That’s impossible, Willy! What basement?” Mrs. Hoggart exclaimed.

“Yes, a basement! You can take a look yourselves, if you want!” William said innocently.

Instead of answering, Mrs. Hoggart headed to William’s room, he and Mr. Hoggart, who was no less shocked than his wife, followed her. When they entered the room, they found Mrs. Hoggart by the stone door carefully touching the door handle, as if she wanted to make sure her eyes weren’t lying to her. Mr. Hoggart joined her and started examining the handle. Silence followed, and William was the first to break it.

“That’s why this part of the wall isn’t covered with wallpaper, Mrs. Hoggart.”

She was still examining the door handle. Then she looked at Mr. Hoggart and exclaimed in wonder:

“But I swear there were no door handles here yesterday!”

“Well, William couldn’t have made the door himself, Mary! So it’s been here all along, we simply haven’t noticed it because of the wardrobe! But a stone door…” Mr. Hoggart moved his wife aside and opened the stone door.

“There’re stone stairs in here, Mary! William’s right, it goes down,” and he started descending the stairs.

Unable to say a word, Mrs. Hoggart followed him. William lingered for a bit, and when they disappeared from sight, he took his magic feather out and said quietly:

“Illuminatio!”

The candle on his desk lit up. He quickly grabbed it and followed the Hoggarts.

“There’s another door here!” came Mr. Hoggart’s voice from below, followed by the creaking of the opening door. “Careful, it’s dark in here! And we’ve forgotten to bring a torch!” his voice said, but William joined then at that moment with a candle in his hand.

The Hoggarts looked around quickly to the light of the candle. Their sincere surprise and real amazement while they were looking at the moss-covered stone slabs convinced William that they indeed had no idea about this study or the basement. William felt great relief because of that. This reaction of the Hoggarts only convinced him even more that they weren’t hiding anything from him and that they had been honest with him all the time.

“But whom did this basement belong to?” Mrs. Hoggart finally said after giving the place a thorough examination.

“It doesn’t matter anymore!” Mr. Hoggart replied, standing by the part of the wall that used to have the portrait of Reginald Hoggart.

When William noticed that, he became worried that Mr. Hoggart could notice the portrait trace. He hurried to step aside, taking the candle away from the wall, so that Mr. Hoggart wouldn’t see anything in the semi-darkness.

“But we know whom it belongs to now! We have an extra room in the house!” There was a smile in Mr. Hoggart’s voice. “They say that the real estate prices are going to go up soon, so William found this basement right on time!”

“We need to clean this place and quick!” Mrs. Hoggart cried out, she couldn’t stand even a millimetre of dirt in the entire house. Dirt and mess kept her awake at night.

“We’ll clean up over the weekend!” Mr. Hoggart supported the idea.

“So, the repairs are cancelled, then?” William asked happily.

“Willy, it would be unwise for us to ignore this very important historical part of our house!” Mr. Hoggart said, making William smile.

“I’ll go to Manchester on the weekend, pay Giles a visit and bring him here. He’s an ecologist and it would be great if he examined the place. I’ve recently read that inert gases can have a horrible influence on the body, so try to stay away from this place for a few days, William. Let him examine the place first and if it turns out that it is safe, we’ll give it to you, son. You’ve always dreamed about your own study, right?”

“Yes, Mr. Hoggart! This sounds wonderful!” William couldn’t believe his luck.

“That’s just magical!” Mr. Hoggart clapped his hands and his last word made the smile disappear from William’s face.

They went back up and soon the three of them sat down to dinner. Over dinner, they were vividly discussing the recently discovered basement, planning out the decoration style already and which means of communication to place in there. Mrs. Hoggart took out a bottle of champagne from the bar (she always kept champagne for unexpected joyful events) and poured it into glasses, and Mr. Hoggart even offered a special toast for that – “To the new room in our house!” Sharing their happiness, William kept thinking what would have happened if they had seen the portrait of Reginald Hoggart as well. He couldn’t even bring himself to imagining that, deciding to leave the portrait for later. But he was going to show it to them after a while! After all, that was Mr. Hoggart’s ancestor and he had a full right to see the portrait.

When the dinner was finished, William went to his room and locked the door. Then he carefully took the portrait from under his bed, carefully took it down to the study of Reginald Hoggart and put the portrait back on its place. Then he decided that he’d had enough adventures for today. Feeling a bad headache coming, William went up to his room, unmade his bed, climbed into it, and fell into a happy sleep almost at once.