The Shadowseeker - Victor Kloss Page 0,94

will have some difficulty fulfilling the task given to you by Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth I.”

Dagmar turned and left, her little legs striding so quickly it almost looked comical.

“Was she serious?” Ben asked, as he watched her go.

“She can't have been, though I didn't think she was capable of a joke.”

“She wasn't serious,” Natalie said, without a great deal of confidence. “Come on, let's go stuff our faces.”

— Chapter Thirty-One —

Unexpected Help

The weekend was possibly the slowest in history and Ben was genuinely concerned that Monday might not ever arrive. When he wasn't thinking of his parents, he was worrying over his exam results. Ben wasn't used to worrying, especially when it came to exams, but there was so much riding on this one. Surely Dagmar, a fellow Guardian, wouldn't stop him searching out the rest of Elizabeth's Armour? But knowing her, anything was possible.

To pass the time, Ben re-connected with some friends and spent most of the weekend playing football and video games. He was constantly texting Charlie, but their conversation was limited as Charlie was with his parents.

Sunday night seemed to contain a dozen extra hours, most of which Ben spent in bed, trying to get to sleep.

“Looks like you slept about as well as me,” Charlie said with a yawn, when they met on the way to the Institute the following morning. “I've lost count of the number of times I've gone over the exam in my head, thinking about all the things I did wrong. I just hope my Diplomacy and Scholar scores counter my pathetic Trade and Spellsword performances.”

“There's no point worrying about it now,” Ben said, “We'll find out soon enough.”

But Ben found it impossible to take his own advice and spent most of the journey evaluating and re-evaluating his own exam and trying to work out what his score might be.

It was business as usual at the Royal Institute of Magic. The ground floor was a hive of activity despite the early hour and as usual the lively atmosphere gave Ben a lift. Thankfully there was no indication that anyone knew what they had got up to last Friday.

“There's Draven,” Charlie whispered, as they approached the stairs. He came down the staircase and passed them by, glancing their way for a second, before continuing his conversation with another Warden. To a stranger it might have sounded like he was arguing something, but Ben knew that was his default tone of voice.

“Did you see that?” Charlie said, looking back as Draven strode out of the Institute. “I didn't like the way he looked at us. That's bad news. He must know our exam results. We've failed for sure.”

“Oh, put a sock in it,” Ben said, without malice. “Let's get to muster and get this over with. The suspense is killing me.”

Dagmar looked back to her old self, even down to the baton she held underneath her arm. The weariness had vanished and she stood with her back so straight it seemed to add a few valuable inches to her frame. She looked calm and unflustered, as if yesterday, or indeed the events of the last two weeks, had never happened. Her revitalised appearance did not go unnoticed by the apprentices, but Ben could understand why nobody saw fit to comment on it.

Muster proceeded with customary military speed. Ben, who normally listened to Dagmar's morning announcements with interest, found himself unable to concentrate and was relieved when Dagmar dismissed the apprentices for the morning.

“Mr. Greenwood, Mr. Hornberger,” Dagmar said. “Come with me, please.”

Ben and Charlie exchanged glances before following Dagmar, as she clomped her way down the hall, until they reached a door marked “Master of Apprentices”. Dagmar opened it and beckoned Ben and Charlie through.

Ben wasn't surprised to find Dagmar's office a modest, functional one. On her desk were baskets, neatly stacked with papers. There were several large shelves lining both sides of the wall, filled with books and files that Ben was fairly certain were perfectly organised. Dagmar's only concession to extravagance was a large portrait of a pretty woman with steely brown eyes, with the Royal Institute of Magic in the background.

“Charlotte Rowe,” Charlie whispered, glancing up at the portrait.

“That is correct,” Dagmar said. She stood in front of her desk, facing them, and showed no sign that she was going to sit down. Ben wasn't sure he had ever seen Dagmar sit on a chair.

“I have your exam results,” she said, with an abruptness that caught Ben off-guard. From her pocket