Free Aurelius and I by Benjamin James Barnard Page B

lifetime of lies. Indeed, I suspect that many of you are suffering from the same ailment as you read these words. And why shouldn’t you be? After all, I have seen all I have told you with my own eyes, whereas you have merely heard the second-hand ramblings of an old man. The majority of you have probably never experienced anything magical at all in your entire young lives. That is a great shame, but you still have plenty of time. Magic, unlike human society, does not judge people’s worthiness according to their years. Just remember this; in life, things are far more likely to happen to you if you believe that they will. This is a fact that counts double for magic, for in most cases you must truly believe it before you can see it.
     
     
Chapter 7
     
    I had returned home late that night, having politely declined Aurelius’s invitation to stay for supper (which he had announced would consist of ‘Jumbleberry Pie’, before proceeding to tip all the carefully separated berries into the same enormous cooking pot. “Don’t worry,” he had reassured me upon catching me staring at him as if he were crazy, “I haven’t forgotten the accompanying vegetables – I’ve made plenty of sherbet-filled Yorkshire puddings for two”). Although the long summer days meant that it was not yet dark when I returned home, my parents were still angry that I had stayed out so late without telling them where I would be or when I would be back, especially as this had meant that my father had had to walk Baskerville, missing his favourite television programme in the process. After a long lecture about responsibility, I had been sent to bed with no supper, although, after an hour or so, my mother had secretly snuck me a few slices of cold pizza as she often did in such situations, not because she felt I deserved them, but because I was a very slim and pale skinned child and she was constantly concerned as to whether I was eating enough.
    I awoke early the next morning, and so was able to join my father at the breakfast table before he went to work; a rare occurrence in our house during the school holidays, during which I usually took the opportunity to lie in. Clearly happy to see me, all the events of the previous evening had been forgotten and the three of us laughed and joked over plates of crisp bacon and scrambled egg, accompanied by unending rounds of hot, buttered toast and freshly-squeezed orange juice.
    I must confess that my early rising that morning was no accident. You see, my father worked for the council - in what role, I had little idea, aside from the fact that it was a reasonably-paid bureaucratic position with little power or respect that he greatly disliked and performed only to feed and clothe our family. It was however, a role that rendered him the best person I knew to ask advice on the forthcoming development of Hanselwood Forest, and so, accordingly, I had set an alarm in order that I might arm myself with as much information as possible in order to help me succeed in my newly acquired quest to protect the secret of magic.
    Not wanting to invite questions about why I cared about what was happening to the forest, or especially how much time I was spending there and who with, I bided my time before asking my question, talking about everything from the weather to our forthcoming family holiday to Great Yarmouth before broaching the subject I was actually interested in.
    “What are you gong to be doing at work today, Dad?”
    “Oh, just the usual boring paperwork, nothing that would interest you I’m afraid,” answered my father, pretending to dismiss the question, but clearly happy that somebody had cared enough to ask about his day.
    “The paperwork’s important though. It might be boring but nothing would get done without it.”
    “Well, that’s true, Charlie. I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Indeed he had said it himself, many times, which is why I knew it would be the right way to ease into the