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Laws of Magic 4: Time of Trial
ePub ISBN 9781742740683
Kindle ISBN 9781742740690
A Random House book
Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060
First published by Random House Australia in 2009
This edition first published in 2010
Copyright © Michael Pryor 2009
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia.
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National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry
Author: Pryor, Michael
Title: Time of trial/Michael Pryor
ISBN: 978 1 86471 865 2 (pbk.)
Series: Pryor, Michael. Laws of magic; 4
Target audience: For secondary school age
Dewey number: A823.3
Cover illustration by Jeremy Reston
Cover design by www.blacksheep-uk.com
Internal design by Mathematics
Typeset in Bembo by Midland Typesetters, Australia
For the Centre for Youth Literature,
a national treasure.
Lili, Mike, Paula, Christine –
champions of the cause.
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Book Five: Moment of Truth
One
Aubrey Fitzwilliam braced himself for the next attack from his young, tall and menacing adversary. Young and tall were manageable. It was the menacing part that was the problem.
Aubrey grimaced as sweat trickled from his brow and threatened to blind him, but he couldn’t spare a hand to wipe it away.
His adversary advanced on him, murder in his eye, and launched a thunderbolt.
Aubrey played forward and had to jerk back when the ball leaped up off a good length, whistling past his gloves with nothing to spare.
The bowler stifled a groan and stood mid-pitch. He threw his head back as if to berate the gods for the injustice. Then he scowled at Aubrey before beginning his march back to his bowling mark.
Aubrey straightened and removed his batting gloves, trying to give the appearance of someone who had so much composure that he could give the surplus away to those less blessed – while inside, his batting nerves jittered alarmingly.
The annual match between St Alban’s College and Lattimer College was a carnival, the traditional event to mark the end of term. Surrounding the oval was a throng of vastly amused spectators, as well as a brass band, a coconut shy, sundry vendors of refreshments, assorted dogs and even a tethered hot air balloon for the amusement of those not entirely interested in the cricket. The day was bright and sunny, perfect weather for such an occasion.
Aubrey was batting much sooner than he’d expected. Coming in at number eight after a pitiful collapse by the higher order, he was attempting to gather the sixty-odd runs needed for victory. If he managed this improbable event, St Alban’s would defeat Lattimer College for the first time in thirty-four years. At the moment, this was exceedingly unlikely, as it seemed to Aubrey as if Lattimer College was solely populated by six-foot-tall Adonises. Every one of their bowlers had shoulders so broad that he imagined Lattimer College was built with extra-wide doorways, to save these gargantuan athletes from having to turn sideways to enter rooms.
Aubrey’s batting partner, by contrast, was a well-meaning, second-year magic student whose mind was mostly elsewhere. He had a disconcerting habit of blinking and saying, ‘My word. Should I be running now?’ when Aubrey was haring toward him, which hadn’t helped matters at all.
The umpire cleared his throat. He was the professor of Jurisprudence, selected on the misunderstanding that a familiarity with the law meant he’d be a good umpire. His extremely thick glasses suggested otherwise. ‘Are you ready, young man?’ he quavered down the length of the pitch.
Aubrey sighed. ‘Sorry, sir.’ He pulled on his gloves. Bat and pad close together, he thought, and if it’s loose, lash it through the gap in the off side.
Aubrey hadn’t had a loose delivery in the four overs he’d faced, but he was doing his best to be optimistic.
The bowler pawed the ground impatiently. From where Aubrey stood he seemed small against the jollity of the spectators behind him. Parasols, straw boaters and striped blazers made a colourful backdrop, and Aubrey knew he’d lose sight of the ball as soon as the bowler hurled it.
He went into his stance and gripped the bat so tightly it hurt.
The bowler squared his shoulders, his shirt visibly straining not to burst at the seams. He grinned, then set off. At first he loped, easily and smoothly, like a steeplechaser. Soon, however, he accelerated, arms and legs pumping, a maniacal grin on his face.
Just as the bowler gathered himself for his huge final bound and delivery, Aubrey straightened. He smelled something – something more than the smell of mown grass, more than the tang of nervous sweat, something different from the aroma coming from the pie seller’s barrow.
He smelled shrillness – and he knew magic wasn’t far away.
Aubrey had noted, over the last few months, that his magical awareness had been developing. His lecturer in Magical Abilities had forecast such a thing. As the term had progressed, Aubrey and his fellow students had found that they could sense magic at greater and greater distances. Aubrey had also been intrigued to learn that as magical awareness matured, it could take on an odd cast, sometimes being experienced as a confusion of more ordinary senses. Hearing colours or tasting sounds, for instance. It was unsettling at first, and unpredictable, but Aubrey had quickly learned that he should be alert whenever it happened.