G. Lippert - JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

"Not necessary," the portrait smiled. "Although do spread the word, if you will pardon the pun: I invented over four hundred uses for the common peanut. Being chiefly remembered for the creation of a snack food tends to be a bit of a legacy killer."

Ralph nodded. "I'll, er, try to remember that, sir."

"So then," Adams said, leaning back in his painted chair, "what can we do for you fine gentlemen?"

Zane stepped forward. "All right," he said, glancing around at the portraits. "We're looking for information about something that might have been here in the museum a long time ago. Any of you guys remember a silver horseshoe?"

"Silver horseshoe," Washington mused thoughtfully. "Rings a very faint bell, I daresay, although the idea seems a bit impractical on the surface of it."

"You may wish to ask Miss Sacajawea," Jefferson suggested. "She has a better view of the rest of the museum, being on the end near the entryway."

James walked along the line of portraits until he came to a large painting of a tall Native American woman in a fringed, buff-coloured tunic. Her long black hair fell over one shoulder, glinting in the light of a forest sunset.

"Um," James began, "hi, Miss. Mr. Jefferson said you might know something about an old horseshoe that used to be here in the museum. Do you remember anything like that?"

The woman in the portrait didn't move for several seconds. Finally, her eyelids fluttered slightly, as if she were rousing herself from a sort of sleep. She glanced at James solemnly and then nodded past him toward the corridor's broad entrance. "The talisman of the Rider's mount," she said softly. "I remember it. Its voice once sang from the hall beyond you, from its resting place near the window."

Zane frowned. "Er, I don't think we're talking about the same thing," he said respectfully. "This was a silver horseshoe . You know. Not the sort of thing that sings, usually."

"It was no usual relic," the portrait said, and there was a tinge of sadness in her voice. "Its home was not of this world and the hoof from which it came belonged to no ordinary beast. Its voice was tiny, nearly faded to silence, but such was the enchantment of its origin that it still told its sad tale even after so many seasons had passed over it. I alone heard its song and marked its passing."

In an awed voice, James asked, "Do you remember what happened to it, Miss?"

Sacajawea nodded slowly. "The man with the iron cane took it," she said. "He enchanted the woman who was curator in that time, making her believe that he had been given special privileges. She helped him unlock the talisman's case. When the man touched the talisman, its song, faint as it was, finally ceased. He took it with him and it has been gone ever since."

"The man with the iron cane," Zane whispered, nudging James. "Magnussen, you think?"

James nodded. "Who else could it be?"

"Ignatius Magnussen," Jefferson's voice echoed from the corridor. "I remember him— and his cane."

James looked back. "You saw him here too?"

"He was not the sort of man one is likely to forget," Jefferson answered soberly. "Had a face like something carved from granite and a tongue like a two-edged sword."

"We observed him with his classes, on occasion," Washington added. "Thomas is quite right. Professor Magnussen had a way with cruelty that was very nearly an art form. I knew men like him in my day, men whose words could both build the strongest confidences and cut the deepest wounds."

"And his iron-tipped cane, I might add," said the portrait of George Washington Carver, "was no normal cane. Its power was concealed, but no great secret. Where others seem to rely on magical wands, Professor Magnussen wielded his horrid cane, and it was revered with much dread."

"I remember seeing that cane," James said thoughtfully. "In the Disrecorder vision. It was leaning against the table, right next to him. Its handle looked sort of like a falcon or a gargoyle or something."

"Indeed, that was the man's constant companion," the portrait of Adams said, nodding. "Be glad, gentlemen, that his day is past and you do not have to sit beneath his cold eye."

"Yeah," Ralph said morosely as they made their way back along the corridor, heading for the exit. "Hooray for us."

It was Valentine's evening before the three boys were finally able to attempt the trip through time in pursuit of the infamous Professor Magnussen. Tracking down the date of the professor's disappearance was the easiest part since, by all accounts, it coincided with the fire that destroyed his erstwhile home. Figuring out how to get the Warping Willow to take them to that exact date, however, proved to be a bit more of a challenge. In the end, Zane had called upon his fellow Zombies, including Warrington, to help write the appropriate rhyming verse that would, with any luck, send them back to the evening of October eighth, eighteen fifty-nine.

The day leading up to the adventure went exceedingly slowly. James found it very difficult to pay attention in Georgia Burke's Magizoology class even though they were studying live Velocipedes, which tended to require constant observation and very quick reflexes. Halfway through the class, James had gotten neatly bowled over by one of the huge hundred-legged insects. As a result, the creature had squirmed playfully around him in a vigorous hug and licked his face repeatedly with its long prehensile tongue.

"You'll be all right," Professor Burke called from outside the muddy pen. "They're like big puppies, really. Just relax and she'll get bored with you in a minute. There's no point in trying to disengage yourself, trust me."

James flopped back into the mud and squinted his eyes shut while the Velocipede huffed excitedly into his face, its tongue like a miniature, rubbery whip.

The afternoon's classes had no sooner ended than James had to rush across campus toward Pepperpock Down, munching a sandwich en route and dragging his Clutch gear along with him. The afternoon match was against Pixie House, and amazingly enough, Team Bigfoot was tied with the Pixies' scoring record. Frankly, James was too preoccupied with the evening's upcoming adventure to care much about the match, but the rest of Team Bigfoot had been wildly heartened by their recent victory over Team Vampire. As a result, they went into that afternoon's match with a grim determination that was, despite James' distraction, quite inspiring. It was no great surprise, therefore, when the Bigfoots prevailed narrowly throughout the match and ended the game with a very slim but breathlessly exciting win over the Pixies. The packed grandstands roared raucously when the final whistle blew, and James realized with some degree of amazement that Team Bigfoot had gone from forgettable losers to admirable underdogs. The entire school (with the obvious exception of whichever house they happened to be playing) suddenly seemed to be rooting for them, if only as a novelty.

Changing out of his Clutch gear and heading for Administration Hall for dinner, James met up with Zane and Ralph. It wasn't until they made their way toward the cafeteria that James remembered that it was the night of the Valentine's dance. Construction paper hearts and cupids flitted through the upper reaches of the halls, occasionally swooping down onto unsuspecting students and chasing them around, producing sudden explosions of giggles and happy screams.

"What's all that about?" James asked as a girl swept past, giggling and batting at the paper cupid that was circling her head.

"It's Valentine's Day," Zane shrugged. "Don't you have Valentine's Day at Hoggies?"

"Yeah," Ralph nodded. "I guess. But it's a lot less, er, screamy."