The Other Side

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

It was a large room, dark and filled with books. There were books on the walls, books on the floor, books everywhere. There was a small desk too and an old, frail-looking man sat behind it with his head buried in a book.

The headmaster didn't look up as Tom entered the room and after waiting awhile, he wondered if he should say hello to get his attention. He thought about clearing his throat too. But he ended up waving his right hand nonchalantly.

"Leaving already?"

Tom's hand froze in mid-air. With his eyes just inches above the book, the headmaster shouldn't have been able to see him wave. He brought his hand down quickly and hid it behind his back.

"Well?" the headmaster asked as he finally looked up. "What do you want?"

Tom was lost for words, partly because he didn't know what he wanted – it wasn't he who had knocked on the door – and partly because the headmaster seemed so familiar, much like Cindy had. Except this time Tom was definitely sure he knew him.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Thomas Skinner, sir."

"Thomas Skinner," the man mused. "So you do speak."

Tom nodded nervously.

"You knocked on the door?"

"Yes sir. Well, no sir."

It was Cindy who had knocked on the door, Cindy who had just ditched him here. He remembered her mumbling something about time being of the essence. He wondered what the hurry was that she couldn't spare the minute it would have taken to explain to the headmaster why he was here.

"So you did, but you didn't?"

"I-"

"Thomas Skinner," the man interrupted as his eyes lit up. "You are Thomas Skinner?" he asked and Tom nodded. "Well, why didn't you say so?"

He had said so – even used his full name and all.

"Sit sit, my boy." The headmaster pointed to a chair. He closed his book and put it aside. With his elbows leaning on the table and his face resting in his hands, he smiled broadly. "Thomas Skinner, Thomas Skinner," he marvelled.

Tom sat down and nodded politely, wondering why his name was being repeated, wondering why the old man was smiling at him like that. The feeling of familiarity was still strong. He was sure he knew this man.

"You are quite something, my boy. I would never have believed it, but here you are."

The words didn't make much sense to Tom. Why was he quite something? He was a wizard in a school for wizards. Wasn't that quite normal?

"It's just amazing, isn't it?" the headmaster continued. "How you think you've seen everything, and then you show up." He added, "And your parents really are Wanderers?"

Tom still wasn't quite clear on what Wanderers were, but he knew his parents weren't wizards, so he reasoned they had to be the former. "I guess so, sir."

"Simply astounding," the headmaster enthused.

He knew he was missing something. It didn't feel right, the conversation. There was too much enthusiasm and praise coming from the headmaster. Astounding, amazing, quite something – those weren't words normally associated with him. What could he have done for the headmaster to think those of him?

"A wizard born to Wanderers," the old man said, "who would have thought it possible?"

Just then, Tom remembered the words Cindy had muttered as they both sat on the park bench. "You're a little too different" she had said. He suddenly had a bad feeling about this.

"Doesn't that happen often then, sir?"

"Never," the headmaster said. "You're the first."

"...The first?"

"Yes – they didn't tell you?"

Tom shook his head. He was pretty sure he would remember if they had. Any sentence that began with 'you are the first' would not be easily forgotten. He was waiting for a moment like this, for someone to say he wasn't a wizard, that there had been a mistake. But that wasn't what they were saying, was it?

He was a wizard, but born to Wanderers... which wasn't normal?

"What did they tell you?"

"That I was a wizard," Tom said warily, "and that it would be better for me to go to a wizard school."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Atlantis?"

"Do you know where Atlantis is?"

Tom almost said underwater. But he knew better now, so he shook his head.

"Do you know who the Wanderers are?"

"The people on the Other Side?"

"What side?"

He shrugged, confused. There was a feeling of déjà vu about this conversation. The headmaster turned to face the bookshelf. He shifted to his left, moved a few books and reached behind them. He returned to the desk with a black, glimmering, oval-shaped object the size of a bowling ball.

With a wave of his hand he cleared his desk, sending books, quills and other objects flying away. He placed the ball in the middle of the table.

"Come here, my boy."

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