"And Ernest thought this vehicle would make us go unnoticed?" Bagus, rubbing his lower back, complained about their carriage pulled by a phantom horse and driven by a ghostly coachman.

It was late night when the magicians, each donning an enchanted wig, arrived in front of a small house shrouded in fog. It was a tall and narrow house with a sloping roof and few unkempt trees in a tiny front yard. It could have been easily described as one of the many common red brick houses in Canonbury, except for two small details: it was the only house on the street immersed in a thick fog and the only one where an old man, dressed in a robe, was on the lookout in the upstairs window, menacingly pointing a magic wand toward the street.

"I was waiting for you!" he whispered, waving the wand nervously. "I know who you are and I know what you want from me. Go away!"

"Ebanister, Ebanister, let us in!" said Gustaf. "We are not going to hurt you, believe me."

"No way!" replied the old man, ready to cast a spell. "I warn you! Take one more step and you'll end up roasted." To show he meant business, he mumbled a few words and twirled his wand, hitting his neighbor's hedge with a sizzling wave of green energy.

"Is that all?" asked Bagus, noting the hedge had only lost a few leaves.

"Well... that was just a test," explained the old man, blotting the sweat off his nose and chin with a handkerchief. "The next blow will be devastating!"

"Ebanister," said Gustaf advancing slowly, "why don't you try to be reasonable and put the wand away?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" answered the man, casting a new spell. "Take that!" The entrance gate started to growl and the mailbox, which had sprung a couple of sharp canine teeth, began to bite the air.

"Are you crazy?" yelled Bagus. "Do you want some mortal to find out who we are?"

"Don't worry. No one will notice some dead wizards on my sidewalk," replied Ebanister. "The house is shrouded in Grimor's fog."

"Why don't you give us a chance to explain?" said Archibald, walking carefully as he tried to tame the gate. "We just want to talk to you."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed the old man. "You want to rob me and get rid of me. This is what the master ordered, right?"

"You're wrong!" contradicted Gustaf, taking off his wig and revealing his true likeness. "Look carefully, Ebanister. I'm Gustaf Puddleclock, one of Nobilius's advisor. We are the good guys! We are on your side."

"We just want to help you," said Bagus, removing his wig and taking one step forward. "You're in serious danger!"

Confused, Ebanister pointed his wand at Gustaf, then at Bagus and then at Archibald, repeating the maneuver a few times.

"No! No one can help me!" said the old man, sobbing. "I've betrayed my own family. Do you understand? But now... now I can fix that."

"Don't be crazy! Please!" plead Gustaf, getting ready to pull out his wand.

"I'll fix everything!" repeated Ebanister, wide-eyed. "No one will win and no one will lose."

"Give us the chimeria, Ebanister, right now!" shouted Gammal, coming out of the shadows, wand in hand, "and no one will hurt you."

"Who's that?" Ebanister pointed the wand at the wizard, bringing his face to light with the flame of a magic candle. "I knew it..." Furious, the old man waved his wand, disarming the wizard and making him disappear in a powerful flash of light.

"No! Abigore!" cried Bagus, desperate. "What did you do?" "Go away!" the old man roared again.

"Ebanister, please, listen!" shouted Archibald, taking his wand out of his sleeve, still reticent to use magic in the mortal world.

"I don't need to listen!" replied the old man, casting a spell on the street lights, which started to move and hit the sidewalk. "I've decided and no one can stop me," he said, leaving the window quickly.

"Bagus!" shouted Gustaf, missing the stroke of a maddened streetlight just in time. "Go and look for Abigore. We can take care of this!"

Bagus nodded. He whistled to call the broom which was still in the carriage, and then flew off to find his friend.

"LUMINARIA PROHIBETE!" yelled Archibald against the street lights, but couldn't stop them. "Darn it! It's not working!" he said, trying to find refuge under the carriage.

"Black magic!" replied Gustaf, panting from exhaustion.

"Hey!" screamed Gastogne, who had been standing guard with Doralise behind the corner. "W-what's happening?" he said, looking at the destroyed street, car, and sidewalk. "Did I miss a party?"

"Does it look like a party?" replied Archibald, just before a street light hit the carriage where he had found refuge, hurling him away.

"You can't rule it out!" replied the stick, while the Grok puppy, who had just caught up with him, bit the base of a lamppost as if it were a tasty bone.

"Gastogne! Go away! This place is not for you!" ordered Gustaf, while fighting like a swordsman simultaneously against two foes. "Archibald! What about a gust of wind?" Gustaf motioned his brother to point his wand upward, uniting their powers.

"Great idea!" his brother replied after getting back on his feet. "GENERATE TURBULENTIA!" they both recited, lifting their arms. Increasingly taller and larger columns of air started to whirl powerfully down the street, uprooting and dragging away everything including – to the wizards' great relief – the indomitable lampposts.

"REGREDIRE INSTANTEM!" Gustaf yelled again with what little strength he had left.

At that very moment, as if someone had pressed rewind, the neighborhood returned to the previous silence, with everything perfectly in its place.

"I am too old for all this commotion and excitement!" Archibald confided, dropping on the ground, exhausted.

"Tell me about it!" said Gustaf, following suit. "Tell me about it!"

Suddenly back from his search, Bagus sat on the small patch of grass where the brothers were resting.

"So? Where's Abigore?" asked Gustaf, alarmed.

"Why? What happened?" asked Gastogne, panicking. "Where's Master Gammal? Where's my master?"

Bagus shook his head.

"I don't know! I couldn't find him anywhere."

"You don't mean to say m-my... my master is..."

"Hey! Hey!" Archibald stopped him, closing its wooden mouth. "Don't think that, not for a moment. Ok? Don't worry, we'll find him! He's not..."

Archibald couldn't finish his sentence, as the dreaded thirteen tolls of Big Ben rang long and gloomy, marking the end of the time at their disposal. Nothing moved. For a few moments, there was nothing but silence and a ghostly darkness.

"Velgor, help us! The countdown is over!" Said Bagus, suddenly pale. "Now, even the followers of Gobler will have access to the mortal world."

"I'd say, let's choose a lovely vacation spot where we can stay hidden for a while... about two or three thousand years?" suggested Gastogne, worried.

"It's not the end, yet!" corrected Gustaf. "As long as the chimeria and the treasures of Goram stay hidden, Gobler will remain a prisoner of the Mirror of Abedhaar and the powers of the black magicians will be weak."

"We absolutely must find the chimeria!" exclaimed Bagus.

"Groarrr!" Doralise became suddenly nervous and began to growl and run in circles, sensing danger.

"I hear footsteps!" informed Gastogne.

"Quick, hide!" urged Gustaf.

At the end of the road, they could make out the outline of a tall, thin man with a bowler hat on his head. He was whistling an eerie melody, swinging the handle of a long black umbrella.

"Who's he?" asked Archibald.

"I don't know," whispered Gustaf, "but I have a strange feeling."

The man came within a hundred yards of Ebanister's house. As if sensing the presence of someone, he paused for a moment and looked in the direction of the wizards. He then reached into the breast pocket of his double-breasted jacket, pulled out two colored gems, and threw them, causing them to land a few feet away from the magicians. Finally, he opened the umbrella, disappearing into thin air.

"Where did he go?" asked Gastogne, fretfully.

"I'd like to know too!" replied Archibald, looking anxiously around.

"Oh-oh!" exclaimed Gustaf, noticing something.

"Please clarify," asked Gastogne. "Is oh-oh good or bad?" 

"Oh, no!" joined Archibald. "Not again."

A thick fog descended once more upon the neighborhood. The gems, launched by the unknown individual, rose a few inches off the ground. All of a sudden, hundreds of pebbles began rolling down the street, quickly joining together to form a monstrous stone giant.

"It looks bad, but it may not have bad intentions," said Bagus, optimistic.

"AARGHH!" The monster introduced himself with a roar, shattering the wizards' carriage with his fist and putting to flight both coachman and horse.

"Never mind!" the old magician rectified as he pulled out his wand and prepared to face a new, exhausting battle. "It's definitely bad!"

* * * * * * *

"Talk. Tsk!" Ebanister muttered to himself as he fed some fresh logs to the fireplace. "They're fooling themselves if they think there's still time to talk." He sat in a worn-out armchair, wrapping a blanket around his legs and placing his wand on his lap. "Tonight, the ancient battle between wizards and mortals will finally come to an end!" he announced, sipping a little cherry tea before the fire. "You'll never win! Do you hear me, evil scoundrels?" he shouted, interrupted by his cough. "And if someone dares to approach me, I swear I'll strike him down with this wand... Ah, will I!... Yes!" he continued, slowly lowering his voice to an indiscernible whisper.

And so, while muttering his thoughts out loud, sipping tea and polishing his magic wand, Ebanister began to settle into his long night.

He had just prepared his umpteenth pot of tea when the tolls of Big Ben startled him.

"Very well! The time has come," he said, moving the curtain in the kitchen window to look outside. "May the game begin!" He then left the kitchen, grasping his wand firmly in his hand. Back in the living room, he stopped in front of the fireplace, listening.

It was probably just a figment of his imagination, but he thought he heard a noise coming from upstairs, a light drumming on the floor from one side of the house to the other. He held his breath. With a lit candle, he walked through the rooms in the shadows until he reached the stairs. He looked over cautiously to make sure there was no imminent danger. After a brief hesitation, he decided to go up the first flight of stairs, pointing his wand straight ahead, pausing now and then to listen to the unusual noise and determine its source. Once he reached the next floor, he stopped again to catch his breath and wipe the sweat which had collected on his neck. At his age, climbing the stairs was as strenuous as lifting a hippo with his own hands. Keeping his back to the wall, he continued his inspection, placing his ear on every closed door, then opening it abruptly. He followed this system for every room: the office, the guestroom, the bathroom, and the closet. No one else appeared to be in the house, and the strange noise seemed to have ceased. He shook his head, smiling at his excessive anxiety, and returned to the living room where the fire had died down to small embers. He placed the wand on the table and bent down to revive the flames with a couple of logs, when suddenly he heard the same drumming sound, now directly behind him. He turned around slowly, stretching to retrieve the wand, then moved towards the window. It was then that he saw, projected on the wall in front of him, the shadow of a big spider scampering on the wooden floors until it hid under the cushion on his chair.

"Ah, you, ugly beast!" he exclaimed, turning around and rolling the daily paper in his free hand. "You're the one that's making me crazy, then."

He moved toward the spider, determined to catch him, but could only take two steps when a gust of wind ran through the room, briefly turning off every flame and leaving him in the dark for a few moments. Then, some long fingers appeared out of nowhere on an arm of the chair and began to fiddle with a loose thread hanging out of its flowery fabric.

The spider was gone. In his place, on the chair, was a figure whose face was still undistinguishable.

"I've always found this house rather squalid," said a familiar voice.

"Isidore?" asked the old man, without moving. "Isidore, is it you?"

"And do you know what I find even more squalid?" said the man, keeping his face toward the fireplace. "Your choices."

The man rose and kept talking without turning around. "Did you really think the Great Master wouldn't find you? Did you think that forsaking his name would protect you?" He paused, chuckling at such naivety. "Did you really think he would have let you and these miserable mortals go scot-free, without taking his revenge?" He finally turned, giving Ebanister a cold stare. "I'm sorry to disillusion you, grandpa, but our ancestor is coming back, despite your insignificant attempts to stop him. But you're fortunate, you know? Because in his immense generosity he gives you one last chance to side with him and take your seat with the victors."

"Who are you?" asked Ebanister, pointing his wand toward him. "You're not my grandson!"

"What do you mean?" said the man, looking surprised and opening his arms with a friendly smile. "It's me, dear grandpa. Don't you recognize me? It's your grandson, Isidore."

"Hmm," groaned the old man. "My grandson wouldn't place his big toe in this shack, not even if he had been bitten by a poisonous snake and I were the only one with the antidote," replied Ebanister. "Besides... I imagine it's perfectly normal for your shadow to reveal an enchantment, right?"

The man turned around and smiled, noticing his shadow on the wall didn't correspond to his figure.

"I've lit a magic fire. Do you think I was born yesterday?" asked Ebanister. "I'll ask you again nicely. Who are you and what have you done with my grandson?"

"My identity is not important. About your grandson Isidore," said the man, moving close to the table and pouring himself some tea, "he's in perfect health... for now!" Then he sat back down and calmly sipped his drink.

"If you touch one hair of his head..." exclaimed Ebanister, moving forward and touching the tip of the man's nose with his wand.

"What happens to your insipid grandson depends entirely on your next decisions, Ebanister," explained the man, asking permission with his eyes to take something out of his double-breasted jacket. He then pulled out a crystal ball and handed it to the old man. "Look!" he said. The ball showed images of countless hooded wizards bowing in front of a mirror and Isidore locked up in a dark and narrow recess, screaming out loud. "The Master is ready to return. He only wants to reunite with his family and complete his project. He has no other ambition." He placed the ball on the table before him. "Tell me where you hid the chimeria, Ebanister. Help him return and you won't regret it. Help him, Ebanister, and you'll be rewarded for your loyalty."

"You can tell your master that I for one hope he'll rot inside that mirror!" replied the fearless, old wizard. "I'll never participate in his diabolical plan. I'd rather drown in the Swamp of Remorse." He then opened a small door which was almost hidden in his office and, without losing eye contact with the fake Isidore, pulled out a huge cauldron. "Now, if you could just be on your way, I've something very important to attend to." Holding the door, he pointed to the shortest way out.

"Ebanister, Ebanister..." said the man, calmly placing his elbows on the arms of the chair and interlocking his fingers, "are you really sure of what you are doing?"

"Absolutely!" confirmed the old man, backing up.

"Very well," said the other man, standing up and putting on his gloves with icy calm. "It's a shame... a great shame, really. I was sure that in the end you'd understand who your real enemies are, and that mortals are useless beings, able only to destroy what's beautiful and valuable. They don't deserve your esteem and your loyalty... however ... if this is your decision..." The man placed his crystal ball back in his pocket, grabbed his umbrella, put his bowling hat on his head and turned again toward Ebanister. "I can only say, it'll be painful to lose a wizard of your caliber!"

"I'm not afraid of you!" the old man challenged. "Go ahead! Bring it on!"

What happened next was too fast to describe. The room started to shake and rotate. The fake Isidore assumed a new appearance. With his icy breath, he blew out both candles and magical fire, leaving the place in deepest darkness - a darkness torn only occasionally by the beams of their magic wands that kept crossing in the fight. The room continued to explode with the seemingly unending screams and sounds of the fight. Then, suddenly, everything became still and silent.

* * * * * * *

"What's going on in there?" asked Bagus, who had just prevented the foot of the stony giant from reducing Gastogne to a baseboard.

"Something serious!" replied Gustaf, while throwing another spell on the giant that was swinging around like an angry gorilla, relentlessly charging anything that moved.

"Look!" exclaimed Archibald, surprised. "Isn't that Ebanister?"

The old man, still wearing his robe, was leaving the house as if sleepwalking, followed by the man with the bowling hat.

"Where are they going?" asked Gastogne.

"We must stop them!" shouted Gustaf, spinning his wand and casting a new spell: "ROCCA DISPERDE!" The giant shattered into a myriad of stones, which regrouped within seconds to form the same shape.

"Let me try!" said Bagus, stopping in front of the monster. "INCLUDUNT DETENTIO!" An enormous cage of stubborn oakwood formed around the giant, confining him.

"Ah-ah!" teased Gastogne. "How do you like that move?"

The giant bent down and snorted, sending the staff flying. Then, with a simple stroke of its elbow, it smashed the wooden cage.

"Darn it!" complained Bagus, as he watched Ebanister disappearing in the fog. "IN VINCULA CIRCUNDE!" Long chains emerged from the ground, grabbing the arms and legs of the stone giant, blocking its movements.

"Gustaf! He is taking him away!" yelled Archibald. "We need to do something!"

Gustaf placed two fingers on his heart and pointed his wand toward Ebanister: "OPPOSIT MALUM!" He was hoping this powerful spell would wake his friend and free him from the influence of the evil enchantment, but the man with the bowler hat quickly turned and deflected the magic. Then, with a wicked smile, the man opened his umbrella and vanished into thin air, taking old Ebanister with him.