Michael Carroll, who read it first and last and said, We need to talk
about
O. R. Melling, who said, Have you finished it yet?
Claudette Sutherland, who said, You really should think about
And finally, of course: Barry Krost, at BKM, who is surely the Alchemyst s
grandfather, which would probably make John Sobanski his nephew!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An authority on mythology and folklore, Michael Scott is one of Ireland s
most successful authors. A master of fantasy, science fiction, horror, and
folklore, he was hailed by the
isles. He lives and writes in Dublin. Visit him at www.dillonscott.com.
A Special Preview of
THE
MAGICIAN
Book two of
Excerpt copyright 2007 by Michael Scott.
Published by Delacorte Press.
I am dying.
Along with my wife Perenelle, I age a year for every day that passes, and
thus, by my reckoning, we both have less than a month to live.
But much can be achieved in a month.
Dee and his dark masters have Perenelle prisoner, they have finally secured
the Codex, the Book of Abraham the Mage, and they must also know that
Perenelle and I cannot survive for much longer.
But they cannot be resting easy.
They must know now that Sophie and Josh are the twins mentioned in the
ancient book. They are the twins of prophecy and legend, with auras of silver
and gold, brother and sister with the power to either save the world or
destroy it. The girl s powers have been Awakened, though, sadly, the boy s
have not.
Now we are in Paris, the city of my birth, the city where I first discovered
the Codex and began the long quest to translate it. That journey led me to
the discovery of the Elder Race, revealed the mystery of the philosopher s
stone and finally the ultimate secret of immortality.
I love this city. It holds many secrets and is home to more than one human
immortal and ancient Elder. Here, I will find a way to Awaken Josh s powers
and continue Sophie s education.
I must.
For their sakes and for the continuance of the human race.
SATURDAY,
CHAPTER ONE
The charity auction hadn't started until well after midnight, once the gala
dinner had ended. It was almost four in the morning, and the auction was only
now drawing to a close. A digital display behind the celebrity auctioneer an
actor who had played James Bond on-screen for many years showed the running
total at more than one million euro.
Lot number two hundred and ten: a pair of early nineteenth-century Japanese
Kabuki masks.
A ripple of excitement ran through the crowded room. Carved from solid jade,
the Kabuki masks were the highlight of the auction and were expected to fetch
in excess of half a million euro.
The tall, thin man with the fuzz of close-cropped snow-white hair standing at
the back of the room was prepared to pay twice that.
Niccol Machiavelli stood apart from the crowd, arms lightly folded across
his chest, careful not to wrinkle his Savile Row tailored black silk tuxedo.
Stone gray eyes swept over the other bidders, analyzing and assessing them.
There were really only five he needed to look out for: two private collectors
like himself, a minor European royal, an American movie actor who had been
briefly famous in the eighties and an antiques dealer who was probably
bidding on behalf of a client. The remainder of the audience a mixture of
celebrities from the worlds of entertainment and sports, a sprinkling of
politicians and the usual people who turned up to support every charity
event were tired, had spent their budget or were unwilling to bid on the
vaguely disturbing-looking masks.
Machiavelli had been collecting masks for a very long time, and he wanted
this pair to complete his group of Japanese theater costumes. These masks had
last come up for sale in 1898 in Vienna, and he had then been outbid by a
Romanov prince. Machiavelli had patiently bided his time; he knew they would
be put on the market again when the prince and his descendents died. Niccol
knew he would still be around to buy them; it was one of the many advantages
of being immortal.
Shall we start the bidding at one hundred thousand euro?
Machiavelli looked up, caught the auctioneer s attention and nodded.
The auctioneer nodded in return. I am bid one hundred thousand euro by
Monsieur Machiavelli. Always one of this charity s most generous supporters
and sponsors.
Applause filled the room, and several people turned to look at him and raise
their glasses. Niccol acknowledged them with a polite nod.
Do I have one hundred and ten? the auctioneer asked.
One of the private collectors raised his hand slightly.
One-twenty? The auctioneer looked back at Machiavelli, who immediately
nodded.
Within the next three minutes, a flurry of bids brought the price up to two
hundred and fifty thousand euro. There were only three serious bidders left:
Machiavelli, the American actor and the antiques dealer.
Machiavelli s thin lips twisted into a rare smile; the masks would be his!
